The Ride Across Lake Constance and Other Plays (18 page)

Read The Ride Across Lake Constance and Other Plays Online

Authors: Peter Handke

Tags: #Fiction, #Literary

 
GEORGE
It's not my paper.
 
PORTEN
(
Snaps the paper away
.) And move your cup away from there. (
She snaps her fingers against the cup so that it turns over.
)
 
GEORGE
It isn't my cup.
 
PORTEN
And spare me your recollections. (
She instantly continues kindly to
YON STROHEIM) Do you know the expression “To mention the noose in the house of the man who's been hanged”?
 
(JANNINGS
laughs
, VON STROHEIM
smiles
.)
 
GEORGE
Why are you so hostile?
 
PORTEN
And why are you so pale?
 
GEORGE
I'm not pale!
 
PORTEN
And I'm not hostile! (
She continues at once
.) Do you know the expression “To place one's hands on one's head”?
 
GEORGE
(
Looks
at JANNINGS;
then replies
.) Certainly.
 
PORTEN
Why do you look at
him
before answering?
 
GEORGE
It's a habit.
 
PORTEN
Put your hands on your head. (
He hesitates
.) Did you hear what I said?
 
GEORGE
(
Again first looks at
JANNINGS.) I'm still thinking about it.
 
PORTEN
But the expression exists, doesn't it?
 
(GEORGE
slowly places his hands on his head
.)
 
VON STROHEIM
(
Is playing along
.) Put your hands on the table.
 
GEORGE
(
Tests whether the sentence exists
.) “Put your hands on the table.” (
Relieved
) Yes. (
He puts his hands on the table
.)
 
PORTEN
Make your hands into fists and caress me!
 
GEORGE
(
Tests the sentence.
) “Make your hands into fists and caress me!?” No!
 
VON STROHEIM
Hand me the cup.
 
(GEORGE
hands him the cup unthinkingly
.)
 
PORTEN
I'll show you something
(
She smiles at VON STROHEIM as her initiate and starts searching in her clothes. Eventually GEORGE stretches out his hand while she is still looking. Now and then she looks at his hand and continues to search. Suddenly she hits his hand and shoves it away. Maliciously
) That's what I wanted to show you.
 
(
He writhes and draws in his head. All at once she covers her eyes with both hands and shudders
.)
 
GEORGE
(
Startled
) What's the matter?
 
PORTEN
(
Takes her hands from her eyes
.) Oh, it's nothing. (GEORGE
wants to reach for the cup that
VON STROHEIM
has put down in the meantime, but
VON STROHEIM
displaces it a little and
GEORGE
withdraws his hand. They repeat this maneuver several times, both displaying a lot of patience.
PORTEN
interrupts the game; very hostile to
GEORGE) Who are you? (GEORGE
gets up quickly and assumes a pose behind the table as if his picture were about to be taken.
) Now I remember. You're the salesman. You gave me the … (
She puts the riding crop on the table. She makes a slip of the tongue
.) How much is it?
 
GEORGE
Riding crop.
 
PORTEN
Yes, that's want I wanted to ask too. You sold me the riding crop.
 
(GEORGE
sits down,
PORTEN
again puts her hands over her eyes and shudders. She pushes the riding crop aw
ay
.)
 
JANNINGS
Don't you like it any more?
 
PORTEN
No, I only pushed it away.
 
JANNINGS
(
In a disguised voice
) The
riding crop
on the table, that means: someone who's very close to you will be swallowed up by a swamp and you will stand there slowly clapping your hands above your head. (
He laughs in a strange voice
. PORTEN
gets up quickly, pushing the guitar off the table in the process.
JANNINGS
in a disguised voice
)
A guitar falls off the table, that means: hats staggering into glacial fissures during the next mountain-climbing expedition.
(
He laughs in a strange voice.
)
 
VON STROHEIM
(To PORTEN,
who is standing motionless
) You want to leave?
 
PORTEN
(
Sits down
.) No, I stood up just now. (
She suddenly crosses her arms over her breast and hunches her shoulders
.)
 
GEORGE
Are you cold?
 
PORTEN
(
Drops her arms
.) No. (
To
VON STROHEIM) And who are
you?
(VON STROHEIM
picks up the guitar and holds it as he
did
previously.
PORTEN
tenderly
) Oh, it's you! (
She becomes serious again immediately
.)
 
VON STROHEIM
Did you remember something?
 
(
Helplessly, she tries to give him another affectionate look, stops, reaches for a cigar
.)
 
GEORGE
Are you restless?
 
PORTEN
(
Puts the cigar back in the box. Serene
) No, I only wanted to take a cigar. (
Suddenly she screams
) I only wanted to take a cigar! (GEORGE
shies back, pulls his jacket over the head, as if he were protecting himself against rain, and stays hunched up like that.
PORTEN
screams
) I only wanted to take a cigar! I ONLY WANTED TO TAKE A CIGAR!
 
(
They all hunch up more and more. Now one hears a noise emanating from backstage, a high-pitched, pathetic howling.
The howling coincides with a slight darkening onstage. PORTEN immediately stops and hunches up too.
The
WOMAN WITH THE SCARF
steps swiftly out of the wings and walks to the second tapestry door without looking at anyone. As soon as she opens the door, there is quiet behind it. Instead, one hears the rustling of a newspaper, which is lying just inside the door
.
The
WOMAN
goes inside and returns with a big
DOLL
that represents a
CHILD. The CHILD
is quiet now, it has the hiccups. It is wearing a gold-embroidered white nightgown and looks very true to life. The mouth is enormous and open. As the
WOMAN
reaches center stage with the
CHILD,
it starts to bawl terribly, somehow without any preliminaries. GEORGE, jacket over his head, quickly leaps toward the chest and closes the drawer. The bawling stops at once.
The
WOMAN
carries the
CHILD
now from one to the other very fast, and in passing, during brief stops, it reaches for the women's breasts and between the men's legs. Very rapidly it also wipes off all the things that had been lying on the table, then pulls away the lace tablecloth and drops it. When the
WOMAN
stands with the
CHILD beside BERGNER,
who seems to be still asleep, it begins to bawl again, and as suddenly as if it had never stopped. The
WOMAN
holds it in such a way that the
CHILD
sees
BERGNER
from the front. It stops bawling at once and is carried away
.
The
WOMAN
returns alone, closes the tapestry door, and goes off. After she has gone, they all sit there motionless. One of them tries to reach for something, but stops as soon as he starts. Someone else tries a gesture that atrophies instantly. A third wants to reply with a gesture, interrupts it twitching. They squat there, start to do something simultaneously; one of them futilely tries to pull his hand out of a pocket; one or two of them even open their mouths—a few sounds, then all of them grow stiff again and cuddle up, make themselves very small as if freezing to death.
Only
BERGNER
sits there the whole time motionless, with eyes closed. All of a sudden, as though she were playing “waking up,” she moves slightly. By and by, the others look toward her
. VON STROHEIM
gets up and bends down to her. She again moves a little. The others are motionless. She opens her eyes and recognizes
VON STROHEIM;
she begins to smile
.)
The stage becomes dark.
 
Translated by Michael Roloff
“It suddenly occurs to me that I am
playing something that doesn't even
exist, and that is the difference. That is
the despair of it.”
 
Characters
 
HERMANN QUITT
HANS,
his confidant
FRANZ KILB,
minority stockholder
QUITT'S WIFE
A large room. The afternoon sun is shining in from one side. The distant silhouette of a city, as though it were seen through a huge window, is visible in the background. (The background might also be formed by a backdrop, similar to a movie screen, with the silhouette of the city vaguely outlined against it.)
QUITT
, wearing a sweat suit, is working out on a punching bag, belaboring it with his fists, feet, and knees.
HANS
, his confidant, wearing tails, stands next to him with a tray and a bottle of mineral water, watching.
QUITT
takes a sip from the bottle, pours some on his head, and sits down on a stool.
 
QUITT
I feel sad today.
 
HANS
So?
 
QUITT
I saw my wife in a dressing gown and her lacquered toes and suddenly I felt lonely. It was such a no-nonsense loneliness
that I have no trouble speaking about it now. It relieved me, I crumbled, melted away in it. The loneliness was objective, a quality of the world, not something of myself. Everything stood with its back to me, in gentle harmony with itself. While I was taking a shit I heard the sounds I was making as if they came from a stranger in the next cubicle. When I took the bus to the office—
 
HANS
So as to maintain contact with the people and to study their needs. For the purpose of R and D?
 
QUITT
—the sad curve which the bus described at one point at a wide traffic circle cut like a yearning dream deep into my heart.
 
HANS
The world's sorrow
Cut Mr. Quitt's feelings
To the marrow.
Hold on to your senses, Mr. Quitt. Someone as wealthy as you can't afford these moods. A businessman who talks like that, even if he really feels like that, is only giving a campaign speech. Your feelings are a luxury and are useless. They might be useful to those who could live according to them. Mr. Quitt: for example, why don't you make
me
a gift of the sorrows from your leisure time to reflect about my work. Or—
 
QUITT
Or?
 
HANS
Or become an artist. You're already supporting violin recitals; you even condescended to collect money in public for the
acquisition of a painting by the National Gallery. The wealth of feelings that is yours as of any given date this month is not only useful but is even essential for an artist. Why don't you paint the curve, the curve of yearning which your bus described, on canvas? Why don't you sell your experience as a painting?
 
QUITT
(
Stands up
.) Hans, you're playing your daily role as if you knew it by rote. More realistically, please! More lovingly! Grander!
 
HANS
And the way Mr. Quitt just stepped out of his role—was that pure make-believe too?
 
QUITT
Let's not start splitting hairs. I admit: the salesgirl in the aforementioned bus eating French fries that smelled of rancid oil ruined my feelings—well, I would have loved to have slapped her face. On the other hand: shortly afterwards I met a black on the street; he was completely absorbed in the photos he'd just picked up from the drugstore, grinning to himself, swept away in remembrance, so that I suddenly remembered along with him, I felt solidarity with him. You're laughing. But there are moments when one's consciousness, too, takes a great leap forward.
 
HANS
 
But brutal reality
In no time destroys
That sense of solidarity.
However, I am laughing because you told me many times how you like to remember the time when you lived for days on end in Paris on nothing but French fries and ketchup.
 
QUITT
I had guests when I was telling that story. And in company, I sometimes also mention “the wood anemones and the hazelnut bushes from the springtime of my youth.”
 
HANS
Does the addition of these artistic elements facilitate negotiations?
 
QUITT
Yes: by serving as an allegory for what is being left unsaid. The wood anemones beneath the hazelnut bushes then signify something altogether different. Only those who speak know that. The poetic element is for us a manifestation of the historic element, even if it is only a convention. Without poetry we would be ashamed of our deals, would feel like primordial man. By the way, just who exactly is coming today?
 
HANS
Harald von Wullnow
Karl-Heinz Lutz
Berthold Koerber-Kent
Paula Tax
all of them businessmen and friends of Quitt.
 
QUITT
I still have to change. If my wife comes, tell her to take care of the guests—then we can be sure that she'll go “bargain hunting” instead of flushing the toilet the whole time. Incidentally, I feel genuinely sad. Almost a comfortable feeling. (
Exit
.)
 
HANS
How easily Mr. Quitt talks about himself! You have to envy him his sadness. He becomes talkative then, like someone
who's being filmed. In any event, time passes more quickly with a sad Quitt, because when he feels good he is distant, unapproachable, rubs his hands together briskly, hops up and down once, that's his Rumpelstiltskin act. (
He sits down on the stool
.) And what about me? What was I allowed to feel this morning? Isn't it true that you can tell more stories about yourself when you've just woken up than at any other time? Thus: the sun rose and shone into my open mouth. I hadn't had any dreams. I even find it repulsive the way people purse their mouth when they say “dream.” When I brushed my teeth my gums bled. I would have liked to do it. But there was nothing doing. I: made a list of the meat to be ordered. Who am I, where did I come from, where am I going? Me … Yes, me, me! Always me. Why not someone else? (
He reflects and shakes his head
.) I have to try it when I'm with people. (
He gets up.
MINORITY STOCKHOLDER KILB
appears in the background
.) I can't remember anything personal about myself. The last time anyone talked about me was when I had to learn the catechism. “Your humble servant” of “Your Grace.” Once I had a thought but I forgot it at once. I'm trying to remember it even now. So I never learned to think. But I have no personal needs. Still, I can indulge in a few gestures. (
He raises his fist but pulls it down again at once with the other hand. Now he notices
KILB.) Who are you, where did you come from, and so forth?
 
KILB
My name is Franz Kilb. (HANS
laughs
.) Don't you like the name?
 
HANS
It's something else. I was talking to myself just now—nuently almost. We don't have anything against names here. And
what
are you?
 
KILB
A minority stockholder.
 
HANS
The
minority stockholder, perhaps?
 
KILB
Yes,
the
minority stockholder, Franz Kilb, the terror of the boards of directors, the clown of the stockholders' meetings, the tick in the navel of the economy with the nuisance value of 100—it's me, perking up again. (HANS
steps forward and puts one fist in front of
KILB's
face while showing him out with the other hand.
) Are you serious?
 
HANS
(
Steps back and drops his arms
.) I'd like to be. But I'm only serious when Mr. Quitt is serious. Nonetheless: it is my honor—scram! (KILB
sits down on the stool
.) So now you're going to tell us the story of your life, is that it?
 
KILB
I own one share of every major corporation in the country. I travel from one stockholders' meeting to the next and spend the nights in my sleeping bag. I go by bike—see, look at the trouser clips. I'm a bachelor in the prime of life, my reflexes function perfectly. (
He strikes his kneecap and his foot hits
HANS.) This is my Boy Scout knife; during the Second World War I passed my lifeguard test, I can pull you out of the water with my teeth. There are people who hold me in high esteem, but I don't put my name on any political endorsements. I once appeared on
What's My Line?,
I said I was self-employed, no one guessed what I did. At stockholders' meetings I sit with my rucksack and keep my hand up all the time. Stockholders' meetings where the board ignores someone who asks for the floor are null and void. How quiet it is here. Can you hear how quietly I am speaking? My last mistress called me demonic, the press (
He quickly proffers a few newspaper clippings
.) calls me a gadfly. I am quicker than you think. (
He has tripped up
HANS,
who has fallen on his
knees
.) I live from my dividends and am a free person, in every respect. My motto is: “Anyone who's for me gets nothing from me; anyone against me will get to know me.” That's a warning for you.
 
(QUITT
returns.
KILB
gets up at once, makes a bow, and steps into the background.
)
 
QUITT
The ubiquitous Mr. Kilb. (
To
HANS) Stop dusting your tails. As I was looking in the mirror while changing, it struck me as ridiculous that I was growing hair. These insensitive, indifferent threads. I was sitting on the bed, my head in my hands. After some time, I thought: If I keep holding my head like that, all my thoughts will cease. Besides, I really moved myself when I and my sadness regarded the blanket that I had thrown back in the morning. I will prove to you that my feelings are useful.
 
HANS
Watch out, if you say it once more, you'll suddenly even believe it. But seriously, I've never heard of a mad businessman. Only the other-directed find themselves ominous. But you're incapable of being at odds with the world. And if you are, you manage to make a profit at it.
 
QUITT
You're becoming schematic, Hans.
 
HANS
Because I'm a compulsive talker.
 
KILB
Ask him about his parents. His father was an itinerant actor. His mother made dolls which she couldn't sell. Both of them failed to return from a trip around the world. They're supposed to have jumped into a volcano. He's their only child.
 
QUITT
(
To
HANS) I'm not sick. Let's talk about something more harmless.
 
(
Pause
.)
 
KILB
For example, the immortality of the soul?
 
(
Pause
. )
 
QUITT
The reason I'm not sick is because I, Hermann Quitt, can be just the way I feel. And I'd like to be the way I feel. I feel like the blues, Hans. (
Pause
.) In any event, sometimes I go somewhere and I think I've come in through the wrong door. Another second and they'll ask me who I am. Or I suddenly stand on an incline in my empty office, see the pencil roll down from the desk top and the papers slide off. Even when I come in here, I often become afraid that I've intruded. Frequently when I look at a familiar object I think: Where's the trick? People I've known for ages I suddenly call by their last name. That's not just an old dream. But I wanted to talk about something else. (
Pause.
KILB
raises his hand.
QUITI
has suddenly butted his head against the punching bag.)
What's still possible? What's there left for me to do? Recently I drove through a suburban street where I used to walk every day. Suddenly I saw an old board for posters. In those days I used to look it over and read everything on it. Now the board was nearly empty, only one poster left, an ad for a pondered milk that's long off the market. (
He raises his arms.
) As I drove slowly past, the posters of all the bygone chocolates, toothpastes, and elections passed before my mind's eye, and in this gentle moment of recollection I was overcome by a profound sense of history.

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