The Combinations, page 103
to where you found them?
JAN:
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The Party was
thoughtful enough to leave them lying about. (ALICE
gestures dismissively. JAN goes to leave, stops at the door,
stage left. Turns. Watches ALICE begin to remove her suit
jacket.) By the way, isn’t Hedda Gabler supposed to shoot
herself off stage?
ALICE:
(Placing the jacket on a hanger.) You said it yourself. If
pornography’s the order of the day, then let them have
pornography. Why shouldn’t they see everything?
JAN:
How very accommodating of you. Who was it who said: I
despise actors. At the least sign of danger they always
ally themselves with the audience & betray the author…?
(Laughs quietly to himself.) You always were
accommodating, Aličko, only with the wrong people. Why
haven’t you ever been so accommodating with me?
ALICE:
(Begins to unbutton her blouse. Pauses, her face in her
hands. Looks up, fatigued.) I’m tired, Honza. (She rubs her
temples with her hands.) Every night… I have these
terrible headaches. I wish they’d go away.
JAN:
(He looks at her unsympathetically for a moment without
moving.) You should hold the gun further from your head.
ALICE:
(She closes her eyes & continues removing her blouse.) And
what if I missed? (JAN stares uncomprehendingly at her,
then silently goes out stage left. ALICE opens her eyes &
continues undressing. She crosses back to the dressing
table in, e.g., underwear & stockings. She searches her
handbag for some painkillers, takes out a bottle of pills &
swallows a handful of them. Grimaces. Then takes a kimono
from a hook on the wall beside the dressing mirror. She
puts the kimono on while watching herself closely in the
mirror. Then removes her stockings, draping them over the
back of the chair. As she removes the stockings, the lights
begin to fade to green… Footlights up, suffusing the
dressing room with a surreal chiaroscuro. The TWO IVANS
enter silently from the stairway: they’re dressed in
evening attire with carnations in their lapels —- one is
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tall & thin, the other short & fat —- one well groomed, the
other slovenly —- both wearing moustaches. They have the
appearance of a two-man vaudeville routine.)
IVAN 1:
Well, well, well. I do hope we are not interrupting you,
Miss Gabler. Ah! (Picking up the roses from the divan &
smelling them.) An admirer! (Hands the bouquet to Ivan 2
who sniffs at it & then tosses it over his shoulder.) But
that’s hardly surprising, n’est-ce pas? (He stands close
behind ALICE, casting his gaze around the room, taking it
in.) You are, after all, as our newspapers so discreetly
proclaim, a most handsome woman. (He picks up one of
ALICE’s stockings.) One might even say, desirable, hmm? (He
lets the stocking fall back.)
IVAN 2:
(Sneezes.) Shite! (Pulls a handkerchief from his breast
pocket & loudly blows his nose. Looks at the handkerchief,
wrinkles his face in disgust, then stuffs the handkerchief
back in his pocket. During this, Alice leans forward to
grip her dressing table & keep her balance. She breathes
erratically.)
IVAN 1:
Tut-tut! Don’t let my colleague’s boorishness upset you,
Miss Gabler. He was deprived, you see, in his childhood. All
men are born equal, so they say, but that’s where the
similarity ends. Is that not true, brother.
IVAN 2:
Sounds like a lot of bollocks to me. (He has begun sniffing
at the clothes racks. During what follows he randomly
takes costumes from their hangers, sniffs at them dog-
like, then tosses them on the floor. During the ensuing
dialogue he actually takes out his prick & pisses on them.)
IVAN 1:
There, you see, what did I tell you? (Moves over to divan.
Sits.) I don’t suppose you mind if we make ourselves at
home? (Makes himself comfortable.) Very nice. (To ALICE.) A
very nice arrangement you have here, Miss Gabler. Not
everyone can be as fortunate as you are. Eh? (To IVAN 2.)
What do you say, brother?
IVAN 2:
This stuff smells queer.
IVAN 1:
Ah. Never smelt a lady’s perfume before, you see. Nothing
too fancy for my brother here, eh? Hero of the
proletariat, he is.
ALICE:
(She rights herself, straightening her kimono. Ignoring
them, she sits & lights a cigarette. Very softly she begins
to hum & then sing to herself.) Und der Haifisch, der hat
Zähne, und die trägt er im Gesicht. Und MacHeath, der hat
ein Messer, doch das Messer sieht man nicht…
IVAN 1:
(While ALICE sings.) You know, there’s something I’ve been
wondering. When you put that toy gun to your pretty
little head, Miss Gabler, & blow your pretty little brains
out… figuratively speaking, of course… I’ve been
wondering… at that moment… you understand?… what it is
that you feel. I mean, as an artist… imitating life… I
mean, death, Miss Gabler. What does it feel like? (Pause.)
Oh, don’t get me wrong, Miss Gabler. It isn’t that I doubt
(gesturing at the stage above)… that all of this is… real.
But is it as real as actions… out there… made by ordinary
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people… in the real world?
ALICE:
(Stubs out her cigarette & turns to look at herself in the
mirror, applies some lipstick & mascara.)
IVAN 2:
What’s all this junk for anyway? (Holds a lowcut sequinned
dress up against his torso, as though modelling it.) How do
I look?
IVAN 1:
A sight for sore eyes.
IVAN 2:
(Tosses the dress on the pile already growing on the floor.
Begins to stalk across the room, his eyes fixed on ALICE’s
face in the mirror.) I reckon she’d be a sight for sore
eyes.
IVAN 1:
Easy brother. We don’t want to frighten the young lady. Do
we, Miss Gabler?
IVAN 2:
I don’t reckon she’s been listening to a word you’ve said.
IVAN 1:
Ah, you see, Miss Gabler, how difficult it is to inspire
confidence these days? An audience can be so susceptible…
to misunderstanding.
IVAN 2:
Not one word, I reckon.
IVAN 1:
Misunderstandings can be dangerous, Miss Gabler. It’s the
responsibility of a true artiste, wouldn’t you say, to
prevent misunderstandings… To prevent people from
becoming confused… in the wrong ways. Of course, we didn’t
come here to patronise you, Miss Gabler… (IVAN 2 advances
towards ALICE. He takes one of ALICE’s stockings from the
back of her chair & begins winding it around both of his
fists.) Merely to suggest a little more… realism… a little
more… truth… (IVAN 2 reaches over ALICE’s head, the
stocking taught between his fists, seemingly about to
strangle her. At the last moment, she looks up & registers
his presence. She screams, passing out. IVAN 2 catches her,
the stocking slipping down across her chest. His effort to
keep her upright results in a type of grotesque dance, her
breasts spilling out. The “dance” ends with IVAN 2
dragging ALICE behind what remains of the clothes rack.
There are muffled sounds, followed by silence. IVAN 1
remains seated throughout, his arms spread across the back
of the divan, head back, eyes closed. IVAN 2 re-emerges, his
suit dishevelled, picking at his front teeth with a
toothpick. He goes over to the dressing table, sits,
commences combing his hair.)
IVAN 2:
Bitches like that always play hard to get.
IVAN 1:
Come now brother, we’re civilised men.
IVAN 2:
Sure. But you ask me, they all deserve a good kick in the
cunt.
IVAN 1:
Yoohoo! You can come out now, Miss Gabler, no-one’s going to
hurt you. (Pause. ALICE appears on her hands & knees. She
slowly crawls to the front of the stage, facing the
audience. Her makeup’s ruined. Her hair, kimono, etc. in
disarray.) You must excuse us, Miss Gabler, we’re not
artistes like you are. Merely… amateurs. In the theatre,
people are all such… romantics. Yet romanticism, dear
Miss, also has its dangers.
ALICE:
(Barely audible.) What do you… want…?
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IVAN 2:
Did you hear something?
ALICE:
(Louder.) What do you want from me?
IVAN 1:
Ah! We want only to be of service to you, Miss Gabler.
ALICE:
(Opens her mouth, but is unable to speak.)
IVAN 1:
Isn’t there something you want to tell us, Miss Gabler?
Something that could help you?
ALICE:
No! (Shakes her head vigorously.) I don’t know anything.
IVAN 1:
(Going through ALICE’s handbag, emptying the contents on
the floor, rifling the drawers of the dressing table, etc.)
They all say the same fucking thing. Every time I hear
that, it makes me want to puke. (He stands & crosses the
room, leans down & shouts into her ear.) You listening to
me, you bourgeois slut? YOU MAKE ME WANT TO PUKE! (She
cringes, her body sagging forward. She stares at the
audience wide-eyed while IVAN 2 goes back to picking the
room apart.)
IVAN 1:
There! And you were afraid you’d never experience an
authentic emotion again! See how much better it’d be if you
co-operated, Miss Gabler?
ALICE:
(Long pause.) Yes.
IVAN 1:
Good. I feel we’re making genuine progress.
ALICE: Yes.
IVAN 1:
Good! I’m glad you agree. (Pause.) So, enough fun & games,
then?
ALICE: Yes.
IVAN 1:
Very good. (To IVAN 2.) Have you found it?
IVAN 2:
Must’ve taken it with him. (Holds up the pistol for IVAN 1
to see, hands it to him. He turns back towards ALICE, takes
another toothpick from his pocket & idly picks at his
front teeth, watching her.)
IVAN 1:
(Turns the pistol over in his hands, feeling its weight, a
faint grin on his lips.) Well, that doesn’t really matter,
does it Miss Gabler? No. You’ve already told us everything
we need.
ALICE:
(Looks confused.) What? But I don’t know anything.
IVAN 2:
(Spits.) There she goes again. Denial of all knowledge.
IVAN 1:
But Miss Gabler, we’re not interested in what you know,
we’re only interested in the facts.
IVAN 2:
Hard facts.
IVAN 1:
(Stands & walks to stage front, kneels beside ALICE,
holding the gun in front of her so that she can see it. He
leans close to her.) For example, Miss Gabber, what do you
call this?
ALICE:
(Hesitates.) It’s part of my act.
IVAN 1:
Your act, Miss Gabler?
ALICE:
My character, the performance. You know!
IVAN 1:
(He slams the gun down on the floor.) Do you mean to say,
deception, Miss Gabler? Subterfuge?
ALICE: I
mean…
IVAN 2:
What do you mean, Miss Gabler?
ALICE:
But it isn’t real!
IVAN 1:
What’s not real? We’re real, aren’t we? You’re real. This
room is real. Did you think, perhaps, that all of this was
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only in your putrid imagination?
ALICE:
(Pushes herself up from the floor, shouts.) Stop it! You’re
not making any sense! (Lights dim. Spot up on ALICE
staring blindly at the audience. Then fade. The stage is in
darkness. Volta enters from stairs —- a man in his late
fifties, tall, thin, with glasses, dressed conservatively in
a grey suit, but with a colourful bowtie —- light from the
stairway falling behind him. He fumbles for a lightswitch.
Lights-up as at start. The dressing room in disarray. He
sees Alice, hesitates, startled, a look of sadness gradually
taking over. He crosses the room towards her, his hand
reaching out in an indecisive gesture.
VOLTA:
Aličko?
ALICE:
(Confused, as if waking from a dream.) Who’s there? (Looks
up at VOLTA, without at first recognising him.) What do
you want? (Glances around, sits up, appears to get her
bearings.) Oh God. (Presses her knuckles to the sides of her
head.) How my head aches. (Lets her hands drop to the
floor.)
VOLTA:
(Reaching down he picks up the pistol from where it lies
beside her, looks at it questioningly, then puts it in his
pocket.) Can you stand? (Takes her arm. Unsteadily she
stands. She draws her kimono close around her & laughs
confusedly, avoiding his looks.) Did something happen?
(Pulls away from him & rushes to the dressing table, sees
her reflection & recoils. VOLTA crosses behind her &
stands with his hands on her shoulders. ALICE searches for
a cigarette, lights one, begins wiping her face with a
tissue. After a moment her composure, much exaggerated,
returns.)
ALICE:
Ha! If only there wasn’t so much clutter everywhere!
(Flicks at the mess on her dressing table. She gets up,
searching for something, & finds the bouquet on the floor.
She picks it up & looks at it, shaking her head.)
VOLTA:
(Solicitously.) You must be happy that someone brought you
flowers.
ALICE:
(Her voice suddenly hard.) It was an unbearable
performance. The worst, Níko! (Her voice shifting in
emotional register.) I can’t stand it anymore. (She strikes
him across the chest with the bouquet, falls into his arms,
sobbing like a child —- then just as suddenly pulls away,
composes herself. Rushes across to the clothes racks &
begins searching through the pile of costumes till she
finds the red sequined dress.) Why don’t we go out, the way
we used to, & drink Champagne?
VOLTA:
(Laughs uneasily.) Are you joking?
ALICE:
Can’t we at least pretend?
VOLTA:
I thought you were sick of pretending.
ALICE:
Sick, sick, sick. You’re right. Everything’s so confusing. I
wish these pains would go away.
VOLTA:
You shouldn’t put the gun so close…
ALICE:
(Narrowing her eyes at him.) Strange. Somebody said that
exact same thing to me, just this minute. Right where
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you’re standing. (An abrupt whinnying laugh.) Why don’t
you put on something quiet.
VOLTA:
If it would help, why not. (He goes over to a cupboard &,
out of view, puts on a slow Kurt Weil number. VOLTA
adjusts the volume till it’s barely audible…)
ALICE:
Help, help, help. You’re always so reasonable Níko. So
helpful. I don’t deserve you at all, do I? (While VOLTA has
his back turned, she shrugs off the kimono & steps into
the red dress, an early ’50s re-imagining of late Weimar
kabaret.) Come & zip me up. (She makes vague dance
movements, eyes closed, facing the audience. VOLTA crosses
behind her, his face blank. After watching her for several
moments he walks up behind her, places a hand on the back
of her neck, & zips up her dress with the other. ALICE
leans her weight against him, her head tilted back, lips
parted. As he moves to kiss her shoulder she lets out a
deep-throated laugh & pulls away. He stands there
watching as she dances a slow circle around him, humming
to the music out of time. The piece ends, silence envelops
them —- they both stand looking out at the audience.)
Níko… I’m tired of all this. I mean… All we do each night
is humiliate ourselves. They laugh at us. Besides, the only
people who show up are the same rotten informers over &
over. We should all be on a first name basis by now.
VOLTA:
Oh, their names are never that interesting. (Laughing
weakly.) You know. Boris… Ivan… Honza… (Pause.) A theatre
can’t survive without an audience.
ALICE:
(Turns to him.) Why don’t we just shut it down?
