The Dresser Page #9

have life,

And thou no breath at all?

Thou'It come no more,

Never, never, never, never, never!

Pray you, undo this button.

Thank you, sir. Do you see this?

Look on her, her lips,

Look there, look there.

HE GASPS:

Look up, my lord.

Stand by, curtain down.

O, let him pass. He hates him

that would upon

the rack of this tough world

stretch him out longer.

He's gone.

The weight of this sad time

we must obey. Speak what we feel,

not what we ought to say.

The oldest hath borne most,

we that are young

shall never see so much,

nor live so long.

Go flies.

APPLAUSE:

We've done it, Will, we've done it!

Stand by for your curtain calls.

Curtain going up.

What play tomorrow? Richard III.

Slavery, bloody slavery.

Norman, Norman.

Sir.

What will happen to you?

Can you be a little more explicit?

What will happen to you

if I cannot continue?

Oh, stop it.

Nothing ever happens to me.

I lead a life

entirely without incident.

But if I should be

unable to continue...

Well, there's no chance of that

so I'm not bothering to answer.

I worry about you, my boy. Don't.

KNOCK AT DOOR:

Who?

Geoffrey. Come. (Oh god.)

Just popped in to say goodnight,

old man.

Goodnight, Geoffrey.

Very fine in the storm scene.

I felt your love,

and that's what matters.

Oh, thank you.

Fool is by far the most important

part I've ever played

in Shakespeare. I hope you feel

I didn't let you down.

Offer Geoffrey a small

glass of beer, Norman.

Thank you.

Well, such an odd feeling tonight,

old man.

Rather exciting to reach my age

to prove to others that one can act.

That's the wonderful thing

about this life of ours.

It's never too late.

Surprising things happen.

But there are disadvantages.

One gets the taste for more.

Cheers. May good health attend you.

Bottoms up, Geoffrey.

May I ask you a question, old man?

Ask.

Fool is a curious role.

You give your all for almost

an hour-and-a-half, then vanish into

thin air for the rest of the play.

The next you hear of me

is you saying that I'm hanged.

But why? By whom?

It seems awfully unfair.

My theory is that, in William's day,

Fool and Cordelia were played

by one and the same person. A very

good double, Fool and Cordelia.

Saved an extra salary, of course.

Well, things haven't changed.

As long as you feel

I didn't let you down.

In no particular.

Just one last thing, I won't keep

you, I know you're very tired.

But when you interviewed me,

I said that I didn't want too much.

Small parts, I said.

It may not be thought admirable,

but I have never put a jot at risk.

Never wanted to scale the heights.

Played goodish parts,

tours, of course, never London.

I don't complain.

Touring's a good life.

Enjoyed my cricket in summer, hockey

in the winter...

lovely women, long walks,

a weekly change of scene,

the English countryside

in all weathers.

What could be nicer?

But never risked a jot.

No, I've been lucky.

Mustn't complain.

I expect I can get through

to the end of the chapter.

I've a little put by.

And my wife brings in a bit

from her singing lessons.

I've no right to expect work,

not at my age.

War's brought surprising employment.

All the youngsters at the front.

My grandson, not a pro...

.. taken prisoner at Tripoli.

Sorry to be so long-winded.

But the point is,

if at any time circumstances arise,

I should like to be considered

for better parts.

And I shouldn't want

an increase in salary.

I shall keep you

in the forefront of my mind.

Thank you, old man.

Well... Goodnight.

Thank you for the drink.

I can manage. Night, Norman.

Fine fellow.

Fine fellow.

Shall we remove your make-up, Sir?

I hope Will's pleased tonight.

I had a friend...

Not now, Norman.

I had a friend who had

ever such a sweet singing voice,

but he lost it in Colwyn Bay

after a bad attack of sea mist.

But it came back to him again,

in the end, and do you know why?

Because he said to himself they

also sing who only stand and serve.

Or words to that effect.

Are you pissed, Norman?

Me, Sir? Pissed, Sir?

Sir Percy, how you do tousle me.

Let me smell your breath.

There. Told you.

Sweet as Winston Churchill.

I can't have you pissed.

DOOR OPENS:

You not dressed yet?

I'm a little slow tonight,

P*ssy.

I'm not waiting.

I'll go back to the digs,

and see if I can get a fire lit.

I won't be long.

Goodnight, Norman... I'm not sure

whether I should thank you or not.

Not. I can't bear to be thanked.

Goodnight.

She's a good woman.

Good woman.

BANGING ON DOOR:

Who? Mr Oxenby.

HE SOBS:

What do you want? My manuscript.

He won't read it, I know that.

Keep your voice down! He's not gone

yet. Just wait there.

He's a little slow tonight.

All that struggling and surviving

has tired him, no doubt.

Please, Mr Oxenby.

Outmoded hypocrite.

Tell him from me, I look forward

to a new order.

I want a company without tyrants.

Who'd be in charge?

I would.

You'll be lovely with a bit success,

Mr Oxenby.

Your nose is browner than usual

tonight, Norman.

Goodnight, Sir.

If you hurry,

you'll catch Mr Oxenby.

HE GROANS:

Sir? AGH!

Oh, good God! I am tired. Terribly

tired. The room is spinning.

I must lie down.

See if you can get me a taxi

in this godforsaken place.

All in good time.

Oh, don't cry. Now, don't cry.

There's nothing left.

Stop that at once.

I had a friend...

Oh, for Christ's sake,

I'm sick of your friends!

The motley crew they are.

Pathetic, lonely, despairing...

That's nice, isn't it(?)

I beg your pardon. Uncalled for.

Think of me as your friend.

Never despairing.

Have apologised.

Never, never despairing.

Well, perhaps sometimes. At night.

Or at Christmas,

when you can't get a job in a panto.

But never once inside the building.

Never.

Pathetic maybe, but not ungrateful.

Too mindful of one's luck,

as the saying goes.

No duke is more privileged. Here's

beauty, here's spring and summer.

Here pain is bearable.

And never lonely. Not here.

For he that sheds his blood today

with me. Soft, no doubt.

Sensitive - that's my nature.

Easily hurt, but that's a virtue.

And I'm not here

for any reasons of my own either.

No-one could accuse me

of base motives.

I have got what I want

and I don't need anyone to know it.

Inadequate, yes.

But never, never despairing.

I've begun My Life.

Fetch it. The book.

I made a start...

You didn't get very far...

What did I write?

"My Life. Dedication.

"This book is dedicated

to my beloved P*ssy,

"who has been my splendid spur.

"To the spirit of all actors

because of their faith

"and endurance

which never fails them.

"To those who do

the work of the theatre yet have

"but small share in the glory.

"The carpenters, electricians,

scene-shifters, property men.

"To the audiences, who have laughed

with us, have wept with us

"and whose hearts have united

with ours

"in sympathy and understanding. "

"But finally... "

ah, Sir,

"to the memory

of William Shakespeare...

".. in whose glorious service

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