Waiting for Godot (6 page)

VLADIMIR:

Let's go.

ESTRAGON:

But take the weight off your feet, I implore you, you'll catch your death.

POZZO:

True. (
He sits down. To Estragon.
) What is your name?

ESTRAGON:

Adam.

POZZO:

(
who hasn't listened
)
.
Ah yes! The night. (
He raises his head.
) But be a little more attentive, for pity's sake, otherwise we'll never get anywhere. (
He looks at the sky.
) Look! (
All look at the sky except Lucky who is dozing off again. Pozzo jerks the rope.
) Will you look at the sky, pig! (
Lucky looks at the sky.
) Good, that's enough. (
They stop looking at the sky.
) What is there so extraordinary about it? Qua sky. It is pale and luminous like any sky at this hour of the day. (
Pause.
) In these latitudes. (
Pause.
) When the weather is fine. (
Lyrical.
) An hour ago (
he looks at his watch, prosaic
) roughly (
lyrical
) after having poured forth even since (
he hesitates, prosaic
) say ten o'clock in the morning (
lyrical
) tirelessly torrents of red and white light it begins to lose its effulgence, to grow pale (
gesture of the two hands lapsing by stages
) pale, ever a little paler, a little paler until (
dramatic pause, ample gesture of the two hands flung wide apart
) pppfff! finished! it comes to rest. But– (
hand raised in admonition
)– but behind this veil of gentleness and peace, night is charging (
vibrantly
) and will burst upon us (
snaps his fingers
) pop! like that! (
his inspiration leaves him
) just when we least expect it. (
Silence. Gloomily.
) That's how it is on this bitch of an earth.

Long silence.

ESTRAGON:

So long as one knows.

VLADIMIR:

One can bide one's time.

ESTRAGON:

One knows what to expect.

VLADIMIR:

No further need to worry.

ESTRAGON:

Simply wait.

VLADIMIR:

We're used to it.

He picks up his hat, peers inside it, shakes it, puts it on.

POZZO:

How did you find me? (
Vladimir and Estragon look at him blankly.
) Good? Fair? Middling? Poor? Positively bad?

VLADIMIR:

(
first to understand
)
.
Oh very good, very very good.

POZZO:

(
to Estragon
)
.
And you, Sir?

ESTRAGON:

Oh tray bong, tray tray tray bong.

POZZO:

(
fervently
)
.
Bless you, gentlemen, bless you! (
Pause.
) I have such need of encouragement! (
Pause.
) I weakened a little towards the end, you didn't notice?

VLADIMIR:

Oh perhaps just a teeny weeny little bit.

ESTRAGON:

I thought it was intentional.

POZZO:

You see my memory is defective.

Silence.

ESTRAGON:

In the meantime, nothing happens.

POZZO:

You find it tedious?

ESTRAGON:

Somewhat.

POZZO:

(
to Vladimir
)
.
And you, Sir?

VLADIMIR:

I've been better entertained.

Silence. Pozzo struggles inwardly.

POZZO:

Gentlemen, you have been . . . civil to me.

ESTRAGON:

Not at all!

VLADIMIR:

What an idea!

POZZO:

Yes yes, you have been correct. So that I ask myself is there anything I can do in my turn for these honest fellows who are having such a dull, dull time.

ESTRAGON:

Even ten francs would be a help.

VLADIMIR:

We are not beggars!

POZZO:

Is there anything I can do, that's what I ask myself, to cheer them up? I have given them bones, I have talked to them about this and that, I have explained the twilight, admittedly. But is it enough, that's what tortures me, is it enough?

ESTRAGON:

Even five.

VLADIMIR:

(
to Estragon, indignantly
)
.
That's enough!

ESTRAGON:

I couldn't accept less.

POZZO:

Is is enough? No doubt. But I am liberal. It's my nature. This evening. So much the worse for me. (
He jerks the rope. Lucky looks at him.
) For I shall suffer, no doubt about that. (
He picks up the whip.
) What do you prefer? Shall we have him dance, or sing, or recite, or think, or—

ESTRAGON:

Who?

POZZO:

Who! You know how to think, you two?

VLADIMIR:

He thinks?

POZZO:

Certainly. Aloud. He even used to think very prettily once, I could listen to him for hours. Now . . . (
he shudders
)
.
So much the worse for me. Well, would you like him to think something for us?

ESTRAGON:

I'd rather he dance, it'd be more fun.

POZZO:

Not necessarily.

ESTRAGON:

Wouldn't it, Didi, be more fun?

VLADIMIR:

I'd like well to hear him think.

ESTRAGON:

Perhaps he could dance first and think afterwards, if it isn't too much to ask him.

VLADIMIR:

(
to Pozzo
)
.
Would that be possible?

POZZO:

By all means, nothing simpler. It's the natural order.

He laughs briefly.

VLADIMIR:

Then let him dance.

Silence.

POZZO:

Do you hear, hog?

ESTRAGON:

He never refuses?

POZZO:

He refused once. (
Silence.
) Dance, misery!

Lucky puts down bag and basket, advances towards front, turns to Pozzo. Lucky dances. He stops.

ESTRAGON:

Is that all?

POZZO:

Encore!

Lucky executes the same movements, stops.

ESTRAGON:

Pooh! I'd do as well myself. (
He imitates Lucky, almost falls.
) With a little practice.

POZZO:

He used to dance the farandole, the fling, the brawl, the jig, the fandango and even the hornpipe. He capered. For joy. Now that's the best he can do. Do you know what he calls it?

ESTRAGON:

The Scapegoat's Agony.

VLADIMIR:

The Hard Stool.

POZZO:

The Net. He thinks he's entangled in a net.

VLADIMIR:

(
squirming like an aesthete
)
.
There's something about it . . .

Lucky makes to return to his burdens.

POZZO:

Woaa!

Lucky stiffens.

ESTRAGON:

Tell us about the time he refused.

POZZO:

With pleasure, with pleasure. (
He fumbles in his pockets.
) Wait. (
He fumbles.
) What have I done with my spray? (
He fumbles.
) Well now isn't that . . . (
He looks up, consternation on his features. Faintly.
) I can't find my pulverizer!

ESTRAGON:

(
faintly
)
.
My left lung is very weak! (
He coughs feebly. In ringing tones.
) But my right lung is as sound as a bell!

POZZO:

(
normal voice
)
.
No matter! What was I saying. (
He ponders.
) Wait. (
Ponders.
) Well now isn't that . . . (
He raises his head.
) Help me!

ESTRAGON:

Wait!

VLADIMIR:

Wait!

POZZO:

Wait!

All three take off their hats simultaneously, press their hands to their foreheads, concentrate.

ESTRAGON:

(
triumphantly
)
.
Ah!

VLADIMIR:

He has it.

POZZO:

(
impatient
)
.
Well?

ESTRAGON:

Why doesn't he put down his bags?

VLADIMIR:

Rubbish!

POZZO:

Are you sure?

VLADIMIR:

Damn it haven't you already told us?

POZZO:

I've already told you?

ESTRAGON:

He's already told us?

VLADIMIR:

Anyway he has put them down.

ESTRAGON:

(
glance at Lucky
)
.
So he has. And what of it?

VLADIMIR:

Since he has put down his bags it is impossible we should have asked why he does not do so.

POZZO:

Stoutly reasoned!

ESTRAGON:

And why has he put them down?

POZZO:

Answer us that.

VLADIMIR:

In order to dance.

ESTRAGON:

True!

POZZO:

True!

Silence. They put on their hats.

ESTRAGON:

Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful!

VLADIMIR:

(
to Pozzo
)
.
Tell him to think.

POZZO:

Give him his hat.

VLADIMIR:

His hat?

POZZO:

He can't think without his hat.

VLADIMIR:

(
to Estragon
)
.
Give him his hat.

ESTRAGON:

Me! After what he did to me! Never!

VLADIMIR:

I'll give it to him.

He does not move.

ESTRAGON:

(
to Pozzo
)
.
Tell him to go and fetch it.

POZZO:

It's better to give it to him.

VLADIMIR:

I'll give it to him.

He picks up the hat and tenders it at arm's length to Lucky, who does not move.

POZZO:

You must put it on his head.

ESTRAGON:

(
to Pozzo
)
.
Tell him to take it.

POZZO:

It's better to put it on his head.

VLADIMIR:

I'll put it on his head.

He goes round behind Lucky, approaches him cautiously, puts the hat on his head and recoils smartly. Lucky does not move. Silence.

ESTRAGON:

What's he waiting for?

POZZO:

Stand back! (
Vladimir and Estragon move away from Lucky. Pozzo jerks the rope. Lucky looks at Pozzo.
) Think, pig! (
Pause. Lucky begins to dance.
) Stop! (
Lucky stops.
) Forward! (
Lucky advances.
) Stop! (
Lucky stops.
) Think!

Silence.

LUCKY:

On the other hand with regard to—

POZZO:

Stop! (
Lucky stops.
) Back! (
Lucky moves back.
) Stop! (
Lucky stops.
) Turn! (
Lucky turns towards auditorium.
) Think!

During Lucky's tirade the others react as follows.

1) Vladimir and Estragon all attention, Pozzo dejected and disgusted.

2) Vladimir and Estragon begin to protest, Pozzo's sufferings increase.

3) Vladimir and Estragon attentive again, Pozzo more and more agitated and groaning.

4) Vladimir and Estragon protest violently. Pozzo jumps up, pulls on the rope. General outcry. Lucky pulls on the rope, staggers, shouts his text. All three throw themselves on Lucky who struggles and shouts his text.

•

LUCKY:

Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattmann of a personal God quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons unknown but time will tell and suffers like the divine Miranda with those who for reasons unknown but time will tell are plunged in torment plunged in fire whose fire flames if that continues and who can doubt it will fire the firmament that is to say blast hell to heaven so blue still and calm so calm with a calm which even though intermittent is better than nothing but not so fast and considering what is more that as a result of the labors left unfinished crowned by the Acacacacademy of Anthropopopometry of Essy-in-Possy of Testew and Cunard it is established beyond all doubt all other doubt than that which clings to the labors of men that as a result of the labors unfinished of Testew and Cunnard it is established as hereinafter but not so fast for reasons unknown that as a result of the public works of Puncher and Wattmann it is established beyond all doubt that in view of the labors of Fartov and Belcher left unfinished for reasons unknown of Testew and Cunard left unfinished it is established what many deny that man in Possy of Testew and Cunard that man in Essy that man in short that man in brief in spite of the strides of alimentation and defecation wastes and pines wastes and pines and concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts penicillin and succedanea in a word I resume flying gliding golf over nine and eighteen holes tennis of all sorts in a word for reasons unknown in Feckham Peckham Fulham Clapham namely concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown but time will tell fades away I resume Fulham Clapham in a word the dead loss per head since the death of Bishop Berkeley being to the tune of one inch four ounce per head approximately by and large more or less to the nearest decimal good measure round figures stark naked in the stockinged feet in Connemara in a word for reasons unknown no matter what matter the facts are there and considering what is more much more grave that in the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman it appears what is more much more grave that in the light the light the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman that in the plains in the mountains by the seas by the rivers running water running fire the air is the same and then the earth namely the air and then the earth in the great cold the great dark the air and the earth abode of stones in the great cold alas alas in the year of their Lord six hundred and something the air the earth the sea the earth abode of stones in the great deeps the great cold on sea on land and in the air I resume for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis the facts are there but time will tell I resume alas alas on on in short in fine on on abode of stones who can doubt it I resume but not so fast I resume the skull fading fading fading and concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis on on the beard the flames the tears the stones so blue so calm alas alas on on the skull the skull the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the labors abandoned left unfinished graver still abode of stones in a word I resume alas alas abandoned unfinished the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the skull alas the stones Cunard (
mêlée, final vociferations
)