The Ride Across Lake Constance and Other Plays Read online

  We are sitting pretty much in the dark; judging from the noises coming from that direction, the stage is being rearranged.

  While it is gradually becoming completely dark, we hear music, a succession of chords piped in very much at random, with the pauses between them varying in length. Occasionally several chords follow each other in quick succession.

  The chords are taken from the tune “Colors for Susan” from I Feel Like I’m Fixin’ to Die (Vanguard VSD 70266) by Country Joe and the Fish. The piece only lasts five minutes and fifty-seven seconds, so it’s repeated over and over during the course of events, except for the very end of the tune, which is reserved for the end of the events.

  Onstage, ward and warden are in the process of rearranging the stage: what was inside before is now turned inside out.

  If the stage is of the revolving kind, this process is managed by turning the stage 180 degrees.

  If the stage is not of the revolving kind, ward and warden simply turn the backdrops of the cornfield, beetfield, and house façade so that the backs of the backdrops now represent the inside walls of the house.

  We look out through the back window, behind which the birds are circling.

  Lacking a revolving stage, ward and warden take the objects that stood in front of the house (the object under the rubber coat, etc.) to the back of the stage, and now, as it becomes bright again, they bring the furnishings for the house onstage.

  This is what is required for the play: a rather large table, two chairs, an electric hot plate, a coffee grinder, an assortment of bottles, glasses, cups, saucers, and plates (on the floor in back), an oil lamp, a rubber hose, a bootjack, a newspaper which sticks in the crack of the door.

  On a nail on the door hangs a bullwhip; on the same nail there also hangs a pair of scissors.

  We see a large monthly calendar hanging on what is, from our vantage point, the right wall of the room.

  But so that we can see all of this, the following has transpired in the meantime: the warden lit a match in the dark and turned up the oil lamp. As we already know from many other plays, the entire stage gradually becomes bright when someone lights an oil lamp: the same happens here.

  Now that the stage is brightly lit—let us not forget to listen to the music, which becomes neither softer nor louder—we see it in the following condition: it now represents the room of a house. But this room is still empty, except for the paper in the crack of the door, the objects on the door, and the calendar.

  We see ward and warden, who come onstage from the left and right sides respectively, distribute the aforementioned objects throughout the room: each brings in a chair, then the table is brought onstage by the two of them, then comes the warden with the rubber hose, which he drags across the stage before dropping it, then comes the ward with the bottles and plates, then the warden with the glasses—unhurriedly but not ceremonially either—just as though we weren’t watching; circus workers would go about it differently. No evincing of satisfaction, no contemplation of work well done, no moving to the music.

  They both sit down, the ward almost first but he stops midway and the warden is seated, then the ward sits down too.

  They both make themselves comfortable.

  The music is pleasant.

  The warden extends his legs under the table.

  The ward also extends his legs under the table and comes to a halt when he touches the warden’s feet; then, after a pause, the ward slowly withdraws his legs; the warden does not withdraw his.

  The ward sits there. What to do with his legs?

  Quiet, music.

  The ward puts his feet on the front crosspiece of his own chair, and to accomplish this he uses his body to shove the chair back, producing the customary sound; the warden doesn’t let himself be disturbed, he replies by taking off his hat and placing it on the table.

  Quiet, music.

  The ward slowly looks around the room, around, up, and also down, but avoids grazing the warden with his eyes, makes an about-face, so to speak, whenever he is just about to look at the warden: this is repeated so often that it loses its psychological significance.

  The warden watches the ward.

  The ward stands’up, takes an apple from his pants pocket underneath the coveralls, and puts it beside the hat.

  The warden lowers his gaze to the apple.

  The ward starts gazing around the room again. What is there to see in the room?

  Suddenly, as if he senses a trap, the warden cocks his head.

  The ward, caught by the warden’s gaze, stops looking around.

  Mutual staring at each other, gazing, mutual looking through each other, mutual looking away. Each one looks at the other’s ear.

  The ward places both feet on the floor simultaneously; we can hear it.

  The warden looks at the ward’s ear.

  The ward gets up carefully, softly.

  The warden looks at him, at his ear.

  The ward, aware only of himself, goes to the door, his steps, careful at first, becoming progressively louder as he approaches it.

  The warden follows him with his eyes.

  The ward bends down and pulls the newspaper out of the crack in the door.

  The warden does not follow the ward with his eyes but keeps them fixed on the door: what’s hanging on the door?

  The ward straightens up, goes back to the table with the paper under his arm, walking progressively more carefully again, once by the table walking almost soundlessly; while underway he uses his free hand to take the paper from under his arm and holds it neatly in his hand by the time he stands before the table.

  The warden gazes at the door.

  The ward neatly places the paper beside the hat and the apple.

  The warden lowers his head; in the pause between the movements we hear a louder chord.

  The ward sits down without making a sound, sits the way he did before; the next chord is suddenly softer.

  The warden unfolds the paper completely.

  He reads. He folds the paper together to the size of one page. He pretends to read that page. He reads so that it is almost a pleasure to watch him reading.

  The ward, while seated, pulls, with a good deal of effort, a tiny book out of his pants pocket, the same pants from which he produced the apples, and also reads and is no less pleasant to look at.

  The warden folds the newspaper page in half and goes on reading.

  The ward pulls a pencil out of his pants pocket, a carpenter’s pencil like the warden’s, only smaller; he uses it to mark in the book while reading.

  The warden goes on folding the paper.

  The ward no longer marks in his book but crosses something out.

  The warden goes on folding as best he can.

  The ward is obviously starting to draw in the little book.

  The warden folds.

  The ward exceeds the margins of the book while drawing and begins to draw on the palm of his hand.

  The warden: see above.

  The ward draws on the back of his hand.

  The warden is gradually forced to start crumpling the paper, but we don’t actually notice the transition from folding to crumpling.

  The ward draws on his forearm; what he draws doesn’t necessarily have to resemble the warden’s tattoos.

  The warden is obviously no longer reading or folding but is vigorously crumpling.

  Both figures are vigorously occupied, one with drawing, the other with crumpling.

  The warden completes the crumpling process and the paper is now a tight ball.

  The ward is still drawing.

  The warden is quiet, the ball of paper in his fist; he looks at his opposite, who is drawing.

  The ward is drawing; the longer his opposite gazes at him, the more slowly he draws.

  Then, instead of drawing, he merely scratches himself with the pencil and finally turns it around and scratches his arm with the other end; then he pushes the pencil into his arm without moving it. Then he stop
s doing this and slowly places the pencil next to the hat on the table; he quickly pulls his hand away and places it, slowly, on the forearm with the drawing on it.

  The warden places his fist with the crumpled paper on the table and leaves it there.

  The ward starts looking around the room once more, up, down, to the side, down along his legs.

  The warden unclenches the fist holding the paper ball and places his hand next to it on the table; the paper ball slowly expands.

  The music, noticeably louder now, is pleasant.

  A period without movement—though that is not to say that the figures become graven images—now follows, unobtrusively introducing the next sequence.

  During the period without movement we just listen to the music. Now the music becomes nearly inaudible, just as the main theme may disappear almost entirely during certain sections of a film.

  We see the warden slowly place his forearms on the table.

  In reply to this movement, the ward places his hands on the table, fingertips pointing at the warden.

  The warden, without looking at the ward, slowly places his head on his forearms, on his hands, actually, and in such a way that his mouth and nose are placed on the backs of his hands, with his eyes looking across them.

  Thereupon the ward slowly lowers his head toward the table until his head is hanging between his arms at the height of the table. After pausing briefly in this position and at this level, the ward lowers his head even further, down between his outstretched arms, which he has to bend now, until his head almost touches his knees: the ward remains in that position.

  The warden draws his head toward himself until it lies, not with his mouth and nose, but with his forehead on his hands.

  The ward spreads his knees and sticks his head deeper down between his bent arms and spread knees.

  The warden pulls his hands out from under his head and now lies with his bare face, that is, with his bare mask, on the table.

  (All these movements, although they occur very slowly, are not ceremonial.)

  The ward lets his arms drop from the table but leaves his head hanging between his knees at the previous level.

  The warden, while keeping his face in the previous position, uses his body to push the chair as far away from the table as possible, while still keeping his face on the table, his body slipping from the chair.

  The ward, if possible, clenches his knees together above his head or against it.

  Both of them are completely quiet onstage, as if no one were watching.

  We hear the music somewhat more distinctly.

  Some time passes; it has already passed.

  The objects are in their places, here and there.

  The warden stands up, without our noticing the in-between movements; he stands there, he represents standing, nothing else.

  What will the ward do now?

  Some time passes; we wait.

  Now the ward sits up, without our particularly noticing the in-between movements.

  What is the warden doing? He walks about the stage and represents walking.

  The ward gets up; he stands there.

  The warden runs; the ward begins to walk.

  The warden leaps; the ward begins to …

  The warden climbs up on a chair and is now standing on it; the ward does not leap but stops in his tracks and stands there.

  The warden climbs on the table; the ward climbs on the chair.

  The warden takes the other chair and puts it on the table and climbs on the chair on the table; the ward—how could it be otherwise?—climbs on the table.

  The warden grabs on to a rope hanging down and hangs there; the ward climbs on the chair on the table.

  The warden is hanging quietly, dangling a little, and the ward is quietly standing, high on the chair.

  The warden lets himself drop. He lands with bent knees, then gradually straightens up to his full length.

  The ward quickly climbs off the chair onto the table, from the table down onto the other chair, from this chair down onto the floor, and while doing so also takes the chair on the table down with him, putting it back in its old place and squatting down almost simultaneously.

  All of this transpires so rapidly that if we wanted to count, we could hardly count further than one.

  The warden slowly squats down.

  The ward sits on the floor.

  The warden slowly sits down also.

  As soon as the warden sits down, the ward quickly lies down on the floor.

  The warden slowly, ever so slowly, lies down on his back also, and makes himself comfortable.

  As soon as the warden is lying on his back, the ward quickly rolls over and lies on his stomach.

  The warden, emphasizing each of his movements with the sound it produces, also rolls over on his stomach, slowly.

  As best he can, the ward now bends all his extremities together. We see him diminishing everywhere and becoming smaller. But he wasn’t an inflated balloon before, was he? It appears that he was. The ward becomes smaller and smaller, and flatter, the stage becomes increasingly dark. The warden stays on his stomach as we last saw him, the stage is now dark, we hear the isolated chords.

  The stage becomes bright.

  We see that the two figures are again seated at the table in their previous positions.

  The warden gets up, goes to the bootjack, takes off his boots in a completely professional manner, without exaggerating, as if no one were watching. He kicks each boot across the stage with one kick.

  The ward gets up, goes where the boots are lying, and puts them next to each other beside the door.

  One after the other, warden and ward go back to their places.

  A brief pause.

  The warden rolls his woolen socks from his feet and flings them, bunched up, across the stage, one here, the other there, without any evidence of nasty motives, just as if no one were watching.

  The ward gets up, finds the socks, straightens them out, pulls them right side out, and places them as nicely as possible across the boots. Then he returns to the table and sits down.

  The warden gets up, goes to the door, takes the scissors off the nail, and returns with the scissors to the table.

  After sitting down, he places his naked foot on the side crosspiece of the chair and cuts his toenails.

  We know the sounds.

  He behaves as if we were not really watching.

  He cuts his toenails so slowly and for such a long time that it no longer seems funny.

  When he is finally done he places the scissors on his knees.

  After some time the ward gets up and walks about the stage, picking up the clipped-off toenails and putting them in the palm of one hand.

  He does this so slowly that it, too, is no longer a laughing matter.

  When the ward finally straightens up and returns to the table, the warden takes the scissors from his knees and now begins to clip his fingernails.

  The ward turns around and goes to the calendar hanging on the right-hand wall.

  The warden cuts and the ward tears off a sheet from the calendar.

  The warden cuts and …

  The warden cuts and …

  It is a slow process, without rhythm; it takes the warden a different amount of time to cut off each nail, and the ward needs a different amount of time to tear off each sheet from the calendar; the noises of the snipping and tearing overlap, are not necessarily successive, sometimes occur simultaneously; the calendar sheets flutter to the floor.

  Now the calendar has been completely shorn: all we can see of it is the rather large empty cardboard backing left hanging on the wall.

  But the warden is still cutting his fingernails, and the ward is standing inactively by the wall, his face half to the wall.

  The music, which becomes more distinct, is so pleasant that the noise the scissors make hardly affects us.

  And now that the stage is becoming dark the noise stops at once.

  It becomes br
ight.

  The two persons are sitting in their initial positions at the table, quietly, each by himself.

  The warden gets up, goes to the hot plate. He takes the teakettle from behind the row of bottles and puts one end of the rubber hose into the kettle.

  The warden exits, returns immediately.

  We hear water running into the kettle.

  The warden exits and returns at once.

  He takes the hose out of the kettle, lets it drop. He puts the cover on the kettle and puts the kettle on the hot plate.

  The warden drags the rubber hose onstage.

  As the hose is apparently very long, he has to drag for quite a long time. Finally the warden drags the entire hose onstage.

  Nothing funny happens.

  He winds the hose in an orderly manner over hand and elbow, goes to the table, and places the rolled-up hose with the other objects on the table. He resumes his position.

  Quietly, contemplating each other, the two figures squat onstage.

  Gradually we begin to hear the water simmering in the kettle.

  The ward gets up, fetches the coffee grinder, sits down, makes himself comfortable on the chair, clasps the coffee grinder between his knees and starts to grind. We can hear the grinding …

  The ward gradually stops grinding …

  Now the stopper is probably blown off the kettle, so that it becomes quiet again.

  The music sets in at the appropriate moment, when the stage once more becomes dark.

  On the bright stage we see the two persons at the table, the hot plate having of course been turned off in the meantime.

  The warden gets up and goes offstage.

  But he returns quite soon, a frying pan with glowing incense in one hand, a big piece of white chalk in the other.

  We smell the incense and also see clouds of incense.

  The warden goes to the door and starts writing something on the top of the door.

  The moment he puts chalk to wood, the ward turns toward him on the chair; the ward reaches into his pants and throws something at the warden … it must be something very light because the warden does not stop his very slow writing, which looks almost like drawing.