All objects are in such a position that it would be difficult to imagine them standing elsewhere; it is as though they could not bear being moved ever so slightly. Everything appears as though rooted to the spot, not only the objects themselves but also the distances and empty spaces between them.
The light is that of early morning.
After the curtain has opened, two portieres to the right and left of the proscenium are revealed, as portieres to a chambre séparée.
A WOMAN, her hair wrapped in a WHITE SCARF, moves quickly but not hastily among the objects with a vacuum cleaner. She is in blackface. The vacuum cleaner, which was turned on the moment the curtain began to open, makes a more or less steady noise.
On a fauteuil beside the table, his legs on the appropriate footstool, sits EMIL JANNINGS, his eyes closed. He is quite fat. His boots stand next to the stool. He is wearing red silk socks, black pants, a light-colored shirt, open at the collar. He seems costumed although only hints of a costume are visible: rather long frills on the sleeves of the silk shirt, a wine-red silk sash around his stomach.
He is heavily made up, the eyebrows are painted. On the right hand, whose nails are lacquered black, he wears several large rings.
He has not moved since the curtain opened, and the WOMAN has nearly completed her work. Pushing the vacuum cleaner back and forth near the newspaper table with one hand, she turns on the record player with the other.
However, one hears only a few isolated sounds; the vacuum cleaner is too noisy.
She takes the cleaner to the back wall and turns it off so that the music becomes audible: “The Garden Is Open” by T. Kupferberg. She pulls the plug out of the socket, rolls it up on the machine, and places the machine behind the tapestry door.
While the record continues to play, she walks from object to object and takes off the dropcloths, except those on the paintings and on the statue. Although she moves fairly slowly, her work is proceeding quite rapidly; at least, one barely notices it. She pulls the cover from under EMIL JANNINGS with a single movement and walks off to the left while the record is still playing.
Then nothing moves onstage for a while except for the record.
The record player turns itself off, and after a moment JANNINGS slowly opens his eyes.
JANNINGS
(With a cracked voice) As I said — (He clears his throat once and repeats in a firm voice.) As I said. (Pause.) A bad moment. (Someone behind the screen with a cracked voice: “Why?” He clears his throat twice; the second time he does so he steps out from behind the screen, repeats then in a firm voice: “Why?” It is HEINRICH GEORGE, quite fat, his clothes also suggesting a costume, with braids trimming his jacket and with lace-up shoes. He stands there. JANNINGS has turned his head away slightly.) It’s over already.
GEORGE
(Takes a step toward JANNINGS and collapses. As he slowly rises again) My foot has fallen asleep.
JANNINGS
(Reaches for the cigar box. He lifts it but cannot hold on to it so that it falls to the floor.) So has my hand. (GEORGE carefully walks up to JANNINGS, stops next to him. Both of them glance at each other for the first time, then look away again. GEORGE leans against the edge of the table, now sits down on it. The cigar box is lying on the floor between them. Both look at it. JANNINGS turns his head toward GEORGE. GEORGE slides of the table. JANNINGS points at the cigar box. GEORGE misunderstands the gesture and looks as if there was something to see on the box. JANNINGS agrees to the misunderstanding and now points as if he really wanted to point out something.) That blue sky you see on the label, my dear fellow, it really exists there.
GEORGE
(Bends down to the cigar box, takes it, looks at it.) You’re right! (He puts the box back on the floor and straightens up.)
JANNINGS
You’re standing …
GEORGE
(Interrupts him.) I can also sit down. (He sits down in the fauteuil with the smaller footstool and makes himself comfortable.) What did you want to say?
JANNINGS
“You’re standing just now: would you be kind enough to hand me the cigar box from the floor?”
(Pause.)
GEORGE
You were dreaming?
JANNINGS
When the nights were especially long, in winter.
GEORGE
You must be dreaming.
JANNINGS
Once, on a winter evening, I was sitting with someone in a restaurant. As I said, it was evening, we sat by the window and were talking about a corpse; about a suicide who had leaped into the river. Outside, it rained. We held the menus in our hands. “Don’t look to the right!” (GEORGE quickly looks to the left, then to the right.) shouted the person opposite me. I looked to the right: but there was no corpse. Besides, my friend had meant I should not look on the right page of the menu because that was where the prices were marked. (Pause.) How do you like the story?
GEORGE
So it was only a story?
(Pause.)
JANNINGS
When one tells it, it seems like that to oneself.
GEORGE
Like a story? (JANNINGS nods. Pause. Then he slowly shakes his hedd.) So you’re wrong after all. Then it’s true what you told me?