Queen Victoria
I'm not much nourished by modern love
Will you come into my life
with your sorrow and your black carriages
and your perfect memory
Queen Victoria
The 2oth century belongs to you and me
Let us be two severe giants
(not less lonely for our partnership)
who discolour test tubes in the halls of science
I 143
who turn up unwelcome at every World's Fair
heavy with proverb and correction
confusing the star-dazed tourists
with our incomparable sense of loss
1 44 I
T H E N E W S T E P
A Ballet-Drama in One Act
CHARACTERS:
MARY and DIANE, two working girls who room together.
MARY is very plain, plump, clumsy: ugly, if one is inclined
to the word. She is the typical victim of beauty courses and
glamour magazines. Her life is a search for, a belief in the
technique, the elixir, the method, the secret, the hint that
will transform and render her forever lovely. DIANE is a
natural beauty, tall, fresh and graceful, one of the blessed.
She moves to a kind of innocent sexual music, incapable of
any gesture which could intrude on this high animal grace.
To watch her pull on her nylons is all one needs of ballet
or art.
HARRY is the man DIANE loves. He has the proportions we
associate with Greek statuary. Clean, tall, openly handsome,
athletic. He glitters with health, decency, and mindlessness.
THE CoLLECTOR is a woman over thirty, grotesquely obese,
a great heap, deformed, barely mobile. She possesses a commanding will and combines the fascination of the tyrant and the freak. Her jolliness asks for no charity. All her
movements represent the triumph of a rather sinister spiritual energy over an intolerable mass of flesh.
ScENE:
It is eight o'clock of a Saturday night. All the action takes
place in the girls' small apartment which need be furnished
with no more than a dressing-mirror, wardrobe, recordplayer, easy chair, and a front door. We have the impression, as we do from the dwelling places of most bachelor girls, of an arrangement they want to keep comfortable but
temporary.
I 145
DIANE is dressed in bra and panties, preparing herself for
an evening with HARRY. MARY follows her about the room,
lost in envy and awe, handing DIANE the necessary lipstick
or brush, doing up a button or fastening a necklace. MARY
is the dull but orthodox assistant to DIANE's mysterious
ritual of beauty.
MARY: What is it like?
DIANE: What like?
MARY: You know.
DIANE: No.
MARY: To be like you.
DIANE: Such as?
MARY: Beautiful.
(Pause. During these pauses DIANE continues her toilet as does MARY her attendance.)
DIANE: Everybody cau be beautiful.
MARY: You can say that.
DIANE: Love makes people beautiful.
MARY: You can say that.
DIANE: A woman in love is beautiful.
(Pause.)
MARY: Look at me.
DIANE: I've got to hurry.
MARY: Harry always waits.
DIANE: He said he's got something on his mind.
MARY: You've got the luck.
(Pause.)
MARY: Look at me a second.
DIANE: All right.
(MARY performs an aggressive curtsy.)
MARY: Give me some advice.
DIANE: Everybody has their points.
MARY: What are my points?
DIANE: What are your points?
MARY: Name my points.
(MARY stands there belligerently. She lifts
up her skirt. She rolls up her sleeves. She
lucks her sweater in tight.)
DIANE: I've got to hurry.
MARY: Name one point.
DIANE: You've got nice hands.
MARY (Surprised) : Do I?
DIANE: Very nice hands.
MARY: Do I really?
DIANE: Hands are very important.
(MARY shows her hands to the mirror and
gives them little exercises.)
DIANE: Men often look at hands.
MARY: They do?
DIANE: Often.
MARY: What do they think?
DIANE: Think?
MARY (Impatiently): When they look at hands.
DIANE: They think: There's a nice pair of hands.
MARY: What else?
DIANE: They think: Those are nice hands to
hold.
MARY: And?
MARY: I'm listening.
DIANE: They think: Those are nice hands tokiss.
MARY: Go on.
DIANE: They think-(racking her brain for compassion's sake.)
MARY: Well?
1 '47
DIANE: Those are nice hands to-love!
MARY: Love!
DIANE: Yes.
MARY: What do you mean "love"?
DIANE: I don't have to explain.
MARY: Someone is going to love my hands?
DIANE: Yes.
MARY: What about my arms?
DIANE: What about them? (A little surly.)
MARY: Are they one of my points?
(Pause.)
DIANE: I suppose not one of your best.
MARY: What about my shoulders?
(Pause.)
DIANE: Your shoulders are all right.
MARY: You know they're not. They're not.
DIANE: Then what did you ask me for?
MARY: What about my bosom?
DIANE: I don't know your bosom.
MARY: You do know my bosom.
DIANE: I don't.
MARY : You do.
DIANE: I do not know your bosom.
MARY: You've seen me undressed.
DIANE: I never looked that hard.
MARY: You know my bosom all right. (But she'll
let it pass. She looks disgustedly at her
hands.)
MARY: Hands!
DIANE: Don't be so hard on yourself.
MARY: Sexiest knuckles on the block.
DIANE: Why hurt yourself?
MARY: My fingers are really stacked.
DIANE: Stop, sweetie.
1 4s I
MARY: They come when they shake hands with
me.
DIANE: Now please!
MARY: You don't know how it feels.
(Pause.)
MARY: Just tell me what it's like.
DIANE: What like?
MARY: To be beautiful. You've never told me.
DIANE: There's no such thing as beautiful.
MARY: Sure.
DIANE: It's how you feel.
MARY: I'm going to believe that.
DIANE: It's how you feel makes you beautiful.
MARY: Do you know how I feel?
DIANE: Don't tell me.
MARY: Ugly.
DIANE: You don't have to talk like that.
MARY: I feel ugly. What does that make me?
(DIANE declines to answer. She steps into
her high-heeled shoes, the elevation
bringing out the harder lines of her legs,
adding to her stature an appealing
haughtiness and to her general beauty a
touch of violence.)
MARY: According to what you said.
DIANE: I don't know.
MARY: You said: It's how you feel makes you
beautiful.
DIANE: I know what I said.
MARY: I feel ugly. So what does that make me?
DIANE: I don't know.
MARY: According to what you said.
DIANE: I don't know.
MARY: Don't be afraid to say it.
I 149
DIANE: Harry will be here.
MARY : Say itl (Launching herself into hysteria.)
DIANE: I've got to get ready.
MARY: You never say it. You're afraid to say it.
It won't kill you. The word won't kill
you. You think it but you won't say it.
When you get up in the morning you
tiptoe to the bathroom. I tiptoe to the
bathroom but I sound like an army.
What do you think I think when I hear
myself? Don't you think I know the difference? It's no secret. It's not as though
there aren't any mirrors. If you only said
it I wouldn't try. I don't want to try. I
don't want to have to try. If you only
once said I was-ugly!
(DIANE comforts her.)
DIANE: You're not ugly, sweetie. Nobody's ugly.
Everybody can be beautiful. Your turn
will come. Your man will come. He'll
take you in his arms. No no no, you're
not ugly. He'll teach you that you are
beautiful. Then you'll know what it is.
(Cradling her.)
MARY : Will he?
DIANE: Of course he will.
MARY: Until then?
DIANE: You've got to keep going, keep looking.
MARY: Keep up with my exercises.
DIANE: Yes.
MARY: Keep up with my ballet lessons.
DIANE: Exactly.
MARY: Try and lose weight.
DIANE: Follow the book.
MARY: Brush my hair the right way.
DIANE: That's the spirit.
MARY: A hundred strokes.
DIANE: Good.
MARY: I've got to gain confidence.
DIANE: You will.
MARY: I can't give up.
DIANE: It's easier than you think.
MARY: Concentrate on my best points.
DIANE: Make the best of what you have.
MARY: Why not start now?
DIANE: Why not.
(MARY gathers herself together, checks
her posture in the mirror, crosses to the
record-player and switches it on. "The
Dance of the Sugar-plum Fairy." She
begins the ballet exercises she has learned,
perhaps, at the Y WCA, two evenings a
week. Between the final touches of her
toilet DIANE encourages her with nods of
approval. The dom·bell rings. Enter
HARRY in evening clothes, glittering although his expression is solemn, for he
has come on an important mission.)
HARRY: Hi girls. Don't mind me, Mary.
(MARY waves in the midst of a difficult
contortion.)
DIANE: Darling!
(DIANE sweeps into his arms, takes the
attitude of a dancing partner. HARRY,
with a trace of reluctance, consents to
lead her in a ballroom step across the
floor.)
HARRY: I've got something on my mind.
(DIANE squeezes his arm, disengages herself, crosses to MARY and whispers.)
DIANE: He's got something on his mind.
(DIANE and MARY embrace in the usual
squeaky conspiratorial manner with
which girls preface happy matrimonial
news. While MARY smiles benignly exeunt
HARRY and DIANE. MARY turns the machine louder, moves in front of the mirror, resumes the ballet exercises. She stops them from time to time to check
various parts of her anatomy in the mirror at close range, as if the effects of the
discipline might be already apparent.)
MARY: Goody.
(A long determined ring of the doorbell.
MARY stops, eyes bright with expectation.
Perhaps the miracle is about to unfold.
She smoothes her dress and hair, switches
off the machine, opens the door. THE
CoLLECTOR enters with lumbe-ring difficulty, looks around, takes control. The
power she radiates is somehow guaranteed by her grotesque form. Her body is
a huge damaged tank operating under
the intimate command of a brilliant field
warrior which is her mind: MARY waits,
appalled and intimidated.)
CoLLECTOR: I knew there was people in because I
heard music. (MARY cannot speak.) Some
people don't like to open the door. I'm
in charge of the whole block.
MARY (Recovering) : Are you collecting for something?
152 I
CoLLECTOR: The United Fund for the Obese, you
know, UFO. That includes The Obese
Catholic Drive, The Committee for Jewish Fat People, the Help the Blind Obese,
and the Universal Aid to the Obese. If
you make one donation you won't be
bothered again.
MARY: We've never been asked before.
CoLLECTOR: I know. But I have your card now. The
whole Fund has been reorganized.
MARY : It has?
CoLLECTOR: Oh yes. Actually it was my idea to have
the Obese themselves go out and canvass.
They were against it at first but I convinced them. It's the only fair way. Gives
the public an opportunity to see exactly
where their money goes. And I've managed to get the Spastic and Polio and
Cancer people to see the light. It's the
only fair way. We're all over the neighbourhood.
MARY: It's very-courageous.
CoLLECTOR: That's what my husband says.
MARY: Your husband!
CoLLECTOR: He'd prefer me to stay at home. Doesn't
believe in married girls working.
MARY: Have-have you been married long?
CoLLECTOR: Just short of a year. (Coyly.) You might
say we're still honeymooners.
MARY: Oh.
CoLLECTOR: Don't be embarrassed. One of the aims
of our organization is to help people like
me lead normal lives. Now what could
be more normal than marriage? Can you
I 153
think of anything more normal? Of
course you can't. It makes you feel less
isolated, part of the whole community.
Our people are getting married all the
time.
MARY: Of course, of course. (She is disintegrating.)
CoLLEcToR: I didn't think it would work out myself
at first. But John is so loving. He's taken
such patience with me. When we're together it's as though there's nothing
wrong with me at all.
MARY: What does your husband do?
CoLLECTOR : He's a chef.
MARY : A che£.
CoLLECTOR: Not in any famous restaurant. Just an
ordinary chef. But it's good enough for
me. Sometimes, when he's joking, he says
I married him for his profession. (MARY
tries to laugh.) Well I've been chatting
too long about myself and I have the rest
of this block to cover. How much do you
think you'd like to give. I know you're
a working girl.
MARY: I don't know, I really don't know.
CoLLECTOR: May I make a suggestion?
MARY: Of course.
CoLLEcToR: Two dollars.
MARY: Two dollars. (Goes to her purse obediently.)
CoLLECTOR: I don't think that's too much, do you?
MARY: No no.
CoLLECTOR: Five dollars would be too much.
154
MARY : Too much.
CoLLECTOR: And one dollar just doesn't seem right.
MARY: Oh, I only have a five. I don't have any
change.
CoLLECToR: I'll take it.
MARY: You'll take it?
CoLLEcToR: I'll take it. (A command.)
(MARY drops the bill in the transaction,
being afraid to make any physical contact
with THE CoLLECTOR. MARY stoops to
pick it up. THE COLLECTOR prevents her.)
COLLECTOR: Let me do that. The whole idea is not to
treat us like invalids. You just watch how
well I get along. (THE CoLLECTOR retrieves the money with immense difficulty.)
CoLLECTOR: That wasn't so bad, was it?
MARY: No. Oh no. It wasn't so bad.
CoLLECTOR: I've even done a little dancing in my
time.
MARY : That's nice.
CoLLECTOR: They have courses for us. First we do it
in water, but very soon we're right up
there on dry land. I bet you do some
dancing yourself, a girl like you. I heard
music when I came.
MARY: Not really.
CoLLECTOR: Do you know what would make me very
happy?
MARY: It's very late.
CoLLECTOR: To see you do a step or two.
MARY: I'm quite tired.
CoLLECTOR: A little whirl.
I •55
MARY: I'm not very good.
CoLLECToR: A whirl, a twirl, a bit of a swing. I'll put
it on for you.
(THE CoLLECTOR begins to make her way
to the record-player. MARY, who cannot
bear to see her expend herself, overtakes
her and switches it on. MARY performs
for a few moments while THE CoLLECTOR
looks on with pleasure, tapping out the
time. MARY breaks off the dance.)
MARY: I'm not very good.
CoLLEcToR: Would a little criticism hurt you?
MARY : No-
CoLLECTOR: They're not dancing like that any more.
MARY: No?
CoLLECTOR: They're doing something altogether different.
MARY: I wouldn't know.
CoLLECTOR: More like this.
(The record has reached the end of its
spiral and is now jerking back and forth
over the last few bars.)
CoLLECTOR: Don't worry about that.
(THE CoLLECTOR moves to stage centre
and executes a terrifying dance to the repeating bars of music. It combines the
heavy mechanical efficiency of a printing
machine with the convulsions of a spastic. It could be a garbage heap falling
down an escalator. It is grotesque but
military, excruciating but triumphant_
It is a woman-creature proclaiming a
disease of the flesh. MAJ!.Y tries to look