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The light come up on Frank sitting in a chair by the window desk with a mug in his hand and a bottle of whiskey on the desk in front of him listening to the radio. There is a knock at the door
Frank: Come in.
Mr. Wright enters the room with a toolbox in his
hand
Frank: What the hell (turning around) - oh, it's
you Mr.Wright. (turning off the radio) What's the matter?
Mr. Wright (placing the toolbox besides the
Door) Good morning Sir, I came for repairing the door. It's squeaking and jamming, isn't it? -Hey, is anything wrong with you, Frank?
Frank: (flaring up, hammering his mug onto the table) What shall be wrong with me?
Perhaps there is something wrong with you.
(whispering) ... sorry.
Mr. Wright (beginning with repairing the door)
Alright Mr. Byrant, calm down. Be assured,
your problems I'll keep under my hat. You
have to cope with that, and nobody else.
If you want to talk about ...
Frank: (talking to himself standing in front of the window ) I don't have any problems ...
After a little while Rita enters the room, greeting Mr. Wright with a smile
Mr. Wright: Hello Rita.
Frank: (dazed; to Mr. Wright) Rita? (turning
around; to Rita) What the hell are you doing
here? I'm seeing you till next week.
Rita: Are you sober? Are you?
Frank: If you mean am I still this side of
reasonable comprehension, then yes.
Mr. Wright: If I may interrupt. Rita - if you ask
me, come back later again, this would be better for you both.
Frank: Damn it. Come on, tell me. What is it
about?
Rita: Frank , I ... I've read your poems, these
(She produces his poems) are brilliant, witty and full of style.
Frank: Ah ... tell me again, and again ... It's
a bright spot, but you are wrong ...
Rita: They are, Frank. It isn't only me who
thinks so. Me 'an Trish sat up last and read
them.
Frank: I give a damn on Trishs opinion and ya' ...
Mr. Wright: (resolutely) You have to hear her out.
Rita: Thank you, Mr. Wright. (looking for the
thread) Ah ... yes!
Why did you stop writing? Why did you stop
when you can produce work like this. We
stayed up most of the night, just talking
about it. At first we just saw it as
contemporary poetry in it's own right, you
you know, as somethin' particular to this
century but look, Frank it more-more ...
resonant, you can see in it a direct line
through to nineteenth-century traditions
of-of like wit an' classical allusion.
Frank: (sits down on the edge of the desk)
Er - that's marvellous, Rita. How fortunate I
didn't let you see it earlier. Just think if I'd let you see it when you first came here.
Rita: I know ... I wouldn't have understood it,
Frank.
Frank: (jumping up; eccentric) You would have
thrown it across the room and dismissed it
as a heap of shit.
Rita: (defending) Perhaps, but I couldn't have
understood it, the allusions and ...
Frank: And that's the point. You lost your
spontaneity ...
Rita: Stop Frank, you' ve done a fine job.
Frank: You know, Rita, I think that like you
I shall change my name;
Rita: (searching for help she looks to Mr. Wright,
who follows the conflict all the time) ...
Frank, what ... ?
Frank: Now it my turn to be heard out.
I should insist upon being known as Mary,
Mary Shelly-do you understand that allusion?
Rita: What? (Mr. Wright walks over to them)
Frank: She wrote a little gothic number called
"Frankenstein", you know. And do you know
what he did? No? This man, Frankenstein,
created an later out of control-coming
creature.
Mr. Wright: (serious) Frank, that's no fair
way to talk. You mustn't talk to her like
that.
Rita: But Frank, what do you mean by that?
Frank: I mean, that you rely now on borrowed
opinions instead of your honest thought
you had in the beginning.
This Rita, (tears his poems out of her
hands and rips them up) nothing more than
worthless, talentless shit. It's pretentious,
characterless and without style.
Rita: It's not.
Frank: Oh, I don't expect you to believe me.
You recognise the hallmark of literature
now, don't you? (he throws away the pieces in
a final gesture)
Why don't you just go away? I don't think I
can bear that any longer.
Rita: I tell you what you can't bear, Mr. Self-
Pitying Piss Artist ...
Mr. Wright: Rita, you should be reasonable.
Rita: (to Mr. Wright) Can't you see, that he can't
bear, that I'm educated now.
(to Frank) What's up, Frank, don't y' like
me now that the little girl is grown up, now
that y' can no longer bounce me on daddy's
knee and watch me stare back in wide-eyed
wonder at everything he has to say.
Mr. Wright: Rita, come down to earth. If you are
so educated, as you say, you should know,
that this isn't the way to discuss with
common sense.
Frank: (starting to pack his bag) I haven't to
bear this any longer.
Rita: (begging for been understood) Frank, I ... I
have got a room full of books. I know what
clothes to wear, what wine to buy ... I can
do without you.
Frank: (looking up) Is that all you wanted. Have
you come all this way for so very, very
little?
Rita: Oh it's little to you, isn't it?
It's little to you who squanders every
opportunity and mocks and takes it for
granted.
Frank: Found a culture, Rita? Found a better song
to sing? No-you've found a different song,
that's all-and on your lips it's shrill and
hollow and tuneless.
Mr. Wright: (urgent) Frank, please ...
Frank: (hesitating) Oh ... Rita, Rita ...
Rita: (laughing) Rita? Nobody calls me Rita but
you. I dropped that pretentious crap as soon
as I saw it for what it was ... nobody calls
me Rita.
Frank: What is it now then? Virginia? Or Jane?
Rita: I haven't to bear this! I haven't to talk to
you like this!(turns around and exits)
Mr. Wright: Frank, look what you've done.
Now you can see what happens.
Frank: (takes the whiskeybottle and smashes it
on the floor) God, what have I done?
Yes, I ... I see. I'm a self-pitying piss-artist and what has become out of Rita ... what the hell I've done?!
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