Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead (8 page)

Silence. Then
GUIL
claps solo with slow measured irony
.

GUIL
: Brilliantly recreated—if these eyes could weep! . . . Rather strong on metaphor, mind you. No criticism—only a matter of taste. And so here you are—with a vengeance. That's a figure of speech . . . isn't it? Well let's say we've made up for it, for you may have no doubt whom to thank for your performance at the court.

ROS
: We are counting on you to take him out of himself. You are the pleasures which we draw him on to—
(he escapes a fractional giggle but recovers immediately)
and by that I don't mean your usual filth; you can't treat royalty like people with normal perverted desires. They know nothing of that and you know nothing of them, to your mutual survival. So give him a good clean show suitable for all the family, or you can rest assured you'll be playing the tavern tonight.

OUIL
: Or the night after.

ROS
: Or not.

PLAYER
: We already have an entry here. And always have had.

GUIL
: You've played for him before?

PLAYER
: Yes, sir.

ROS
: And what's
his
bent?

PLAYER
: Classical.

ROS
: Saucy!

GUIL
: What will you play?

PLAYER:
The Murder of Gonzago
.

GUIL
: Full of fine cadence and corpses.

PLAYER
: Pirated from the Italian. . . .

ROS
: What is it about?

PLAYER
: It's about a King and Queen. . . .

GUIL
: Escapism! What else?

PLAYER
: Blood

GUIL
: —Love and rhetoric.

PLAYER
: Yes.
(Going.)

GUIL
: Where are you going?

PLAYER
: I can come and go as I please.

GUIL
: You're evidently a man who knows his way around.

PLAYER
: I've been here before.

GUIL
: We're still finding our feet.

PLAYER
: I should concentrate on not losing your heads.

GUIL
: Do you speak from knowledge?

PLAYER
: Precedent

GUIL
: You've been here before.

PLAYER
: And I know which way the wind is blowing.

GUIL
: Operating on two levels, are we?! How clever! I expect it comes naturally to you, being in the business so to speak.

The
PLAYER'*
grave face does not change. He makes to move off again
,
GUIL
for the second time cuts him off
.

The truth is, we value your company, for want of any other. We have been left so much to our own devices— after a while one welcomes the uncertainty of being left to other people's.

PLAYER
: Uncertainty is the normal state. You're nobody special.

He makes to leave again
,
GUIL
loses his cool
.

GUIL
: But for God's sake what are we supposed to
dol
?!

PLAYER
: Relax. Respond. That's what people do. You can't go through life questioning your situation at every turn.

GUIL
: But we don't know what's going on, or what to do with ourselves. We don't know how to
act
.

PLAYER
: Act natural. You know why you're here at least

GUIL
: We only know what we're told, and that's little enough. And for all we know it isn't even true.

PLAYER
: For all anyone knows, nothing is. Everything has to be taken on trust; truth is only that which is taken to be true. It's the currency of living. There may be nothing behind it, but it doesn't make any difference so long as it is honoured. One acts on assumptions. What do you assume?

ROS
: Hamlet is not himself, outside or in. We have to glean what afflicts him.

GUIL
: He doesn't give much away.

PLAYER
: Who does, nowadays?

GUIL
: He's—melancholy.

PLAYER
: Melancholy?

ROS
: Mad.

PLAYER
: How is he mad?

ROS
: Ah.
(To
GUIL:) HOW
is he mad?

GUIL
: More morose than mad, perhaps.

PLAYER
: Melancholy.

GUIL
: Moody.

ROS
: He has moods.

PLAYER
: Of moroseness?

GUIL
: Madness. And yet.

ROS
: Quite.

GUIL
: For instance.

ROS
: He talks to himself, which might be madness.

GUIL
: If he didn't talk sense, which he does.

ROS
: Which suggests the opposite.

PLAYER
: Of what?

Small pause
.

GUIL
: I think I have it. A man talking sense to himself is no madder than a man talking nonsense not to himself.

ROS
: Or just as mad.

GUIL
: Or just as mad.

ROS
: And he does both.

GUIL: SO
there you are.

ROS
: Stark raving sane.

Pause
.

PLAYER
: Why?

GUIL
: Ah. (To
ROS
:) Why?

ROS
: Exactly.

GUIL
: Exactly what?

ROS
: Exactly why.

GUIL
: Exactly why
what?

ROS
: What?

GUIL:
Why?

ROS
: Why what, exactly?

GUIL
: Why is he mad?!

ROS
:
I
don't know!

Beat
.

PLAYER
: The old man thinks he's in love with his daughter.

Ros
(appalled)
: Good God! We're out of our depth here.

PLAYER: NO
, no, no—
he
hasn't got a daughter—the old man thinks he's in love with
his
daughter.

ROS
: The old man is?

PLAYER
: Hamlet, in love with the old man's daughter, the old man thinks.

ROS
: Ha! It's beginning to make sense! Unrequited passion!

The
PLAYER
moves
.

GUIL:
(Fascist.)
Nobody leaves this room!
(Pause, lamely.)
Without a
very
good reason.

PLAYER
: Why not?

GUIL
: All this strolling about is getting too arbitrary by half— I'm rapidly losing my grip. From now on reason will prevail.

PLAYER
: I have lines to learn.

GUIL
: Pass!

The
PLAYER
passes into one of the wings
,
ROS
cups his hands and shouts into the opposite one
.

ROS
: Next!

But no one comes
.

GUIL
: What did you expect?

ROS
: Something . . . someone . . . nothing.

They sit facing front
.

Are you hungry?

GUIL: NO
, are you?

ROS
(thinks):
No. You remember that coin?
GUIL: NO.

ROS:
I think I lost it.

GUIL
: What coin?

ROS
: I don't remember exactly.

Pause
.

GUIL
: Oh, that coin . . . clever.

ROS
: I can't remember how I did it.

GUIL
: It probably comes natural to you.

ROS
: Yes, I've got a show-stopper there.

GUIL
: Do it again.

Slight pause
.

ROS
: We can't afford it.

GUIL
: Yes, one must think of the future.

ROS
: It's the normal thing.

GUIL
: To have one. One is, after all, having it all the time . . . now . . . and now . . . and now. . . .

ROS
: It could go on for ever. Well, not for
ever
, I suppose.
(Pause.)
Do you ever think of yourself as actually
dead
, lying in a box with a lid on it?

GUIL
: No.

ROS
: Nor do I, really. . . . It's silly to be depressed by it. I mean one thinks of it like being
alive
in a box, one keeps forgetting to take into account the fact that one is
dead . .
. which should make all the difference . . . shouldn't it? I mean, you'd never
know
you were in a box, would you? It would be just like being
asleep
in a box. Not that I'd like to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air—you'd wake up dead, for a start, and then where would you be? Apart from inside a box. That's the bit I don't like, frankly. That's why I don't think of if. . . .

GUIL
stirs restlessly, pulling his cloak round him
.

Because you'd be helpless, wouldn't you? Stuffed in a box like that, I mean you'd be in there for ever. Even taking into account the fact that you're dead, it isn't a pleasant thought.
Especially
if you're dead, really . . .
ask
yourself, if I asked you straight off—I'm going to stuff you in this box now, would you rather be alive or dead? Naturally, you'd prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at all. I expect. You'd have a chance at least. You could lie there thinking— well, at least I'm not dead! In a minute someone's going to bang on the lid and tell me to come out.
(Banging the floor with his fists.)
“Hey you, whatsyername! Come out of there!”

GUIL
(jumps up savagely)
: You don't have to flog it to death!

Pause
.

ROS
: I wouldn't think about it, if I were you. You'd only get depressed.
(Pause.)
Eternity is a terrible thought. I mean, Where's it going to end?
(Pause, then brightly.)
Two early Christians chanced to meet in Heaven. “Saul of Tarsus yet!” cried one. “What are
you
doing here?!” . . . “Tarsus-Schmarsus,” replied the other, “I'm Paul already.”
(He stands up restlessly and flaps his arms.)
They don't care. We count for nothing. We could remain silent till we're green in the face, they wouldn't come.

GUIL
: Blue, red.

ROS
: A Christian, a Moslem and a Jew chanced to meet in a closed carriage. . . . “Silverstein!” cried the Jew. “Who's your friend?” . . . “His name's Abdullah,” replied the Moslem, “but he's no friend of mine since he became a convert.”
(He leaps up again, stamps his foot and shouts into the wings.)
All right, we know you're in there! Come out talking!
(Pause.)
We have no control. None at all. . .
(He paces.)
Whatever became of the moment when one first knew about death? There must have been one, a moment,
in childhood when it first occurred to you that you don't go on for ever. It must have been shattering—stamped into one's memory. And yet I can't remember it. It never occurred to me at all. What does one make of that? We must be born with an intuition of mortality. Before we know the words for it, before we know that there are words, out we come, bloodied and squalling with the knowledge that for all the compasses in the world, there's only one direction, and time is its only measure.
(He reflects, gettingmore desperate and rapid.)
A Hindu, a Buddhist and a lion-tamer chanced to meet, in a circus on the Indo-Chinese border.
(He breaks out.)
They're taking us for granted! Well, I won't stand for it! In future, notice will be taken.
(He wheels again to face into the wings.)
Keep out, then! I forbid anyone to enter!
(No one comes. Breathing heavily.)
That's better. . . .

Immediately, behind him a grand procession enters, principally
CLAUDIUS, GERTRUDE, POLONIUS
and
OPHELIA. CLAUDIUS
takes
ROS'
s elbow as he passes and is immediately deep in conversation: the context is Shakespeare Act III, scene i
.
GUIL
still faces front as
CLAUDIUS, ROS
,
etc., pass upstage and turn
.

GUIL
: Death followed by eternity . . . the worst of both worlds. It
is
a terrible thought.

He turns upstage in time to take over the conversation with
CLAUDIUS. GERTRUDE
and
ROS
head downstage
.

GERTRUDE
: Did he receive you well?

ROS
: Most like a gentleman.

GUIL
(returning in time to take it up):
But with much forcing of his disposition.

ROS
(a flat lie and he knows it and shows it, perhaps catching
GUIL'*
eye):
Niggard of question, but of our demands most free in his reply.