The Dresser Page #2

You should've told

the doctor about the troubles.

No. Civilians never understand.

I could kick myself for taking him

to the hospital.

It was the right thing to do.

I hope so. Doctors.

Can you imagine trying to explain to

a doctor what Sir's been through?

"Well, you see, doctor,

he's been trying to recruit actors

"for his Shakespeare company and

all the able-bodied and best ones

"are in uniform, and the theatres

are bombed

"as soon as you book them. "

Doctors.

He'd have had his hypodermic

rampant before you could say

As You Like It.

Madge is right.

There is no alternative.

We'll have to cancel.

Oh, no, oh, Your Ladyship, no,

cancellation's ever so drastic.

He's ill.

There's no crime in being ill,

it's not high treason,

it's not a capital offence, it's not

desertion in the face of the enemy.

He's not himself. He can't work.

Will the world stop turning?

Will the Nazis overrun England?

One Lear more or less in the world

won't make any difference.

Sir always believes it will.

Who really cares

whether he acts or not?

I never imagined it would

end like this.

I've always thought

he was indestructible.

All the years we've been together.

Feels like a lifetime.

Even longer, he and I.

It'll be the first time

we've ever cancelled.

Look, I want to go to the hospital.

No, Norman.

I want to sit with him,

be with him

and try to give him some comfort.

I can usually make him smile.

Maybe when he sees me...

They wouldn't even let me stay.

I wish I could remember the name of

the girl who got me into all this.

Motherly type, she was,

small parts, play as cast.

I can see her face clearly.

I can see her standing there,

on platform two at Crewe,

a Sunday, I was on platform four.

" Norman," she called.

We'd been together in Outward Bound,

the number three tour,

helped with the wardrobe I did, and

understudied Scrubby, the steward.

That's all aboard a ship, you know.

It's a lovely first act.

"We're all dead, aren't we?"

And I say, "Yes, sir,

we're all dead. Quite dead. "

And he says, "How long have you

been... you been...? Oh, you know. "

"Me? Oh, I was lost young. "

And then he says,

"Where... where are we sailing for?"

And I say, "Heaven, sir.

And hell, too.

"It's the same place, you see. "

Lovely. Well,

to cut a short story shorter,

Sir wanted help in the wardrobe

and someone to assist generally

but, mainly, with the storm in Lear.

I've told you this before,

haven't I?

Put me on the timpani, he did.

And on the first night, after

the storm, while he was waiting

to go on for, "No, they cannot touch

me for coining", he called me over.

My knees were jelly.

"Were you on the timpani tonight?"

I said, "Yes, sir," fearing

the worst. "Thank you," he said.

"You are an artist. "

My father was exactly the same.

Always exaggerated his illnesses.

That's why I thought it was not

very serious, I thought...

Any further developments?

We had better see

the theatre manager.

Perhaps you ought to come with me.

Oh, no, Your Ladyship, please,

let's take our time,

let's not rush things.

There's no alternative.

Madge is right, we can't play

King Lear without the King.

We have to make a decision.

Forgive me, Your Ladyship, it's not

a decision you have to make,

it's the right decision.

I had a friend, in a very low state,

he was, ever so fragile,

a pain to be with.

You weren't safe from him

on top of a bus.

If he happened to sit beside you,

he'd tell you the ABC of unhappiness

between request stops.

Someone close to him, his mother,

I believe,

although it was never proved,

understandably upset,

made a decision.

"A little rest", she said,

"with others similarly off-centre,

"in Colwyn Bay", never a good date,

not in February,

wrapped in a grey rug,

gazing at a grey sea.

Talk about bleak.

Mother-dear made a decision

but it was the wrong decision.

And my friend never acted again.

We have to face the facts.

I've never done that in my life, Your Ladyship,

and I don't see why I should start now.

I just like things to be lovely.

Yes, but things aren't lovely,

Norman.

They aren't if you face facts.

Face the facts, it's facing

the company I worry about.

I'll be in Madge's office

if I'm wanted.

Don't decide yet, Your Ladyship,

let me go to the hospital,

let me see how he is,

you never know.

I do know. I realise now that I've

witnessed a slow running down.

I've heard the hiss of air escaping.

Norman! Norman!

Good evening, Sir.

Good evening, Norman.

Good evening, P*ssy.

Bonzo, why are you here?

Well, my name is on the door.

Did the doctors say you could leave?

Doctors?

Executioners.

Do you know what he told me?

A short, bald butcher.

Il Duce in a white coat.

When a doctor tells you

you need rest, you can be certain

he has not the slightest

idea of what is wrong with you.

I discharged myself.

Telephone the hospital.

Do not telephone the hospital!

Norman, will you leave us, please?

I'll see Madge and tell her

there is an alternative.

Shh-shh!

You're fit for nothing.

Please, P*ssy, don't.

Cancel the performance.

Can't, mustn't, won't.

Then take the consequences.

When have I not?

Where have you been all day?

Don't tell me

you found a brothel in this town.

I can't remember all I've done.

I know towards the evening

I was being pursued

but I couldn't see who

the villains were.

Then the air-raid warning went.

I refused to take shelter.

Wherever I went,

I seemed to hear a woman crying.

Then, suddenly,

I had a clear image of my father

on the beach near Lowestoft.

"An actor?" he said, "Never. "

"You will be a boat builder like me. "

But I defied him and lost his love.

Father preferred people to cower.

But I had to chart my own course.

I decide when I'm ready

for the scrapyard. Not you. I.

No-one else. I.

The woman you heard crying was me.

Norman! Sir.

I want you by me, Norman.

Yes, sir. Don't leave my side,

Norman.

No, sir. I shall need help, Norman.

Yes, sir. Madge.

You speak to him.

He doesn't listen to a word I say.

He's obviously incapable.

You look exhausted.

That's what I call tact.

Are you sure you're able to

go on tonight?

How long have you been with me?

Longer than anyone else.

Have I ever missed a performance?

No, but then you've never been ill.

I only want what's best for you.

What's best for Sir is that

he's allowed to get ready.

Ready, yes, I must get ready.

Ready for what?

If you'll excuse me, Your Ladyship,

shouldn't you be getting ready too?

I can't bear to see him like that.

Then best to leave us.

I've had experience of these things.

I know what has to be done.

Imagine waking to that

night after night.

SHE CHUCKLES:

Right, shall we begin

at the beginning? Good evening, Sir.

"Good evening, Norman. "

And how are you this evening, Sir?

"A little tearful, I'm afraid.

And you, Norman?"

Oh, I'm very well, thank you.

I've had ever such a quiet day,

just ironing your costumes,

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