Authors: Samuel Beckett
WILLIE
Sucked
up?
WINNIE
Yes love, up into the blue, like gossamer. [
Pause.
] No? [
Pause.
] You don’t? [
Pause.
] Ah well, natural laws, natural laws, I suppose it’s like everything else, it all depends on the creature you happen to be. All I can say is for my part is that for me they are not what they were when I was young and . . . foolish and . . . [
faltering, head down
] . . . beautiful . . . possibly . . . lovely . . . in a way . . . to look at. [
Pause. Head up.
] Forgive me, Willie, sorrow keeps breaking in. [
Normal voice.
] Ah well what a joy in any case to know you are there, as usual, and perhaps awake, and perhaps taking all this in, some of all this, what a happy day for me . . . it will have been. [
Pause.
] So far. [
Pause.
] What a blessing nothing grows, imagine if all this stuff were to start growing. [
Pause.
] Imagine. [
Pause.
]
Ah yes, great mercies. [
Long pause.
] I can say no more. [
Pause.
] For the moment. [
Pause. Turns to look at bag. Back front. Smile.
] No no. [
Smile off. Looks at parasol.
] I suppose I might—[
takes up parasol
]—yes, I suppose I might . . . hoist this thing now. [
Begins to unfurl it. Following punctuated by mechanical difficulties overcome.
] One keeps putting off—putting up—for fear of putting up—too soon—and the day goes by—quite by—without one’s having put up—at all. [
Parasol now fully open. Turned to her right she twirls it idly this way and that.
] Ah yes, so little to say, so little to do, and the fear so great, certain days, of finding oneself . . . left, with hours still to run, before the bell for sleep, and nothing more to say, nothing more to do, that the days go by, certain days go by, quite by, the bell goes, and little or nothing said, little or nothing done. [
Raising parasol.
] That is the danger. [
Turning front.
] To be guarded against. [
She gazes front, holding up parasol with right hand. Maximum pause.
] I used to perspire freely. [
Pause.
] Now hardly at all. [
Pause.
] The heat is much greater. [
Pause.
] The perspiration much less. [
Pause.
] That is what I find so wonderful. [
Pause.
] The way man adapts himself. [
Pause.
] To changing
conditions. [
She transfers parasol to left hand. Long pause.
] Holding up wearies the arm. [
Pause.
] Not if one is going along. [
Pause.
] Only if one is at rest. [
Pause.
] That is a curious observation. [
Pause.
] I hope you heard that, Willie, I should be grieved to think you had not heard that. [
She takes parasol in both hands. Long pause.
] I am weary, holding it up, and I cannot put it down. [
Pause.
] I am worse off with it up than with it down, and I cannot put it down. [
Pause.
] Reason says, Put it down, Winnie, it is not helping you, put the thing down and get on with something else. [
Pause.
] I cannot. [
Pause
.] I cannot move. [
Pause.
] No, something must happen, in the world, take place, some change, I cannot, if I am to move again. [
Pause.
] Willie. [
Mildly.
] Help. [
Pause.
] No? [
Pause.
] Bid me put this thing down, Willie, I would obey you instantly, as I have always done, honoured and obeyed. [
Pause.
] Please, Willie. [
Mildly.
] For pity’s sake. [
Pause.
] No? [
Pause.
] You can’t? [
Pause.
] Well I don’t blame you, no, it would ill become me, who cannot move, to blame my Willie because he cannot speak. [
Pause.
] Fortunately I am in tongue again. [
Pause.
] That is what I find so wonderful, my two lamps, when one goes out the other burns
brighter. [
Pause.
] Oh yes, great mercies. [
Maximum pause. The parasol goes on fire. Smoke, flames if feasible. She sniff s, looks up, throws parasol to her right behind mound, cranes back to watch it burning. Pause.
] Ah earth you old extinguisher. [
Back front.
] I presume this has occurred before, though I cannot recall it. [
Pause.
] Can you, Willie? [
Turns a little towards him.
] Can you recall this having occurred before? [
Pause. Cranes back to look at him.
] Do you know what has occurred, Willie? [
Pause.
] Have you gone off on me again? [
Pause.
] I do not ask if you are alive to all that is going on, I merely ask if you have not gone off on me again. [
Pause.
] Your eyes appear to be closed, but that has no particular significance we know. [
Pause.
] Raise a finger, dear, will you please, if you are not quite senseless. [
Pause.
] Do that for me, Willie please, just the little finger, if you are still conscious. [
Pause. Joyful.
] Oh all five, you are a darling today, now I may continue with an easy mind. [
Back front.
] Yes, what ever occurred that did not occur before and yet . . . I wonder, yes, I confess I wonder. [
Pause.
] With the sun blazing so much fiercer down, and hourly fiercer, is it not natural things should go on fire never known to do so, in this way I mean,
spontaneous like. [
Pause.
] Shall I myself not melt perhaps in the end, or burn, oh I do not mean necessarily burst into flames, no, just little by little be charred to a black cinder, all this—[
ample gesture of arms
]—visible flesh. [
Pause.
] On the other hand, did I ever know a temperate time? [
Pause.
] No. [
Pause.
] I speak of temperate times and torrid times, they are empty words. [
Pause.
] I speak of when I was not yet caught—in this way—and had my legs and had the use of my legs, and could seek out a shady place, like you, when I was tired of the sun, or a sunny place when I was tired of the shade, like you, and they are all empty words. [
Pause.
] It is no hotter today than yesterday, it will be no hotter tomorrow than today, how could it, and so on back into the far past, forward into the far future. [
Pause.
] And should one day the earth cover my breasts, then I shall never have seen my breasts, no one ever seen my breasts. [
Pause.
] I hope you caught something of that, Willie, I should be sorry to think you had caught nothing of all that, it is not every day I rise to such heights. [
Pause.
] Yes, something seems to have occurred, something has seemed to occur, and nothing has occurred, nothing
at all, you are quite right, Willie. [
Pause.
] The sunshade will be there again tomorrow, beside me on this mound, to help me through the day. [
Pause. She takes up mirror.
] I take up this little glass, I shiver it on a stone—[
does so
]—I throw it away—[
does so far behind her
]—it will be in the bag again tomorrow, without a scratch, to help me through the day. [
Pause.
] No, one can do nothing. [
Pause.
] That is what I find so wonderful, the way things . . . [
voice breaks, head down
] . . . things . . . so wonderful. [
Long pause, head down. Finally turns, still bowed, to bag, brings out unidentifiable odds and ends, stuff s them back, fumbles deeper, brings out finally musical-box, winds it up, turns it on, listens for a moment holding it in both hands, huddled over it, turns back front, straightens up and listens to tune, holding box to breast with both hands. It plays the Waltz Duet “I love you so” from
The Merry Widow.
Gradually happy expression. She sways to the rhythm. Music stops. Pause. Brief burst of hoarse song without words
—
musical-box tune
—
from Willie. Increase of happy expression. She lays down box.
] Oh this will have been a happy day! [
She claps hands.
] Again, Willie, again! [
Claps.
] Encore, Willie, please! [
Pause. Happy expression off.
] No? You won’t do
that for me? [
Pause.
] Well it is very understandable, very understandable. One cannot sing just to please someone, however much one loves them, no, song must come from the heart, that is what I always say, pour out from the inmost, like a thrush. [
Pause.
] How often I have said, in evil hours, Sing now, Winnie, sing your song, there is nothing else for it, and did not. [
Pause.
] Could not. [
Pause.
] No, like the thrush, or the bird of dawning, with no thought of benefit, to oneself or anyone else. [
Pause.
] And now? [
Long pause. Low.
] Strange feeling. [
Pause. Do.
] Strange feeling that someone is looking at me. I am clear, then dim, then gone, then dim again, then clear again, and so on, back and forth, in and out of someone’s eye. [
Pause. Do.
] Strange? [
Pause. Do.
] No, here all is strange. [
Pause. Normal voice.
] Something says, Stop talking now, Winnie, for a minute, don’t squander all your words for the day, stop talking and do something for a change, will you? [
She raises hands and holds them open before her eyes. Apostrophic.
] Do something! [
She closes hands.
] What claws! [
She turns to bag, rummages in it, brings out finally a nailfile, turns back front and begins to file nails. Files for a time in silence, then the following
punctuated by filing.
] There floats up—into my thoughts—a Mr. Shower—a Mr. and perhaps a Mrs. Shower—no—they are holding hands—his fiancée then more likely—or just some—loved one. [
Looks closer at nails.
] Very brittle today. [
Resumes filing.
] Shower—Shower—does the name mean anything—to you, Willie—evoke any reality, I mean—for you, Willie—don’t answer if you don’t—feel up to it—you have done more—than your bit—already—Shower—Shower. [
Inspects filed nails.
] Bit more like it. [
Raises head, gazes front.
] Keep yourself nice, Winnie, that’s what I always say, come what may, keep yourself nice. [
Pause. Resumes filing.
] Yes—Shower—Shower—[
stops filing, raises head, gazes front, pause
]—or Cooker, perhaps I should say Cooker. [
Turning a little towards Willie.
] Cooker, Willie, does Cooker strike a chord? [
Pause. Turns a little further. Louder.
] Cooker, Willie, does Cooker ring a bell, the name Cooker? [
Pause. She cranes back to look at him. Pause.
] Oh really! [
Pause.
] Have you no handkerchief, darling? [
Pause.
] Have you no delicacy? [
Pause.
] Oh, Willie, you’re not eating it! Spit it out, dear, spit it out! [
Pause. Back front.
] Ah well, I suppose it’s only natural. [
Break in voice.
] Human.
[
Pause. Do.
] What
is
one to do? [
Head down. Do.
] All day long. [
Pause. Do.
] Day after day. [
Pause. Head up. Smile. Calm.
] The old style! [
Smile off. Resumes nails.
] No, done him. [
Passes on to next.
] Should have put on my glasses. [
Pause.
] Too late now. [
Finishes left hand, inspects it.
] Bit more human. [
Starts right hand. Following punctuated as before.
] Well anyway—this man Shower—or Cooker—no matter—and the woman—hand in hand—in the other hands bags—kind of big brown grips—standing there gaping at me—and at last this man Shower—or Cooker—ends in er anyway—stake my life on that—What’s she doing? he says—What’s the idea? he says—stuck up to her diddies in the bleeding ground—coarse fellow—What does it mean? he says—What’s it meant to mean?—and so on—lot more stuff like that—usual drivel—Do you hear me? he says—I do, she says, God help me—What do you mean, he says, God help you? [
Stops filing, raises head, gazes front.
] And you, she says, what’s the idea of you, she says, what are you meant to mean? It is because you’re still on your two flat feet, with your old ditty full of tinned muck and changes of underwear, dragging me up and down this fornicating wilderness,
coarse creature, fit mate—[
with sudden violence
]—let go of my hand and drop for God’s sake, she says, drop! [
Pause. Resumes filing.
] Why doesn’t he dig her out? he says—referring to you, my dear—What good is she to him like that?—What good is he to her like that?—and so on—usual tosh—Good! she says, have a heart for God’s sake—Dig her out, he says, dig her out, no sense in her like that—Dig her out with what? she says—I’d dig her out with my bare hands, he says—must have been man and—wife. [
Files in silence.
] Next thing they’re away—hand in hand—and the bags—dim—then gone—last human kind—to stray this way. [
Finishes right hand, inspects it, lays down file, gazes front.
] Strange thing, time like this, drift up into the mind. [
Pause.
] Strange? [
Pause.
] No, here all is strange. [
Pause.
] Thankful for it in any case. [
Voice breaks.
] Most thankful. [
Head down. Pause. Head up. Calm.
] Bow and raise the head, bow and raise, always that. [
Pause.
] And now? [
Long pause. Starts putting things back in bag, toothbrush last. This operation, interrupted by pauses as indicated, punctuates following.
] It is perhaps a little soon—to make ready—for the night—[