Play With a Tiger and Other Plays. Doris Lessing
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VOICE: People who object to the hydrogen bomb are simply neurotic!
MYRA: And this –
PULPIT VOICE: The hydrogen bomb must be regarded by true Christians as part of God’s plan for humanity.
MYRA: And then war effects, you know.
TONY: War effects?
MYRA: Listen. [puts on machine]
[Medley of war noises. Then machine-gun fire. Then the beginning of a scream – a conventional bomb falling.]
TONY: For God’s sake stop it.
MYRA [stopping machine]: What’s the matter? You see, the thing is, people have no imagination. You’ve got to rub their noses in it. [starts machine again]
[The scream begins and gathers strength. TONY stands rigid, trembling. At the explosion he flings himself down on the divan, his arms over his ears.]
[taking needle off] There. Not bad, is it? [turning] Where are you? Oh, there you are. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?
[TONY sits limp on the divan, hand dangling, staring in front of him. He wipes sweat off his forehead slowly.]
I’m really very pleased with it. [She stands, looking out of the window, starts to hum.] I must go and get dressed and go out.
I do wish you young people would join in these demonstrations. Why don’t you? – we’re such a middle-aged lot. Why do you leave it all to us? [hums] Well, I’ll finish the work on the tape tonight.
TONY: I forgot to tell you, there was a telephone message. From Philip. He says he wants you to put up Rosemary. Tonight.
MYRA: Who’s Rosemary?
TONY: Didn’t you know? He’s getting married. To Rosemary.
[MYRA slowly turns from the window. She looks as if she has been hit.]
MYRA: Philip is getting married?
TONY: So he said.
MYRA: And he wants me to put her up?
TONY [looking at her curiously]: Why not? You’re old friends, aren’t you?
MYRA: Old friends?
TONY: Well, aren’t you?
MYRA [laughing bitterly]: Of course. Old friends. As you know.
TONY [examining her, surprised]: But you surely don’t mind. It’s been years since …
MYRA: Since he threw me over – quite.
TONY: Threw you over? You’re getting very emotional all of a sudden, aren’t you – all these old-fashioned attitudes at the drop of a hat – I was under the impression that you parted because your fundamental psychological drives were not complementary! [with another look at her stricken face] Threw you over! I’ve never seen you like this.
MYRA [dry and bitter]: If you’ve lain in a man’s arms every night for five years and he’s thrown you over as if you were a tart he’d picked up in Brighton for the week-end, then the word friend has to be used with – a certain amount of irony, let’s say. [briskly] We’ve been good friends ever since, yes.
[TONY slowly rises, stands facing her.]
TONY: Why do you talk like that to me?
MYRA [noticing him]: What’s the matter now? Oh, I see. [contemptuous] You’re not five years old. Why do you expect me to treat you as if you were five years old?
TONY: Perhaps I am five years old. But this is after all an extraordinary outburst of emotion. Dear Uncle Philip has been in and out of this house for years. Whenever he’s in London he might just as well be living here. I can’t remember a time when you and Uncle Philip in animated conversation wasn’t a permanent feature of the landscape.
MYRA [drily]: I am the woman Philip talks to, yes.
TONY: Why all this emotion, suddenly?
MYRA: He has not before asked me to put up his prospective wife.
TONY: For God’s sake, why should you care? You’ve lain in men’s arms since, haven’t you? Well, isn’t that how you want me to talk, like a big boy?
MYRA: I suppose you will grow up some day. [goes to the foot of the stairs] When’s she coming?
TONY: Some time later this evening, he said. And he’s coming, too. We’re going to have a jolly family evening.
MYRA: You’ll have to look after her until I get back. We must be perfectly charming to her.
TONY: I don’t see why you should be if you don’t feel like it.
MYRA: You don’t see why?
TONY: No. I’m really interested. Why?
MYRA: Pride.
TONY [laughing]: Pride! You! [He collapses on the divan laughing.]
MYRA [hurt]: Oh, go to hell, you bloody little …
[Her tone cuts his laughter. He sits stiffly in the corner of the divan. She makes an angry gesture and runs up the stairs. Before she is out of sight she is humming: ‘Boohoo, you’ve got me crying for you’. TONY strips off his uniform and puts on black trousers and a black sweater. He rolls up the uniform like dirty washing and stuffs it into the knapsack. He throws the knapsack into a cupboard. He stands unhappily smoothing back his hair with both hands. Then he goes to the looking-glass and stands smoothing his hair back and looking at his face. While he does this, SANDY very quietly comes down the stairs behind him. He is an amiable young man at ease in his world.]
SANDY [quietly]: Hullo, Tony.
TONY [still standing before the looking-glass. He stiffens, letting his hands drop. He slowly turns, with a cold smile]: Hullo, Sandy.
SANDY [at ease]: I see you’ve disposed of the war paint already.
TONY: Yes.
SANDY: That’s a very elegant sweater.
TONY [responding]: Yes, it’s rather nice, isn’t it … [Disliking himself because he has responded, he stiffens up. He roughly rumples up his hair and hitches his shoulders uncomfortably in the sweater.] Don’t care what I wear.
SANDY: I’ll move my things out of your room. Sorry, but we didn’t expect you today.
TONY: Next time we will give you good warning.
SANDY: Cigarette?
TONY: That’s a very smart cigarette case. No thanks.
SANDY: Mother brought it back from China last year. You remember she went?
TONY: Yes, I remember. Mother went, too. I suppose one does have to go to China for one’s cigarette cases.
SANDY: I’m rather fond of it myself. [pause
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