FUTURISM and DON JUAN. Great Heavens! Anything but that!
NATURE. I made you entirely independent, except for this question of reproduction— and you have shown no filial gratitude whatever — and to tell the truth, I’m beginning to feel rather out of touch with you — you’re much too tricky and inventive — nothing ever satisfies you! I provided you with plenty of good stodgy bread and butter and you’ve been making jam while the fire burns— and now you’ve overeaten yourselves, you want me to make you a perfect world — with no temptations. Well, I shan’t — you’ll just go on the best way you can — until you’ve learnt a little self-control.
(She goes off in a huff.)
FUTURISM. There’s nothing more to be got out of her! — Let’s identify ourselves with machinery!
DON JUAN. I shouldn’t care about that — comparing myself to a machine, I feel extremely weak, to a woman, exceedingly strong— I must hang on to my cheaply bought self-respect. Let’s hear some more about the latest amorous strategics.
FUTURISM. Oh very well— Just hide behind the sofa. (with an off-hand gesture he draws LOVE out of his pocket, scattering the newspapers, shakes LOVE out and stands her on the floor in front of him, taking her measure with a masterful eye as she pulls herself together)
This is the sex war.
LOVE. I suppose that means me — well, here I am— But I don’t want to fight— It’s silly— You are already victorious in being born a man.
FUTURISM. Come along — you must pretend, anyway. Somebody’s probably looking.
(LOVE hands him a pair of boxing-gloves— red flannel hearts — and puts on a pair herself with which every point made is emphasised by a psychological blow.)
FUTURISM. Don’t mention anything I said to you last time — You wouldn’t look half so silly in the end.
(LOVE stands perfectly still with her hands hanging down at her sides.)
FUTURISM. Mind (bang) it’s you who are attacking me. I’m a perfectly peaceful person playing with cannons — until you come and worry me away from manly pursuits.
LOVE. (smiling) All right — you protect yourself against yourself with any lies you like.
FUTURISM. Thanks — I take cover behind you.
LOVE. (presenting herself with a bow) The FIB of the Universe.
FUTURISM. Then what are you telling the truth for— You must pretend to be real or I can’t hit you — won’t you kiss me?
LOVE. Certainly not.
FUTURISM. Certainly why not?
LOVE. Because you would not be contented with a kiss, but reproach me for leading you on — to — nowhere.
FUTURISM. I promise never to ask for more— Just one, if you don’t I’ll bother you to death till you do.
(LOVE shrugs her shoulders — and kisses him.)
FUTURISM. (hitting her) It’s all right— This is not cruelty, merely nervous reaction. (with an intimate caress) And now that you have given yourself to me—
LOVE. What do you mean?
FUTURISM. I mean that no true woman is immodest enough to kiss a man who is not her chosen lover! (addressing the sofa) That’s the first round.
(A yawn from the sofa.)
(LOVE and FUTURISM glare at each other amicably while adjusting their boxing-gloves.)
FUTURISM. I should get on much better if only you would come near enough for me to whisper to you.
(LOVE approaches. He whispers into her ear for some minutes, while a pleased and furtive smile plays about her lips.)
LOVE. Old as time. You catch your little women with antique methods, reserving FUTURISM for “later on”. All those rules were compiled by a defunct civilization — after all I can read! I assure you every time woman gives herself to man, it means a struggle between her pride and her desire. It’s so stupid this appearing to succumb to diplomacy— I know you’re going to win— You’re too fundamentally dishonest not to, and I’m quite willing to be vanquished. But do fight me with new weapons — I do want to be amused.
FUTURISM. (volcanically throwing aside the red-flannel hearts) Use your Instinct. You a woman and can’t tell that all this sex war fake is bunkum. Can’t you just know that I love you? Don’t you feel that you are torturing me — that all I want is to make you happy and for you to believe in me? Why can’t you believe in me? I know, it’s my bombastic voice that has a meretricious ring in it? My meridional manners? And you don’t love me because I am not handsome.
LOVE. Oh, I don’t mind what you look like— Let that confound the critics.
FUTURISM. Dearest, I want to reduce you to a state of maudlin imbecility— Love must be swallowed whole. (the electric light goes out) Thank heaven.
(They carry on the conversation in the low, sustained and intense tones of two people who are very much in love, of which only the following fragments are audible.)
FUTURISM. To be faithful to me — while I am never there — — — — — — — — (Silence) — — — — Now do you believe me?
LOVE. Nearly.
FUTURISM. (with passionate sincerity) You can — — you can — — you do — — you
LOVE. (transfigured) “Lord now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace”.
FUTURISM. — — do!
LOVE. Good God. What am I doing— What am I saying? — Who am I talking to? (quotes FUTURIST tirade against women)
FUTURISM. (imploringly) You can’t hold me responsible for anything I said last week — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Believe in me — –
LOVE. I ask nothing better than to believe in something— You — — — or myself.
FUTURISM. (briefly, his eyes blazing through her) Do you — — — — in yourself?
LOVE. Ssssssssssh — — — — if anybody’s listening, this will end in a draw.
FUTURISM. Still — there is a perfectly straightforward way of finishing this up.
LOVE. Oh, come on.
FUTURISM. It’s very simple— You won’t like it. Perhaps, after all it’s the only way to make you believe in me—
LOVE. What’s it called—?
FUTURISM. Just — — BEING. (taking fresh measurements with a thoughtful eye) Do you feel much like a woman?
LOVE. Not much — I don’t think I could. I’m so well watered down with civilization.
FUTURISM. Ah — you have never been galvanized by the force of undiluted masculinity— There isn’t any left in the world except in me. Come here. (LOVE approaches) Do you want to know what it’s like?
LOVE. Awfully.
(He puts his arm round her shoulders and they go and sit on the table — very close to each other — and for purposes of communication with their temples pressed together.)
(Silence)
LOVE. I never knew how wonderful it is that hearts can beat.
(Silence)