Pinter Harold Pinter Plays 3

The Homecoming; Old Times; No Man's Land
Main
ISBN: 978-0-571-30079-2
Verlag: Faber & Faber
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 400 Seiten

This revised third volume of Harold Pinter's work includes The Homecoming, Old Times, No Man's Land, four shorter plays, six revue sketches and a short story. It also contains the speech given by Pinter in 1970 on being awarded the German Shakespeare Prize. The Homecoming 'Of all Harold Pinter's major plays, The Homecoming has the most powerful narrative line... You are fascinated, lured on, sucked into the vortex.' Sunday Telegraph 'The most intense expression of compressed violence to be found anywhere in Pinter's plays.' The Times Old Times 'A rare quality of high tension is evident, revealing in Old Times a beautifully controlled and expressive formality that has seldom been achieved since the plays of Racine.' Financial Times 'Harold Pinter's poetic, Proustian Old Times has the inscrutability of a mysterious picture, and the tension of a good thriller.' Independent No Man's Land 'The work of our best living playwright in its command of the language and its power to erect a coherent structure in a twilight zone of confusion and dismay.' The Times

Harold Pinter was born in London in 1930. He lived with Antonia Fraser from 1975 and they married in 1980. In 1995 he won the David Cohen British Literature Prize, awarded for a lifetime's achievement in literature. In 1996 he was given the Laurence Olivier Award for a lifetime's achievement in theatre. In 2002 he was made a Companion of Honour for services to literature. In 2005 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature and, in the same year, the Wilfred Owen Award for Poetry and the Franz Kafka Award (Prague). In 2006 he was awarded the Europe Theatre Prize and, in 2007, the highest French honour, the Légion d'honneur. He died in December 2008.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Pinter, Harold

Leseproben

Act One

Evening.

LENNY is sitting on the sofa with a newspaper, a pencil in his hand. He wears a dark suit. He makes occasional marks on the back page.

MAX comes in, from the direction of the kitchen. He goes to sideboard, opens top drawer, rummages in it, closes it.

He wears an old cardigan and a cap, and carries a stick.

He walks downstage, stands, looks about the room.

MAX. What have you done with the scissors?

Pause.

I said I’m looking for the scissors. What have you done with them?

Pause.

Did you hear me? I want to cut something out of the paper.

LENNY. I’m reading the paper.

MAX. Not that paper. I haven’t even read that paper. I’m talking about last Sunday’s paper. I was just having a look at it in the kitchen.

Pause.

Do you hear what I’m saying? I’m talking to you! Where’s the scissors?

LENNY (). Why don’t you shut up, you daft prat?

MAX lifts his stick and points it at him.

MAX. Don’t you talk to me like that. I’m warning you.

He sits in large armchair.

There’s an advertisement in the paper about flannel vests. Cut price. Navy surplus. I could do with a few of them.

Pause.

I think I’ll have a fag. Give me a fag.

Pause.

I just asked you to give me a cigarette.

Pause.

Look what I’m lumbered with.

He takes a crumpled cigarette from his pocket.

I’m getting old, my word of honour.

He lights it.

You think I wasn’t a tearaway? I could have taken care of you, twice over. I’m still strong. You ask your Uncle Sam what I was. But at the same time I always had a kind heart. Always.

Pause.

I used to knock about with a man called MacGregor. I called him Mac. You remember Mac? Eh?

Pause.

Huhh! We were two of the worst hated men in the West End of London. I tell you, I still got the scars. We’d walk into a place, the whole room’d stand up, they’d make way to let us pass. You never heard such silence. Mind you, he was a big man, he was over six foot tall. His family were all MacGregors, they came all the way from Aberdeen, but he was the only one they called Mac.

Pause.

He was very fond of your mother, Mac was. Very fond. He always had a good word for her.

Pause.

Mind you, she wasn’t such a bad woman. Even though it made me sick just to look at her rotten stinking face, she wasn’t such a bad bitch. I gave her the best bleeding years of my life, anyway.

LENNY. Plug it, will you, you stupid sod, I’m trying to read the paper.

MAX. Listen! I’ll chop your spine off, you talk to me like that! You understand? Talking to your lousy filthy father like that!

LENNY. You know what, you’re getting demented.

Pause.

What do you think of Second Wind for the three-thirty?

MAX. Where?

LENNY. Sandown Park.

MAX. Don’t stand a chance.

LENNY. Sure he does.

MAX. Not a chance.

LENNY. He’s the winner.

LENNY ticks the paper.

MAX. He talks to me about horses.

Pause.

I used to live on the course. One of the loves of my life. Epsom? I knew it like the back of my hand. I was one of the best-known faces down at the paddock. What a marvellous open-air life.

Pause.

He talks to me about horses. You only read their names in the papers. But I’ve stroked their manes, I’ve held them, I’ve calmed them down before a big race. I was the one they used to call for. Max, they’d say, there’s a horse here, he’s highly strung, you’re the only man on the course who can calm him. It was true. I had a … I had an instinctive understanding of animals. I should have been a trainer. Many times I was offered the job – you know, a proper post, by the Duke of … I forget his name … one of the Dukes. But I had family obligations, my family needed me at home.

Pause.

The times I’ve watched those animals thundering past the post. What an experience. Mind you, I didn’t lose, I made a few bob out of it, and you know why? Because I always had the smell of a good horse. I could smell him. And not only the colts but the fillies. Because the fillies are more highly strung than the colts, they’re more unreliable, did you know that? No, what do you know? Nothing. But I was always able to tell a good filly by one particular trick. I’d look her in the eye. You see? I’d stand in front of her and look her straight in the eye, it was a kind of hypnotism, and by the look deep down in her eye I could tell whether she was a stayer or not. It was a gift. I had a gift.

Pause.

And he talks to me about horses.

LENNY. Dad, do you mind if I change the subject?

Pause.

I want to ask you something. The dinner we had before, what was the name of it? What do you call it?

Pause.

Why don’t you buy a dog? You’re a dog cook. Honest. You think you’re cooking for a lot of dogs.

MAX. If you don’t like it get out.

LENNY. I am going out. I’m going cut to buy myself a proper dinner.

MAX. Well, get out! What are you waiting for?

LENNY looks at him.

LENNY. What did you say?

MAX. I said shove off out of it, that’s what I said.

LENNY. You’ll go before me, Dad, if you talk to me in that tone of voice.

MAX. Will I, you bitch?

MAX grips his stick.

LENNY. Oh, Daddy, you’re not going to use your stick on me, are you? Eh? Don’t use your stick on me Daddy. No, please. It wasn’t my fault, it was one of the others. I haven’t done anything wrong, Dad, honest. Don’t clout me with that stick, Dad.

Silence.
MAX sits hunched. LENNY reads the paper.
SAM comes in the front door. He wears a chauffeur’s uniform.
He hangs his hat on a hook in the hall and comes into the room. He goes to a chair, sits in it and sighs.

Hullo, Uncle Sam.

SAM. Hullo.

LENNY. How are you, Uncle?

SAM. Not bad. A bit tired.

LENNY. Tired? I bet you’re tired. Where you been?

SAM. I’ve been to London Airport.

LENNY. All the way up to London Airport? What, right up the M4?

SAM. Yes, all the way up there.

LENNY. Tch, tch, tch. Well, I think you’re entitled to be tired, Uncle.

SAM. Well, it’s the drivers.

LENNY. I know. That’s what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the drivers.

SAM. Knocks you out.

Pause.

MAX. I’m here, too, you know.

SAM looks at him.

I said I’m here, too. I’m sitting here.

SAM. I know you’re here.

Pause.

SAM. I took a Yankee out there today … to the Airport.

LENNY. Oh, a Yankee, was it?

SAM. Yes, I been with him all day. Picked him up at the Savoy at half past twelve, took him to the Caprice for his lunch. After lunch I picked him up again, took him down to a house in Eaton Square – he had to pay a visit to a friend there – and then round about tea-time I took him right the way out to the Airport.

LENNY. Had to catch a plane there, did he?

SAM. Yes. Look what he gave me. He gave me a box of cigars.

SAM takes a box of cigars from his pocket.

MAX. Come here. Let’s have a...