Читайте также:
|
cast: Shirley robinson, the hotel receptionist.
Miss molly Jones, a teacher on a walking tour.
Miss dora Smith, her friend, lame with blistered feet.
Mrs. Blake, an elderly permanent hotel resident.
Miss brown, manageress of the hotel.
SCENE: The entrance hall of a small country hotel one wet evening in late October. The receptionist has just called in the manager to explain that there is no booking for Miss Smith. Mrs. Blake is seated by the coffee table to the right of the fireplace.
Jones: Nonsense. I booked 'em. For Jones and friend.
Brown: But not for Miss Smith. We didn't reserve that room for Miss Smith.
Smith: It doesn't matter. I'll be satisfied with any other room.
Brown: Ah, there's the pity. We have no other room. I'm sure you'll find another hotel. One able to accommodate you.
Jones: Oh, talk sense.
Brown: I hoped I had made the situation quite clear.
Jones: That you refuse to...
Brown: That the hotel is quite full.
Jones: You should keep your staff in the picture. She told us that you were empty.
Shirley: But they didn't say.
Brown: Shirley, you may go.
Shirley: Yes, Miss Brown.
Jones: Disposing of the evidence? You stay here... I said stay.
Brown: I accept all responsibility. I am in full control here.
Jones: You refused. That's the situation, isn't it? My friend Miss Smith... You refused to... Brown: I haven't said so.
Jones: Then say it now.
Blake: Yes.
Smith: I don't believe it.
(She goes to a chair by the coffee table).
Smith: I don't...
(She sits. As she does so, Mrs. Blake gets up).
Blake: Excuse me.
(She crosses to the settle, and sits. There is a slight shocked, pause).
Blake: One has principles. Not that I hold anything against the young woman personally. She may be a sweet girl, devoted to her parents, and fond of animals. But a line must be drawn somewhere.
Jones: Will someone translate?
Blake: The gesture was melodramatic, I admit. But now you understand the position of the manager. She has others to consider.
Smith: Suddenly I'm untouchable?
Blake: It's a question of standards. Other hotels are not so particular. Forgive my speaking so bluntly: I've no wish to hurt anyone.
Jones: I'm allowed, but she's not. Where's the logic? Where's the difference between us? Miss Brown, the manager...
Brown: We are always open. Winter and summer. To anyone. With absolutely no discrimination. We have a reputation. But when the hotel is full, what more is there to say?
Jones: Would you recognize a lie if you saw it face to face?
Brown: Please accept the situation. Feelings can be hurt so easily.
Jones: Do I have to shout to make myself understood? Why?
Blake: As if it weren't obvious. She is a... a... (She struggles with a word which is obviously distasteful) A Smith!
Jones: A what?
Blake: You can hardly expect me to repeat the word.
Smith: My name? Because of my name you refuse to...
Brown: I have never refused. I made that quite clear.
Jones: I'm losing my grip on reality. You're not real. You're only delirium—a touch of fever. A couple of aspirins, and a good night's rest, and you'll vanish.
Smith: But my name's only a word—a sound. Smith.
Blake: Ugh.
Smith: Smith. What does that mean? Nothing. Except that my father's name was Smith.
Blake: It runs in the blood. A Smith is a Smith, and you can't get away from it.
Smith: I never wanted to.
Blake: The arrogance of the tribe!
Jones: Since when have Smiths been untouchable?
Brown: There's nothing to be gained by an inquisition.
Jones: You there.
Shirley: Me?
Jones: What does the name Smith mean to you?
Shirley: I'd rather not say, Miss.
Jones: Why not?
Shirley: I was always told it wasn't very nice.
Jones: Told! What were you told?
Shirley: I'd rather not say.
Jones: Why?
Shirley: Because it's not very nice.
Blake: Have you ever consulted a telephone directory? Have you ever looked at the pages devoted to Smiths? Have you ever considered how they outnumber the rest of us? Think it over some time. When you've thought long enough, you'll realize why some of us are concerned. They're a powerful group—the Smiths.
Smith: You're afraid—of me?
Shirley: When I was a little girl, I was told never to play with the boys in the next yard. They weren't our sort. They were taken away in the end, and I never heard what happened to them. Their name was Smith. I think. At least, when I think of Smiths, I think of them.
Blake: Everywhere one turns, one meets them. They crawl through our daily life like an unmentionable disease.
Shirley: I was always told that if I wasn't a good girl, the Smiths would come for me.
Blake: There are Smiths in the law, Smiths in medicine, Smiths in politics, Smiths in the church, Smiths in the army, navy, and air force, in the police, in the prisons, in the Commons, in the Lords, Smiths in the B.B.C....
Shirley: I was always told never to trust a Smith. They'll do you down as soon as look at you.
Blake: Commerce is riddled with them—W. H. Smith, Smith's Clocks, Smith's Crisps...
Shirley: I was always told that Smiths never use a handkerchief.
Blake: Make no mistake: Smiths are a menace to the English way of life.
Smith (jumping up): Stop it. Stop it!
Shirley: I was told they ought never to have been let in the country in the first place.
Brown: That will do, Miss Robinson.
Shirley: Yes, Miss Brown. (Turns to go.)
Brown (to Miss Jones): With your permission of course.
{She nods to Shirley, who goes.)
Jones: She makes me ashamed of being a teacher. "I was told". If we can't teach them to think for themselves, what's the use of trying to teach anything?
Smith: She did offer to find a bandage.
Brown: Will you be taking your pack now?
(Miss Smith limps over to Mrs. Blake. Mrs. Blake shrinks to the end of the settle.)
Smith: Why should you want to hurt me?
Blake: Typical. Typical.
Smith: I never hurt anyone knowingly.
Blake: Kindly stop molesting me.
Smith: We're human. Two eyes, two arms, two legs, one head, one heart. What else matters?
Blake: The government ought to take a stand. It would if it weren't corrupted from within. Whitehall is riddled with Smiths.
Smith: What harm have I ever done to you?
Blake: You? Your crew!... When my husband died, I was provided for. We had both been careful: our generation was taught the value of thrift. We had prepared for a quiet old age. Even without him, life offered compensations; a small place of my own, with a garden, maybe—not so large as to be a burden, but enough to show the changing seasons. For the rest—books, firelight, and muffins for tea. It was provided for, in safe investments. The money was there. Only it wasn't quite enough. A few years ago perhaps... But now—dear me, no. The price of property, the cost of domestic help... The money is still there—on paper. But year by year, the figures mean less and less. And here I am, with no place of my own: only a hotel with special rates for permanents out of season: and in the summer, a top back room, with no running water. Why here? you may ask. Why not South Kensington or Bournemouth with the rest of the flock? I'm not a beggar: I prefer not to display my sores. But each year the money buys less and less. And what is the forecast for the year after next? A charitable institution for faded gentlewomen?... Who tainted the money? Who stole my Indian Summer?
Smith: You poor dear...
(She stretches out her hand to Mrs. Blake. Mrs. Blake shrinks from her.)
Smith: Why shrink from me?
Blake: You smell. (Miss Smith recoils with a cry. Mrs. Blake, slightly embarrassed by her outburst, crosses to the coffee table.)
Blake: I can smell out a Smith anywhere. (Miss Smith, struggling to keep her composure, hurries across the room as well as she can, and picks up her pack, Miss Jones catches her arm.)
Jones: Where do you think you're off to?
Smith: Let me go.
Jones: How can you go like that?
Smith: If I stay, I'll end by believing them.
Jones: You're not leaving them the last word. (Urges Miss Smith back to the settle.) You've been walking all day remember? You're not splashing through the dark for three more miles.
Brown: But if there's no alternative?
Jones: There is. Here.
Smith: What they believe is twisted, but they believe it. They believe that I — that I...
Jones: You're not. Now will you sit, or do I have to make you?
Blake: I warn the management that I could not possibly stay in a place that harbours a Smith. No matter how favourable the out of season rates... Smiths! I've seen them in their long, shiny cars. Where does all that money come from, eh? How can they afford long, shiny cars when I wear the same coat year after year?
Smith: Please, Molly.
Blake: Vice.
Jones: Sit. (Miss Smith sits.)
Brown: Can't you let well alone?
Jones: That would suit you fine, wouldn't it? You nearly won. She was on her way out....
Blake: There's no room for a Smith anywhere. We're better off without them. They're responsible for... They're responsible.
Brown: However...
Blake: You're not weakening?
Brown: We may be able to reach a compromise.
Smith: Compromise?
Blake: What did you say?
Brown: Compromise.
Jones: What does that mean?
Brown: We have the annexe.
Smith: The annexe?
Brown: It used to be the boathouse—on the far side of the grounds. I had it converted. It is waterproof and draught-proof.
Jones: I see. Or think I see.
Brown: It is used in the season for our overflow. It hasn't quite the amenities of the hotel, but it provides a useful second best.
Jones: Second best?
Brown: But all our guests receive full attention. You could have your breakfast brought to your room. For the sake of the other guests, such as Mrs. Blake, I would prefer you not to use the dining-room.
Jones: Naturally they must be considered.
Brown: I am making an effort. Aren't you willing to meet me half-way?
Jones: It's a compromise.
Brown: It's a solution.
Blake: It's the thin end of the wedge.
Brown: Do you object?
Blake: The only good Smith is a dead Smith. However, I wouldn't want the girl to catch pneumonia.
Brown: Miss Jones? Shall I have a bed made up over there?
Jones: Two beds. We stick together.
Brown: Thank you. I'll show the way. Don't bother about the packs: I'll have them brought straight over. We can pick up an umbrella on the way out. (She leads the way to the left archway) Will you come this way, Miss Smith?
Smith: No.
Brown: I beg your pardon?
Smith: I'm afraid I had to say no.
Brown: But we've just come to an agreement.
Smith: My friend agrees. I didn't.
Jones: Dora!
Smith: Sorry, Molly. But I do have a mind of my own.
Blake: You see. You see. Typical.
Smith: I cannot take your second best.
Brown: I don't think you understand. There is no room in the hotel, but I am offering alternative accommodation.
Smith: And I am declining. It was a kind gesture: I appreciate what it must have cost you—after all, you have to live here with your permanent guests.
Brown: The annexe is very comfortable. We've never had a complaint.
Smith: I'm sure of that. But it's the division, you see. Sheep from goats. I can't agree with that. Jones: But I'm coming with you. We're friends.
Smith: Some of my best friends are Smiths.
Jones: That was uncalled for.
Smith: Do I sound ungrateful? I'm sorry. I don't mean to be. But I have no intention of accepting the second class label. I can be turned out into the wet, but I cannot be forced into accepting your second-rate accommodation.
(from Incident by David Campton)
Дата добавления: 2015-09-11; просмотров: 80 | Поможем написать вашу работу | Нарушение авторских прав |