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THE MISUNDERSTANDING (Le Malentendu)

Albert Camus

translated by Graham Ley

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Act One

(Noon. The reception hall of a small boarding-house. It has a clean and

tidy appearance.)

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Scene one

MOTHER

He's coming back. He wants to stay.

MARTHA

Are you quite certain?

MOTHER

That's what he said. After you'd gone out.

MARTHA

Alone?

MOTHER

He didn't say.

MARTHA

Did he seem well-off? Lot’s of money with him?

MOTHER

He wasn't worried by the price.

MARTHA

If he's rich, then so much the better. But he must be on his

own. That's the most important thing.

MOTHER

(with a sigh) Yes, I suppose it is. That's it, then. That's

the start of it.

MARTHA

Yes, it is. That's the start of it. But don't you worry. We'll

be paid for our trouble.

(Silence. Martha looks at her mother.)

What's the matter, mother? You haven't been the same for some

time now. There's something wrong. I know there is.

MOTHER

There's nothing wrong. I'm just tired, that's all. I think I

need a rest.

MARTHA

A rest? That's easy. I'll take on all the housework, yours as

well as mine. The days can be all yours. All the day, and

every day.

MOTHER

That's not what I meant. Not that kind of rest. No, it's just

an old woman's dream. I just want a bit of peace, the chance

to let things slide. (She gives a weak laugh.) I know. It all

sounds very stupid. I wonder if religion has anything to do

with it. It may be catching up with me, at long last. You

never know. It has its attractions.

MARTHA

You're not that old, mother. You don't need that. You've got

better things to do.

MOTHER

Oh, I was only joking. But after all, why not? When you reach

my time of life you ought to be able to let things slide. I

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can't be as hard as you. I'm much too old. It's almost

unnatural the way you do it. Other girls are different. They

like to have a good time, every now and then. In fact, I know

plenty who think of nothing else.

MARTHA

We have our good times. Every now and then. You know that. And

theirs can't compare with ours, can they?

MOTHER

There's no need to bring that up.

MARTHA

(with some concern) What's all this? Words never used to

frighten you.

MOTHER

Leave me alone. You've no cause to complain. I still do my

part of it. Anyway, what does all that matter? All I meant to

say was that I'd like to see you smile sometimes.

MARTHA

I do smile. I promise you.

MOTHER

I've never seen it.

MARTHA

I smile in my room. When I'm on my own. That's the way I like

it. To keep my smiles for myself.

MOTHER

(taking a long look at her) You've got a hard face, Martha.

MARTHA

(coming up to her, calmly) But loveable ? To you at least?

MOTHER

(still looking at her, and after a moment of silence) Yes,

loveable. I think so. Hard or not.

MARTHA

(with emotion) Oh, mother, mother! All we need is the money!

With money in our hands there's an end to grey skies and damp,

dripping roofs! We'll put the boarding-house behind us and

leave this town for good. And in their place we'll have the

open sea before us, the sea I have dreamed of for so many

years! That's when you'll see me smile. But not before then.

And remember. We'll need a lot of money if we're to live by

the sea. So we mustn't be afraid of words, and we must give

this man who's coming here our closest attention. If he has

money on him, and plenty of it, then my freedom may begin with

him. Did he have much to say, when you saw him?

MOTHER

No. Not much.

MARTHA

What was his expression when he asked for his room?

MOTHER

I can't say I noticed. My eyes are bad, and besides, I wasn't

looking. Not very closely. I know from experience that it's

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better not to look at them. It's easier to kill when you don't

know the face. (Pause.) There. That should please you. I'm not

afraid of words. Not any more. The moment has passed.

MARTHA

It's better that way. I prefer plain speaking. A crime is a

crime. The only thing that matters is to know what you want.

As you did, when you answered him.

MOTHER

I didn't think of that. I answered out of habit.

MARTHA

Habit? That's a strange word to use. You've hardly had the

chance to pick up the habit.

MOTHER

You may be right. But as far as I'm concerned habit begins

with the second crime. Just as something else ends with the

first. The occasions may have been few and far between, but

habit gains its strength from time. Memory plays its part in

all these things. So I have had the chance. Habit made me

answer him, and habit kept me from looking at him closely. His

was a victim's face. It was bound to be.

MARTHA

He has to die, mother.

MOTHER

(quietly) Yes. He has to die. Of course he does.

MARTHA

That was a strange way to say it. Are you sure there's nothing

wrong?

MOTHER

The truth is, Martha, that I'm worn out. It would be a great

relief to think he was the last. Killing has exhausted me. I

don't care where I die. In the middle of the plain, or beside

the sea. It really doesn't matter. Not to me. But the one

thing I do want to know is if we are going.

MARTHA

Of course we are! That's just the point. It's getting nearer

all the time. Pull yourself together, mother. There's hardly

very much to do. Besides, you know as well as I do that

killing doesn't really come into it. What happens, after all?

He drinks his tea and falls asleep, and we carry him down to

the river. Still breathing, mind. Then he'll be found at some

stage, fairly soon, stuck against the iron bars of the grid,

down by the weir. There'll be others with him. But they won't

have been so lucky. They'll have thrown themselves in, with

their eyes wide open. You remember. You said so yourself. The

day we helped to clear the grid. "Ours suffered less. We're

kinder than life." That's what you said. So don't be

miserable. Pull yourself together. You'll have the rest you

want when we get out of here.

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MOTHER

Yes, I'll pull myself together. It is some consolation, I must

admit, to think they never suffered. When you think of it like

that, it hardly seems a crime. Almost like lending a hand. A

ight touch to turn the scale. You're quite right. Life is much

more cruel. Perhaps that's why I always found it difficult to

feel a sense of guilt.

(The Old Man comes in and sits behind the desk without a word.

He stays there without moving until the end of the scene.

MARTHA

Where shall we put him?

MOTHER

I can't see it matters. But it must be on the first floor.

MARTHA

Yes, you're right. We had a lot of trouble, last time,

managing the stairs. One flight is quite enough. (She sits

down for the first time.) Tell me, mother, is it true that

over there in Africa the sand is so hot that it burns your

feet?

MOTHER

How should I know? I've never been there. But they do say that

the sun is so fierce that it devours everything.

MARTHA

I read in a book that it eats right through, right to your

soul. The glow on the bodies hides the emptiness inside.

MOTHER

Is that what you dream about?

MARTHA

Yes. I want a land where the sun kills questions. That would

be a home for me. Living here, I feel as though I've got a

soul, and I want to be rid of it.

MOTHER

Well, we must make a move. Time's getting on, and there's a

lot to do. If everything goes right, I'll be coming with you.

That needn't worry you. But as for a home... When you reach my

age, you don't bother any more with the thought of a home. You

count yourself lucky that you've got a house. One of these

pathetic places, built of bricks and mortar, with memories for

furniture and where, if you're lucky, you sometimes get the

chance to sleep. But on the other hand, to sleep and to

forget, to be free of all questions ...The way you put it, it

could sound attractive.

(She gets up and makes her way to the door.)

Make sure it's all ready, Martha. (Pause.) That is, if you

really think that it's worth all the trouble.

(Martha watches her go out and then leaves herself, by another

door.)

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Scene two

(The Old Man goes to the window, sees Jan and Maria, and moves

out of sight. He remains alone on stage for a few seconds. Jan

comes in. He stops, looks round the room, and sees the Old Man

standing by the window.)

JAN

Anyone at home?

(The Old Man looks at him, crosses the stage, and goes out.)

Scene three

(Maria comes in. Jan turns round quickly to face her.)

JAN

You followed me.

MARIA

I'm sorry, I couldn't... I won't stay long. Just a look. It's

not much to ask, if I'm to leave you here.

JAN

Do you realise that if anyone comes in then everything is

lost?

MARIA

But that's our only chance. If I'm still here, I'll make you

tell them who you are. Whatever you may say.

(Jan turns away. Pause.)

MARIA

(Looking round the room) So this is it ?

JAN

Yes, this is it. I walked through that door twenty years ago.

My sister was a little girl. She was playing in that corner.

My mother never came to kiss me goodbye. I remember that at

the time I didn't care.

MARIA

Jan, I just can't believe that they failed to recognise you

when you came here just now. A mother always knows her son.

JAN

But she hasn't seen me for twenty years. And anyway, I was

very young then, hardly more than a boy. She's an old woman.

Her sight is not too good. Why, I hardly knew her myself.

MARIA

(impatiently) Oh, yes, I've heard all that. You came in, you

said 'good-morning', and sat down. Nothing was the same.

JAN

I don't know. It was just that nothing seemed to be how I

remembered it. They took me for granted. Not a word was

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spoken. The beer came to order. They looked, and I looked, but

they looked right through me. It was all a lot more difficult

than I had imagined.

MARIA

You know perfectly well that it wasn't difficult at all. All

you had to do was to open your mouth. On such occasions, any

normal person says "Here I am, it's me!" and everything falls

into place. Reality asserts itself.

JAN

Yes, yes, I know. But all sorts of things were flooding

through my mind. I'd expected some sort of welcome -you know,

the return of the prodigal son, killing the fatted calf, and

so on -and there I was, taking a glass of beer for money. I

felt moved by it all, but couldn't find a thing to say.

MARIA

One word would have been enough.

JAN

But I couldn't find the right one! And anyway, what's the

hurry? I came here with money in my pockets, and if I can I

want to make them happy. When I heard that father was dead, I

realised that I was now in some respects responsible for both

of them. Knowing that, I did what I had to do. But perhaps

coming home isn't quite as easy as it sounds. It takes a bit

of time to make a son out of just another man.

MARIA

But why not tell them you were coming? There's a case to be

made for conventional behaviour, at certain times. If you

wanted to be recognised you couldn't have done better than to

introduce yourself. That, I would have thought, was obvious.

If you start out pretending to be something you're not you'll

end up in a mess. How on earth can you expect to receive more

of a welcome than any passing stranger when you act just like

one? In your own home No, I'm sorry, but none of this makes

sense.

JAN

Come on, Maria, it doesn't matter that much. Besides, it all

suits my purpose. I'll take advantage of the delay, see them,

as it were, a little from the outside. If I play my cards

right I'll have a much stronger sense of what they really need

to make them happy. And after that… well, I'll find some way

to make myself known. It is, after all, only a matter of

finding the right words.

MARIA

You'll find some way... ? There is only one way that I can

think of, and that's to do what you should have done the

moment you stepped through the door. To say "Here I am" and

let your heart speak for you.

JAN

Yes. I know. But when the heart really is involved, it isn't

that simple.

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MARIA

That's where you're wrong. Words that come from the heart are

always simple. It couldn't have been that difficult to stand

up and say "I am your son. This is my wife. Up until now we've

been living together in a land that we both loved, in the

sunshine, by the sea. But I needed something else to make me

truly happy. In fact, I needed you. So here I am."

JAN

Don't be unkind, Maria. That's not fair. It wasn't that I

needed them. I just knew without asking that they must be in

need of me, and that a man should never let himself believe

that he stands completely on his own. In this world or the

next.

(Pause. Maria turns away.)

MARIA

I'm sorry. Perhaps you're right. But I've felt myself on the

defensive ever since we arrived. I've searched in every

passing face for some faint signs, the slightest suggestion

that people were happy. And all to no purpose. This Europe of

yours is a miserable place. Come to that, I haven't heard you

laugh since we stepped ashore, and as for myself ...there's

something I don't like. I feel... apprehensive. Oh, Jan, why

did you bring me here? I wish I'd never left. Come back with

me, Jan. There's nothing for us here, nothing that will make

us happy.

JAN

We didn't come here to look for happiness. We had that

already.

MARIA

(with passion) Then why not enjoy it! Wasn't that enough for

you?

JAN

No. Happiness isn't everything. Men have their obligations,

too. Mine was to find my mother, and my country. To be where I

belong again...

(Maria is about to protest but Jan stops her, as footsteps can

be plainly heard. Outside, the Old Man walks past the window.)

JAN

Someone's coming. Leave me, Maria. Please go.

MARIA

Not like this. I can't.

JAN

(as the footsteps come closer) Quickly, over there. (He pushes

her behind the door.)

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Scene four

(The door at the back opens. The Old Man walks across the room

without noticing Maria and leaves by the door to the outside.)

JAN

And now you must go. Quickly, while I still have the chance.

MARIA

I want to stay. I'll wait here, by your side. I won't say a

word, I promise. Not until they've found out who you are.

JAN

No. You'll give me away. I know it.

(She turns away, and then comes back to him. They stand face

to face.)

MARIA

Jan. It's five years since we were married.

JAN

It will be. Soon.

MARIA

(lowering her eyes) And this will be the first night that

we've slept apart. (Jan remains silent. She looks up at him

again.) I have always loved everything about you. Even what I

didn't understand. And I have always known that, at heart, I

would have you no different. I'm not the kind of wife who

likes to be awkward, but today I'm frightened, Jan! I can see

that empty bed in front of me, and I feel as though you're

deserting me, sending me away like this.

JAN

Maria! How can you doubt my love?

MARIA

I don't, I don't! It's not that. But your love is one thing,

and your dreams are another. Or your obligations, as you would

say. It doesn't matter. It comes to the same thing. You've

drifted away so many times. It's as if you grew tired of me

from time to time, and were in need of a rest. But there's

never any rest for me. I'm never tired of you, and the thought

of this evening (she throws herself against him in tears)...

is more than I can bear!

JAN

(holding her tightly) This is all very childish.

MARIA

I know I am very childish But we were so happy together

before we came here, and how can I help it if the nights in

this country make me feel nervous? It's all so different. I

don't want to be left on my own. Not here, not without you.

JAN

But I shan't be away for long. You must understand, Maria. I

have to keep my promise.

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MARIA

Your promise?

JAN

Yes. My promise to myself. I made it on the day when I learned

that my mother had need of me.

MARIA

There's another one to keep.

JAN

What do you mean?

MARIA

The one you made to me on the day you said that you would live

with me.

JAN

But there's no conflict between them. I'll take care of

everything. I' m not asking much. Am I? Really? And I'm not

doing this for fun. All it means is one evening and one night

apart. In that short time I can find my feet here, get to know

them better, and find out how to make them happy.

MARIA

(shaking her head) It's much more than that. Any separation is

something to be feared when two people are really in love with

each other.

JAN

Now that is cruel. You know I love you as much as anyone

could.

MARIA

No. Only as much as any man could. But men don't know how to

love. Nothing is enough for them. They must have their dreams.

It's the only thing they do well. Dreaming. They dream up

obligations. New ones every day. They long for undiscovered

countries, fresh demands, another call. While we women are

left with the knowledge that love can never wait. A shared

bed, a hand in yours, that's the only thing that matters. The

worst thing of all is fear. The fear of being alone. Love can

never wait. There's no time for dreams, if you're in love.

JAN

Now what prompted all of that? All I'm asking for is the

chance to find my own mother and to give her the help she

needs with a little happiness thrown in. If that's what you

mean by dreams and obligations, then I can only say that

you'll have to take them as they are. I'd be nothing without

them, and you wouldn't love me if I didn't have them.

MARIA

(turning her back on him sharply) I know you have your

reasons. You always do. And they're always so very, very good.

So good, that I'm not listening any more. I'm deaf. I can't

listen when you put on that voice of yours. I know it too

well. It's the voice of your private world, not the voice of

love.

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JAN

(coming up behind her) Don't start that, Maria, please don't.

The only reason that I'm asking you to leave me on my own is

that I want to see this place more clearly. It's not a lot to

ask. One night, under the same roof as your mother? There's

nothing very terrible in that, and the rest will lie in God's

hands. He'll bear me witness that I shan't let the thought of

you slip from my mind for a single moment all the time I'm

here, But if you want to remain happy you can't expect to stay

away from home for ever and forget everything you left behind.

This is my land, and I must make those I love happy. I can't

see further than that.

MARIA

But it's at your fingertips: All you have to do is to use a

few simple words that others could understand: But the way

you're going about it... It's all wrong.

JAN

It's not all wrong. Can't you see? It's the only way I'll know

for certain if these dreams of mine have any substance.

MARIA

Well, I hope they do. For my own part, the only dream I have

is of a land where we were happy, and my only obligation is to

you.

JAN

(taking her to him) Please let me go. I’ll find the right

words. I promise you. It’ll sort itself out.

MARIA

(giving way to her feelings) There you are Dreams again! Oh,

Jan, I don't care what you do so long as I can keep your love.

It’s the same as ever. I can’t be miserable when your body’s

close to mine. I’ll wait patiently until the clouds have

cleared, and then you’ll be mine again. If I’m unhappy now,

it’s only because I know you love me. And I also know, beyond

a shadow of a doubt, that you’ll make me go away. They say

that a man’s love is torture, and it’s true. They can’t stop

themselves. They must always leave behind them what they want

most of all..

JAN

(He takes her face in his hands, and smiles.) It’s certainly

true in this case. But look at me, Maria. Do I seem like a man

who feels danger all around him? I’m doing what I want to do

and it will put my mind at rest. Can’t you trust me to someone

else for just one night? Remember. It’s my sister and my

mother that we’re talking about. There can't be much to

frighten you in that.

MARIA

(stepping from his embrace) Good-bye, then. God be with you,

and my love. I hope it protects you as well as I would. (She

walks to the door, and stops. She turns, and shows him her

empty hands.) But look. See? You’ve left me with nothing. Your

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voyage of discovery leaves me alone. I’ll be waiting for you.

(She hesitates, and then goes out.)

Scene five

(Jan sits down. The Old Man comes in, holds the door open for

Martha to pass him, and then goes out again.)

JAN

Good afternoon. I've come £or the room.

MARTHA

Yes. I know. We're getting it ready for you. I must take your

particulars for our register. (She goes out for the register,

and comes back in with it.)

JAN

That old man is rather odd.

MARTHA

I've never had a complaint about him before. He always carries

out his duties to the letter.

JAN

Oh, no complaint. But he's a bit out o£ the common run. Is it

because he's dumb?

MARTHA

Not exactly.

JAN

So he can speak, then?

MARTHA

Yes. But only when it's absolutely necessary. He prefers to

say nothing if at all possible.

JAN

Well, one way or the other, the impression I got was that he

doesn't hear a thing you say.

MARTHA

Well, that's wrong. He listens. But his hearing isn't very

good. Anyway, if you'll forgive me I must ask you for your

surname and your Christian names.

JAN

Hasek, Karl.

MARTHA

Just Karl?

JAN

That's all.

MARTHA

Date and place of birth?

JAN

I'm thirty-eight.

MARTHA

And where were you born?

JAN

(hesitating) In Bohemia.

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MARTHA

Your profession?

JAN

No profession.

MARTHA

No profession? Only the very rich, or the very poor, have no

profession.

JAN

(smiling) Well, I'm not too badly off myself. In fact, I'm

very comfortable. For a number of reasons.

MARTHA

(in a different voice) You're Czech, then, by birth?

JAN

Correct.

MARTHA

Country of residence?

JAN

Bohemia.

MARTHA

Is that where you've come from?

JAN

No. From Africa. (As she seems puzzled...) Across the water.

MARTHA

Yes, I know. (Pause.) Do you go there frequently?

JAN

From time to time.

MARTHA

(caught momentarily in a dream, but coming sharply back to

reality) And where are you heading ?

JAN

I'm not sure. That could depend on a number or things.

MARTHA

Are you thinking or staying here permanently from now on ?

JAN

I'm not sure. It depends on how I find it.

MARTHA

It's of no importance. Is anyone expecting you?

JAN

No. Not really. No-one.

MARTHA

I imagine that you have some form of identification on you?

JAN

Yes. Do you want to see it?

MARTHA

No, don't bother. But I must make a note of whether it’s a

passport or an identity card.

JAN

(hesitating) It's a passport. Here you are. Take a look at it.

(She has it in her hands, and is about to read it, when the

Old Man appears in the doorway.)

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MARTHA

It's all right. I didn't call. (He goes out. Martha hands the

passport back to Jan without looking at it. Her thoughts seem

to be elsewhere.) When you're in Africa, do you stay by the

sea?

JAN

Yes.

(She gets up, starts to shut the desk, and then changes her

mind. It remains open in front of her.)

MARTHA

(abruptly, with an unfamiliar edge to her voice) Ah, I was

forgetting! Do you have any family?

JAN

I did once. But I left them behind a long time ago.

MARTHA

No. I meant “Are you married?”.

JAN

Why ask that? I've never had that question put to me before,

not in any hotel.

MARTHA

It's one of the questions laid down by the local authority.

JAN

That's very odd. Yes, I am married. But in any case, you must

have seen my wedding ring.

MARTHA

I hadn't noticed it. Could you give me your wife's address?

JAN

She stayed at home. In Africa.

MARTHA

I see. Excellent. (She shuts the book.) Can I get you anything

to drink? The room's not quite ready for you yet.

JAN

No, I'm fine. I'll wait here, if I may. But I do hope I'm not

in your way.

MARTHA

How could you be? This room is set aside for guests.

JAN

Yes, but you know what I mean. One person on his own can

sometimes be more of a nuisance than a whole crowd of people.

MARTHA

(who is tidying the room) I can't see how. Unless you're after

entertainment. I'm afraid that if you are, you've come to the

wrong place. We don't go in for that round here. As you'll

soon see, you've picked a very quiet spot. Very few people

pass this way at all.

JAN

That can't be very good for business.

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MARTHA

No, I suppose it's not. But we gain by it, too. We have our

peace and quiet, and you can't expect things like that to pay

very well. I'd rather have the occasional, really satisfactory

guest than a lot of fuss and bother all to no purpose. My

mother feels the same way.

JAN

But...(He hesitates.) Don't you ever feel the need of a bit of

life? It must be very dull here. Don't you ever feel lonely?

MARTHA

(swinging round sharply to face him) Look, I'd like to get

some things straight, if you don't mind. Once you step inside

that door, you become a guest. As a guest you have your

rights. And I think I can say that you won't be displeased.

You'll find the service good, and at the end of the day

there'll be little that you'll want to complain about. But as

for certain other things - the question of whether or not

we're lonely, for example, or your concern about getting in

the way and being a nuisance to us - don't let them worry you.

We'll look after them. Remember, you're the guest. Enjoy

what's on offer. But please don't ask for more.

JAN

I see I must apologise. I didn't mean to give offence. I

simply wanted to show a little interest. I didn't want to

annoy you. It was just that the thought had crossed my mind

that we might have more in common than had met the eye.

MARTHA

I'm sorry, I'll have to repeat myself. How can I best put it

to you? "Give offence", ”annoy” - there you are, you see? The

way you are talking is simply not appropriate. And that cuts

both ways. It would be just as bad if I was the culprit. I do

hope you'll understand. I'm sorry to have to spell it out like

this. I can assure you that the last thing I am is annoyed, in

any way at all. But I really must encourage you to appreciate

the benefits we both would gain from keeping our distances.

And unfortunately, if you refuse to behave as a guest should,

I'm afraid that we shall have to ask you to leave. It's as

simple as that. Two women who offer you the standard bed and

board can hardly be expected to open their arms to you as

well, to welcome you into the family circle. That really would

be asking much too much. I do hope that's clear. If it is,

we'll get on very well.

JAN

It is quite clear, and I'm sure we will. It's completely my

fault for giving you the impression that I didn't know the

rules. I shan't break them, I assure you.

MARTHA

There's nothing to worry about. It's not the first time that

someone's tried to go too far. There've been others before

you.

Page 17

JAN

There is no confusion. The trouble is, I can't think of

anything to say. Not now. At least, not for the moment.

MARTHA

Oh, but there's no need for that. There are plenty of things

that a guest can talk about with full confidence.

JAN

Name some of them.

MARTHA

Well, most of our guests talk about most things, from their

travels all the way through to politics. But they don't talk

about us. That's all we ever ask. Once or twice it's even come

to the point where they talked about their own lives, the kind

of people they were. I don't object to that. It's part of the

job. We're paid to do many things, and one of them must be to

listen. But there's no way in which the price of board and

lodging could be seen to include an obligation on the landlady

to answer personal questions. My mother has done so, on

occasions, as I'm willing to admit. But that's because she

doesn't care one way or the other. But I do. I refuse on

principle. So if that's thoroughly understood, then there's

going to be no need for awkwardness of any kind. You needn't

worry. You'll soon discover that you've quite a lot to say to

us. Most people like to have an audience, if only to talk

about themselves.

JAN

Unfortunately, I'm not very good at that. And anyway, I doubt

if there'll be an opportunity. If I don't stay long, you won't

have the chance to get to know me. And if I do, you won't need

my help. You'll find out for yourselves.

MARTHA

Well I only hope that what I've said hasn't made you feel

hostile. That really would be pointless. But it's always been

policy to clear away any possible source of confusion. If I’d

let you carry on the way you were going it was bound to end up

in embarrassment for all of us. If you look at it from that

point of view you'll see I was thoroughly justified in

speaking out when I did. After all, before today we had

nothing whatsoever in common. To assume a tone of familiarity

on the spur of the moment would have been rather foolish.

JAN

There's no need to apologise. You’re quite right. Familiarity

doesn’t spring from nowhere. It takes time to establish

itself. But if in your opinion everything is, as you would

say, now quite straight between us, then I have every reason

to be thankful. Or so it seems.

(The mother comes in.)

Page 18

Scene six

MOTHER

Good evening, sir. Your room's ready now.

JAN

Thank you very much.

(The mother sits down.)

MOTHER

(to Martha) Did you fill out the form?

MARTHA

I did.

MOTHER

Do you mind if I look at it ? I hope you'll excuse me, sir,

but the police round here are very strict. There you are! What

did I tell you? My daughter has forgotten to note down whether

you came here for health reasons, on business, or as a

tourist.

JAN

I suppose tourism would be the best description.

MOTHER

It'll be the monastery that's brought you, I expect. I gather

it's very well thought of.

JAN

Yes I have heard of it. But I was actually thinking of looking

round the whole area. I used to know it very well, some time

ago. Good memories.

MOTHER

You've lived here before?

JAN

No. But I passed through once, a long time ago. I haven't

forgotten it.

MOTHER

And yet it's only a little village.

JAN

True. But I had a good time here. And since I've been back, I

could almost say that I've felt at home.

MOTHER

Do you intend to stay long?

JAN

I don't know. I expect that seems a bit strange, but I'm

afraid it's the way I feel. You have to have a reason for

staying in a place. Some friends there, personal ties,

something like that. Otherwise, there's no real incentive to

stay there rather than anywhere else. And until you know what

kind of reception you're going to get, you can't be sure what

you're going to do. That's only natural.

MARTHA

I don't think I follow you.

Page 19

JAN

No. I dare say you don't. But I can't think of a better way or

putting it.

MOTHER

Well, I expect you'll soon get tired of it here.

JAN

Oh I don't know. I'm a man of warm feelings, and I'll soon

find something to remember, if I'm given the chance.

MARTHA

(with impatience) This isn't a place for 'warm feelings'.

JAN

(who doesn't seem to have heard her, to the mother) You seem

very disillusioned with the area. Have you been in this hotel

for so very long?

MOTHER

Time comes and goes. It's been many years now, so long that I

can't remember when it started, and I've forgotten what I was

like before. This is my daughter.

MARTHA

There's no call for a family history, mother.

MOTHER

No, of course there isn't, Martha.

JAN

(very quickly) Let her go on. I think I understand the point

you are making. At the end of a working life that's the way

you feel. But things might have been very different if you'd

had a man to help you. A strong right arm is something every

woman needs.

MOTHER

Oh, I've had help, in my time. But there was always too much

to do. At best we managed, my husband and myself. But we never

had the time to give each other a moment's thought. Why, I

think I'd almost forgotten who he was before he was in his

grave.

JAN

Yes. I can understand that too. But... (he hesitates for a

second or two) perhaps a son? A son who'd have lent you a

hand? You wouldn't have forgotten him, would you?

MARTHA

We've a great deal to do, mother.

MOTHER

A son? Oh, there have been too many years. When it comes down

to it, we old women lose the habit of love, even far our own

sons. The heart wears out, young man, like the rest of you.

JAN

Yes that's true. But I know it never forgets.

MARTHA

(stepping between them decisively) A son who came in here

would be assured of the same treatment as any other guest: he

would be offered the usual standard of impersonal

Page 20

consideration. Every man who has ever come to stay with us has

accepted those terms and never asked for more. Each one of

them has paid the price of a room and received a key in

exchange. And none of them, ever, spoke of his feelings.

(Pause.) It was that above all that used to keep our work free

of complications.

MOTHER

Martha!

JAN

(thoughtfully) And did they stay long? On those terms?

MARTHA

Some of them did. For a very long time. We did what was

necessary to make them stay. Others, who were less well-off,

left the next day. We did little for them.

JAN

Well, I have plenty of money, and if it's all right with you I

should like very much to stay here, in your hotel. I had

forgotten to tell you that I can pay in advance.

MOTHER

Oh, we don't ask for that.

MARTHA

If you're not short of money, then everything will be fine.

But please don't mention your feelings. We can do nothing for

them. In fact, I was getting so tired of that approach that I

had almost asked you to leave. Here's your key. The room is

yours. But remember. This house holds nothing for the

feelings. Too many grey years have hung upon its walls and on

us, and gradually the chill has spread. Blame them, if you

must, for our lack of fellow-feeling. But you must expect no

familiarity. I've already told you that. You'll have at your

disposal everything we keep in store for our very few

visitors. But sympathy is not included. Take your key (she

holds it out to him), and don't forget: if we have offered you

a quiet welcome, we have done so out of self-interest. And if

we choose to maintain that relationship then that, too, will

be because in its own quiet way it will be serving our best

interests.

(He takes the key, and watches her as she goes out.)

MOTHER

Don't let her worry you, sir. I'm afraid there have always

been some things she could never bear to talk about.

(She starts to get up out of the chair, and he makes an effort

to help her.)

That's all right, my boy, I'm not a cripple yet. Look at these

hands. They're strong enough, aren't they? Strong enough at

any rate to lift a man's weight.

Page 21

(Pause. He looks at the keys)

A penny for your thoughts. Was it something I said?

JAN

No, not at all. You'll have to excuse me. I wasn't really

listening. But why did you say "my boy"?

MOTHER

Oh, don't give it a second thought. I was just a bit confused,

that's all. I can assure you that it wasn't familiarity, if

that's what's worrying you. It was just an expression.

JAN

I see. (Pause.) May I see my room?

MOTHER

Of course, sir. Go on up. The old man will show you where it

is. He's waiting in the corridor.

(He looks at her, as if he has something that he wants to

say.)

Is there anything you need?

JAN

(hesitating) No, not at all. But ...I would like to thank you

for taking me in. For the welcome you have given me.

Scene seven

(The mother is left alone in the room. She sits down again,

puts her hands on the table, and stares at them.)

MOTHER

Now what was I doing, talking to him about my hands? Still, he

might have understood Martha a little bit better if he'd

bothered to look at them. And if he'd understood, he might

well have left. But he didn't. And that means he's going to

die. It's his choice. But I wish he'd gone. If he stays, I get

no sleep. It's as simple as that. I'm too old, much too old. I

know what's in front of me. I'11 have to clasp my hands round

his ankles and keep the body balanced as we stumble down the

road. And when we reach the river, that last effort that tips

him in the water. A swing of the arms, and then it's all over.

A splash from the body and the sound of someone who has to

gasp for breath. A tired, old woman, whose muscles are

burning, and who hasn't got the strength to wipe away the

water that drips from her face. And him? He'll sink down

slowly, sleeping like a baby. Oh, I'm much too old! Why must

he be such a perfect victim? Why let him have the sleep that

you want for yourself? There's just no sense...

(Martha comes in suddenly.)

Page 22

MARTHA

Still sitting there dreaming? You know how much there is to

do.

MOTHER

I was thinking of that young man. Or, rather, I was thinking

of myself.

MARTHA

You'd do better to think of tomorrow. Be positive.

MOTHER

That's what your father used to say, Martha. How I remember

it! Yes, positive. But this must be the last time. I must be

sure of that. Positive! Strange. He used to say it when he

wanted to shake off his fear of the police. And you? You make

use of it at the very moment when I'm trying to find a reason

to avoid another crime.

MARTHA

But you wouldn't want to avoid it if you didn't want to sleep.

And that can be postponed. When tomorrow comes, you can let

yourself go.

MOTHER

You're right. Of course. But you must admit that he's not like

the others.

MARTHA

No. He's too self-conscious. He will put on that air of

innocence. He almost makes it seem attractive. What would

happen to the world if every condemned man insisted on

confiding all his heartaches to the hangman? It's not a very

sound principle. I can't stand the way he won't keep to the

rules. I've had enough of him. I want it over and done.

MOTHER

That's what's wrong. It's never been like that before. Anger

or compassion never affected our work. We made sure we didn't

care. It was always impersonal. But today I'm tired and you're

annoyed. That much is obvious. So why bother, if things aren't

right? Why walk rough-shod over everything for just a little

more money?

MARTHA

We’re not doing it for the money. Not in itself. We’re doing

it to put this country behind us once and for all. And if

you're tired of life then I'm sick to death of a land which

closes in on you more and more all the time. I can't live here

another month. I feel that in my bones. We've both had quite

enough of this boarding-house. You're old. All you want to do

is to close your eyes and forget. But I'm still young, and I

know what I want. There's enough life left in me to make me

determined to leave this place for ever. But we still have

work to do. A few steps more, and then we'll be free of it.

And that's where I need you. You brought me into the world,

and now you must help me. You gave your child a grey pall of

cloud, and now she wants the sun.

Page 23

MOTHER

I don't know, Martha. I think I'd rather be forgotten, as I

have been by your brother, than hear you talk of me like that.

MARTHA

I didn't mean to hurt you. Please accept my apologies. (Pause.

A note of anger and embarrassment enters her voice.) What

would I do, after all, if you weren't there? I could never

forget you. Not like him. It's just that the strain of living

here is sometimes too much for me. I owe you a lot. But I

can't always show it.

MOTHER

You're a good girl, Martha. It must be very difficult to

understand an old woman and her ways. But I'm going to take

the chance you've offered me. I've been trying to say this

ever since you came in. Let's not go through with it, not

tonight at any rate.

MARTHA

Not tonight? But we can't wait until tomorrow! We've never

done that before. You know as well as I do that he mustn't be

allowed the time to meet anyone. Mother, we must go through

with it, while he's still in our hands.

MOTHER

Yes. I know. But not tonight. Let's have a breathing space

Give him another day. You never know, he might be the means to

our salvation.

MARTHA

How can you talk like that? Our salvation lies in action, and

that's your only hope. The right to sleep comes after work.

Tonight's work.

MOTHER

That's all I meant by salvation. Sleep.

MARTHA

Mother, I swear to you that what we both long for lies within

our reach. We must make up our minds. It's tonight, or never.

End of Act One

Page 24

Act Two

(The bedroom. Jan is looking through the window. It is early evening,

and darkness slowly fills the room.)

Page 25

Scene one

JAN

Maria was right. This is the difficult time. (Pause.) I wonder

what she's doing now? Sitting in her room? Huddled in a chair?

Crying? No, not crying. Thinking, then? Feeling? Anything? Oh,

these evenings! Where's that promise of happiness that evening

ought to bring? There's no suggestion of it here. In fact...

(He looks round the room.) Come on, now what's all this about?

You're where you want to be. So why worry? This room holds all

the answers.

(There is a sharp tap at the door, and Martha comes in.)

MARTHA

I hope I'm not disturbing you. I've brought you clean towels,

and some fresh water.

JAN

I thought someone had already done it.

MARTHA

No. It's the old man's job, but on some occasions he has other

things to do.

JAN

It's of no importance, anyway. But perhaps I shouldn't say

that you're really not disturbing me.

MARTHA

Why not?

JAN

I'm not at all sure that it's included in the terms of our

agreement.

MARTHA

There you are again. Never a straight answer.

JAN

(smiling) I'll pick up the habit. But it will take a little

time.

MARTHA

(still busy) You won't have the time. You won't be here that

long.

(He turns away and looks out of the window. While he has his

back to her, her eyes never leave him. As she talks, she

carries on working.)

MARTHA

I do hope you won't mind if the standard of accommodation

isn't quite what you're used to.

JAN

By no means. It's very clean, and that's the most important

thing. Am I right in thinking that it's only recently been

converted?

MARTHA

How did you know?

Page 26

JAN

Oh, one or two little things.

MARTHA

Yes, I'm afraid it's not altogether satisfactory. For example,

the lack of running water. Some guests object to that, and I

really can't blame them. A light above the bed would be

another thing. We've been meaning to have that done for a very

long time. If you're reading at night, it's extremely annoying

to have to get out of bed to switch off the light.

JAN

(turning round) I hadn't noticed that, to be quite honest. But

it can't rate as a major inconvenience.

MARTHA

That's very kind of you. I find your attitude encouraging. Our

boarding-house suffers from a number of deficiencies, and I'm

pleased to see they don't worry you. They've been enough

before now to make others look elsewhere.

JAN

If I might risk putting our agreement on one side for a

moment, I must say that your approach seems very odd. I've

never thought of it as part of a landlady's job to give a

complete inventory of the short-comings of her own

establishment. An impartial observer might be tempted to say

that you were trying to get rid of me.

MARTHA

That's not what I had in mind. (Then, as if she has suddenly

taken a decision) But it would be true to say that both of us,

my mother and myself, did have second thoughts about taking

you in.

JAN

It had, in fact, come to my attention that you weren't doing a

great deal to keep me here. But I can't see why. There's no

question of my ability to pay. That needn't worry you. And I

wouldn't have thought that I give the impression of a man

with a shady past, or anything like that.

MARTHA

No, it's not that. There's nothing shady about you. But there

is another consideration. We have to move out of here at some

stage fairly soon, and for the past few months we've been

thinking every day that we would close down to make our final

preparations. There's never been much to stop us. Guests here

have always been few and far between. But it was only with

your arrival that we realised just how far we had come from

any real interest in persevering with our former line of

business.

JAN

So. You'd rather see me go?

MARTHA

As I just said, we had second thoughts. Since it all depends

on me, I might as well tell you that I'm still not sure

exactly how I feel.

Page 27

JAN

Well, I'll do whatever you like. I've no wish to be a burden

to you, but I must say that it would be extremely convenient

for me to be able to stay here for one or two days. I've some

things I'd like to see sorted out before I move on, and I had

hoped to find the peace and quiet I was after in your care.

MARTHA

I can quite understand that, believe me, and if you like I'll

think about it again.

(Pause. She takes a few steps towards the door, and then

stops.)

Are you going back there? To Africa?

JAN

I may do.

MARTHA

It's a very beautiful country. Isn't it?

JAN

(looking through the window) Yes. Very beautiful.

MARTHA

They say that in that part or the world the beaches are

deserted.

JAN

Yes. They are. There's no trace of man anywhere. Just the

criss-cross patterns stretching out along the sand early in

the morning where the sea-gulls have left their mark. The only

signs of life. And as for the evenings... (He breaks off.)

MARTHA

(quietly) Yes? The evenings?

JAN

They take your breath away. It's a very beautiful country.

MARTHA

(a new note in her voice) I've often dreamed about it.

Travellers have told me a bit, and I've read what I could. But

all I can do is dream. Springtime in this country is as mean

as the winter. When I think of the open sea and all those

flowers... (Pause, then with feeling) What fills my

imagination makes me blind to everything.

(He looks at her with increasing interest, and sits down

quietly in front of her.)

JAN

I can see how you feel. Where I come from springtime takes you

by the throat. Flowers spread open by the thousand in the

white glare of shining walls. If you walk for an hour in the

hills that surround the town you bring back with you, caught

in your clothes, the sweet scent of honey that drifts from

countless yellow roses.

(Martha sits down in turn.)

Page 28

MARTHA

I can hardly believe that. What we call the spring is one

small rose and two buds that struggle for the light in a

garden by the monastery. (Contemptuously.) And that's quite

enough for the people of this country. Their hearts are as

tightly closed as those two buds. They'd choke on a stronger

scent. They deserve what they get. The spring is mean, and so

are they.

JAN

Is that really fair? You've forgotten the autumn.

MARTHA

Have I ?

JAN

Yes. It's almost a second spring, with all the leaves like

flowers. (His eyes have never left her face.) Human beings

change, too, if you're willing to be patient. If you care for

them a bit.

MARTHA

But why should I care? This Europe of autumns like springs,

and springs that smell of misery, has exhausted all my

patience. My imagination craves another scene. A land where

the summer sun falls on you and crushes you, where the winter

rains stream across the towns, and where everything is just as

it should be.

(Silence. He is fascinated. She notices, and gets up sharply.)

MARTHA

Why are you looking at me like that?

JAN

I'm sorry. No offence. I'd forgotten our agreement. But you

can hardly blame me. It's been a pleasure to hear you talking

in a way I understand. It's a lot more human, if I may say so.

MARTHA

(in a violent outburst) Well, that's where you're wrong! The

human side of me is not my better part. You wouldn't be so

pleased if I had shown you that. The only thing I share with

the rest of he human race is my determination to get what I

want. To shatter and destroy absolutely anything that stands

in my way.

JAN

(smiling) That kind of violence is something I can understand.

It never has frightened me. And I can't see why it should.

After all, there's nothing to suggest that I shall prove to be

an obstacle as far as you're concerned. What could be my

motive for standing in your way?

MARTHA

You don't need a motive. It would be quite enough if you had

no good reason to help me. In certain circumstances, that can

be decisive.

Page 29

JAN

Who told you that? That I had no reason to help you.

MARTHA

Common sense, as usual. And my firm intention to keep all my

plans completely to myself. To keep them private.

JAN

I think we’ve come full circle. We seem to be back inside the

terms of our agreement.

MARTHA

Yes, we are, and it was a great mistake ever to leave them in

the first place. That much must be obvious. But I'm very much

obliged to you for all the information. It's been a pleasure

to speak to an authority, and I can only hope that you'll

forgive me if I've been guilty of wasting your time.

(She has reached the door.)

But perhaps it's only right for me to say that from my point

of view it hasn't been a waste of time. Not by any means. In

fact, our conversation could be said to have awoken certain

feelings in me that were up to now in some real danger of

remaining permanently dormant. So if you had, as you say, set

your heart on staying here, I can now reassure you that you

have obtained your objective, perhaps without knowing it. When

I came up to this room, I had almost made up my mind to ask

you to leave. But as you can see, your appeal to my 'humanity'

has been remarkably successful. I now find that I'm very keen

for you to stay. My taste for the sea, and a land where the

sun shines, has gained the upper hand.

(He looks at her for a moment in silence.)

JAN

I find your choice of words very strange. But I shall stay, if

I may, and if your mother has no objection.

MARTHA

My mother's feelings are not as strong as mine, as you might

expect. She won't have the same reasons for wanting you to

stay. The sea? Deserted beaches? They mean nothing to her. She

won't feel the need for your presence in the way that I do.

But at the same time, she won't oppose me. There's no reason

why she should. So the question is settled.

JAN

So, if I've got it right, the one wants me to stay out of

self-interest, and the other doesn't mind because she doesn't

care?

MARTHA

Who could ask for more, in a hotel? (She opens the door.)

JAN

Well, I suppose I should be pleased. Delighted, in fact. But

you must forgive me if I say that I find it all very strange.

Strange people, strange terms, and a very strange way of

talking. Not the kind of things to make you feel at home.

Page 30

MARTHA

Perhaps not. I But what can you expect, when you insist on

behaving in such a strange way yourself?

Scene two

JAN

(gazing at the closed door) Perhaps after all... (He moves

across the room, and sits down on the bed.) But all she's done

is make me want to leave. What am I doing here? It's all so

stupid. I'd be happy with Maria. But on the other hand... she

is my sister and she is my concern. And so is my mother.

They've been out of my mind for much too long. (He gets up.)

Yes. It's this room that holds all the answers.

But why is it so cold? So very cold. Nothing looks the same.

It's all been changed. Nothing to distinguish it from any

other hotel room in any other town where a traveller might

pass the night a long way from home. That all sounds familiar.

So what was I doing here, in those small rooms? Looking for an

answer! And I perhaps I'll find it here. So there is some

hope. (He looks out of the window.) The sky's getting dark.

And as you might have known, the pain is on its way. Taking

hold slowly, throbbing like a wound that every movement

agitates and that never seems to heal, come what may. But you

can't hide from fear. There’s no escape from the fear of being

alone. It lives on inside us from the moment we are born. And

what would happen if we ever discovered that there was no

answer? It would turn into terror. But who could give an

answer, in a room like this, in some small hotel?

(He walks over to the bell-button, stops, and then presses it.

It makes no sound. Silence. Then footsteps, and a knock. The

door opens, and the Old Man can be seen standing in the door-

way, motionless and silent.)

Nothing. I'm sorry. I just wanted to know if the bell was

working. If anyone would answer.

(The Old Man looks at him, and then shuts the door. The

footsteps die away.)

Scene three

JAN

So, the bell works. But he says nothing. Not much of an

answer.

(Two taps at the door. The sister comes in with a tray.)

Page 31

Scene four

JAN

What's that?

MARTHA

The tea that you asked for.

JAN

I didn't ask for anything.

MARTHA

Oh. There must have been some misunderstanding. The old man.

He sometimes gets things wrong. (She puts the tray on the

table. Jan makes a movement with his hand.) Shall I take it

away?

JAN

No, no. On the contrary, I was thanking you for it.

(She looks at him, and goes out.)

Scene five

JAN

A glass of beer. Cash down, to order; and a cup of tea, by

mistake. (He picks up the cup and holds it poised for the

moment, in silence. Then, heavily) Oh, my Saviour! My Lord

God! Help me find the words I need! Or make me give up this

hopeless task and go back to Maria and the warmth of her love.

Give me the strength, Lord, to make up my mind, to know what I

want, and to keep to it. (He laughs.) Well, here’s to the

prodigal son! Long life and happiness!

(He drinks. A loud knock at the door.)

Hello?

(The door opens, and the mother comes in.)

Scene six

MOTHER

I beg your pardon, sir, but my daughter told me that she’d

brought you some tea.

JAN

As you can see.

MOTHER

Have you drunk it?

JAN

Yes, I’m afraid I have.

Page 32

MOTHER

Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll remove the tray.

JAN

(smiling) I’m sorry if it’s put you out.

MOTHER

It doesn’t matter. But actually, it wasn’t meant for you.

JAN

Oh, I see. I didn’t ask for it. But your daughter brought it

in and...

MOTHER

(rather wearily) Yes. I know. It might have been better...

JAN

(surprised) I’m extremely sorry, believe me, but your daughter

seemed quite keen to leave it, and I never thought...

MOTHER

I’m sorry, too. But please don’t apologise. It’s just one of

those mistakes.

(She puts the things on the tray and turns to go.)

JAN

Excuse me!

MOTHER

Yes.

JAN

I've just come to a decision. I shall in fact be leaving this

evening after dinner. I'll pay you for the room of course.

(She looks at him in silence.)

JAN

I can see you're surprised. But please don't think that it's

anything you've done that's prompted my decision. That would

be quite wrong. My feelings towards you are as warm as they

could be. Every bit as warm. But to be quite frank, I don't

feel at ease here, and I'd rather not prolong my stay.

MOTHER

(slowly) There's nothing wrong with that, sir. You must do as

you like. The freedom's all yours. But you might possibly have

a change of heart between now and dinner. First impressions

are always very persuasive, I know, but they're not always

right. Things may seem very strange, but after a while you

often settle down and get used to them.

JAN

I don’t think so. Not in this case. It's not that I'm

dissatisfied. Rather the opposite. I've been extremely

grateful for the welcome that you've given me. (He hesitates.)

In fact, I've even come to feel that I can expect a certain

degree of consideration at your hands.

Page 33

MOTHER

I'm pleased to hear it, sir. But it's hardly surprising.

There's nothing personal involved. I had no reason to make you

feel uncomfortable.

JAN

(with contained emotion) Perhaps you're right. But I’d like to

feel that we're parting on good terms. Mainly because I may

come back again. It's at least a possibility, and I think I

could even say I'm sure of it. But just for the moment I can't

escape the feeling that I've made a mistake. That there is

nothing for me here. Nothing for me to do. To sum it up, I

don't feel at home here. And it's not a sensation I like.

(She continues to stare at him.)

MOTHER

No, but it's not uncommon, and it usually comes on people the

moment they arrive.

JAN

Yes, I know it does. But as you can see, I'm not quite myself.

And you must understand that it's never very easy to come back

to a country that you left a long time ago. I'm sure you'd

acknowledge that.

MOTHER

Of course. I had hoped that things would sort themselves out

for you. But as far as I can see, there's nothing more that we

can do.

JAN

No, no. Certainly not. I've no complaints on that score. It's

simply that you're the first people I've met since I've been

back, and difficulties such as these are bound to arise. But

it's my problem, not yours. I haven't settled down yet, that's

all.

MOTHER

When things go badly, there's not much you can do. In a

certain sense, I find your decision slightly upsetting. But

there again, there's no particular reason why I should make

very much of it.

JAN

You've already made a great effort to understand me, and I

have no wish to make any more demands on you. But what you

have just said has touched a chord in me, and I should find it

very difficult to describe the pleasure it gave me to hear you

talk like that. (He tries to express his feelings.) Perhaps if

I ...

MOTHER

But it's part of our job to be pleasant to our guests.

JAN

(discouraged) Of course it is. (Pause.) Well, then, I must

make my apologies, and if you'll permit me, a small

compensation for your...

(He passes his hand across his forehead, and begins to look

Page 34

very tired.) You must have taken some trouble, incurred some

expenses, and it's only reasonable...

MOTHER

Oh, no compensation. We wouldn't ask for that. We've lost

nothing by all of this uncertainty. But I'm afraid that it may

well have cost you something.

JAN

(leaning on the table) Oh, don't trouble yourself on my

account. Just so long as there's no confusion. That's all that

matters. I should like to feel that you'll remember me with

some affection. I shan't forget the two of you, I assure you,

and I only hope that when I return I'll be in a better state

of mind.

(She walks over to the door without another word.)

JAN

One last thing!

(She turns round. His speech is halting, but the words come

with greatest fluency towards the end.)

I would very I much like to ...(He stops.) Forgive me. I must

apologise. The journey's left me very tired. (He sits on the

bed.) At the very least, I must clearly offer you my thanks...

But I should also like you to know that my feelings as I leave

will be substantially different from those of any other guest

you may have entertained. They will not be so impersonal.

MOTHER

It's very kind of you to say so.

(She goes out)

Scene seven

(He watches her leave. He makes some attempt at movement, but

exhaustion is visibly taking its toll. Giving in to weariness,

he sits on the bed, with his elbow on the pillow.)

JAN

I'll come back tomorrow. Maria will be with me, and this time

I'll say "It's me". I'll make them both happy. Maria was

right. It's all very simple. (He yawns, and pulls his legs up

onto the bed.) What's the matter with me this evening? I seem

miles away from anywhere. (He is more or less lying down by

now. He mouths a few words which are inaudible. Then) Yes or

no ?

(He turns over and is asleep. The room is almost completely

dark. There is a long silence. The door opens and the two

women come in with a lamp. The Old Man follows them.)

Page 35

Scene eight

MARTHA

(in a whisper, looking at the body in the light of the lamp)

He's asleep.

MOTHER

(in a similar voice, but louder all the time) No, Martha, no!

I don't like this! You're forcing my hand. You started it, and

now I'm supposed to finish. You're dragging me into this to

get round my doubts, and I don't like it!

MARTHA

I was trying to make the whole thing easier for you. With the

mood you were in, I had to get things started. You gave me no

choice.

MOTHER

All right. I suppose we had to finish it. But that doesn't

make it any better. I still don't like it.

MARTHA

Come on! Think of tomorrow, and let's get it done.

(She searches through his jacket pockets, and pulls out a

wallet. She counts the notes. She empties all his other

pockets. During this operation the passport falls on to the

floor behind the bed. The Old Man picks it up without either

of the women noticing, and moves back out of the way.)

MARTHA

There. Everything's ready. In a few moments the river will

have reached its height. We'll come back for him when we hear

the water running over the weir. Come on.

MOTHER

(calmly) No. I’m fine where I am. (She sits down.)

MARTHA

But... (She looks at her mother. Then, defiantly) You needn't

imagine that this is going to frighten me. Let's wait here.

MOTHER

Yes. I don't I mind waiting. It's good to have a rest. We've

got a long night ahead of us, carrying that body all along the

road, down to the river. It would be bad enough even if I

wasn't tired. As it is, I can't remember when I didn't feel

this way. My old blood has nothing left to give. That's the

real trouble. (She is swaying to and fro on the chair, as if

half asleep.) While all the time his mind's at rest. Fast

asleep, and finished with the world. No more worries. He'll

slip without knowing from a sleep filled with shadows to a

sleep free from dreams. No struggle for him. Not like the rest

of us. He's spared that torment. He'll just sleep on, with no

interruption. Sleep and death. He won't know the difference.

Page 36

MARTHA

(defiantly) Well, that's one relief! I'm glad he's spared any

suffering. I’ve no reason to hate him and... (She listens, and

then smiles.) Mother, I think I can hear the water rising. Not

long now. It'll soon be over.

MOTHER

(in the same attitude) Yes, it'll soon be over, now the

water's rising. He won't know the difference. He's fast

asleep. His mind's at rest, free from decisions, free from all

cares, from all that useless effort to get something finished

before it's too late. And now it is too late...? No more

strain. An end to all the pushing. No repetition of that

senseless demand to give a little bit more. He's shaken off

the cross of life. Those stern commandments that rule us all

our lives: put aside all thought of rest, forget all your

weaknesses, and never waste your time. Asleep, with nothing on

his mind. No more obligations and nothing more to do. Oh, how

I envy him! I'm old and I'm tired and I should like nothing

better than to fall asleep like him, and then be allowed to

die. (Silence.) You're very silent, Martha.

MARTHA

Yes. I’m listening. For the sound of the water.

MOTHER

It’ll come, soon enough. In one short minute. And while that

minute lasts, happiness is in our grasp.

MARTHA

Happiness comes after, not before.

MOTHER

Did you know, Martha, he was going to leave tonight?

MARTHA

No, I didn't. But it wouldn't have made any difference. I'd

still have gone ahead. I'd made up my mind.

MOTHER

He told me just now. I didn't know what to say.

MARTHA

You saw him, then?

MOTHER

I came up here to stop him drinking the tea. But I was too

late.

MARTHA

Yes, much too late. I might as well tell you. He made the

decision for me. I still wasn't sure. But he started to talk

of the land I've been waiting for, and he gave me the weapons

I was wanting. He touched my heart, and that was enough.

Innocence has its reward.

MOTHER

And yet, Martha, by the end I think he knew. He said to me

himself that he didn't feel at home here.

Page 37

MARTHA

(with growing impatience, in a strong voice) Well he was

right, wasn't he ? This isn't his home. It isn't anyone's

home. No-one could ever find warmth or satisfaction here. And

if he'd understood that a little bit sooner, he'd have spared

us the trouble of teaching him a lesson. He'd have known for

himself that a room like this is made for sleeping in, and a

world like this for dying. But that'll do for now. We've got a

...(The sound of the river can now be heard in the distance.)

Listen! The water's running over the weir! It's time to move,

mother. And for the love of that God that you call on now and

then, let get it over with.

(The mother moves towards the bed.)

MOTHER

You're right. We'd better move. There's a long night ahead.

And the way I feel, it seems to me that the dawn may never

come.

End of Act Two

Page 38

Act Three

(The mother, Martha, and the Old Man are all on stage. The Old Man is

cleaning and tidying. The sister stands behind the desk, putting up her

hair.)

Page 39

Scene one

(The mother walks across the stage towards the door.)

MARTHA

You see? The dawn has arrived.

MOTHER

Yes. Tomorrow I'll appreciate what a fine thing it is to have

the whole thing behind us. But for the moment, I just feel

tired.

MARTHA

What have I been doing for all these years? This morning I can

breathe! I could almost imagine that I can hear the sea

already. It makes me want to shout for joy.

MOTHER

I'm glad for you, Martha. Glad for your sake. But I'm too old

to share it with you. Much too old. I'll feel better tomorrow.

MARTHA

I hope you will. But don't be such a misery. I want to indulge

myself. Why shouldn't I be happy? I feel like the girl I was.

My body's on fire. I must do something. Run somewhere...

Mother... (She breaks off.)

MOTHER

What is it, Martha? I hardly know you now.

MARTHA

Tell me something. (She hesitates, and then, with pride) Am I

still as attractive as I was? Am I beautiful?

MOTHER

Yes, you are. This morning you are. Crime has its own beauty.

MARTHA

What's crime to me now? That's all past. This is the morning

of another life. Happiness is waiting. I'm going back where I

belong.

MOTHER

Good. I'm going to have a rest. But it's good to see that life

has begun again. If only for you.

(The Old Man appears at the top of the stairs and comes down

towards Martha. He hands her the passport, and then goes out.

He doesn't say a word. Martha opens the passport and reads,

with no visible reaction.)

MOTHER

What is it?

MARTHA

(calmly) His passport. Read it.

MOTHER

My eyes are tired, you know that...

MARTHA

Read it! You'll recognise the name.

Page 40

(The mother takes the passport, and sits down at the table.

She spreads it open and reads. She stares at the pages in

front of her for a very long time.)

MOTHER

(in a voice empty of emotion) There you are. I knew this would

happen. I knew we should have stopped.

MARTHA

(coming round to stand in front of the desk) Mother!

MOTHER

(in the same voice) It's no good, Martha. I've lived too long,

longer than my son. I didn't know who he was and so I killed

him. The only thing left to do is join him, at the bottom of

river, where the weeds are winding round his face.

MARTHA

Mother! You can't leave me on my own!

MOTHER

You've been a great help to me, Martha. I'll be sorry to leave

you. If it still means anything to say this, I should like to

put it on record that in your own way you've been a good

daughter. I couldn't have asked for more. But I'm worn out.

I'm much too old to take more sorrow. I was his mother. And

when a mother fails to know her son, her function in this life

has come to an end.

MARTHA

No, it has not! She still has a part to play in her daughter's

happiness. What are you saying? I can't understand this! You

of all people, who taught me not to care for anything.

MOTHER

(in the same voice, devoid of all personality) Yes, I did. But

I've just learnt that I was wrong, and that in this world

where nothing can be guaranteed some things are certain. (With

bitterness.) And the love of a mother for her son is one of

those certainties.

MARTHA

And is there no other? What of a mother's love for her

daughter?

MOTHER

I don't want to hurt you at this moment, Martha, but the truth

is that it's not the same thing. It's much less strong. How

could I have strayed so far from the love of my own son?

MARTHA

(in an outburst) You call that love? He never gave you a

moment's thought in all of twenty years!

MOTHER

Yes. That's love. Anything that could last through twenty

years of silence deserves the name of love. But none of this

matters. Love or not love, it's good enough for me, since I

can't face living without him.

Page 41

(She gets up.)

MARTHA

This isn't possible. I don't believe it. Is there no fight

left in you? You can't say all of that without a thought for

your daughter!

MOTHER

I've no thought for anything, and no desire to fight. This is

punishment, Martha. Our punishment. This is the moment that

comes to all murderers, when they stand like me, empty inside,

sterile, with no possible future. That's why we put them down.

They're no good for anything.

MARTHA

I've never heard you speak like this. It's contemptible. I

can't bear to hear you talk of punishment and crime.

MOTHER

I'm speaking as I feel. It's as simple as that. I've lost my

freedom, and hell has begun.

MARTHA

(coming up to her, passionately) You've never spoken like this

before. For all these years you've kept close to me and held

in your hands the weight of the bodies that were destined to

die. You never hung back. You never thought then of freedom

and hell. You kept on going. How can your son change all of

that?

MOTHER

I kept on going. Tbat's true. But it was only out of habit.

Like a living death. One touch of sorrow was enough to convert

me. That's the change my son has brought.

(Martha tries to interrupt her.)

I know, Martha, I know. None of it is reasonable. What has a

criminal to do with sorrow? But you see, it's not really a

mother's sorrow. Where are the tears? No, it's just the pain

of giving birth again to love and watching as it leaves you.

Another kind of suffering that can't be called reasonable. (In

a changed voice.) But the world itself isn't reasonable. And I

can say it, if anyone can. Because I've tasted all of it, from

creation to destruction.

(She turns decisively towards the door, but Martha steps in

front of her and bars her exit.)

MARTHA

No. Mother, you can't leave me. You won't leave me. Don't

forget, I'm the one who stayed. He deserted you. You've had me

near you all your life, while he left you in silence. That's a

debt that must be paid. It must count in the reckoning. The

movement you make must be towards me.

MOTHER

(quietly) I can't deny any of it, Martha. But he's dead, and I

killed him.

Page 42

(Martha turns slightly, and stands downcast, with her head

inclined towards the door.)

MARTHA

(after a long silence, with increasing passion) All that life

can give he had given to him. He left this country. He knew

the feel of open space, he knew the sea. The people that he

lived with passed their lives in freedom. And I stayed here. A

tiny child, caught in the heart of a continent that smothered

her as she grew. No-one ever kissed my lips. And no-one has

ever seen me naked. That creates a debt. You can't walk out on

me, mother. Not now it's due. No man's death can give you an

excuse for that. Death has no significance for a man who has

lived. You must see that. My brother can be forgotten. Nothing

important has happened to him. He ran through experience and

came to the end. He had nothing more to live for. But I have.

I've been denied everything. And now I have the chance to

seize the things that gave him joy. You can't take that away.

You won't, will you? You won't let him win at the last, and

strip me of my mother's love? He would draw you down for ever

to the depths of his frozen stream. But you won't let him.

(They look at each other in silence. The sister lowers her

eyes.)

(in what is almost a whisper) I ask for so little, mother.

There have always been some things I couldn't bring myself to

say. But let me offer this. I believe that kindness could

playa part in the life that we've shared, if only you would

stay.

(The mother comes up to her.)

MOTHER

You knew who he was!

MARTHA

(raising her head abruptly) No! I had no idea. My memory had

nothing to play with. It was bound to be like that. You said

so yourself: the world isn't reasonable. But you were right to

ask. Because if I had known who he was, it would have made no

difference. I feel sure of that now.

MOTHER

I'd like to think that isn't true. There must be limits, even

for murderers.

MARTHA

And I know mine. But I wouldn't feel obliged to kneel to a

brother that I never knew.

MOTHER

So who would you kneel to?

MARTHA

(kneeling) To you. And only you.

(Silence.)

Page 43

MOTHER

(slowly) It's too late, Martha. I can do nothing £or you. (She

turns round to £ace her daughter.) You're not crying, are you?

No. Of course not. You wouldn't know how. Do you remember the

time when I used to hold you?

MARTHA

No, mother.

MOTHER

It's not surprising. It's a very long time ago, and I soon

forgot to open my arms to you. But I've never stopped loving

you. (She moves Martha gently aside, and little by little she

yields to pressure.) I can say that now. My heart has found

its voice at last. Well after time. And at the very moment

when I can't face the thought of it, life has begun again.

(The doorway is now clear.)

MARTHA

(putting her face in her hands) Could anything be stronger

than a daughter's despair ?

MOTHER

Exhaustion could be. And the need for rest.

(She goes out. Martha makes no attempt to stop her.)

Scene two

(Martha runs to the door and slams it viciously, pressing

herself against it. She screams like an animal.)

MARTHA

Why me ? How could I have known? Why should I have cared? He's

stolen my future, and stripped me of a mother's love, left me

alone in a land I could never call my own. But how could I

have known? Why must innocence always be answered with the

blast of injustice? He had everything, and I have nothing. A

life spent in waiting for the wave that would sweep me away.

And now it will never come. I'll never get away. I'm stuck

here forever. The wind blows off the sea. But it's blocked by

the mountains. The constant call of thudding waves is lost in

the confusion as each state and every race adds its

contribution to the swirling mass of murmurings that surrounds

me on every side. (In a calmer voice.) Others are luckier. The

evening breeze reaches them and carries with it in its journey

far from the shore a light scent of happiness in the smell of

the sea. It speaks to them of streaming sands, of screaming

seagulls wheeling above them, and of beaches stained with sun

as the shadows grow longer in the slow hours of evening. But

the wind is drained of sense before it reaches me. The debt

owed to me will never be paid. I shall never feel the pulse of

a sea without sorrow. I'm too far from what I love, and

there's no remedy for that. What could I do? Put my ear to the

ground? Would the waves speak to me across such a distance.

Page 44

Oh, how I hate him! I hate him for having what he wanted. The

only home I'll ever know is this sullen land of walls. My

hunger must be satisfied by the sickly fruit that ripens under

this small patch of sky, and there's nothing for my thirst.

The blood I have spilt will have to serve for that. And all

for a mother who had to love her son!

Well, let her die if she can't love me! The doors can close

around me. I'm left with my anger, my one, proud possession! I

shan't pray. The prospect of death won't turn my eyes to

heaven. A land of freedom and escape knows no gods! There's no

place for them where the sea stands guard as you surge through

the waves or sink beneath the pressure of a body thrust on

yours. But here... the eyes meet walls, and the shape of the

country conforms to a design that forces you to search the sky

in a servile gasp for grace! How I hate a world which wears us

down until we scream for salvation! But I shan't kneel. The

blast of injustice won't shatter me. I'll stand alone,

surrounded by my crimes. I've been denied everything, and

stripped of my mother's love. I have no home. But I shan't

capitulate. I'll leave this world the alien that I have always

been!

(There is a knock at the door.)

Scene three

MARTHA

Who is it ?

MARIA

A traveller.

MARTHA

We're closed for business.

MARIA

I've come to find my husband. (She comes in.)

MARTHA

(looking at her) And who is your husband?

MARIA

He came here yesterday, and was due to rejoin me this morning.

But he hasn't. I don't know what's happened.

MARTHA

He said his wife wasn't with him.

MARIA

He had his reasons. But it's high time we were together again.

MARTHA

(who is still looking at her) That might be difficult. Your

husband isn't here.

MARIA

Are you sure? I thought he'd taken a room with you?

Page 45

MARTHA

He did. But he left. Last night.

MARIA

I can't believe it. He had a great many reasons for wanting to

stay here. I don't like the sound of this. Tell me everything

you know.

MARTHA

I know very little. Just that he's no longer here.

MARIA

But he couldn't have left without me. I don't understand. Did

he leave for good, or was he coming back?

MARTHA

He left for good.

MARIA

Look, ever since yesterday I've been waiting patiently, alone

and in a foreign country. But now my patience is running out.

I was worried enough to come here, and I don't intend to leave

until I've seen my husband, or found out where he is. I must

have him back.

MARTHA

I'm afraid it's none of my business.

MARIA

Well that's where you're wrong. It's very much your business.

I don't know if my husband would approve of this, but I'm sick

of all this mystery. The man who came to stay with you

yesterday morning was your own brother. You'd been out of

touch for a long time, I know, but he was your brother.

MARTHA

I knew that already.

MARIA

(losing her self-control) Then what on earth has happened? If

he's your brother and this is your house, why isn't he here?

You knew who he was. Weren't you both pleased to see him?

Delighted he'd come back?

MARTHA

Your husband isn't here because he's no longer with us.

Because he's dead.

(Maria spins round and stands for a moment speechless. Her

eyes never leave Martha's face. Eventually she makes a

movement in her direction, and smiles.)

MARIA

I presume you're joking. Jan said you liked to do that, even

as a little girl. That you liked upsetting people. Now, we're

the next best thing to sisters...

MARTHA

Don't touch me. Stay where you are. We have nothing in common.

(Pause.) Your husband died last night. I'm not joking, I

assure you. There's nothing more to keep you here. Not now.

Page 46

MARIA

You must be mad. Stark, staring mad. All right. Show me the

body. Then I'll believe you. But I can't, I won't! You just

can't mean it.

MARTHA

That's not possible. To show you the body. Where he is no-one

can see him.

(Maria makes another move towards her.)

I told you not to touch me and to stay where you were ...He's

at the bottom of the river. We gave him a drug to make him

sleep. Then we carried him down to the river. His mother and

myself. He's dead and we killed him. But at least he didn't

suffer.

MARIA

(taking a step back) No, no... it must be me that's mad. No-

one talks like this. No-one has ever talked like this. And no-

one can ever, ever, have heard anything like... I knew this

place had nothing good in store for me, but I am by no means

ready to play a part in this madhouse. I just don't

understand. There must be something I don't understand.

MARTHA

All I can do is to tell you the facts. The rest is up to you.

The evidence is there, and you'll come to it in time.

MARIA

(She is on the verge of breakdown.) But what could have made

you do it ? Why, why ?

MARTHA

What gives you the right to question me ?

MARIA

What gives me the right...? Love gives me the right, if

nothing else.

MARTHA

What does that mean?

MARIA

It means this. It means that something is eating into me, some

kind of madness that could turn my hands to murder. Only one

small thing - my obstinate refusal to believe a word of this -

lies between you and the moment when my nails tear at your

face. You must be mad. If you weren't, you'd know yourself

what love meant.

MARTHA

I can't understand you. Joy, love, sorrow. It's like another

language. It means nothing to me.

MARIA

(with a great effort) Look, let's stop this. Playing with

words won't do us any good. If we are playing. Tell me what I

want to know. As clearly as you can, and before I go out of my

mind.

Page 47

MARTHA

I've been as clear as I can. Already. We killed your husband

last night. We were after his money. We've done it several

times before.

MARIA

So. You were criminals. His mother and his sister. Both of

you. Criminals.

MARTHA

That's right.

MARIA

(Still with the same effort.) And did you know at the time

that you were killing your own brother?

MARTHA

If you must know, there was in fact a slight misunderstanding.

Nothing out of the ordinary. It's the kind of thing that

happens. Even you should know that.

MARIA

(turning to the table, her face sunk in her hands, and in a

deadened voice) Oh, my God, I knew it would end like this.

In blood. It was all a mad farce and this is our reward, our

punishment for ever getting mixed up in it. I should have

known. The sky itself was threatening. (She stands by the

table, and speaks without looking at Martha.) All he wanted

was to come home again, to make himself known to you, and to

bring you both happiness. He was looking for the right words.

But before he found them you had to kill him. (She starts to

cry.) You two. You must be inhuman. Couldn't you tell?

Couldn't you see the kind of man he was? A son who came back.

An extraordinary man, a man of warmth and of spirit. He could

have been your pride and joy, as he was mine. But you had to

kill him. You had to be his enemy. And you still are. You

stand there as cold as ice, talking calmly of something that

should make you want to run out into the street, screaming

like an animal in pain!

MARTHA

Don't judge anything until you know it all. While we have been

speaking my mother will have found her son. The water will be

rolling them together. They'll be taken from the river and

buried side by side. But I can't see why I should scream like

an animal, even knowing that. I have a different idea of the

human heart, and to tell you the truth, your tears disgust me.

MARIA

(turning to face her, in an outburst of hatred) They are the

tears of a joy you've destroyed. And you should be pleased to

see them. Because when they stop, I shall be quite capable of

killing you without a moment's thought.

MARTHA

Perhaps you will. It's of no concern to me. I've made my

decision. I've seen enough and heard enough to make me want to

take my own life. But I'll keep well away from them. Their

dark and dismal longing has no place for me. Don't you see?

Page 48

Their re-discovered love has made them unfaithful. To both of

us, forever. Luckily, I have my room. The last taste of

happiness. To die there on my own.

MARIA

Why tell me? Why should I care? Die if you want to, and take

the world with you! The man I loved has left me alone, and I

can't face the memory of all that I have lost.

(Martha comes up behind her, and speaks over her shoulder.)

MARTHA

Let's keep things in proportion. You've lost your husband, and

I've lost my mother. So we stand even. But he only left you

once. Think of all those years when you had him to yourself,

And you were never rejected. I was. By my own mother. And now

she's dead. So that makes twice.

MARIA

All he wanted to do was to share his happiness with you.

That's what he was thinking of, up there in that room, while

you were down here getting ready to kill him.

MARTHA

(with a sudden note of desperation) I am even with your

husband, too! I have known his despair. I thought, like him,

that I had a home. I believed that crime was its foundation,

that crime had bound us both together, my mother and myself,

in a bond that would never be broken. She was my companion.

She had killed at the same time as me. And I was wrong.

Crime's just another form of loneliness, even if you're one in

a thousand. I've lived alone and killed alone, and now I must

die alone.

(Maria turns to face her. She is still crying.)

MARTHA

(taking a step backwards, in her hard voice) I told you not to

touch me! All the violence in my blood floods to my brain at

the thought of a human hand forcing its warmth on me before I

die. It makes me shudder to think that I shall never escape

from the grasp of human kindness.

(They are face to face, and very close to each other.)

MARIA

Never fear. You can die as you wish. I don't care. I can't

even see you any more. Neither you nor your mother will ever

be more to me than shadows. I can't feel hatred for you. I no

longer have the will to love or to despise anyone. (She buries

her face in her hands.) To be quite honest, I've hardly had

the time to feel any pain, or to make a fight against it. The

horror of it all has crushed me flat.

Page 49

MARTHA

But you still have the strength to cry. Even after this. So

there is something left to do. My task isn't over. Before I

die I must cure you of hope.

MARIA

(staring at her in terror) Leave me alone! Go away, and leave

me alone!

MARTHA

Don't worry. I'll be going soon. Your love and your tears are

more than I can take, and it'll be a great relief to be rid of

them forever. But I refuse to die while you still believe that

you are right and I am wrong, that love is never futile, and

that all of this is some kind of accident, a ghastly mistake.

It isn't. It's simply the final revelation of how things

really are, and you must come to terms with it.

MARIA

With what?

MARTHA

With reality. With an arrangement that guarantees that no one

person ever knows another

MARIA

(almost frantic) What does it matter? What does any of it

matter? I don't care! I can't take any more. My heart is

broken in two. What do you want? What can you hope to find?

There is nothing left which interests me. Nothing, do you

hear? You've killed the man I loved.

MARTHA

(violently) That's enough of him! I won't hear another word. I

despise him. How can he matter to you now? He's left you

forever and the doors have closed behind him. He has his home,

and much good may it do him. The fool! He's found what he was

looking for. Reality has us all firmly in its grip. It's time

you understood that this waits for all of us. None of us, in

life or in death, finds any peace. There is no land where we

can feel at home. (With a scornful laugh) Take a look around

you! Could this be it? This dark, sullen clay that swallows us

up as food for sightless worms?

MARIA

(in tears) Oh, my God! How can you talk like that? I can't

stand it. Nor would he. The land he was looking for, his own

land... it was never like that.

MARTHA

(who has reached the door, turning round sharply) Well he was

a fool, and he has his reward. And you'll soon have yours.

(With the same laugh) We've all been fooled. We hear the

summons, we obey the call. It might be love, it might be the

sea. And all for what? What good does it do us? The whole

thing's ridiculous. Laughable. Your husband knows that now. He

has his answer. There's only one home for all of us. And

that's unspeakable. But we all end up there, lined up

together. (With hatred in her voice) The same answer waits for

Page 50

you. And when you understand that, if you have any strength

left you'll look back with longing on a day when you suffered

that inconsequential deprivation that we call loneliness.

Can't you see? Injustice is decreed. For all of us. And by its

side your sorrow is trivial. Insignificant. Listen to me. I'll

give you some advice. Take it, in place of your husband. I owe

you something. I killed him. You have a god. Pray to him. Ask

him to turn you into stone. It's the only true happiness. And

he knows it. That's why he keeps it for himself. So do what he

does. Turn yourself into stone. Be deaf to all cries. There

isn't much time. Do it while you can. But if it proves too

much for you - an unbroken silence, the only peace on earth -

come and join us. You'll know where we are. We share the same

house. Goodbye, sister. I'll leave you with your god. It's all

very simple. You have a choice to make. The senseless bliss of

a pebble on the beach, or the clammy embrace of the bed that

welcomes everyone. We'll be there. And we'll be waiting for

you.

(She goes out and Maria, who has listened with horror, stands

there swaying, with her hands held up in front of her.)

MARIA

(with a cry of desperation) Oh, my God! I can't live in this

desert. My Saviour, my Lord! Hear my prayer! You must hear me!

(She falls on her knees.) I turn to you and put my trust in

you, Lord! Have pity on me and stretch out your hand! Hear my

prayer, and turn your face to me! Have mercy on us! On those

who love each other, and are driven apart!

(The door opens, and the Old Man appears.)

Scene four

OLD MAN

(in a firm, clear voice) Were you calling for me?

MARIA

(turning to him) Oh, no. Perhaps. I don't know. But help me,

please. Someone must help. Have pity on me! I need your help.

Please help me!

OLD MAN

(in the same, clear voice) No.

Curtain