LITMIR.BIZ

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      THRASH: I don’t / do I? /

      WARDROBE: So if you die /

      THRASH: That’s neither more nor less than I expected /

      WARDROBE: Like sunset / like sunrise /

      (He still holds the violin case. THRASH relieves him of it and goes out. Neither WARDROBE nor BIBLE moves. At last BIBLE sits on the canvas bed. WARDROBE studies him. He thinks to speak, but refrains.)

      She won’t /

      (He ponders.)

      Come to grief / if there had been the slightest danger of bad consequences I /

      (He frowns.)

      No / no / that’s a lie /

      (He bites his lip.)

      That’s a lie / and surely / if there are mitigating aspects / or even one / one aspect / which might be identified in the inventory of squalor that defines the frontier / it is this / really / there is no need to lie /

      (BIBLE is consumed in introversion.)

      Wouldn’t you say? /

      (He does not distract BIBLE.)

      So / no / no need to posture / or pretend / I was perfectly happy for her to /

      (He stops. He listens.)

      No explosion / and frankly /

      (He listens again.)

      Frankly / your proposition was absurd / if the Emperor wished to put an end to my vocation / or / strictly speaking / to annihilate any possibility of my practising this vocation / he would / I think / have elaborated a stratagem more / devastating / than simply tearing my hand to shreds /

      (He peers. BIBLE, profoundly tired, lies back.)

      She’s all right / she’s coming / she is perfectly all right / in fact / she’s smiling / smiling and shaking her head / something amuses her / waving a paper / no violin / I said so / didn’t I? / no violin / a sheet of paper / instead /

      (He is briefly irritable.)

      DON’T WAVE IT / BRING IT /

      (BIBLE is untouched by this account.)

      She thinks it’s funny / waving and waving it / the woman has a sense of humour / I suppose if you expected to be dead / a certain infantile relief is only to be expected /

      (He urges her with his arms.)

      BRING IT / BRING IT /

      (He turns away.)

      A sheet of paper / Bible / not a bomb /

      (WARDROBE is darkened by a thought.)

      Not a bomb / though it must be said / sheets of paper / they also might be lethal /

      (THRASH enters, the violin case hanging open in one hand, a sheet of paper clutched in the other.)

      You don’t say live /

      (WARDROBE grins at THRASH.)

      You don’t say live / do you? / and the consequence is / you will never die /

      (They both laugh.)

      Give it to me / give me whatever you /

      (THRASH extends it. WARDROBE sees without moving.)

      It’s music / music / Bible / he’s sent me /

      (He is simultaneously delighted and appalled, gratified and wary.)

      Music /

      (WARDROBE advances on THRASH and receives the pages from her. He looks at the title. THRASH goes to discard the empty violin case but WARDROBE’s cry inhibits her.)

      SUBTLE / SUBTLE / SUBTLE IS THE EMPEROR / SUBTLE / OH GOD / HE IS /

      (He howls, a sound made of ecstasy and despair in equal measure.)

      Have we not arrived / is it not / blindingly obvious we have arrived / at a cross-roads of human history and experience / when the persecutor / in the euphoria of his instincts / in the discipline of his mind / at the zenith of his cruelty / never more savage / never more refined / is barely one heart-beat ahead / in the design of his appalling punishment / than his victim in perceiving it / we are / we are /

      (He shakes his head.)

      Him / and me / we are /

      THRASH: No violin / Wardrobe /

      WARDROBE: (His most terrible rendering yet.) DID YOU FRIG MY MOTHER? / DID YOU? / DID YOU? / DID YOU FRIG MY MOTHER? /

      THRASH: What’s the use of music /

      WARDROBE: YOUR FINGERS SHONE / YOUR SHINING FINGERS /

      THRASH: When there’s nothing to play it on? /

      WARDROBE: HE SAYS YOU FRIGGED MY MOTHER /

      (His article ends in laughter that folds him at the waist. Slowly, he regains an upright posture. He realizes he has crushed the sheets of music in his fist. In the silence, he pulls and straightens them.)

      And this / this music /

      THRASH: I’ll speak to the Captain /

      WARDROBE: This music / Bible /

      (He sniffs. He is quite calm.)

      Is / ha / is /

      (He sniffs again, a self-conscious gesture.)

      Not any old music /

      (BIBLE barely heeds WARDROBE.)

      No /

      (He lifts it high in the air, squinting.)

      It’s dedicated to me /

      (His eyes fill with tears as he reads.)

      ‘To Thomas Wardrobe / the greatest performer of his generation / I humbly dedicate this rhapsody’ /

      (He casts a glance at BIBLE.)

      It’s a rhapsody /

      (He reads again.)

      ‘For solo violin’ / that’s wise / no chance of a piano accompaniment out here /

      (He stares at the page.)

      And a signature /

      (He stiffens. The wind blows leaves over the floor.)

      ‘Froben Backus’ /

      (He sways faintly.)

      Froben / Anda / Backus / humbly dedicates a rhapsody to me /

      (He screws up his face.)

      HUMBLY / HUMBLY / BIBLE / HUMBLY HE DEDICATES TO ME /

      (He cannot control the wave of tears that breaks over him.)

      THRASH: He’s got lots of violins / the Captain / I’ll say / we need a violin / urgently / urgently because /

      (Some dread inhibits her intention.)

      Because Froben has /

      (She suffers.)

      Froben has humbly /

      (WARDROBE ceases. He sniffs. He remains very taut and still.)

      BIBLE: (At last.) How good is it? /

      (WARDROBE ignores BIBLE’s remark.)

      He might humbly dedicate it / all the same it might be /

      WARDROBE: It’s Backus /

      BIBLE: Less brilliant than he /

      WARDROBE: Backus / Bible /

      BIBLE: Expected it to be / we have good and bad days / look at me / I /

      WARDROBE: BACKUS / BACKUS / BIBLE / BACKUS /

      BIBLE: I USED TO HAVE BAD DAYS / SO MIGHT HE HAVE / EVEN

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