House Painters Have No Memories - by Dario Fo

HOUSE PAINTERS HAVE NO MEMORIES

[ “Gli imbianchini non hanno ricordi” ]

A one-act farce by Dario Fo

translated by Ed Emery

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For all queries regarding performance rights, please contact

Agenzia Tolnay : info [@] tolnayagency.it

For all queries regarding the text, please contact the translator at:

ed.emery [@]thefreeuniversity.net

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[The Performance Text]

CHARACTERS:

Widow

House Painter

The Foreman

Gentleman

Anna

Diana

Sonia

Dummy [George]

SCENE:

The curtain rises on a drawing room, furnished in indefinable style. It is cluttered with all kind of objects, generally in dubious taste – curtains, paintings,stiff and lifeless family photographs. To one side, sitting in an armchair, we see a wax DUMMY of a man. He looks imposing, with thick eyebrws, glasses and a moustache. The doorbell rings. A WOMAN enters through a side door. She is aged about 30, and is dressed in a very austere, slightly old-fashioned style. She pauses for a moment. She look around the room and arranges one or two objects. She goes over to the DUMMY, gazes at it lovingly, caresses it, and then goes to open the door on the right of the stage.

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WIDOW: I’m coming, I’m coming. Who is it?

She opens the door.

HOUSE-PAINTER: [He comes in, carrying a ladder over his shoulder. We don’t see the whole ladder – only a few rungs. The rest remains off-stage] Painters and decorators, ma’am... This is where we were supposed to come, isn’t it?

WIDOW: Well, to tell the truth, I was expecting upholsterers, not house-painters.

HOUSE-PAINTER: To do what?

WIDOW: What do you mean, to do what? Excuse me – you do do upholstering, don’t you...?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Ah... to tell the truth, I don’t know... You’re going to have to ask my guv’nor, the foreman.

WIDOW: Alright... where is your “guv’nor”?

HOUSE-PAINTER: He’ll be along in just a minute... Just wait here... he’ll be along in a moment. Excuse me, if you dont mind.

So saying, he passes through the flat, with the rest of the ladder following behind him. He disappears into the wings opposite, and eventually, at the other end of the ladder, another HOUSE-PAINTER enters.

WIDOW: Oh, at last! The gentleman who... who’s at the other end of your ladder told me that you... Are you “the guv’nor”?

FOREMAN: Yes, madam. Painters and decorators, at your service.

WIDOW: Do you do upholstering too?

FOREMAN: I bet that idiot told you that we don’t.

WIDOW: No... He said that...

FOREMAN: Yes we do?

WIDOW: No... Well, actually, he said he wasn’t sure...

FOREMAN: Well, we do! Would you mind holding this ladder for a moment... I have a few words to say to him.

So saying, he persuades the LADY to take his place. He passes the ladder through his hands, so that she disappears out of the hall door, and the other HOUSE-PAINTER re-appears.

WIDOW: But what are you doing... I’ve never carried a ladder before.

FOREMAN: It’s not hard, really. The main thing is not to start thinking that it’s a ladder. Otherwise you start thinking: “Heavens, this ladder’s really heavy.”

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Re-entering] You called...?

FOREMAN: [Grabbing him roughly by the collar] What did you just tell that woman?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Me? I never said a thing...! She just asked me if we were upholsterers too... and I didn’t really know what to say...

FOREMAN: I see... you didn’t know what to say! How many times do I have to tell you that whenever people ask whether we can do a particular job, the answer is always yes... Yes, yes, yes...! We Can Do It!

HOUSE-PAINTER: Yes, but we’re not upholsterers... we can’t do upholstery...

FOREMAN: And I suppose that just because we call ourselves house-painters, that means that we can do house- painting? Idiot! I ask you... the one time in the week when we actually find someone silly enough to employ us, and you have to start playing hard-to-get: “I don’t know... I’m not sure... we’ll have to see...”

HOUSE-PAINTER: Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up! I’ll tell her yes. Where is the lady?

FOREMAN: At the other end of the ladder.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Here, hold this. I’ll go and talk with her.

The same scene as before, only in reverse.

FOREMAN: Alright. But get a move on, and don’t make any more stupid mistakes...!

HOUSE-PAINTER: [To the WOMAN, as she re-enters] Welcome back... I’ve just spoken with the boss, and he says yes.

WIDOW: I’m glad... But don’t you think it would be better if you were holding this?

So saying, she passes the ladder to the HOUSE-PAINTER..

HOUSE-PAINTER: Ah, yes... alright... Beg pardon... ! Excuse me.

WIDOW: Right, now. Seeing that you are also upholsterers... I want you to take down those two curtains, and replace them with another pair, which I’ll bring you. The material’s still in one piece, but I presume you know how to cut curtains.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Oh yes, we know how to do everything, we do... everything.

WIDOW: Good... But this ladder... it looks a bit too long, to me... Will it fit in here?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Well, if we need to, we could always saw a bit off... But I think it’ll fit sideways.

WIDOW: Obviously, you’re more practical at these things than I am. You see, I’m a woman.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Ha, ha, ha! [He laughs] I spotted that at once, you know... from the necklace.

WIDOW: Now, as regards remuneration... What are you going to charge me for the two curtains? You must realise that I’m a poor widow, and I don’t have a lot of money...

HOUSE-PAINTER: You’re a widow?

WIDOW: Yes...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Me too.

WIDOW: You’re a widow too?

HOUSE-PAINTER: No... I’m a widower.

WIDOW: Ah yes... [She sighs] ...It’ a terrible thing when you’re left alone in the world... but then, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you... I trust that you’ll give me a decent price...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Yes, but as regards prices, you’ll have to talk with the guv’nor.

WIDOW: Is he a widower too?

HOUSE-PAINTER: No, not him...

WIDOW: Shame...

HOUSE-PAINTER: But his wife is...

WIDOW: His wife...? That was quick! When did he die? He was here just a moment ago, and he looked alright to me...

HOUSE-PAINTER: No... His wife is a widow, but by her first husband... He himself doesn’t come into it... But I’m sure that he’ll sort you out a good price.. let’s see... Excuse me...

He exits, carrying the ladder on his shoulder. The ladder stretches across the whole stage, and when we finally reach the end, we see not the FOREMAN, but a GENTLEMAN.

WIDOW: Right, so...?

GENTLEMAN: Good morning, Lucia... How are you?

WIDOW: Oh, Mr Milvio, what are you doing with that ladder...?

GENTLEMAN: I don’t know... I was just coming down the stairs... and a fellow asked me to hold it for a moment... he asked me where the toilet was... [He pulls out a wallet and hand her some money] ...and then he went upstairs.

WIDOW: [Taking the money, with feigned disinterest] Oh... you didn’t need to... [Changing tone] It’s a thousand lire short...

GENTLEMAN: What do you mean? Hasn’t it always been...?

WIDOW: Yes, but... we’ve had to put the price up... we’v had to lay out some money... at least, we’re going to have to... This ladder, for a start, you see... I’ve hired one of the best firms in town... I want to turn this house into a jewel...

The GENTLEMAN gives her another thousand lire note.

GENTLEMAN: Yes, but... it’s already beautiful the way it is... in fact, to tell you the truth, if I were you, I’d leave it exactly as it is... because it has this warm, welcoming atmosphere... You won’t believe this, but every time I come here, I feel as if I’m back to my boyhood again, out in the country... the days of my first loves... But maybe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie... Memories can be so painful sometimes...

WIDOW: Oh, don’t say that... It’s not true... Our memories are the only joy we have in life... at least, that’s the way it is with me... I can positively say that I live on my memories... Sometimes, you know, I’m even scared to open the windows... I’m scared that a bit of what is still alive in this room is going to fly away... away, for ever... That’s why I open the windows as little as possible.

GENTLEMAN: [Sniffing the air] Yes.. it smells a bit that way... [At that moment, he catches sight of the DUMMY] Oh – I’d forgotten all about him... You know what, he seems almost alive!

WIDOW: Yes... It’s a very good likeness, isn’t it...

GENTLEMAN: That’s an understatement. When you consider that it’s a dummy, it’s really amazing how much like him it looks!

WIDOW: Unfortunately, though, he’s still a dummy for all that... Dear George... Do you remember? This was where he always used to sit... his favourite place... [Moved to tears] ...And now he is no longer with us... He lives on only in my memories... And sometimes I imagine that he’s still here among us... I sit... I sit on his knee [She does as she says] and I talk with him... for hours... and it’s almost as if I was going back in time... It’s almost as if he’s really here, listening to me, making his little jokes... You have no idea what a happy house this used to be... it was the happiest house in town...

She gets up again.

GENTLEMAN: Well, in some ways, it still is, eh....

The FOREMAN re-enters.

FOREMAN: Heavens, what a handsome bathroom you’ve got up there! I could almost spend my holidays in a bathroom like that! Oh yes, a really fine bathroom...

GENTLEMAN: Excuse me, Mr Painter...

He points to the ladder.

FOREMAN: [Taking over the ladder] Ah yes, excuse me... and thank you. Now, madam, could you tell me what’s to be done, so that we can get started at once.

WIDOW: Wait a moment. I’ll just see this gentleman to the door, and then I’ll be with you right away... This way, Mr Milvio... Thank you so much for coming to see us... And please, we’d love to see more of you!

They exit through the centre door.

FOREMAN: [Looking at the ladder] And now where are we going to put this thing? Aldo, Aldo, come here... Hey! There, I might have known it... He’s run off...

He runs the ladder through his hands until he reaches the balance-point; then he raises it into position.

HOUSE-PAINTER: [From off-stage] Hey... Wait...!

FOREMAN: Yes, wait...! So now you decide to show your face... Might I ask where you disappeared off to? Who told you to let go of the ladder?

HOUSE-PINTER: [Still off-stage] But I haven’t let go of the ladder!

FOREMAN: [Looking around, a bit worried] Where are you...? Aldo, where are you?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Where do you expect me to be? I’m here... where I’m supposed to be... at the end of the ladder...

FOREMAN: [Looking up] Noooo! How did I ever get landed with such a Stupid Idiot!? What are you doing up on top of the ladder? Come down!

HOUSE-PAINTER: No... I’m not coming down if you’re going to shout at me like that...

FOREMAN: Alright, then, I won’t shout at you... Come down...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Alright. Don’t shout at me, though. And anyway, I know you, you’re going to start glaring at me...

FOREMAN: No I won’t [Losing his patience] Come on... get a move on...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Yes you will... yes you will... You’ll give me dirty looks... and then the Big Bad Witch will come... Turn the light off... that way I won’t see you...!

FOREMAN: Turn off the light??? Have you gone barmy? Come on, don’t be such a aby. Come down!

HOUSE-PAINTER: No... Not if you won’t turn the light off...

FOREMAN: Alright, then, I’ll turn it off. [He turns the light off at a nearbyswitch. The stage is plunged into darkness] But don’t move yet, stupid! [We hear a mighty crash] Wait while I turn the light on. [The din increases] What have you done?!

HOUSE-PAINTER: Ouch! Help! Ooooh...!

FOREMAN: Have you hurt yourself? Wait while I turn the light on. [The lights come up on-stage. The ladder has fallen on the DUMMY’s head, and the HOUSE-PAINTER is sitting in the DUMMY’s arms. Only now do the two of them notice his presence] You stupid idiot! [He tries to raise the ladder again] Who’s that?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Eh?

FOREMAN: I said, who’s that? Was he up there with you?

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Terrified] No. Oh, I am sorry, sir... Did I hurt you? God, this is all we need... [Slapping the DUMMY] ...Come on... it’s nothing... just a bit of a knock... it’ll pass... It’s the shock more than anything... Giovanni – we’ve killed him!

FOREMAN: You killed him, you mean... Let me see... Imagine, creeping around under ladders like that. He should know it brings bad luck! [Walking over to the DUMMY, he looks at it, without touching it, and shakes his head] Concussion... there’s nothing we can do... Don’t you see – the poor devil’s gone as pale as wax...

HOUSE-PAINTER: [With tears in his eyes] But what are we going to do now...? Giovanni, we’re going to have to get out of here...

FOREMAN: Oh yes, well done! What’s that going to solve? Everyone knows that we were here... they’ll be after us like a shot... More to the point, do you know this fellow? I have the feeling I’ve seen him somewhere before..

HOUSE-PAINTER: That’s right... If it wasn’t for the whiskers and the glasses... I would almost say... let me see...

FOREMAN: [Grabbing his assistant by the chin, and bringing his face close to that of the DUMMY] That’s who he looks like... He looks like you! Well you might say that that’s a stroke of luck!

HOUSE-PAINTER: Why? Is it lucky to kill someone who looks like you?

FOREMAN: I’ll tell you why it’s lucky. Pull his leg down. Lift him up. [He raises the DUMMY and loads him onto his assistant’s shoulder] Now, you... go upstairs, to the first floor. There’s a bathroom there. Get undressed, and put his clothes on...

HOUSE-PAINTER: I can’t go stealing his clothes! I’m already facing a life sentence for murder. I don’t want to be done for theft as well...

FOREMAN: Don’t worry – they won’t be able to do a thing to you... because you are about to become... dead...

HOUSE-PAINTER: What?? But I don’t want to die...

FOREMAN: Try to understand...! You are going to put on his clothes. Then you’re going to dress him in yours... as a house-painter. Then we’ll fake an accident... and that way, everyone will think that it was you that died, and not him...

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Lighting up] That’s right... and what’s more, I’ll also get my life insurance... or rather, not me, because I’ll be dead... but my family will... Imagine how happy that will make them, eh... Giovanni...

FOREMAN: Eh? What?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Giovanni, no! I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. No, Giovanni, I’m not going to die. [He untangles himself from the DUMMY, and lets it drop onto the armchair

FOREMAN: Alright, then, if you prefer life imprisonment... Come on, get a move on. Give me a hand.

The FOREMAN crouches down, ready for the DUMMY to be loaded onto his back. The HOUSE-PAINTER offers him a hand, which the FOREMAN grabs, and thereby ends up loading his associate onto his back.

HOUSE-PAINTER: There’s a hand.

FOREMAN: [Who has not noticed the swap] Ah, and another thing... You’ll find an electric razor up there in the bathroom... you’re going to have to shave his whiskers off... and you, on the other hand...

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Still on the FOREMAN’s back] ...am going to have to grow whiskers...!

FOREMAN: Aldo, where are you?

HOUSE-PAINTER: I’m here.

FOREMAN: Where are you, Aldo?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Still at my post.

FOREMAN: You Stupid Idiot!

He realises what has happened, and dumps his associate unceremoniously to the floor.

HOUSE-PAINTER: But you told me to give you a hand.

FOREMAN: Come here. Help me. No, don’t help me. I’ll manage by myself. [He lifts the DUMMY] As I was saying: upstairs in the bathroom you’ll find an electric razor. You must shave his moustache off. You, on the other hand...

HOUSE-PAINTER: ...am going to have to grow whiskers... ?

FOREMAN: No – I’ll give you whiskers with my paintbrush ... Come on, get up there.

HOUSE-PAINTER: I am getting up there.

FOREMAN: And don’t go creating any more messes. I’m tired of having to come running after you every two minutes...

They re-enter. Once again, ALDO is on GIOVANNI’s back.

HOUSE-PAINTER: No, no, don’t worry, Giovanni, I won’t make any more messes.

FOREMAN: Aldo, where are you?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Still at my post!

FOREMAN: STUPID IDIOT!

He exits, with ALDO still on his back. Off-stage we hear a great crash, followed by the sound of the HOUSE-PAINTER wailing.

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Shouting] Aaargh! Aaargh! Help, Mummy!!

FOREMAN: Stupid Idiot!

He comes back on stage and starts setting up the ladder. Enter a YOUNG WOMAN in a housecoat, with a cigarette in her mouth.

ANNA: Hello... I suppose you must be the upholsterer.

FOREMAN: [Put out] Yes, I’m the upholsterer...

ANNA: It’s high time that Madam decided to do something about this mausoleum... [She notices that GEORGE has gone] Oh goodness... where’s George? Excuse me, when you came in here, wasn’t there a...?

FOREMAN: [Not knowing what to say] Yes... he was here... but then... I don’t know... he must have slipped out

ANNA: Slipped out...? Don’t be silly... You mean somebody must have come to take him...

FOREMAN: Ah yes, now I remember... A friend of his came... to take him out...

ANNA: A friend...? Ah yes, that must be Madam’s friend... the restorer... The way she throws her money about...!

FOREMAN: [Not understanding, but speaking for the sake of speaking] ...Ah, yes... Well, everyone has their little faults... But, if you don’t mind my asking, who was that gentleman... the one who as sitting where you’re sitting now?

ANNA: The boss, the lady’s husband...

FOREMAN: [His eyes pop out of his head] A fine man, eh...!

ANNA: Yes, and a bit of a rascal too, when he was alive.

FOREMAN: What do you mean... when he was... alive...?

ANNA: Well, seeing that he’s now dead...

FOREMAN: [To himself] ...So the Idiot’s given the game away... !

ANNA: Poor Madam... How she suffered... She almost went crazy...

FOREMAN: I can imagine it... But you know... it was terrible bad luck...

ANNA: More like a liberation, you might say... A blessing in disguise.

FOREMAN: Oh don’t mention it... When we’re in a position to bring happiness to someone... If someone needs a death in the family, we’re only too happy to oblige...

ANNA: Oh, but you should realise that I was terribly hurt too... I loved him too. Everyone loved the rascal. But not to the extent... of wanting to have him embalmed, like she wanted...

FOREMAN: She wanted to have him embalmed? Oh!

ANNA: Fortunately we succeeded in convincing her to have a wax statue made of him...

FOREMAN: Wax...? He was made of wax...?!! Oh!

ANNA: But then, to have that thingummy always cluttering up the place... it gives you the creeps.

FOREMAN: But excuse me... when did that thingummy die... the one with the creeps?

ANNA: Giorgio? Three years ago.

FOREMAN: So this Giorgio died three years ago...?

WIDOW: [From offstage] Anna... Anna... They want you...

ANNA: I’m coming... Excuse me...

She exits. Through the other door, the HOUSE-PAINTER enters, dressed in the DUMMY’s clothes.

HOUSE-PAINTER: How do I look...? You’re not going to complain this time... Pretty clever, eh?

FOREMAN: What do you mean, clever... You’ve been Incredibly Stupid... How come you didn’t realise that that fellow wasn’t alive?

HOUSE-PAINTER: Precisely... I realised, straight away, that he was... dead... no?

FOREMAN: Dead or alive doesn’t come into it... That was a dummy, dummy!

.Madame Tussaud's...! HOUSE-PAINTER: What...?

FOREMAN: Yes... That was a statue of the husband of the lady of the house, who died... three years ago...!

HOUSE-PAINTER: Fair enough! But three years ago, we weren’t here! So it can’t have been us who killed him...! [He sits in the chair where the DUMMY had been sitting previously] Whew! Just as well...

FOREMAN: Just as well be damned...! You’re going to have to go upstairs straight away and bring him back... and dress him up in his suit again...

HOUSE-PAINTER: And restore his whiskers...?

WIDOW: [From offstage] ...Excuse my leaving you, but I had to see somebody, and...

FOREMAN: Stay there. Don’t budge... Don’t mention it, madam, don’t mention it... There’s nothing to apologise about.

The WIDOW enters, and stands there for a moment.

WIDOW: Are you looking at my George...? Oh, how careless of me. I forgot the curtains... [As she is about to leave] I’ll bring them up at once.

She exits.

FOREMAN: Quick... Before she comes back... Where have you put the paints?

HOUSE-PAINTER: There... [He points] But why...? What do you want to do?

FOREMAN: I’ve got to make you look like bloody George... ! Give you a moustache, and all that...

He brings over the brush box, pulls out a brush, and dips it in the black paint pot.

HOUSE-PAINTER: But why?

FOREMAN: We haven’t got time to go and get the real dummy... so you’re going to have to be the dummy, dummy! If the lady gets so much as a whiff of the diabolical trick that we’ve played on her... It’ll be goodbye work and goodbye nice little earner... Keep still, will you.

The FOREMAN starts painting whiskers on the poor HOUSE-PAINTER’s face. It tickles, and the HOUSE-PAINTER starts pulling faces.

HOUSE-PAINTER: You’re tickling.... Aaaatch.... [He holds back a sneeze] Aaaatchoooo!

Some of the black paint that was on the brush ends up all over the FOREMAN’s face.

FOREMAN: Idiot! [He takes another brush, dips it into white paint, and touches up his sideburns with a spot of white. Then he stands back and examines him, with the air of a great painter] Put his glasses on... I suppose you have brought them, haven’t you...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Of course, here they are... [He puts them on] How do I look?

FOREMAN: Excellent... Wait a minute – Giorgio had a mole here... Like that.

He gives the HOUSE-PAINTER a mole.

HOUSE-PAINTER: But don’t you think it looks a bit gruesome?

FOREMAN: No, it’s not... And now, for heaven’s sake, when the lady comes, behave as if nothing has happened... and don’t breathe! Please...

HOUSE-PAINTER: What do you mean, don’t breathe? Not even through my nose?

FOREMAN: Not even through your nose.

HOUSE-PAINTER: I’m sorry... But if I’m not allowed to breathe, not even through my nose...

FOREMAN: Please, do me a favour...! Why on earth do you need to breathe...? What about pearl-divers? Pearl divers dive for hundreds of feet under the sea... they don’t need to breathe...

He puts the paints back. He takes a brush and puts a few finishing touches, but at this moment the WIDOW enters. When she sees him fiddling with her GEORGE, she sets about him.

WIDOW: What on earth are you doing... with that paint brush...?

FOREMAN: With the paint brush? [He signals to his friend to keep still] Ah... I was just seeing whether... you know... just trying to... I thought that one of his whiskers looked a bit out of place, and so... with the paint brush...

WIDOW: Ah, so you’re a restorer too?

She takes a close look at the fake DUMMY, who sits stock-still, trying as hard as he can to look like a wax dummy.]

FOREMAN: Well... to tell the truth, art restoration is actually my trade... I noticed that he was getting a bit faded... and so I took my paint brush...

WIDOW: Oh, how lucky. You see, I’ve een expecting a friend of mine, who’s an art restorer... But since you’re already here... let’s see how you’ve been getting on.

She goes to take a closer look at the fake DUMMY. She puts on her glasses and takes a close look. She lets out a little scream. She faints, falling backwards into the FOREMAN’s arms. He barely manages to hold her. He ends up losing his balance and sitting on his bowler hat, which shortly before he had put on the side table.

WIDOW: Aaargh...!

FOREMAN: Idiot! Do something! Can’t you see that the lady’s fainted?

HOUSE-PAINTER: But you told me not to move.

FOREMAN: Don’t move... she’s coming round...

WIDOW: [Coming round, she realises that she is sitting on the FOREMAN’s knee] Oh, do excuse me.

FOREMAN: I’m the one who should be apologising.

So saying, he knocks his squashed hat back into shape, and puts it back on the side table.

WIDOW: Oh God... I almost thought he was alive... You’re the most wonderful restorer that I have ever met...

FOREMAN: [Bashfully] Well... you know... we try to please...

WIDOW: [Ecstatic, taking another look at the fake DUMMY] No, no, really, you’re an artist, a great artist. [From her pocket she pulls a bundle of thousand-lira notes, and hands some of them to the FOREMAN] Here, take this... You really deserve it... You’ll never know how much this means to me...

FOREMAN: [Bashfully] But no... That’s too much... Really, all I did was to give him three or four brush strokes, just to restore his moustache.

WIDOW: Please, take the money... I’d take it as a real favour...

FOREMAN: But no... It’s too much... I couldn’t...

WIDOW: Alright, then, I won’t look...

At his point, the HOUSE-PAINTER reaches out his hand and snatches the money. The FOREMAN grabs it back, and with a quick slap returns him to his former role of DUMMY. The FOREMAN puts himself between the WIDOW and the HOUSE-PAINTER so that the woman can’t see what’s going on.

FOREMAN: Well, if you really insist, thank you... I shall accept this money. For restoration of one moustache, with paint brush. This is the first time anyone’s ever given me so much money for restoring a moustache.

The HOUSE-PAINTER won’t give up. This time he grabs the rest of the money remaining in the WIDOW’s hand. He stuffs it into his waistcoat.

WIDOW: Oh heavens... I’ve dropped the money I was holding. [She bends over to look for it] Wherever can it have gone?

FOREMAN: [Taking advantage of the fact that the WIDOW can neither see nor hear what he says, he hisses at the HOUSE-PAINTER] Rat! Thief! Cough up that money! Or I breaka your face!

HOUSE-PAINTER: You must be joking! Why don’t you give her your money?

FOREMAN: [Grabbing him by the collar] Cough up that money, or I breaka your face!

WIDOW: [Getting up] What’s going on? What are you doing?

At precisely this moment, the FOREMAN has his hand raised, about to hit the HOUSE-PAINTER..

FOREMAN: With my paint brush? [He realises that he has nothing in his hand] Er, without my paint brush? Ah, I was having an argument with a bluebottle on George’s nose. I was saying “Go away, horrible fly!” Now I’m going to catch it.. Watch... this is how you catch flies... You get your hand like this, a bit like a scoop, and then you say... one, two, three... Whammo! Oh what a shame, it got away!

WIDOW: I can’t se it... Where’s it gone? Ah, there it is!

She gives him a big slap.

FOREMAN: Ouuch...!

WIDOW: Oh, I am sorry... It was a pimple... I hought it was a... I see you’ve found my money. Thank you.

She takes from his hand the money that she has just given him.

FOREMAN: But... Well... I found it under the armchair... You’d better count it and make sure it’s all there...

WIDOW: Oh for heaven’s sake... how could one not trust a person like you...! One can see straight away that you are a man of honour.. One can always tell, you know... Giorgio was a gentleman too... Maybe that was the reason that he never had a lot of luck...

FOREMAN: Well... I wouldn’t say... The fact of being the late, deceased husband of a beautiful widow like yourself... I would call that being extremely lucky!

WIDOW: You are too kind... Anyway, I think I can say that I have never given him even the slightest disappointment... the slightest cause for complaint... never... never... even though he deserved it... You know... he was a wonderful man... So intelligent! [The HOUSE-PAINTER gradually gets more and more puffed up and conceited] Just look at him, you can see straight away that he must have been someone really out of the ordinary.

She turns the DUMMY’s head.

FOREMAN: Could you turn him the other way... I find him a bit scary, personally.

WIDOW: He was such an intellectual... You know, he was thinking of writing a big book on the habit and customs of Eastern civilisations... But he never the chance to complete it... [The WIDOW caresses him lovingly... Then she undoes his jacket] Take a look and make sure that nobody’s coming!

She hunts around for his inside jacket pocket, thereby tickling the HOUSE-PAINTER, who has difficulty restraining himself from wriggling.

FOREMAN: From where, madam...? What on earth are you doing...?

WIDOW: I’m just putting this money away, before... You see, when he was alive... he always kept the housekeeping money for me... And so nowadays, I always give it to him to look after... It’s a really good, safe place... After all, who’s ever going to come looking for my money here...?

The HOUSE-PAINTER watches the WOMAN’s antics out of the corner of his eye, and grins delightedly.

FOREMAN: Oh yes... ! Very safe, very safe! Safer than a safe, I’d say... !

WIDOW: [She looks at the pocket watch which the fake DUMMY has in his waistcoat pocket] Good lord, it’s a quarter past six already.. I must give him his injection at once...

FOREMAN: Injection? What injection?

The HOUSE-PAINTER listens in terror.

WIDOW: As you must know, there are many insects which love to eat wax... Moths, earwigs, all that sort of thing... So, if I don’t treat my Giorgio every day with a special insecticide, within a week, my poor husband would be eaten away...

FOREMAN: Ah, yes, because Giorgio is made of wax... [He gives a sardonic laugh] Ha, ha... Well, obviously, you’re going to have to give him his insecticide injection... Yes, very good...

WIDOW: Precisely. If you don’t mind, I’ll just go and get the hypodermic...

She exits.

FOREMAN: [He laughs] Since he’s made of wax, an insecticide injection is exactly what he needs... This wax Giorgio of yours... I’ve never heard of anything so funny! Ha, ha...!

HOUSE-PAINTER: But since I am not made of wax, you can stick your injection, because I’m off. Goodbye...!

FOREMAN: Slow down! Just think for a minute. Just for one little injection, you’re willing to lose all this manna from heaven?! [He points to the money in the jacket] Just think how much money we’ve got there... right in our grasp...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Well, first let’s get one thing straight. I’m the one who’s got the money... But that’s precisely the reason why I don’t fancy a quick poke in the posterior... I bid you a fond farewell...

At this moment, ANNA enters, with two other GIRLS, who are also wearing dressing gowns.

FOREMAN: Shut up. Don’t move...

ANNA: Excuse me, but where’s your friend?

FOREMAN: Which friend?

ANNA: You know, the other upholsterer...

SONIA: He’s been in the toilet for at least an hour... Do you think he’s been taken ill?

FOREMAN: Who...? Him, ill...? Yes, you know what it is? He gets ill at he thought of work... and that’s a fact... Every time there’s something to be done, he locks himself in the toilet, and that’s the last you see of him...

DIANA: Oh, will you look how handsome our Giorgio is today... [She sits on his knee, and begins to caress him] ...But what on earth has happened... He looks so different!

FOREMAN: I just gave him a little touch-up with a paint brush.

SONIA: Heavens... Well, since you’re so good at it, maybe you could give me a bit of a touch-up too... [She takes a closer look at the DUMMY] Good heavens... He looks almost alive... Move over, because I want to take a look too...

DIANA: No I won’t...! And don’t push... I was here first...

SONIA: Precisely... So now it’s my turn... And don’t treat him like that, because you’ll break him...

ANNA: Well, I wish he would break, all in pieces... stupid dummy!...!

SONIA: Hey... listen who’s talking... You’re still jealous, aren’t you... [Turning to DIANA, who is literally clinging to the fake DUMMY] Wretch! Now you’ve made me fall!

SONIA loses her balance, and ends up sprawled on the floor behind the other WOMAN and the poor HOUSE-PAINTER, who continues to act out his role as the dummy.

DIANA: Who are you calling a wretch...? Take that back, because if you don’t...

She makes as if to start hitting her.

ANNA: Hey, stop that... You ought to know better than to go beating each other up over some silly dummy...

She gives the poor DUMMY a big kick. He barely restrains a cry of pain. At this moment, the WIDOW enters. She puts her hands on her hips, and in an authoritative voice tells the WOMEN to behave themselves.

WIDOW: So you’re at it again? Shameless... How many times have I told you... Come on, back to your rooms... You’re all fined... [The women exit from the room, followed by the FOREMAN. The WIDOW goes over to the fake DUMMY, and begins to pick himup] I ask you, is that any way... Ah, now where has he gone...? [The FOREMAN re-enters] Where have you been?

FOREMAN: I’m sorry, I thought I was fined too.

WIDOW: Give me a hand, quick!

FOREMAN: Allow me!

He sets about lifting up the DUMMY. The latter begins to move into contorted positions, particularly when the WIDOW mentions injections.

WIDOW: We’re going to have to hurry. Otherwise I’ll miss the right time for his injection, and that would be terrible... But what are you doing? Hold him up! [The DUMMY falls back to the floor] Oh goodness...! Well, alright then, we’ll do it here. [She pulls out a hypodermic, and turns away for a moment, to squirt the liquid up into the needle. The HOUSE-PAINTER takes advantage of the fact that her back is turned, and rolls over] But why have you turned him over?

FOREMAN: Well... turning over a new leaf... you know...

WIDOW: Come on, hurry up. Put him back as he was before. Turn him over...

FOREMAN: [With difficulty he succeeds in setting him in a peculiar position, with his legs up in the air, and his head down] There you are, he won’t budge this time... I wanted to ask you something, madam... Who are those girls who were here a little while ago, the ones you fined... Are they relations of yours?

WIDOW: Well, in a way, yes... They are my co-widows...

FOREMAN: Your co-widows?!!

WIDOW: [She stands with her hypodermic hovering in the region of the HOUSE-PAINTER’s backside. He, for his part, is sweating] Yes, my co-widows... Before Giorgio died, they were my co-wives... In short, they were Giorgio’s other wives...

FOREMAN: His other wives?

WIDOW: [From a box she pulls out another hypodermic. This time it’s an enormous one. As if changing her mind, she puts the smaller one back in the box] Yes, I thought you’d find it a bit strange... But as I told you just now, my husband was engaged in research on oriental civilisations... Unfortunately, Giorgio never had the money to be able to go to the Asian countries and study their customs and traditions at first hand. So, he had to reconstruct it at home. He created an environment which would give him at least the illusion of living among the Muslim peoples – who, as you may know, are polygamous.

FOREMAN: [Only now noticing the size of the enormous hypodermic] The Muslims are polygamous...? Oh, those Muslims go a bt far...! Polygamists...! I mean to say...!

WIDOW: I tell you, it took me a lot of hard work to find women who would agree to play the part... Sharing with other women, and so on...

FOREMAN: I can well imagine...

WIDOW: But in the end I succeeded...

FOREMAN: How?

WIDOW: I bought up a... a, er... bordello.

FOREMAN: A bordello... Oh, so in other words, those young ladies must be...

WIDOW: Young ladies... Precisely... Now, I realise that this is reprehensible, and also a trifle unusual... But then, my Giorgio had to find some way to continue his researches...

FOREMAN: Ah, the things that people will to, to advance human understanding...!

WIDOW: Precisely... And then they say that our intellectuals are corrupt and wishy-washy...!

FOREMAN: With all those ladies...? But do me a favour... In fact, I hope they will...!

WIDOW: Right. Now, hold him firmly, so that I can inject him...

Very craftily, the fake DUMMY succeeds in rolling out of the FOREMAN’s arms. The FOREMAN is forced to take up a strange position in order to hold him up. Whereupon the WIDOW mistakes his backside for that of the DUMMY, and proceeds to inject him, assisted by the HOUSE-PAINTER himself, who, from below, gives her a helping hand to guide the needle to its target... The FOREMAN lets out a stifled yell, and appears to go strangely rigid.

FOREMAN: No... No... That’s not fair!

WIDOW: Precisely... Fortunately, with the new law on housing speculation, there’s a lot of knock-down property on the market, so I was able to buy very cheaply... [She puts back her hypodermic, and sits the fake DUMMY back into position] The only drawback was that those wretched women all ended up falling in love with my Giorgio... So, goodbye peace and quiet... goodbye domestic bliss... In fact, he needed to die just so as to bring them back to their senses... and continue working as they should...

FOREMAN: [He looks as if he’s been stuffed, and suddenly makes a strange movement] Waaah! Mummy!

WIDOW: Yes, to work, as they were working before... After all, I can’t keep them all in the lap of luxury... If they want to stay... because, as they say...

FOREMAN: [With a moan, as if he’s a talking doll] Waaah...! Dada!

WIDOW: But I must be boring you with my chit-chat... I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to your work... See you in a while...

She exits.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Well, now there’s a turn-up for the books... Hey... why are you looking at me like that...? I suppose you’re angry now... Well, what is it, after all... You said it yourself – it’s only one little injection... Oh you do look upset... Well, alright... I’m sorry... I won’t do it again. [He gives him a slap on the back. The FOREMAN wobbles alarmingly, and the HOUSE-PAINTER only just manages to hold him up] But Giovanni, aren’t you feeling well...? It wouldn’t happen to be the injection, would it...? Oh God... he’s gone all cold... wake up....Don’t do that... Giovanni... Don’t make horrible faces like that... [At this moment, from backstage, the DUMMY appears, dressed in the HOUSE-PAINTER’s clothes. He comes over tothe pair of them, walking like a robot] But what the hell was in that syringe that the Widow used on you...?

DUMMY: [Talking with the deep voice of a mummy that has come back to life] I’ll tell you what was in it...

The HOUSE-PAINTER looks as if he’s about to faint.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Oh... Oh God... The Dummy come back to life...

He starts crossing himself frantically.

DUMMY: [Continuing regardless] That injection was meant for me...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Yes, yes, I know... And I was within an ace of copping it myself...

DUMMY: And was it you who took me up into the bathroom...? And put these tatty old clothes on me and shaved my moustache...?

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Increasingly terrified] Yes, it was me, because at first I thought...

DUMMY: It doesn’t matter... I owe you my life, sir... In fact, had it not been for you, I, at this moment, would still be... there, on that armchair, embalmed...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Embalmed? Ah, so you are not the dead man’s dummy, then?

DUMMY: No... I never died... I have been the victim of my wife’s jealousy. It was she who embalmed me... just so as to stop me going to Morocco.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Embalmed you?! Morocco?!

DUMMY: Precisely. The witch faked an accident so as to make people think that I’d died... just so that she could have me all to herself...

HOUSE-PAINTER: And what was she going to do with an embalmed husband?

DUMMY: You don’t know women... They’re so selfish... My wife, in fact, is a monster! Just imagine: she has kept me here, embalmed, for three years...!

HOUSE-PAINTER: Three years? So my guv’nor is going to be a stuffed dummy for the next three years?!

DUMMY: Don’t worry... The injections only last for 48 hours at the most... that is, unless you repeat them... which was precisely what my wife did... every day...

HOUSE-PAINTER: And now what are we going to do? Supposing she turns up and gives him another injection... we’ll be ruined... Giovanni...! Three years like this...! We’ll starve.

DUMMY: Is this your foreman’s hat?

He points to the bowler hat on the little table.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Yes, but what do you want to do with it?

DUMMY: Excellent. Put it on him.

He hands him the bowler hat, and exits.

HOUSE-PAINTER: [He does as instructed] Ah, I see... We’re going to make another Dummy... Ha, ha... [He takes the paintbrush, dips it in black paint, and starts painting, hummingto himself] Giovanni, now I’m going to enjoy myself... Now I’m going to give you whiskers just like Giorgio... and a mole... Goodness, how handsome you look...

DUMMY: [Re-entering] We’re in luck. I found this jacket in my wardrobe. [He slips on the jacket] Now, if you don’t mind, would you care to do me the same service. [He sits on the armchir next to him.

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Chuckling to himself] The gentleman would like some whiskers...? Allow me! [He dabs away with his paintbrush, almost dancing, now working on the FOREMAN, and now on the DUMMY. At one point, the ex-DUMMY cannot restrain a sneeze, and the FOREMAN also sneezes in unison] Bless you!

DUMMY: Bless you.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Thank you... But it wasn’t me... It was him...

DUMMY: Impossible... He’s embalmed...

HOUSE-PAINTER: He may be embalmed, but it was him... Look... [He starts tickling the FOREMAN’s nose with his paintbrush. The embalmed FOREMAN immediately begins to sneeze] You see?

DUMMY: Carry on... carry on... It’s incredible... Without realising it, you have discovered the only cure for paralytic hypnogogia...

HOUSE-PAINTER: Hippogogo... ?

DUMMY: Paralytic hypnogogia. Carry on!

FOREMAN: Atchooo...!

HOUSE-PAINTER: Yes, yes, I’ll carry on... Bless you.

FOREMAN: Thank you... Please... Atchoo...!

He sprays the pair of them with a series of sneezes.

HOUSE-PAINTER: He’s waking up... Come on, Giovanni, keep trying...

FOREMAN: Hey... what happened? I can’t move.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Don’t worry, Gaffer... It’s just a wee touch of hippogogolithic parallelograms...

DUMMY: Quick, help me to lift him up... We must make him walk...

He pumps away at the FOREMAN’s arms as if they were pistons.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Yes, yes... Come on, Guv’nor, let’s go take a little walk...

DUMMY: No. You stay here... Don’t move...

HOUSE-PAINTER: What, again?! [The two of them exit, imitating the chuffing of a team train] What happens if she comes back in and decides that she’s going to pickle me too...? [Precisely at this moment, the WIDOW re-enters, and is surprised to see the DUMMY moving and talking] It’s all very well saying you can just sneeze and then...

WIDOW: Oh, God, he’s waking up... I’m going to have to give him another injection... before he comes round completely.

She exits.

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Hearing the WIDOW’s parting words] Hey, no... This time I am going to scram... Damn, the door’s locked... How am I going to get out now...? Giovanni, I’m done for! [He hides behind a curtain] I’ll hide behind here... Let’s hope she doesn’t notice me...

FOREMAN: [He enters, supported by the ex-DUMMY] Thank you. I feel a lot better now.. At least I can move now... You know what, at first I felt almost as if I was embalmed... By the way... my colleague was here a while ago... I don’t see him any more... where is he?

DUMMY: I don’t know... I asked him not to move... Wait, I’ll go and see if maybe he’s gone through here.

He exits.

FOREMAN: Yes, yes, go where you want. I won’t budge from here... Ooooh...

He sits in the armchair on the other side of the room. At this moment, the WIDOW enters, with the hypodermic in her hand, and sees that the DUMMY’s armchair is empty.

WIDOW: Oh goodness, I’m too late... Where can he have gone? [She sees the FOREMAN] Ah, just as well... there you are...

She goes over to the poor unfortunate, who appears to have dozed off again.

HOUSE-PAINTER: [From behind the curtain] No, no, I’m here...

WIDOW: [Turning round abruptly, as the FOREMAN slips swiftly behind the armchair] What...? Who are you...? [She turns round, and can’t find the FOREMAN] He’s gone...! Where are you...?

HOUSE-PAINTER: I’m here... But I warn you, I have no intention of letting you inject me...

WIDOW: But Giorgio, dear... I’m only doing it for your own good...

DUMMY: [Re-entering at this moment] For my own good, indeed!

WIDOW: [Spinning round, bewildered] Where did you spring from?

DUMMY: I’m not saying.

WIDOW: [She turns back, and can no longer see the HOUSE-PAINTER, who has seized the opportunity to hide under the table] But... but... what’s going on? [Now her husband has also hidden himself] Giorgio, please... listen to me...

FOREMAN: [Moving rapidly across the stage] I’m listening to you, dear... Look, I’m listening... Here I am... I’m listening...

WIDOW: Stop disappearing like that, will you...! You’re driving me mad...

DUMMY: [Popping up again, sitting in the armchair] It’s all your fault, dear. Those injections that you have been giving me have finally killed me... And what you see before you now is no longer your Giorgio... but his heavenly image...

WIDOW: [She drops the hypodermic onto the armchair] Oh no... Giorgio... It’s not possible...

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Re-appearing, stretched out on the table] Ah yes, my dear... It is very possible... [Meanwhile the other two have hidden, and pop out in quick succession in the most ridiculous poses and in the most unlikely places] This time you really will be able to say that you’re a widow... Ha, ha!

FOREMAN: Ha, ha, now you will have to live with your memories... sad memories, that won’t let you sleep at night...

DUMMY: Because your nights will be stuffed with nightmares...!

WIDOW: No, Giorgio, that’ll do... Stop it... Forgive me...

ALL THREE: [In unison] It’s too late now...!

WIDOW: [This final triple apparition is too much for her. She faints] Three Giorgios... Nooo, that’s too much!

She slumps into the armchair.

FOREMAN: She’s fainted!

HOUSE-PAINTER: [Taking her pulse] She’s dead... Look, she’s gone all cold...

DUMMY: Oh no... That would be an awful bore... [The FOREMAN fumbles around behind the WOMAN’s back] But what are you doing?! Stop that! Let’s have a bit of respect. After all, she is still my wife!

FOREMAN: [Pulling out the hypodermic] That’s what’s happened. She’s self-injected herself.

HOUSE-PAINTER: Fair enough. Now everyone’s had their turn at being embalmed...

DUMMY: Good... And now it’s my turn to start having a good time...

HOUSE-PAINTER: I’ve half a mind to give her whiskers too...

FOREMAN: Oh no, don’t... If you happened to make her sneeze, we’d be back in trouble again...

DUMMY: How can I ever thank you both?

FOREMAN: Well, perhaps we can think of a way...

HOUSE-PAINTER: What?

FOREMAN: Seeing that we are three Giorgios... and that Giorgio has another three wives...

HOUSE-PAINTER: We could have one each...

DUMMY: Yes... we could...

The three WOMEN enter.

IN UNISON: Giorgio...! [They look at the three of them] One... two... three...?

The three WOMEN hurl themselves into the arms of the three GEORGES

SONIA: But what... A minute ago, you were dead... and now there are three of you...

THE OTHER TWO: Three Giorgios?

DUMMY: Don’t worry, my dears... The ways of the Lord are infinite...

THE THREE WOMEN: Oh, Giorgio...!

They literally leap into the arms of their respective husbands, with their knees tucked up. Well, actually, the HOUSE-PAINTER gets it all wrong and jumps into the arms of his lady. Then, to the tune of a brisk march, they file off the stage in a classic variety-style exit.

CURTAIN

[Ends]

_________________________________________

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Please be aware that this translation can only be performed with explicit permission in writing from the agency representing Dario Fo and Franca Rame, the Danesi-Tolnay agency in Rome.

Last updated: 6.viii.2012

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