CONFESSIONS OF A PARISIAN
NYMPHOMANIAC
by
Mordecai Goldberg
THE CHARACTERS:
FELIX GODOT...a middleaged bank teller.
MATILDE GODOT...his wife.
HENRI GODOT...their son, early 20's.
LULU GODOT...their daughter, 19.
COUNT ROMANOV...Lulu's husband.
SABRINA...the Godot's attractive maid.
GALLIMARD...Godot's employer.
MOTHER GODOT...Godot's mother.
LAURIENT...a military psychiatrist.
MAGISTRATE
GENERAL
BUREAUCRAT
2 MILITARY POLICEMEN/ATTORNEYS
THE SET
No walls. Sparse furnishings and props suggest the middleclass dining/living
room of Godot apartment in Paris. A long table with 6 chairs and a smaller
table on which there is a telephone.
THE TIME
We are more or less in the present.
ACT ONE
Scene 1
The Godot living/dining room. ENTER MATILDE and SABRINA. Matilde carries small cardboard carton.
MATILDE: You’ll find everything you need in here, Sabrina.
SABRINA: Yes, madam.
MATILDE: We’ll do it just the way we did it last year. Is that understood?
SABRINA: Yes, madam.
MATILDE: You remember the way it was last year?
SABRINA: [Opening box, withdrawing birthday party decorations.] Yes, madam. It’s always the same.
MATILDE: It’s very upsetting if things aren’t just right. Well, I’ll be in the kitchen if you have any questions. [EXIT.]
SABRINA: [More or less to audience.] Good Lord, you would think I didn’t have a brain in my head!
As she speaks hereafter she will decorate area near and above table for birthday party. There are several cutouts of Felix the Cat. The effect is that which would be suitable for a child’s birthday. At times She will stand on chair to hang streamers.
SABRINA: You probably don’t realize it, ladies and gentlemen, but today is one of the most monumental days in the history of France! Yes indeed—today is the 45th birthday of Monsieur Felix Godot! You forgot all about his birthday, didn’t you? Please—don’t feel guilty! I understand completely. There are so many other things to think about in those hectic lives you all lead! The only reason I never forget his birthday is because it comes exactly 2 days after mine. Monsieur Godot is going to be 45 and I just turned 60. You probably find that hard to believe. I’ve kept myself in pretty good shape and usually don’t have any trouble passing for 30. But I’m not supposed to talk about myself. This play is concerned with the trials and tribulations of Monsieur Godot. Which means I can tell you that, as you will see for yourselves in a few minutes, he has trouble passing for 60! Of course, working at a bank takes a heavy toll on a man’s body —and his soul too, I imagine.
I suppose I should warn you right now that the title of this play, Confessions of a Parisian Nymphomaniac, has nothing to do with Monsieur Godot. In fact it hasn’t got much to do with anything except that it’s definitely more marketable than "Happy Birthday Godot"—which was the title our author originally gave it—
Sound of man’s voice calling indistinctly. SABRINA goes to ‘window’ upstage, ‘opens’ it and listens.
SABRINA: Yes, yes darling. Don’t worry about a thing! [To audience as she resumes work.] That was him—the author of this play. He lives just across the street. His real name is Victor Goodman—a very intense young man with a brilliant mind, the fiery good looks of an Albert Camus and the body of a Greek god! You might as well know: I’ve been having an affair with him for 2 years now. "Victor," I said, "nobody will come to see a play entitled, ‘Happy Birthday Godot.’ It doesn’t matter if it is a masterpiece. People have to be seduced into seeing masterpieces." Anyway, to make a long story short, he reluctantly agreed to my suggestion of changing the title to Confessions of a Parisian Nymphomaniac and, well—here you all are!
Actually, there is some truth in the title of this play, in case you’re thinking of lodging a complaint with the management—or the Better Business Bureau. After all, I’ve already confessed more than I should have about my private life; and there are some people even in these "emancipated" times who consider a woman of my somewhat unorthodox sexual attitudes to be nymphomaniacal. It’s certainly true that I’ve had more love affairs than I can remember. After all, they do go back more than half a century! And while physically I’m still functioning on all 8 cylinders—mentally there may have been just a little slippage lately: although I can still remember my first love affair quite vividly. That was in the summer of ‘43. He was a sculptor named Aristide. I guess I’ve always been attracted to the "artistic" type—
VICTOR’s VOICE is heard again. She goes to ‘window,’ listens and then resumes work.
SABRINA: Victor says I’m deviating from the script. And I am. But some explanation for what you are about to see are called for, I think. And there is a precedent for what I’m doing. My American cousin, Sabina Somerset, established it in a play called, The Skin of Our Teeth. I don’t think much of that title either! If the author had called it "The Secret Lovelife of a Suburban Parlor Maid," it might still be playing on Broadway—[Breaks a streamer.] Oh these streamers are positively ancient! Madam Godot says they’re the original decorations used for her husband’s 5th birthday, and I believe it!
As SABRINA mends streamer, MOTHER GODOT totters into room carrying 2 empty wine bottles. She bumps into furniture, hiccoughs, crosses stage and EXITS.
SABRINA: That was Monsieur Godot’s mother. A nice lady. Nice and quiet she is. That’s my definition of "nice." If someone’s quiet, they’re nice.
MOTHER GODOT RE-ENTERS with 2 full bottles of wine, traverses stage (again bumping into furniture) and EXITS.
SABRINA: As you might have guessed, wine plays a big part in her life. They say she never touched a drop until the day her husband died; and from then on it was 2 liters a day 7 days a week! Monsieur Godot’s father played first oboe in the Paris National Orchestra. One night, during a performance of Berlioz’ Symphonie Funebre et Triumphale, he was struck in the back of his head by a trombone slide and fell dead right on the spot. So, it’s hard to know whether it was his death, or the way it happened, that led her to the wine bottle. I was in love with a trumpet player once, and I can tell you it’s true what they say about a brass player’s kisses—
ENTER HENRI wearing overalls.
HENRI: Isn’t dinner ready yet, Sabrina?
SABRINA: Can’t you see it’s your father’s birthday?
HENRI: Oh, damn; I was hoping for just a quick bite and then back to work in the lab.
SABRINA: Your mother asked me to tell you to be sure and dress "properly" tonight. Deputy Gallimard will be here.
HENRI: Deputy Gallimard is coming?
SABRINA: He’s going to promote your father to Chief Teller at the bank.
HENRI: This is the chance I’ve been waiting for! I’m so happy I could kiss you, Sabrina!
SABRINA: Well, don’t let me stop you—I haven’t had a decent smooch since breakfast—
HENRI hesitates, then kisses SABRINA. She clings to him passionately.
HENRI: Whoopee! [EXIT.]
SABRINA: [At footlights, confidentially to audience.] Actually, that kissing scene isn’t in the script. Maybe you noticed how Henri hesitated for a moment when I improvised my invitation for him to take advantage of the tempting situation Victor had placed us in. After all, how can a woman with my "nymphomaniacal proclivities" (which is the way Victor describes my character) pass up such a golden opportunity? Henri’s not an artist but he is creative. He invents things in a shed out back that he calls his "lab." Which explains his excitement over meeting Deputy Gallimard at the party. He’s hoping to persuade his father’s employer to finance his latest invention—
VICTOR’s VOICE heard at window. SABRINA goes to window, listens.
SABRINA: Yes dear—No dear—yes, I promise—[Resuming work.] I wasn’t supposed to tell you about Henri’s invention, yet. [Coming downstage furtively, sotto voce.] But really, somebody’s got to fill in the little details he’s left out. [Resuming work.] I honestly don’t understand why Victor’s written a whole play about this family. They’re the dullest family in the neighborhood—if not the entire city of Paris—or the nation of France, for that matter! Personally I’d much rather find out about that mystery man who lives three doors away at number 37. The one who comes home in his airline pilot’s uniform every night at 6:15 with a plaid suitcase; and then, promptly at 6:25 leaves by the rear door dressed in nothing but an old raincoat, fedora hat and cowboy boots. Now there must be a play lurking somewhere in that kind of behavior—The Confessions of a Psycopathic Exhibitionist!
Or the young couple in number 64. He’s at the Sorbonne studying physics while she stays home dying of T.B. Her father disinherited her for eloping with someone "beneath their social station"; so they are practically starving to death. When you pass by their place at night you can hear Puccini’s Mimi coughing on the Victrola, and the sound of that poor girl’s real coughing—[Resisting tears.] Now that is the stuff of true melodrama! On the other hand, we have Monsieur Godot celebrating his 5th birthday for the 40th time! Where is the justice in that!
ENTER MATILDE with spatula.
MATILDE: Didn’t we have some of those blue streamers over the doorway last year?
SABRINA: I’m afraid after 40 years they’ve given up the ghost, madam—
MATILDE: Oh, dear! Are you sure they can’t be patched?
SABRINA: Madam, the patches are 20 years old.
MATILDE: How time flies—and how cruel it is! That shade of blue just isn’t available anymore. Now, why did I come in here? Oh, yes, I want you to taste the icing.
SABRINA: [Tasting from spatula.] It’s very nice.
MATILDE: I mean, do you think it has enough lemon in it? Monsieur likes his icing on the tart side.
SABRINA: It tastes the same as last year’s icing, madam.
MATILDE: That’s just it—I can’t remember what he thought of my icing last year. [EXIT shaking her head.]
SABRINA: [To audience.] You see what I mean about this being a dull family!
ENTER COUNT and LULU. They are dressed for party. Lulu is very pregnant. Count has an enormous mustache—measuring at least 3 feet across. Going about her work, SABRINA doesn’t notice them until COUNT makes their presence known by coughing.
SABRINA: The party’s not for another 10 minutes.
COUNT: We know.
LULU: We know.
COUNT: We thought you might introduce us to the audience before all the excitement starts.
SABRINA: Excitement? What excitement?
COUNT: We heard what you said about this being a dull family, Sabrina.
LULU: One can hardly call an eleven-month pregnancy dull!—
SABRINA: [To audience.] This is Countess Romanov, the Godot’s daughter, and the reason she’s eleven months pregnant is—
COUNT: [To audience.] The reason is simply that it requires a full 12 months to gestate an authentic Romanov—
SABRINA: [To audience.] And this is Count Romanov, Monsieur’s son-in-law.
COUNT: And one can hardly call such a mustache dull, can one, Sabrina?
SABRINA: No—that mustache of yours is anything but dull.
LULU: [To audience.] As a matter of fact, it’s the world’s most monumental mustache. You can check that in the Guinness Book Of Records. So, you see, this is a very interesting family.
COUNT: [To audience.] We just wanted to make that point to you before all the excitement starts.
They nod, wink to audience and EXIT as MATILDE RE-ENTERS.
MATILDE: You’d better alert everyone Sabrina, it’s nearly time. [Door chimes.] I’ll get it.
MATILDE EXITS, RE-ENTERS quickly with GALLIMARD. She takes his hat and cane.
MATILDE: How good of you to come, Deputy Gallimard. [Takes him to chair, he sits.] Would you like a Cinzano?[She pours drink for GALLIMARD as HENRI ENTERS in coat and tie.] This is our son, Henri. [The men shake hands.] I’ll leave you men to talk. I’ve got to see about the ice cream. [EXIT.]
SABRINA has EXITED during previous business. GALLIMARD sits sipping drink. HENRI’s behavior is decidedly eccentric. He walks a few steps, then stops. Repeats this. Each time he stops a fart is heard. GALLIMARD doesn’t know what to make of this. After each fart HENRI looks at GALLIMARD and smiles. GALLIMARD smiles back.
GALLIMARD: Did you say something?
HENRI: Say something? No. Not really—
GALLIMARD: Oh. [Pause.]
HENRI: Do you smell something?
GALLIMARD: [Sniffs.] Hmmm. Yes. Yes. There does seem to be—something—in the air.
HENRI: It’s not a fart, is it?
GALLIMARD: I beg your pardon?
HENRI: I said: it doesn’t smell like someone’s been farting in here, does it?
GALLIMARD: [Sniffing.] No, no—certainly not. It smells more like—like—
HENRI: Like money?
GALLIMARD: Money? Certainly not—I know what money smells like, my boy! I am the president of a bank, after all! [Laughs.]
HENRI: [Sitting near GALLIMARD.] What I was hinting at, sir, is that if someone did invent a way of deodorizing the human fart: such an invention would be worth millions of francs, would it not?
GALLIMARD: Well, I—I really don’t know what—
HENRI: Well I’ve done it, sir! I’ve broken through the last barrier to mankind’s complete freedom from the shackles of biology. Halitosis, dandruff, perspiration, smelly feet and vaginal odor have all been overcome—and now, the final hurdle has been jumped: the human fart has been conquered!
GALLIMARD: Ah—well—I don’t know what to—
HENRI: Listen! [Releases prolonged fart.]
GALLIMARD: I say! Can you do that any time you want?
HENRI: Yes, it’s been necessary for me to develop such a skill for research purposes. Now—what do you smell?
GALLIMARD: [Sniffing.] Burnt almonds?
HENRI: Exactly! Burnt almonds! But that’s not all. I’m working on a whole range of scents. [Takes panties from pocket.] Here. Take a whiff of these.
GALLIMARD: [Smells panties.] Mmmm—nice. Very nice.
HENRI: I call it "Windsong"—because of the oriental connotations. And these—[Produces pair of boxer shorts.]
GALLIMARD: [Smells shorts.] A touch of lime in this, I’d say.
HENRI: "Bahama Breezes." [Holding garment in each hand.] Men. Women.
GALLIMARD: Damned clever—
HENRI: I knew a man with your entrepreneurial instincts would appreciate the financial implications.
GALLIMARD: Financial implications?
HENRI: It will take at least 10 million to start production; and then there is the marketing and distribution and—
GALLIMARD: Did you say, 10 million francs!
HENRI: A lot of money to the average person, but to a man with your experience and vision I’m sure—
ENTER MATILDE. She sniffs the air.
MATILDE: Henri! You haven’t been—you couldn’t be—!
HENRI: Deputy Gallimard is thinking about financing my idea, mother!
MATILDE: Is that true?
GALLIMARD: Well, the idea does have certain—
MOTHER GODOT has ENTERED and tripped over an item of furniture. HENRI helps her up. SABRINA also ENTERS and lends a hand.
SABRINA: Let you out of my sight for a minute and see what happens?
MOTHER GODOT is helped to dining table. ENTER COUNT and LULU.
MATILDE: It’s time, everyone! Our Birthday Boy will be home any minute now! Have you all got your presents? Quickly then, put out the lights. [SABRINA switches off lights.] Is that him on the doorstep? [Pause.] Yes, that’s his little coming home cough. [Pause.] Now the key is turning in the lock. Shhh.
ENTER GODOT in darkness.
GODOT: Hello? Matilde? Why is it so dark in here? [Lights are turned on, shouts of ‘Happy Birthday!.'] Oh, my, my, my! Can it be that time of the year again?
GODOT removes bowler hat, coat. SABRINA EXITS with them. Kisses and handshakes are exchanged between all on stage.
GODOT: What a delightful surprise! Everything the way it was on my fifth birthday! How thoughtful! How considerate! And Deputy Gallimard, what an honor this is! One’s birthday becomes a truly special event when the president of one’s bank comes to one’s home like this. [SABRINA RE-ENTERS with cake as MATILDE lights candles.] Well, I suppose I should make a little speech! So, let me just say—[Sound of oboe playing concert ‘A’ is heard.] What was that?
MATILDE: What was what?
GODOT: That sound—like father’s oboe. Surely you heard it.
COUNT: Perhaps it was a street noise—
GODOT: But why didn’t any of you hear it?
MATILDE: Felix, the candles are melting all over the cake.
GODOT: Yes, well: what I was about to say was—the occasion of one’s 45th birthday is a sobering experience. 45 is a crucial time in one’s life. It’s a time for taking stock of one’s accomplishments—or lack of accomplishments. At the age of 45 one can no longer make excuses! But I’m not afraid to look the facts in the face. Some would say that being the assistant teller in a bank is not the crowning achievement of a lifetime. But I would answer that many men have done worse and, if it is to be my fate to remain in that position for the rest of my—
MATILDE: Felix, the candles—
GODOT: —the rest of my life, then Felix Godot will not argue with his fate!
MATILDE: Now make a wish and blow out the candles.
GODOT does as he is told.
LULU: Good for you, Daddy; you’ve blown them all out in one go!
SABRINA starts cutting and serving cake.
MATILDE: And now, the presents! Do you have a present for little Felix, mother Godot?
Still feeling effects of wine she has been drinking, MOTHER GODOT mechanically offers her gift. GODOT unwraps it to find a figurine of Felix the Cat.
GODOT: Ah, my old, old friend, Felix!
LULU: [To GALLIMARD.] Every year she rewraps the same toy she gave him on his 5th birthday.
GALLIMARD: An admirable age, 5—
GODOT: And what have we here? [Unwraps Matilde’s gift.] A pen and pencil set; how very practical! And what’s this? [Unwraps gift from Count and Lulu turning out to be an empty picture frame.]
COUNT: We were going to give you a portrait of the baby—
LULU: But the baby isn’t here yet!
Polite laughter from all except SABRINA.
GODOT: How original! How touching! [Unwraps Henri’s gift—a pair of boxer shorts.]
HENRI: It’s the prototype of a new fragrance called "Habana"—you know, like the cigars?
GODOT: [Ignoring shorts and Henri.] And—from Deputy Gallimard, the smallest package of all! Ah, what’s this? A key?
GALLIMARD: The key to your new office, Godot. You’ve been promoted to Chief Teller.
Applause from all except SABRINA.
GODOT: I’m overcome—what can I say—such an unexpected—[Sound of oboe.] There it is again!
MATILDE: What is, Felix?
GODOT: The oboe. Surely you heard it that time!
Sound of door chimes. SABRINA EXITS to answers it.
GODOT: It was exactly the same as the first time—playing concert "A"—the way father used to when he—
MATILDE: Don’t let it bother you, dear. There must be an explanation.
GODOT: What explanation? I don’t like hearing things other people don’t hear!
GALLIMARD: You’re getting old, Godot! Pretty soon you’ll start seeing things, too!
SABRINA RE-ENTERS with telegram.
SABRINA: A telegram, monsieur.
GODOT: A telegram? [Receiving it from SABRINA.] It’s from the government! [Opens it, reads.] "M. Felix Godot, greetings: The Department of War hereby informs you that, according to the Act of 22 July, 1937, you have been selected to serve in the Army of France for a period of not more than 2 years nor less than 6 months after the cessation of hostilities. You are ordered to appear for your induction within 24 hours from the date of this notice." [Pause.] Is this one of your little jokes, Henri?
HENRI: No, sir!
GODOT: Well, it’s very clever—very clever indeed. It looks to be absolutely authentic, doesn’t it? [Passes telegram around table.] Imagine—drafting a 45-year-old man! What a birthday gift that would be!
MATILDE: Then you’re sure it’s a joke?
GODOT: What else could it be? France is not at war—and even if there was a war going on do you think they would draft men of my age?
GALLIMARD: It’s absurd, absolutely absurd. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Godot. Nothing to worry about at all.
GODOT: Well, I must say; it’s been quite a day—quite a day indeed! [Telegram has come back to him, he examines it.]
HENRI: Maybe it was meant for me—
GODOT: [Losing temper.] It’s a joke! A joke! They don’t draft people until there is a war, and there is no war! [Tearing up telegram.] So much for this prank someone is trying to play on me! [Sound of the oboe.] There it is again!
LULU: The oboe?
GODOT: Then you heard it too!
LULU: Sorry, no—I just guessed—from that expression of puzzlement on your face—
MOTHER GODOT: Aren’t we going to have any wine?
GODOT: Mother, did you hear the oboe?
MOTHER GODOT: The oboe? Oh yes. I hear oboes all the time!
Lights fade to black as looks of amusement and consternation are exchanged by all sitting around the table.
Scene 2
SABRINA ENTERS sitting area of livingroom left, switches lamp on, rearranges furniture from previous scene as she speaks to audience.
SABRINA: Did any of you hear an oboe? Well, I certainly did. Maybe I should have said so at the time, but in the final analysis it really hasn’t got anything to do with me—it’s something Monsieur Godot will have to handle on his own—along with that "joke" telegram. Well, it’s the next night now—
ENTER GODOT with newspaper, wearing a dressing gown or smoking jacket. He sits.
GODOT: What were you saying?
SABRINA: Just telling the audience it’s the night after your birthday, monsieur.
GODOT: [Glancing at audience.] Oh.
GODOT opens newspaper, reads. SABRINA turns on lights in diningroom and begins striking party decorations.
SABRINA: Last night, after the birthday party, Victor and I went out dancing at Le Hot Jazz Club—
GODOT: Stop that! What you do on your own time has nothing to do with me!
SABRINA: There might be some ladies in the audience like myself who still have a few years of prime time left—
GODOT: They are only interested in what happens to me, Sabrina. My life, my prime!
SABRINA: Yes, monsieur, whatever you say—
Door chimes. EXIT SABRINA.
GODOT: [Picks up newspaper.] Damned silly woman.
RE-ENTER SABRINA with 2 MILITARY POLICEMEN
SABRINA: Two "gentlemen" to see you, sir.
GODOT: Yes? What is it?
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: We’ve got orders for your arrest, Godot.
GODOT: Orders for my—is this still part of that birthday prank?
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: This is no prank. We’re here on official business—[Shows GODOT orders.]
GODOT: Someone in the government is pulling your leg, soldier—yesterday was my birthday. My 45th birthday.
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: Yes, monsieur?
GODOT: Can’t you see how absurd it is? Drafting a man of my age?
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: Lots of absurd things happen in the Army, monsieur. Now, if you will get your coat and come with us, there won’t be any trouble.
GODOT: You can’t be serious!
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: Couldn’t be seriouser, monsieur. Orders is orders—
ENTER MATILDE.
MATILDE: What is this, Felix?
GODOT: They’ve come to take me away—to arrest me!
2nd MILITARY POLICEMAN: Draft evasion, madam.
MATILDE: Don’t be silly. That telegram was a hoax. You can’t arrest the chief teller of the Bank of Paris.
GODOT: I’m not going with you and that’s that. [Sits, picks up newspaper.] You can go back to whoever sent you and tell them their little game is over; it isn’t funny anymore.
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: Can’t do that, monsieur—[Unholsters pistol.]
MATILDE: My God! A gun! A gun in our home!
GODOT: This is an outrage! [Rises.] I’m going to call Deputy Gallimard. Do you understand? I am going to call a member of the French Parliament—the consequences will be serious! Maybe you don’t realize who you are dealing with. I am the Chief Teller of the Bank of Paris!
MPs are not impressed.
GODOT: Alright, then! [He moves to phone. 1ST MP fires pistol, shattering telephone in GODOT’s hand.] Good lord—those were real bullets!
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: They’re real, alright. And the next shot won’t be a warning, either. So let’s get moving!
2ND MP handcuffs GODOT. MATILDE becomes hysterical. ENTER COUNT, LULU and HENRI.
HENRI: What the devil’s going—?
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: Hold it right there! [Points pistol at them.] Reach for the ceiling! Nobody moves! Nobody talks!
MPs back off stage, holding family at gunpoint, taking GODOT with them. Throughout, SABRINA has been standing to side, uninvolved. ENTER MOTHER GODOT with 2 empty wine bottles; stumbling on furniture as she crosses room.
MOTHER GODOT: Ah—you’ve rearranged the furniture again haven’t you—good morning, good morning—yes, yes, I hear oboes all the time—[EXIT.]
Lights fade to black in livingroom. SABRINA goes to diningroom to strike birthday decorations and arrange furniture for next scene.
SABRINA: [To audience while working.] Well, it looks like there’s nothing to do now but call the family lawyer. I had an affair with a lawyer once. I should say I tried to have an affair with one. It was more like working up a relationship with a blanc mange. Believe me, a woman can get more thrills from a bowl of custard than she can from the entire French Supreme Court! A week has gone by now and Monsieur Godot has spent all that time in jail. His trial will start in just a few minutes— as soon as I get this courtroom set established. So, my cunning little Victor has managed to move this story right along. In a matter of just a few pages we have mysterious oboe noises, guns going off in the livingroom and now, this boring little bank teller is going on trial for his life! Yes, that’s right! They say the penalty for draft evasion is death by firing squad. But surely they wouldn’t execute Monsieur Godot. [Thinking.] Although with Victor, you never know. He’s full of surprises. So I suppose it is possible they will put Felix Godot against a wall and shoot him!
Characters involved with trial enter now, including PROSECUTING & DEFENSE ATTORNEYS. If necessary, they will help SABRINA make final changes to establish courtroom set. Dining table is broken down to provide bar for Magistrate and desks for Attorneys. There will also be a gallery for Godot’s family & friends. ENTER MATILDE, HENRI, LULU, COUNT & GALLIMARD to take seats in gallery. SABRINA joins them as:
Scene 3
SABRINA: Isn’t this exciting? A real trial. They’ve even mentioned Monsieur on the nightly news!
SABRINA gets cold shoulder from others in gallery. ENTER MAGISTRATE, an old and frail man who speaks very quietly, as if he had a hangover.
MAGISTRATE: Are we ready to begin, gentlemen?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: The State is ready to proceed, your honor.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The defense is ready, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Before we start, I want to make a few things crystal clear. As you can no doubt hear, I am speaking very softly. Can you hear how softly I am speaking now?
BOTH ATTORNEYS: Yes, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: There is a reason why I’m doing that. Can you guess what it is?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Your honor does not like loud noises.
MAGISTRATE: It’s not a question of "liking" or "not liking." I have no choice in the matter. I’m a very sick man. A loud noise, a sudden noise, an auditory surprise of any kind—could kill me. Do you understand?
BOTH ATTORNEYS: [Very softly.] Yes, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: My heart is like a vial of nitro glycerine; just the slightest jiggle and it’s all over for me. And I don’t want to die. I’m not ready to die. Not today, anyway. So—these proceedings must be kept quiet, calm, gentle, subdued, easy—and soft; very, very soft. Anyone breaching the peace and quiet of this courtroom will be charged with attempting to murder a magistrate. And, another thing. Are there any cats in this case?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: The accused is named Godot, your honor, not Katz
MAGISTRATE: Pussy cats!
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Pussy cats, your honor?
MAGISTRATE: I’m allergic to pussy cats. And you’d be surprised how many cases involve pussy cats. Only last week a dead pussy cat was put into evidence—[Sneezes.] When you’re allergic to the damned things, they seem to keep popping up all over the place.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: There are no pussy cats in this case, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: What about garlic? Has anyone here been eating garlic?
BOTH ATTORNEYS: No, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: What about them? [All those sitting in gallery shake their heads.] And no jokes or funny stories either. Laughing could be fatal to a man in my condition. I know how you lawyers are with your jokes and stories—especially when you’re losing, and I’ll have none of it. Something that brings a smile to the lips is permissible, but no belly laughs. Understood?
BOTH ATTORNEYS: Understood.
MAGISTRATE: Now, what is this case all about? [Reads file to himself.] "The State versus"—whereas, et cetera and so forth. This is a simple draftdodging case, isn’t it?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: That’s right, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Very well. Have the prisoner sent in.
ENTER GODOT in prison uniform. MATILDE sobs.
MAGISTRATE: Well, Godot, how do you plead?
GODOT: Not guilty!
MAGISTRATE winces. DEFENSE ATTORNEY whispers to GODOT, who softens his speech.
GODOT: Not guilty, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Are you sure about that? It would save us all one hell of a lot of time and trouble if you pleaded guilty.
GODOT: In the interest of justice, I am compelled to plead not guilty—
MAGISTRATE: Justice, eh? So it’s going to be one of those days.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The defense will stipulate that the accused did indeed receive a draft notice and did indeed fail to report for his induction as directed by said notice.
MAGISTRATE: Then what is his defense!
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Monsieur Godot had no reasonable basis upon which to believe the draft notice was legitimate, your honor. He thought it was a joke.
MAGISTRATE: Is that true? Did you think your draft notice was a joke?
GODOT: Yes.
MAGISTRATE: And why did you think it was a joke?
GODOT: Because it was my 45th birthday and one doesn’t expect that kind of a birthday present. One doesn’t expect to be drafted into the Army when one is 45.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Your honor, the law clearly states in section 9-A Roman numeral XII: "The provisions of this Act shall apply to all males of French nationality between the ages of 17 and 45."
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The War Department had 27 years and 364 days in which to draft Monsieur Godot. They chose instead to draft him on the 365th day of the 28th year. We would call that truly incredible, your honor.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Actually your honor, as you can see from the draft notice, it is dated on the day prior to the accused’s birthday.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The defense isn’t going to quibble over one day, your honor. The point is, it’s not reasonable for a man to be drafted even on the day before his 45th birthday.
MAGISTRATE: Does it ever seem reasonable for a man to be drafted to the man who’s being drafted?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: There are times, your honor, when it is considered an honor and a privilege to serve one’s country!
MAGISTRATE: [Wincing.] There’s no need to break the sound barrier. We’re all patriots here, I’m sure—with the exception of the accused, of course. Is there someone here from the War Department?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Yes, your honor—
ENTER BUREAUCRAT, takes witness stand or chair.
MAGISTRATE: State your name and occupation.
BUREAUCRAT: Percival Ponce, assistant secretary for Administration to the Undersecretary for Mobilization in the office of the Minister for—
MAGISTRATE: Yes, yes, that will do—you haven’t been eating garlic, have you?
BUREAUCRAT: Garlic? No, sir—
MAGISTRATE: [Sneezes.] You’re not hiding a pussy cat on you, are you?
BUREAUCRAT: A pussy cat? Good lord, no.
MAGISTRATE: Well, there’s something about you that makes my nose itch. Move over there—[BUREAUCRAT moves chair from bar.] Now, are you the one who was responsible for drafting Godot?
BUREAUCRAT: I’m not responsible personally, if that’s what you mean. On the other hand, in my capacity as the assistant secretary for Administration to the under—
MAGISTRATE: No more of that. You know damn well what I mean. Were you the one who picked Godot’s name out of the hat?
BUREAUCRAT: We don’t use a hat anymore.
MAGISTRATE: I suppose you’ve got a bloody great computer for doing it nowadays.
BUREAUCRAT: Actually, we use dice.
MAGISTRATE: And you were the one who threw the dice?
BUREAUCRAT: My assistant threw them.
MAGISTRATE: And Godot’s number came up.
BUREAUCRAT: We had no idea it was his number at the time, of course. We never know whose number is drawn until we go to the master file.
MAGISTRATE: And that’s where you found Godot—in the master file?
BUREAUCRAT: My assistant did.
MAGISTRATE: And did you—or your "assistant"—happen to notice that Godot was only one day away from being over the hill?
BUREAUCRAT: We don’t use expressions like that in the Army Department since Directive number—182 stroke 32 stroke C, I believe it is.
MAGISTRATE: Well, this is my court and in here we still use such down-to-earth terminology. In here we do whatever I tell people to do, and I’m telling you to answer the question.
BUREAUCRAT: We may have noticed that Godot was approaching the official cutoff date—
MAGISTRATE: Did you or didn’t you?
BUREAUCRAT: I believe my assistant did. He mentioned it was a statistical quirk.
MAGISTRATE: A quirk?
BUREAUCRAT: Well, at noon every day we pull the files on those who are turning 45. But we roll the dice at 11. So it was only a matter of one hour between Godot’s being drafted and not being drafted. Or, more precisely, Godot was being drafted after 245,279 hours had elapsed out of a possible total of 245,280.
MAGISTRATE: And what did you think about that?
BUREAUCRAT: We thought it was rather quirky—
MAGISTRATE: I don’t like that word. It’s an irritating and stupid word. Don’t use it any more.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Isn’t it a fact that you draft quite a high percentage of 45-year-olds?
BUREAUCRAT: The figures indicate that since 1937 only 3 other men have been drafted on the day before their 45th birthday.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: And those 3 men were drafted this year, weren’t they?
BUREAUCRAT: [Checking notebook.] Yes.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: And just how many men have been drafted this year?
BUREAUCRAT checks notebook again and makes calculations.
MAGISTRATE: Just a round number will do—
BUREAUCRAT: Six.
MAGISTRATE: Six?
BUREAUCRAT: Six.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: So, precisely 50 % of all the men drafted into the French Army this year were drafted on the day before their 45th birthday; is that correct?
BUREAUCRAT: So far. I believe we’re drafting someone today.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Well, Monsieur Ponce, I ask you: doesn’t that seem like a remarkable statistic?
BUREAUCRAT: As I said before, we thought it was a quir—[Looking at MAGISTRATE.]—an oddity.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Isn’t it a fact you don’t like 45-year-old men?
BUREAUCRAT: Don’t be silly. Why shouldn’t I like them?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Because at that age you lose your power over them!
BUREAUCRAT: We don’t think in terms of "power." The idea is ludicrous. Such a sick idea would never occur to us. Besides, if you got caught doing it, your career could be ruined. Persecuting 45-year-olds has been strictly forbidden—[Having taken steel balls from pocket and manipulated them he suddenly stops his Queeglike outburst.]
MAGISTRATE: I think you’ve made your point with this witness and, unless you have some additional evidence or argument, the court is ready to hand down its verdict. [To BUREAUCRAT. ] You can go now.
EXIT BUREAUCRAT.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: We are challenging the legality of the draft on the grounds that no war exists, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Oh my, my, my—that sounds terribly complicated to me. Does there really have to be a war?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: That’s what the law itself states, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Everything seemed so crystal clear only a moment ago.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: But there is a war, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: There is a war? France is at war?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: That’s right, your honor. France is fighting a war as we speak.
MAGISTRATE: How wonderful! Can you prove it?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: The State calls General Buckpasser.
MAGISTRATE: Another witness? And how many witnesses is the defense planning to call?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: 37, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Oh my, my, my—I was hoping to get the afternoon off!
GODOT: My life is at stake, do you realize that?
MAGISTRATE: Yes, yes—I know all about your "life and death" situation. That’s what my job is all about. [Holds hands out like scales.] I must weigh your life and my afternoon off. A balance must be achieved. But we don’t want to be here all week about it, do we?
GODOT: I don’t want the same kind of justice they gave Dreyfus.
MAGISTRATE: Dreyfus, Dreyfus, Dreyfus—what’s Dreyfus got to do with this case? You’re not Jewish are you?
GODOT: No.
MAGISTRATE: Then let’s not hear any more about Dreyfus.
ENTER GENERAL, seats himself in witness chair.
MAGISTRATE: Now, what’s all this about France being in a state of war?
GENERAL: Oh yes, we’re at war all right. There is no doubt about that.
MAGISTRATE: And where is this war?
GENERAL: Where is it? It’s in—ah—it’s in—ah—French Guiana.
MAGISTRATE: Guiana?
GENERAL: Or maybe it’s French Guinea—
MAGISTRATE: Well, which is it?
GENERAL: The one that’s in South America.
MAGISTRATE: You’re sure about the South America part?
GENERAL: It’s definitely South America.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Then it’s French Guinea, your honor.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: French Guinea is in Africa.
GENERAL: Maybe it is, after all.
MAGISTRATE: Maybe what is? The war or the country?
GENERAL: Both. Or—either one.
MAGISTRATE: Just a moment. [Takes pills.]
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: [Taking map from briefcase.] Here it is, your honor. It is in South America.
MAGISTRATE: What is?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: French Guiana. It’s one of our colonies on the northeast coast of South America.
GENERAL: Northeast coast—yes, that’s it. That’s where the war is. I remember that bit about "the northeast coast"—
MAGISTRATE: So, there is a war going on in the French colony of Guiana in South America. And who are we fighting down there?
GENERAL: The enemy—the enemy is who we are fighting. I can state that quite categorically!
MAGISTRATE: And who is the enemy?
GENERAL: Ah, now, that’s harder to say. It’s a jungle down there. Very dense foliage. You can’t always tell just who it is who’s shooting at you.
MAGISTRATE: Can you tell us how we got into this war?
GENERAL: That’s easy. It started 9 years ago when 3 of our legionnaires took a wrong turning and drove their jeep into the jungle south of some village or other, and someone shot them.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: The "Affair of the 3 Peters," your honor.
MAGISTRATE: I warned you about telling offcolor stories, didn’t I?
GENERAL: They were all named Peter, those 3 soldiers—
MAGISTRATE: Another "quirk," eh? This case seems to be full of them!
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Thereafter the National Assembly passed the "3 Peters Resolution" authorizing the suppression of hostile acts against French military personnel—
GENERAL: Somebody’s got to teach those jungle bunnies to respect the white man!
MAGISTRATE: And that’s how this war began—with a wrong turning in the jungle?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: The honor of France was at stake. If we had stood up to the Bosche in 1938—
MAGISTRATE: We’re not going to bring World War II into this case, are we? We’ve already had Dreyfus—
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: But that is the point of the Government’s case, your honor. It is not for people like Godot to decide what is or is not in the interest of French honor. That is the business of the War Department.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: This affair in Guiana has nothing to do with French honor. It’s about bananas.
MAGISTRATE: Bananas? We’re getting into bananas now?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: It’s unavoidable, your honor. The government is asking this man to put on a uniform and travel 3,000 miles to his certain death in the jungles of Guiana in order to perpetuate the monopoly of the FrancoAmerican Banana cartel.
MAGISTRATE: Are you saying the Americans are mixed up in this too?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: As always, your honor, we do the dirty work for them.
MAGISTRATE: Hmm. Probably the CIA—they’ve got their noses into everybody’s affairs nowadays.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The question is, your honor, which is more important? A banana—or the life of my client, Monsieur Godot? [Holds up banana.]
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Objection! We are talking about more than one banana in this case!
MAGISTRATE: We are? [Sighing.] Well—how many bananas are we talking about?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: The exports from Guiana amount to some 6,000 tons annually. Of course, that figure would have to be divided by the number of men killed there each year.
MAGISTRATE: Of course—[Writing computations.] And how many is that?
GENERAL: Every soldier we send down there gets killed.
MAGISTRATE: That should simplify the problem. How many do we send?
GENERAL: It’s been working out to roughly 18 a year.
MAGISTRATE: So, we must multiply 6,000 tons of bananas by—
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Divide, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: We must divide 6,000 tons of bananas by 18 men. 18 into—3 to the ton—add 7—carry 6 and the result is—roughly—700 pounds of bananas to the man, right?
BOTH ATTORNEYS: Yes, your honor. That’s close enough.
MAGISTRATE: Now: how many bananas are there to the pound? That’s the fundamental question we are seeking to answer, is it not?
MAGISTRATE looks at the court but no one seems to know the answer to his question.
MAGISTRATE: Doesn’t anyone here know how many bananas there are in a pound?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: My wife does all our shopping, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Well, what do we do now?
SABRINA: [From gallery.] Are they big bananas, medium bananas or small bananas? If they’re big, you get 2 to the pound. If they’re medium, you get 3 to the pound. And if they’re small, you get 4—sometimes even 5 to the pound.
MAGISTRATE: Thank you, madam. We will use the middle figure. 3 bananas to the pound. Is that stipulated, gentlemen?
BOTH ATTORNEYS: Yes, your honor—3 to the pound.
MAGISTRATE: That would make it 3 times 700? So, the issue before us is: whether Godot’s life is worth 2,100 bananas. The court will make a note of that—[Writes.] Before you leave, General, did you say that every French soldier we send to Guiana ends up dead?
GENERAL: Yes, sir.
MAGISTRATE: In your expert opinion, why do you think that happens?
GENERAL: Some of them get shot; some are the victims of poison darts—others have—
MAGISTRATE: No, no—I mean; why is it that since this war started there have been no French survivors?
GENERAL: It just seems to be one of those things—
MAGISTRATE: Another—quirk.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: It’s not the guerrillas—it’s the French government that doesn’t want any survivors coming back to tell horror stories, isn’t that the real reason, General?
GENERAL: My job is to keep sending patrols into that damned jungle until the enemy understands that we mean business.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Even though our men never return!?
GENERAL: But they do return! At least most of them do. Our casualty rate is running around 25%—which, since the average patrol consists of 10 to 12 men—means that 7 or 8 survive—
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: So you keep sending those survivors back into the jungle until the law of probability catches up with them all.
GENERAL: The law of proba—probawhat?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The net result of what you’re telling us, General, is that the only way those soldiers of yours come back to France is in a bodybag, isn’t that so?
GENERAL: That’s the way it seems to be working out.
MAGISTRATE: General, would you say a man’s life is worth 2,100 bananas?
GENERAL: Well, it depends on the bananas, doesn’t it? I mean, these aren’t your run-of-the-mill bananas. These are French bananas. French Imperial bananas. These bananas are the fruit, so to speak, of an empire that is 400 years old; an empire won with the blood of Frenchmen in Chad and Somaliland, Gabon, the Congo, Morocco, Sudan, Senegal, Vietnam and—many, many other places, not to mention the Napoleonic Wars, the War of 1870, The War To End All—
MAGISTRATE: Yes, yes. Alright. It’s obvious we are dealing with some very special bananas. Thank you, General. [EXIT GENERAL.] Has the Prosecution any more witnesses?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: No, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: [Sighing.] The defense may call its witnesses.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The defense calls Deputy Gallimard. [GALLIMARD leaves gallery to sit in witness chair.] You are a deputy to the French National Assembly?
GALLIMARD: Yes.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: And the president of the Bank of Paris?
GALLIMARD: Yes.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: And the accused, Felix Godot, works for you at the bank?
GALLIMARD: Godot is our Chief Teller.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: A position of some responsibility?
GALLIMARD: Oh, yes. Heaps and heaps of responsibility.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: So a man like Godot should be worth considerably more than 2,100 bananas?
GALLIMARD: Good lord, yes!
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: How many bananas is he worth?
GALLIMARD: Sir; you cannot measure men in bananas. That’s not what French civilization is all about!
Applause from gallery, which GALLIMARD acknowledges.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: As a member of the National Assembly, didn’t you vote for the 3 Peters Resolution?
GALLIMARD: That was some time ago—I can’t—
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: It’s in the record that you did.
GALLIMARD: Well, at the time, I suppose, it seemed to be—the thing to do—
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Isn’t it a fact your bank holds stock in the FrancoAmerican Banana Cartel?
GALLIMARD: Ah, well—I seem to remember—something about—bananas—
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Would you say Monsieur Godot is worth 10,000 bananas?
GALLIMARD: No.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: More? Or less?
GALLIMARD: More. Of course more!
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: A million bananas?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Objection! Your honor, these questions are indecent. The defendant is a human being, not a commodity.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: I will only remind the court that it was the defense attorney who first brought a banana into this courtroom.
MAGISTRATE: He who lives by the banana may also perish by the banana. Objection overruled.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: A million bananas is worth about 200,000 francs, Deputy Gallimard. Where you aware of that fact?
GALLIMARD: Well, if we’re talking about hard cash—
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: Money, bananas, it’s all the same thing in the final analysis, isn’t? I am only asking you to put a market price on Godot that happens to be in terms of a particular tropical fruit.
GALLIMARD: I see what you’re driving at, young man. Looking at it that way—[Calculates.] 200,000—at 9%—1 franc 50 the pound—I would say—Godot is worth at the very least—2 million bananas.
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: So you would agree that, in principle, it is possible to measure a man in bananas—that bananas are no different than francs or wampum or cow dung?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: I strongly object to the cow dung!
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: It’s common knowledge that in certain parts of India cow dung is used as a medium of exchange, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: That’s very interesting. Objection overruled.
GALLIMARD: All right, yes. It is possible to measure a man in bananas. I’m sorry, Godot, but it’s true.
GALLIMARD rises, pats GODOT on shoulder as he passes, retakes seat in gallery.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The defense calls Madam Matilde Godot to the stand. [MATILDE takes witness chair.] You have been married to the accused for how long?
MATILDE: 25 glorious years!
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Would you describe him as a loving husband?
PROSECUTING ATTORNEY: The State fails to see what such a question has to do with the law on draft evasion, your honor.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: If you insist on measuring a man in bananas, I think we have the right to show the court what kind of man the accused is; to dimensionalize his—
MAGISTRATE: In the interest of justice—and time, we must simply accept the fact that a man is a man and a banana is a banana. We are not dealing with the many dimensions of Monsieur Godot and we are not dealing with "French Imperial" bananas. Just plain men and plain bananas. Is that clear?
MATILDE: Felix is worth more than all the bananas in South America! [Applause from gallery.]
MAGISTRATE: And do you know how many bananas that is, madam?
MATILDE: I don’t care how many bananas it is!
MAGISTRATE: But someone must care. Bananas may have a silly name but they keep millions of Third World people alive. They nourish entire populations who aren’t fortunate enough to dine on babas and crepes. You aren’t suggesting that all these millions of banana-eaters are worth less than your husband, are you?
MATILDE: You know very well what I’m trying to say. What possible difference could it make to anyone but me whether my husband becomes a soldier or not?
MAGISTRATE: Ah, but if he isn’t drafted, someone else will have to take his place, no?
MATILDE: Yes. Someone young and strong and—
MAGISTRATE: So you think it’s all right for someone who is young and strong to die for those bananas?
MATILDE: I don’t care who he is as long as he’s not Felix Godot! [Applause from gallery.]
MAGISTRATE: The witness is excused.
MATILDE returns to gallery having first blown GODOT a kiss.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The defense calls—
MAGISTRATE: If the defense keeps calling witnesses like these, the defendant can start saying his prayers.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: What can I say after that, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: You can say: "the defense rests."
GODOT: The defense does not rest!
MAGISTRATE: If you’re going to tell me you don’t want to die, I already know that. The defendant never wants to pay the fine or go to jail or have his head chopped off. He is always innocent. His name is always Dreyfus and he is always appealing to a justice that is higher than the kind I am dispensing. Have I left anything out?
Sound of oboe is heard.
GODOT: Why do I keep hearing that sound?
MAGISTRATE: Sound? What sound?
GODOT: The oboe. My father playing concert "A" on his oboe. [Oboe sound again.] Can’t you hear it!
MAGISTRATE: That’s what I left out! When all else fails, the accused tries to establish an insanity defense.
GODOT: Yes, maybe I am insane. Either I am, or all of France has gone crazy. A man plans his life, like an architect designing a cathedral. Then he begins building it, stone by stone—each day hewing another block of granite from life’s quarry. Then he shoulders each of those granite blocks up the scaffolding and sets them in place. It takes years and years to construct just a single wall. His entire life is spent erecting a monument not only to his own heroism, but to the indomitability of the human spirit. He dreams only of completing his one man edifice before Death taps him on the shoulder. But Death itself seems to share his enthusiasm for such a noble project and, bye and bye, the end is in sight! His dreams are about to come true! From atop the flying buttresses he gazes down on all of Paris! And then, suddenly, he is told to stop his lofty toil and trade his life for some bananas! At the age of 25 I became a cashier. At 30 I was the foreign exchange window. At 35 second assistant teller. At 40 first assistant teller. And at 45—Chief Teller! At 50 I could become a vice president of The Bank of Paris. At 55 President and member of the Board. At 60 a Deputy in the National Assembly and Minister of Finance. And at 65—Prime Minister of France! [Applause from gallery.]
MAGISTRATE: The court will consider that speech a plea of insanity. The court is also ready to rule on this case. [Sifts papers, mutters.]—2,100 bananas—dice—cathedral—Prime Minister of France—the wife! [Shakes head.] Something has bothered me about this case all morning.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: What is that, your honor?
MAGISTRATE: That chap with the big mustache. What is he doing here?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: He is the defendant’s son-in-law, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Why is he wearing that huge mustache?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: It is used in certain advertisements—
MAGISTRATE: Is he the one called, "Monsieur Mustache?"
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Yes, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: How the devil does he get through a doorway with that thing?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: I believe he tilts his head to the side, your honor.
MAGISTRATE: Ah—but he must also crouch down a little to avoid hitting the top of the doorway as well, no?
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: I believe he does crouch, your honor. He tilts and he crouches.
MAGISTRATE: Alright. I’ve made up my mind. It hasn’t been easy either. There were many factors to consider. I didn’t like that fellow from the War Department one bit. And this business about bananas is absolutely ridiculous. On the other hand we have a common little bank teller who is building cathedralsized memorials to himself—and the undeniable fact that somebody has got to go into that South American jungle and prevent Western Civilization from going completely to pot! Then there is the question of the son-in-law's mustache. It seems to me the key to this case, is tangled up in that big mustache of his. Like the issues at trial, his mustache is ponderous—and very hairy! Its two wings represent the scales of justice, tipping this way or that way; and, like the proverbial truth, it sits right under someone’s nose! There is also the relationship between bananas and mustaches that must be taken into account: They are both incredibly silly objects! But, of the two, I think mustaches are sillier. And, since the accused is related to the man with the silliest mustache I have ever seen—even though only by marriage; I find you, Felix Godot, guilty as charged and sentence you to be executed by a military firing squad. [Negative reaction from gallery.] The sentence of death to be suspended! [Positive reaction from gallery.] On the condition that you fulfill your obligation under the law; and, upon being honorably discharged from the Armed Forces of France, this sentence will be revoked and everything put back the way it was. This court is now adjourned.
GODOT is mobbed by gallery members and EXITS with them. SABRINA remains behind to shift furniture again.
Scene 4
SABRINA is rearranging courtroom furniture to form Godot’s diningroom.
SABRINA: Well, that was quite a shock, wasn’t it—hearing a genuine sentence of death being pronounced on Monsieur Godot!. Still, I knew the old magistrate’s bark would be worse than his bite. You’d think Monsieur Godot might be grateful, but he returned home from the trial in a rotten mood. I’ve never seen him in such a fury. [Stoops to pick up a shard of china.] He smashed Madam’s favorite vase—as if all of his problems were her fault! He was a wild beast alright. I never dreamed there was a wild animal living inside his bank teller’s body! Who knows, maybe this "brush with death" will do him some good? It might not be a bad idea to draft more 45-year-olds. It certainly doesn’t make sense sending all the young men to die in the jungles of Guiana, does it? I’m sure you ladies know what I mean! Every time there’s a war they strip the trees of all that lovely fruit. Just when it’s nice and ripe and juicy. Of course, this isn’t much of a war—not the kind they write songs about or inspire films. Personally though, I do like a banana now and then, so I suppose it’s all worth it. I mean, at least this war is about something. Something you can sink your teeth into. Not like those wars about capitalism and nationalism and Protestantism. You can’t put sliced ‘ism’ on your morning cornflakes, can you? Speaking of which, it’s time to get breakfast ready—[Checks watch.] The Army’s coming to collect Monsieur at 0800 sharp.
EXIT SABRINA. ENTER MATILDE and GODOT with luggage.
GODOT: This can’t be happening. Only a week ago I was on top of the world and now I’m being buried by an avalanche of absurdity!
MATILDE: Did you pack some of those laxative pills?
GODOT: Laxative pills? I’ll be dead in a fortnight! Do you have any pills for lead poisoning? [MATILDE weeps, he comforts her.] Matilde, we must face the facts. [Takes envelope from coat.] Here are the insurance policies, the bank books and the last will and testament of Felix Godot.
MATILDE cries louder. SABRINA ENTERS with coffee.
GODOT: You will have to tighten the housekeeping budget—
SABRINA: [To audience.] Tighten the housekeeping budget! What is the sense of fighting and dying for all of those bananas if we can’t afford to buy them?
GODOT helps MATILDE to table. SABRINA presents GODOT with folded newspaper.
GODOT: I don’t want the paper this morning.
SABRINA: There’s an article about your trial in it. [GODOT scans front page.] It’s on page 37.
GODOT: Page 37! [Turns to page.] How did you know what page it was on?
SABRINA: The Daily Horoscope is on page 38.
GODOT: I thought so. All these years you’ve been reading my paper before I read it!
SABRINA: Only the horoscope and the funnies. And I refold it so neatly the paper looks like as if it’s fresh off the printing press, doesn’t it?
GODOT: After all we’ve done for you. But I suppose it’s become fashionable since 1789 for servants to deceive their masters!
SABRINA: How can you call it "deceiving" when I succeeded so completely in keeping the truth from you?
GODOT: [Put off by her ‘logic.'] All I’m saying is that you could have waited until after I’d read my morning paper. I don’t think that’s asking too much from a person whose salary you are paying.
SABRINA: I like to know what’s in the Horoscope before I make breakfast.
GODOT: Horoscopes!
SABRINA: To each his own, Monsieur. Personally I see no point in disregarding what is written in one’s stars—
GODOT: Superstitious nonsense!
SABRINA: Whatever you say, Monsieur—[Leaving GODOT, to audience.] All I know is: he’s on his way to the jungles of Guiana, and I’m staying right here in Paris!
EXIT SABRINA. MATILDE has been reading documents given to her by Godot.
GODOT: Listen to this: [Reading paper.] "Yesterday in the High Court, M. Felix Godoy"—the idiots got my name wrong for God’s sake!—"was convicted of draft evasion and sentenced to death. The death sentence was suspended contingent upon M. Godoy’s completion of 2 years’ honorable military service. M. Godoy is a teller in a large bank." That’s the press for you! That’s all they care about the greatest miscarriage of justice since Dreyfus!
MATILDE: What does this mean, in the insurance policy, where it says: "No benefits will be paid for mortality resulting from war or insurrection"?
GODOT grabs policy. SABRINA ENTERS with breakfast.
GODOT: The cheats! The swindlers! A Swiss company! I should have known!
SABRINA: Don’t let it upset you, monsieur. That clause in the insurance policy isn’t important.
GODOT: What? What are you saying?
SABRINA: It’s in your horoscope. Whether you believe in it or not, you’ve got a very good forecast this morning.
GODOT: You read my horoscope?
SABRINA: I read everybody’s. Incidentally, your birthday forecast was horrible. That was the day you got the telegram—
MATILDE: You should have warned us, Sabrina!
SABRINA: I didn’t think you’d take that kind of warning seriously. And, of course, Monsieur would have found out about me reading his newspapers.
GODOT: What good would it have done to know the future? Do you think you can hide from bad news?
SABRINA: It sometimes helps to stay in bed all day with the covers over your head and not answer the doorbell or the telephone.
MATILDE: Are those the days you call in sick?
GODOT: You can’t seriously believe the War Department would forget about Felix Godot because he’s in bed with the covers pulled over his head?
SABRINA: Stranger things have happened. After all, who would believe that in a few minutes you’ll be heading for Guiana to fight a war over some bananas?
MATILDE: What does today’s horoscope say, Felix?
GODOT: If you’re so interested, you read it—[Hands her newspaper.]
MATILDE: Let’s see—
SABRINA: He’s Scorpio, madam.
MATILDE: "You are about to enter a long and difficult period that will take you to a distant and turbulent locale." Oh, Felix, this has been written just for you! "Your utmost vigilance will be required to avoid disaster. But you will find the new strengths needed to match the challenges ahead. Your survival depends on the unrelenting will to triumph."
GODOT: Good God! You call that encouraging! My survival depends on "The unrelenting will to triumph?"
SABRINA: That just means if you want to go on living, you must—
GODOT: I know damned well what it means!
MATILDE: You do want to go on living, don’t you Felix?
GODOT: Of course I want to go on living! But is my unrelenting will to triumph going to stop bullets?
SABRINA: It might not stop them, monsieur, but it can make them swerve just enough to—
GODOT: Swerving bullets?
SABRINA: Like this—[Demonstrates.]—I saw that happen in a Jean Gabin movie once.
GODOT: Well, this isn’t a movie, and I’m not Jean Gabin.
SABRINA: Movie, play, what’s the difference?
GODOT: What are you talking about? This is real life!
SABRINA: I shouldn’t have let that slip out—
Door chimes sound.
GODOT: My God; they’re here—[Falters.]
MATILDE: You haven’t eaten a bite of breakfast!
GODOT: I can’t go through with it!
SABRINA: [Aside.] I know I shouldn’t do this but—[To GODOT.] Monsieur Godot, I swear to you on everything that’s holy—you will not be killed in the jungles of French Guiana!
VICTOR’S AGITATED VOICE is heard at window. SABRINA goes to window.
SABRINA: I swear I didn’t tell him anything, Victor!
MATILDE: Who are you talking to?
SABRINA: Just the man across the street, madam. He seems to be interested in what’s going on.
GODOT: I can’t stand up—my knees have turned to aspic!
MATILDE: Remember: "The unrelenting will to triumph!"
Doorchimes sound. SABRINA EXITS to answer door.
GODOT: [Rising, holding on to table.] The unrelenting—
ENTER 2 MILITARY POLICEMEN.
1st MILITARY POLICEMAN: Felix Godoy, you are ordered to report to the recruit depot! Are you coming voluntarily or—[Draws gun.]
GODOT: Yes, yes—I’m coming. [Stands on his own, shakily.] I’m coming—I’m coming. I Am Coming! Do you hear me! I AM COMING!!
MATILDE applauds. GODOT is escort off by MILITARY POLICEMEN. HENRI ENTERS in pajamas followed by COUNT and LULU in dressing gowns.
HENRI: Has he gone already?
LULU: Poor Daddy—we tried to get up early enough to see him off!
MOTHER GODOT ENTERS with empty bottles, weaves across room, manages to bump shin on something. EXIT MOTHER GODOT.
COUNT: What an ungodly hour to take a man away—
LULU: We’ll never see poor daddy again!
MATILDE: Oh yes, we will! You should have seen him stand up to those brutes!
SABRINA: He seemed 5 foot 9!
MOTHER GODOT ENTERS with 2 full bottles, recrosses the stage, stumbles and falls. SABRINA helps her up.
MOTHER GODOT: Still moving furniture about, eh? Just when I think I've got the plan it all changes—still, it keeps life interesting! Wouldn’t want to get bored, would we? A bit hard on the old shins though—good morning [At footlights, to audience.] Good morning.
EXIT MOTHER GODOT. Curtain or blackout.
End Act One