Martin Crimp, Plays 3 Read online

but also because—yes? what is it?

  Housekeeper has appeared.

  Housekeeper Someone to see you.

  Amelia Well show them in. Because the fact is—no—stop—wait—who?

  Housekeeper A man with flowers.

  Amelia

  Flowers—good—show him in. But also odd because—

  unless I’m not reading it properly—

  and I obviously can’t be reading it properly—

  because the whole thing

  this whole ridiculous document seems to be written

  as if I no longer exist. (Smiles.)

  Housekeeper has reappeared with Richard, a man in his fifties with a greying beard, holding a bouquet of flowers.

  Richard Amelia?

  Amelia Yes?

  Richard Forgive me barging in like this but I have fantastic news. I was just at the press-conference and, although details still have to be confirmed, what’s clear is that the General has won some kind of decisive victory. (Slight pause.) They’re saying it’s a turning point.

  Amelia I’m sorry? What ‘press-conference’? What ‘victory’? Who are you? Why did you let this man / into my house?

  Richard I’m your friend, Amelia.

  Amelia I don’t have any friends with beards.

  Richard My name is Richard. You once very kindly allowed me to interview you. We had lunch in a hotel.

  Amelia Richard. Of course you are.

  She smiles, kisses his cheek, takes the flowers.

  What gorgeous flowers. (to Housekeeper) Put these in water / would you.

  Richard The minister’s still taking questions so I thought I’d get here first and bring you the good news. Any chance of a drink?

  Amelia But why isn’t he here?

  Richard I’ve told you: he’s taking questions. You know what journalists are like—probe probe probe—why do we always assume we’re being / lied to?

  Amelia My husband.

  Richard I’m sorry?

  Amelia Why isn’t my husband here?

  Richard Well he has to … secure the city, Amelia. There’s very little—what’s the word—infrastructure. (Pause.) Aren’t you pleased?

  Amelia Mmm?

  Richard He’s alive. Aren’t you happy?

  Amelia I’m very very happy. Thank you.

  Richard Please don’t cry. I wouldn’t’ve come if I’d known this would / upset you.

  Amelia I’m very very happy. And I’m very pleased you’ve come. Forgive me for crying.

  She puts her arms round him and clings. He’s embarrassed—doesn’t know how to react.

  Dance with me.

  Richard I’m sorry?

  Amelia Please. It’s so long since I’ve danced.

  Music: 1938 recording of Billie Holiday singing ‘My Man’. They dance.

  Voice of Billie Holiday

  Sometimes I say

  if I could just get away

  with my man.

  He goes straight

  sure as fate

  for it never is too late

  for a man.

  I just like to dream

  of a cottage by a stream

  with my man

  where a few flowers grew

  and perhaps a kid or two

  like my man.

  And then my eyes get wet I ’most forget

  till he gets hot and tells me not to talk such rot.

  Oh my man I love him so

  he’ll never know.

  All my life is just despair

  but I don’t care.

  When he takes me in his arms

  the world is bright all right.

  What’s the difference if I say I’ll go away

  when I know I’ll come back on my knees some day.

  For whatever my man is

  I’m his for ever more.

  As they continue to dance, the Housekeeper brings in Jonathan—the minister—and with him two children from sub-Saharan Africa: a girl of about eighteen and a boy of about six.

  Jonathan watches, then whispers to Housekeeper, who turns off the music.

  Amelia Jonathan! How are you? How nice to see you! (Laughs.) Who are these children?

  Jonathan You seem very happy.

  Amelia I am very happy—assuming it’s true.

  Jonathan Assuming what’s true?

  Amelia Well, the news of course. Is it true?

  Jonathan Yes.

  Amelia He’s alive.

  Jonathan Yes.

  Amelia And unhurt?

  Jonathan Yes.

  Amelia I’m so relieved.

  Jonathan Yes.

  In the background Richard opens champagne and begins to fill glasses.

  Well, yes, Amelia, I think we / all are.

  Amelia (laughs) But who are these children? Are they yours?

  Jonathan Do they look like my children?

  Amelia Why did he bring his children? Have you been arguing with / your wife?

  Jonathan These are not my children, Amelia. These are survivors.

  Amelia Oh? (Laughs.) Survivors of what?

  Richard (raising glass) Cheers.

  Amelia Survivors of what?

  Jonathan The only—in fact—apparently—survivors of your husband’s assault. (to Richard) Cheers.

  Amelia So why have you brought them to my house? I don’t understand. Where is my husband? I want to see him.

  Jonathan To see him? Well, listen, Amelia, it’s a war—and—strictly off the record—while we are—and absolutely correctly are—claiming a military success—which—in military terms—don’t misunderstand me—it most certainly is. Nevertheless the international community —as is its right—needs reassurance—it needs to be reassured that the General’s actions were justified. And I’m happy to say that your husband—with the full backing I can assure you of this government—is putting up a robust and detailed defence.

  The child-soldier thing has made our lives particularly difficult—since nobody likes killing children—whereas children themselves seem to find death and dismemberment one big joke. And of course the bus incident did your husband huge damage—although—in our opinion—the so-called child—terrorist, we would prefer to say—posed an immediate threat to our security to which the General responded in his own inimitable way.

  Don’t get me wrong, Amelia: we’re thrilled—we’re truly thrilled about what’s happened. Because over the last year the General tracked that child back—he tracked that child back to the child’s father. And what he discovered was that the father—a man called—yes?

  Richard Seratawa.

  Jonathan A man called—exactly—thank you—Seratawa—that Seratawa was using the camp—well not camp but city—was using the city of Gisenyi—is this right?—to recruit and to train terrorists—many of them, I’m sorry to say, children.

  So what do you do? I’ll tell you what you do, Amelia, you send in the General. You tell him to forget blue cards. You tell him to forget the conventional rules of engagement. Because if you want to root out terror—and I believe we all of us want to root out terror—there is only one rule: kill. We wanted that city pulverised—and I mean literally pulverised—the shops, the schools, the hospitals, the libraries, the bakeries, networks of fountains, avenues of trees, museums—we wanted that so-called city turned—as indeed it now has been—irreversibly to dust.

  Now as for these children, the General found them in a drain, Amelia. And the General being what he is—what you and I both know him to be—I mean not just a soldier, but a man—and not just a man—a father —a husband. Being all those things, he has asked me—which is delicate, I realise—but asked me to bring these children who couldn’t stand up for blood—who were slipping, Amelia, in that drain, barefoot on the blood, and on the pulverised bone of their brothers and sisters—has asked me to bring them to this house to remind us—to remind each one of us—of our common—I hope—humanity.

  Pause.

  Beautician They must be exhausted—look at them
.

  Housekeeper But where are they going to sleep? You can’t just bring children into the house and expect / Amelia to—

  Amelia Please. He’s right. This is a very beautiful gesture on my husband’s part, and I fully support it—is that understood? I want these children washed and given beds. I want them given thick sheets—cotton ones—white ones—and a light—they must have a light in the room—pink perhaps—and toys. Find them some of Jamie’s old toys—but nothing frightening, please—no guns, no helicopters. And books. What kind of stories d’you like? (Slight pause.) I’m asking you a question, children. What kind of stories? (Slight pause.) Why won’t they talk to me?

  Jonathan You’re distressed, Amelia. Why don’t we deal with this / in the morning.

  Amelia Distressed? I am not distressed, Jonathan, I am extremely happy. I simply want to know why they won’t talk to me. I mean, the big one’s obviously quite grown-up—aren’t you—aren’t you? What’s your name? Why won’t she talk to me?

  Jonathan They don’t read books.

  Amelia Oh? Don’t read books?

  Jonathan No.

  Amelia Then why did they have libraries?

  Jonathan The libraries were used to conceal weapons.

  Amelia You mean like the schools?—like / the fountains?

  Jonathan Like the schools—yes. (Slight pause.) I am telling you the truth / Amelia.

  Amelia Of course they read books—look at their eyes—they are intelligent. This one—this pretty one—look at her eyes. (Slight pause.) Or are you saying they don’t speak English?

  Jonathan They don’t speak at all. They are unable to speak. They have been living in a drain, Amelia.

  Pause.

  Amelia (laughs) Of course.

  Jonathan Yes.

  Amelia Forgive me.

  Jonathan You are forgiven.

  Amelia Please forgive me. So you don’t think …

  Jonathan Think what?

  Amelia Nothing. (to Girl) Show me your tongue, sweetheart. Tongue. I want to see your tongue.

  Jonathan Amelia?

  Amelia sticks her tongue right out over her lower lip and makes noises to encourage the Girl to show her tongue, if she has one. The Girl finally silently extends her tongue.

  Amelia Thank god for that. (Smiles.) Well thank god for that.

  Everyone, except for the Girl, smiles. Amelia takes hold of her affectionately.

  Listen: you are very welcome in this house. Whatever has happened to you, I want you to know that you are now safe, you are now loved. D’you understand me?

  Amelia and the Girl stare at each other. The Boy suddenly breaks away and, before the Housekeeper can grab him, presses a button on the stereo. The Billie Holiday track plays from where it was interrupted to the end.

  THREE

  Night. Close, but not overwhelming, a plane passes on its way to the airport. Faint light reveals Richard sitting drinking. A beam of light enters the room and settles on Richard’s face: it’s the Housekeeper, with a powerful torch. Next to her is Amelia, carrying the Boy. On account of the child, they all speak softly.

  Amelia Still here?

  Richard Amelia? What’re you doing?

  Amelia He was having nightmares. We went outside to look at the stars, but there weren’t any.

  Richard Please. That hurts my eyes.

  Amelia Switch it off.

  Housekeeper Why haven’t you gone home?

  Amelia Switch it off. Take him, would you—he’s getting heavy.

  Housekeeper takes the child and gives Amelia the switched-off torch.

  Richard I wanted to talk to you, actually.

  Housekeeper makes to go.

  Amelia No. Stay. Well here I am: talk to me.

  Richard I thought you deserved to be told the truth.

  Amelia Oh?

  Richard Yes.

  Amelia Deserved?

  Richard Yes.

  Amelia (faint laugh) What truth? What does a man like you know / about truth?

  Richard He’s lying.

  Amelia Mmm?

  Richard Jonathan—he’s lying.

  Amelia Of course he’s lying—it’s war—it’s his job / to lie.

  Richard He’s lying about the children—not about the war—well, yes, of course about the war—but also about the children. Because these children are not what he said: ‘victims’—‘survivors’. They are the spoils, Amelia. (Grins.)

  We hear the Girl calling softly offtstage for the Boy: ‘Edu … Edu …’

  Amelia I don’t understand.

  Housekeeper He’s drunk.

  Amelia She’s right—you’re drunk—I want you / to leave.

  Richard The oldest child—the girl—her name is Laela.

  Amelia And?

  Richard Give me the torch.

  Amelia No.

  Richard Give me the torch.

  Amelia No.

  A silent but intense struggle for the torch. Richard gets it, switches it on.

  Richard Here come the helicopters. And here come the rockets out of the rocket-tubes. And here are the bottles of blood bursting in the hospital refrigerators. And oh—look—these are the patients blown off their beds onto the broken glass. And here are some heads on poles, Amelia …

  Laela appears looking for the Boy.

  Amelia Boring, boring—you think I don’t / know all this?

  Richard And here—oh look—what’s this? What’s this, Amelia? Who’s this? Who’s this girl? Her name is Laela. And he wants this girl so much—so much—he is so—what’s the word?—inflamed—he is so—that’s right—inflamed—that in order to take this girl from her father he is prepared to murder not just the father, but the inhabitants of an entire city …

  Housekeeper Don’t listen to him / Amelia.

  Richard … of an entire city. Yes. Then ship the girl and what remains of her family … (Shines beam at Amelia.) … back to his own wife.

  Pause. He snaps off the torch. The Boy whimpers.

  Laela goes to him.

  Amelia What does he mean? What d’you mean? What’re you trying to say to me?

  Richard (grins) Don’t think telling you this gives me any pleasure.

  Amelia Get that child out, will you. Go on: out. Get it out.

  The Housekeeper takes Laela and the Boy out.

  Now. Explain.

  Jonathan Explain what, Amelia?

  Jonathan has appeared, mobile phone to his ear.

  (into phone) Yup. Yup. I’m busy, sweetheart. Give me five more minutes, would you?

  He ends the call but continues to scroll through messages without looking up.

  Sorry—I’m needed elsewhere—explain what?

  Amelia You’re needed elsewhere.

  Jonathan Yes—sorry—it’s been one of / those nights.

  Amelia I’m disappointed.

  Jonathan Mmm?

  Amelia I said: I’m disappointed—there were some questions I was hoping to ask.

  Jonathan Questions—of course there are—why don’t you call my office in / the morning?

  Amelia Will you please look at me when I talk to you?

  Jonathan Mmm?

  He continues tapping at the phone, then looks up. He pockets the phone and smiles.

  Amelia Who exactly are these children?

  Jonathan Exactly? We’re not in a position to say. They don’t have papers.

  Amelia But presumably they have names.

  Jonathan Presumably their parents gave them names—I believe that is a universal habit. Why?

  Amelia And who are their parents?

  Jonathan I’m sorry?

  Richard She’s asking you who their / parents are.

  Jonathan Their parents—I’ve explained this—are dead.

  Richard Murdered.

  Jonathan What?

  Richard Their parents have been / murdered.

  Jonathan Their parents have not been ‘murdered’, Richard—please grow up, please grow up—Seratawa was / a terrorist.r />
  Richard So she’s Seratawa’s daughter.

  Jonathan The children have no papers. Nothing at this stage can be confirmed. They were found—that’s all—as I have already said—in a traumatised state—

  Richard In a drain.

  Jonathan Yes.

  Richard Not in a palace, then.

  Jonathan In a drain—in a palace—wherever they were found it was in a traumatised state, and I see no point in continuing / this conversation.

  Richard Because I was told—oh, don’t you? don’t you?—because I was told they were found beneath a palace. I was told they were Seratawa’s children.

  Jonathan You were told.

  Richard Yes, I was told by you. (Slight pause.) And I was also told—unless this was a smear—was this a deliberate smear?—because I was also told—as were others—that the General’s objectives were not so much military, as sexual. That the assault—your word, not mine—was a sexual one.

  Slight pause.

  Jonathan You have a sick sick mind, my friend. Amelia, I think you’ve been distressed enough for one evening. I’ll take / him home.

  Amelia

  If you call me distressed

  Jonathan

  one more time

  or use my name

  Jonathan

  one more time tonight I won’t scream

  no

  what I will in fact do

  is stuff your mouth with barbed wire.

  Because forgive me

  but I’m starting to find the way you speak

  an atrocity which makes cutting a man’s heart out

  seem almost humane.

  If you have something to say

  about that child and my husband

  say it. But don’t and I repeat

  don’t think you can what?

  ‘spare my feelings?’

  because I am not a child

  and do not expect to be treated like a child

  in my own house—is that clear?

  You think it’s a secret

  that my husband has other women?

  You think he doesn’t tell me about them?