Tom Stoppard Plays 2 Read online

  CONDUCTRESS: What about the schedule!?

  FRANK (to PORTER): Listen—I’ll be back here at two forty-seven——

  CONDUCTRESS (almost in tears): I ask you to remember the schedule!

  2ND PORTER (as the horns sound): Hello—is that your bus out there?

  FRANK (leaving hurriedly): Two forty-seven!—tell him it’s about Gladys Jenkins!

  SCENE 10

  GLADYS (through phone): … three fourteen and twenty seconds….

  (PIP PIP PIP.)

  1ST LORD (ringing off): Precisely! Next!

  BERYL: God, my Lord.

  GOD (through phone): In the beginning was the Heaven and the Earth….

  (Fade.)

  SCENE 11

  GLADYS (direct):

  … At the third

  stroke it will be three

  fourteen and fifty

  seconds…

  Check, check, check….

  One day I’ll give him something

  to check up for …

  tick tock

  tick tock

  check check

  chick chock

  tick you can check

  your click clock

  by my pip pip pip (PIP PIP PIP.)

  I never waver,

  I’m reliable,

  lord, lord,

  I’m your servant,

  trained,

  precisely. … precisely.

  (With a click FRANK is on the line.)

  (We hear him, as GLADYS does, through the phone.)

  FRANK: Hello, Gladys—it’s Frank. I bet you wondered where I’d got to…. Well, I’ve had a bit of trouble getting hold of the right man, you see, but don’t you worry because the next trip will give me the time—I’ll be bang outside his door slap in the middle of the rush hour so I’ll have a good four minutes—can you hear me, Gladys? …

  (Breaks a little.)

  Oh, Gladys—talk to me—I want you back, I’ll let you do anything you like if you come back—I’ll let you be a nun, if that’s what you really want … Gladys? I love you, Gladys——

  Hold on, love, hold on a bit, and I’ll have you out of there….

  Got to go now, Gladys, Ivy’s calling me, we’re due out. Bye bye … bye bye….(Rings off.)

  GLADYS:

  I can hear them all

  though they do not know enough to

  speak to me.

  I can hear them breathe,

  pause, listen,

  sometimes the frogsong of clockwindings

  and the muttered repetition to the

  nearest minute …

  but never a question of a question,

  never spoken,

  it remains open, permanent,

  demanding a different answer

  every ten seconds.

  Until Frank.

  Oh, Frank, you knew my voice,

  but how can I reply?

  I’d bring the whole thing down with a cough,

  stun them with a sigh….

  (Sobbing a little.)

  I was going to be a nun, but they wouldn’t have me because I didn’t believe, I didn’t believe enough, that is; most of it I believed all right, or was willing to believe, but not enough for their purposes, not about him being the son of God, for instance, that’s the part that put paid to my ambition, that’s where we didn’t see eye to eye. No, that’s one of the main points, she said, without that you might as well believe in a pair of old socks for all the good you are to us, or words to that effect. I asked her to stretch a point but she wasn’t having any of it. I asked her to let me stay inside without being a proper nun, it made no difference to me, it was the serenity I was after, that and the clean linen, but she wasn’t having any of that.

  (Almost a wail.)

  But it’s not the same thing at all!

  I thought it would be—peace!

  Oh, Frank—tell them—

  I shan’t go on, I’ll let go

  and sneeze the fear of God into

  their alarm-setting, egg-timing,

  train-catching, coffee-breaking faith in

  an uncomprehended clockwork—

  yes, if I let go,

  lost track

  changed the beat, went off the rails—

  cracked——

  … At the third stroke

  it will be three eighteen

  and ten seconds….

  (PIP PIP PIP.)

  At the third stroke

  it will be

  three eighteen and

  twenty seconds….

  (PIP PIP PIP.)

  At the third stroke

  it will be

  three eighteen and

  twenty seconds….

  And so what?

  At the third stroke

  it will be

  too late to do any good,

  gentlemen——

  At the third stroke

  it will be

  three eighteen and thirty

  seconds….

  (PIP PIP PIP.)

  At the third stroke….

  At the third stroke

  Manchester City 2,

  Whores of Lancashire 43 for

  seven declared

  At the third stroke

  Sheffield Wednesday will be cloudy

  and so will Finisterre….

  (The Queen.) So a Merry Christmas

  and God Bless you everywhere….

  And now the Prime Minister!:

  Gentlemen, the jig is up—I have

  given you tears….

  And now the First Lord!—

  Don’t lose your heads while all

  about you on the burning deck….

  Oh—Frank! Help me! …

  SCENE 12

  FRANK’s bus stops abruptly. Same place, same slam, same feet, same door, same frenzy.

  FRANK: Right, let’s not waste time—where is she?

  PORTER: State your business.

  FRANK: I’m looking for my wife.

  PORTER: Name?

  FRANK: Jenkins—you know me.

  PORTER: Her name!

  FRANK: Sorry—Jenkins.

  PORTER: Better. Your name?

  FRANK: Jenkins.

  PORTER: Relative?

  FRANK: Husband.

  PORTER: Holds water so far.

  FRANK: I demand to see your superior.

  PORTER: Name?

  FRANK: Jenkins!

  PORTER: No one of that name here.

  FRANK: I see your game—a conspiracy, is it?

  PORTER (as the horns sound): Is that your bus out there?

  FRANK: I demand to speak to the chief of speaking clocks.

  PORTER (as the door bursts open): Here she comes.

  IVY (conductress): I’m not covering up for you again, Frank Jenkins!

  PORTER: Hey—you can’t go in there!

  (Door.)

  MYRTLE: Hello.

  FRANK: Where’s the top man?

  MYRTLE: Keep on as you’re going.

  (Door.)

  MORTIMER: Who are you?

  FRANK: I want my wife!

  MORTIMER: Now, look here, old man, there’s a time and place for everything——

  FRANK: I want her back!

  MORTIMER: My dear fellow, please don’t make a scene in the office——

  FRANK: You’re holding her against her will——

  MORTIMER: I think that’s for her to say. The fact is Myrtle and I are in love——

  FRANK: I want my Gladys.

  MORTIMER: Gladys? Isn’t your name Trelawney?

  FRANK: Jenkins—where’s my Gladys?

  MORTIMER: Gladys?

  FRANK: My wife——

  MORTIMER: Are you suggesting that a man of my scrupulous morality——

  (Door.)

  MYRTEE: Darling, there’s a bus conductress outside——

  MORTIMER: Thank you, Mrs. Trelawney——

  IVY (desperate): Frank!—the traffic is beginning to move!


  FRANK: I demand to see your superior!

  MORTIMER: You can’t go in there!

  (Door.)

  C.-SMITH: Yes?

  FRANK: Are you the top man?

  MORTIMER: Excuse me, Mr. Courtenay-Smith, this man just burst into——

  IVY: Frank—I ask you to think of your schedule!

  FRANK: Shut up! You there, are you the top man?

  C. -SMITH: In my field, or do you speak hierarchically?

  FRANK: I speak of Gladys Jenkins.

  C. -SMITH: Not my field——

  FRANK: You’ve got my wife——

  MORTIMER: How dare you suggest that a man of Mr. Courtenay-Smith’s scrupulous morality——

  IVY: Frank! the passengers have noticed!

  (Door.)

  C. -SMITH: Where’s he gone?

  MYRTLE: Darling, what’s going on?

  MORTIMER: Mrs. Trelawney, I must ask you to address me—

  C. -SMITH: My God—the time-and-motion system won’t take the strain!

  IVY (fading): Fra-a-a-nk…!

  SCENE 13

  GLADYS (breaking down slowly but surely):

  At the third stroke it

  will be four twenty-three and ten

  seconds….

  At the third stroke

  I’m going to give it up,

  yes, yes … it’s asking too much,

  for one person to be in the know

  of so much, for so many …

  and at the third stroke

  Frank will come

  … Frank….

  I’m going to drop it now,

  it can go on without me,

  and it will,

  time doesn’t need me—

  they think I’m time, but I’m

  not—

  I’m Gladys Jenkins and at the

  third stroke

  I’m going to cough,

  sneeze

  whisper an obscenity that will leave

  ten thousand coronaries sprawled

  across their telephone tables,

  and the trains will run half empty

  and all the bloody eggs will turn to

  volcanic rock smoking in dry cracked saucepans

  as soon as I shout—

  Ship!

  (a vessel)

  Piscine!

  (pertaining to fishes)

  Fruc! tuate

  (fruit-bearing)

  (She giggles hysterically.)

  oh yes I will

  and then they’ll let me go

  they’ll have to

  because Frank knows I’m here—

  come on, please Frank, I love you

  and at the third stroke I will

  yes I will yes at the third stroke I will….

  SCENE 14

  1ST LORD: Well, gentlemen, in bringing this board meeting to a close, and I’m sure you’re all as bored as I am,

  (Chuckle chuckle, hear hear.)

  I think we must congratulate ourselves on the variety and consistency of the services which we in the telephone office have maintained for the public in the face of the most difficult problems. I believe I’m right in saying that if the last Test Match had not been abandoned because of the rain, ump would barely have lasted the five days, but all was well as it happened, though the same rainy conditions did put an extra strain on sun our weather forecast service…. I don’t know if you have anything to add, Sir John?

  SIR JOHN: Well, Cooty—my Lord, that is—only to join with the rest of the Board in heartily congratulating you on the excellent report——

  (Hear hear hear hear.)

  1ST LORD: Thank you. Now is there any other business?

  (Door.)

  FRANK (out of breath): Where’s Gladys Jenkins?!

  1ST LORD: There you have me, gentlemen.

  SIR JOHN: Point of order, my Lord.

  1ST LORD: Yes, Jack?

  SIR JOHN: I don’t think this man——

  FRANK: I’m not taking any more of this—where’ve you got my Glad——

  (Door.)

  C. -SMITH: Forgive me, my Lord—this man is quite unauthorized——

  IVY: Frank, the passengers are rioting! All is lost!

  MORTIMER: Now look here——

  MYRTLE: Darling, do shut up!

  FRANK: Damn you. What have you done with my wife?

  SIR JOHN: Don’t you come here with your nasty little innuendoes, Trelawney—whatever you may have heard about the Bournemouth conference, Myrtle and I——

  IVY: The passengers are coming!

  (FIRST LORD gets quiet by banging his gavel.)

  (Pause.)

  (Noise of rioting passengers.)

  1ST LORD: Gentlemen—please! (Pause.) Now what’s all the row about?

  IVY: It’s the passengers, sir.

  FRANK: Are you the top man?

  1ST LORD: Certainly.

  FRANK: What have you done with my Gladys?

  MORTIMER: How dare you suggest that a man of the First Lord’s scrupulous morality——

  1ST LORD: Please, Mr. Mortimer, let him finish.

  FRANK: She’s the speaking clock.

  1ST LORD: What do you mean? TIM?

  FRANK: Gladys. Yes.

  1ST LORD (chuckling): My dear fellow—there’s no Gladys—we wouldn’t trust your wife with the time—it’s a machine, I thought everyone knew that….

  FRANK: A machine?

  1ST LORD: He thought it was his wife!

  (General chuckles.)

  Wife … thought it was his wife! …

  FRANK: It was her voice——

  IVY: Oh, Frank—they wouldn’t use your Glad for that. It’s just the speaking clock——

  FRANK: She was educated——

  IVY: Oh Frank—come on, come on now, we’ll be in awful trouble with the Inspector.

  FRANK: But Ivy—she talked to me …

  IVY: She couldn’t have done——

  1ST LORD: She talked to you, my dear fellow?

  FRANK: Well, not exactly….

  IVY: Of course she didn’t. Come on, now….

  1ST LORD: That’s it—back to your offices gentlemen. We must all make up for lost time.

  (General movement out.)

  FRANK: But she sounded like my Gladys….

  IVY: You’ll have to go on looking, Frank….

  (FIRST LORD alone.)

  1ST LORD: Dear me, dear me….

  (Door.)

  BERYL (urgent): Sir!

  1ST LORD: What is it, Miss Bligh?

  BERYL: It’s the speaking clock—I was just checking it and——

  1ST LORD: All right—get me TIM, I’ll see to it.

  BERYL: Yes, my Lord. (Dialling.) She’s on now, my Lord.

  GLADYS (through phone. Sobbing hysterically): At the third stroke it will be five thirty five and fifty seconds….

  (PIP PIP PIP.)

  1ST LORD: Mrs. Jenkins…. This is the First Lord speaking.

  GLADYS: At the third stroke it will be five thirty-six precisely….

  1ST LORD: Mrs. Jenkins—pull yourself together, stop crying. And you’ve lost forty seconds somewhere by my watch——

  GLADYS: At the third stroke I don’t know what time it is and I don’t care, because it doesn’t go tick tock at all, it just goes and I have seen—I have seen infinity!

  1ST LORD: Mrs. Jenkins!

  GLADYS (sniffing): I can’t go on!

  1ST LORD: Come on now, this isn’t like you at all. Let’s get things back on the rails, hm? Think of the public, Mrs. Jenkins…. Come on now … at the third stroke….

  GLADYS: At the third stroke….

  1ST LORD: It will be five thirty seven and forty seconds.

  (PIP PIP PIP.)

  Carry on from there….

  GLADYS: At the third stroke it will be five thirty-seven and fifty seconds….

  1ST LORD: That’s it—spot on, Mrs. Jenkins. Control your voice now.

  (PIP PIP PIP.)

  GLADYS: At the
third stroke it will be five thirty-eight precisely.

  1ST LORD: Well done, Mrs. Jenkins. Well done—I’ll check you again within the hour, as usual. (Rings off.)

  GLADYS (direct now):

  At the third stroke it

  will be five thirty-eight

  and ten seconds….

  (PIP PIP PIP.)

  He thinks he’s God….

  At the third stroke….

  (Fading out.)

  *Until the introduction of STD in Britain the Speaking Clock was reached by dialling TIM.

  ALBERT’S BRIDGE

  CHARACTERS

  BOB

  CHARLIE

  DAD

  ALBERT

  CHAIRMAN

  DAVE

  GEORGE

  FITCH

  MOTHER

  FATHER

  KATE

  FRASER

  Fade up bridge, with painting on mike. Four men are painting a big girdered railway bridge. They are spaced vertically, in ascending order: BOB, CHARLIE, DAD, ALBERT. To begin with, the mike is at ALBERT’s level, the top.

  BOB (the most distant): Char-lee!

  CHARLIE (less distant): Hel-lo!

  BOB: Right, Charlie?

  CHARLIE: Right! Comin’ down! … Hey, Dad!

  DAD (an older man, not very distant): Hel-lo!

  CHARLIE: Bob ’n’ me is done down here!

  DAD: Right!

  CHARLIE: Have you done?

  DAD: Comin’ down! … Albert! Al-bert!

  CHARLIE (more distant): Albert!

  BOB (more distant): Al-bert!

  ALBERT (very close, crooning softly, tunelessly amid various tunes while painting):

  How high the moon in June?

  how blue the moon when it’s high noon

  and the turtle doves above

  croon out of tune in love

  saying please above the trees

  which when there’s thunder you don’t run under

  —those trees—

  ’cos there’ll be pennies fall on Alabama

  and you’ll drown in foggy London town

  the sun was shi-ning … on my Yiddisher Mama.

  BOB (more distant): Albert!

  CHARLIE (less distant): Albert!

  DAD (off): Albert!

  ALBERT: Hel-lo!

  DAD: Bob ’n’ me ’n’ Charlie’s done!

  ALBERT: Right!

  Dip-brush-slap-slide-slick, and once again, dip, brush, slap—oh, it goes on so nicely … tickle it into the corner, there, behind the rivet…. No one will see that from the ground; I could cheat up here. But I’d know; so dip, brush, slap, slide and once again for the last time till the next time—every surface sleek, renewed—dip, brush, slap, slick, tickle and wipe—right in there with the old rust-proof rust-brown—all glossed and even, end to end—the last touch—perfection! (Painting stops.) Oh my! I could stand back to admire it and fall three hundred feet into the sea. Mind your heads! (Laughs. Climbing down.) Mind your head, Dad!