Complete Works, Volume IV by Harold Pinter Page B

Mr Friend—Mr Briggs. I’m Mr Foster. Old English stock. John Foster. Jack. Jack Foster. Old English name. Foster. John Foster. Jack Foster. Foster. This man’s name is Briggs.
    Pause.
    BRIGGS I’ve seen Mr Friend before.
    FOSTER Seen him before?
    BRIGGS I know him.
    FOSTER Do you really?
    BRIGGS I’ve seen you before.
    SPOONER Possibly, possibly.
    BRIGGS Yes. You collect the beermugs from the tables in a pub in Chalk Farm.
    SPOONER The landlord’s a friend of mine. When he’s shorthanded, I give him a helping hand.
    BRIGGS Who says the landlord’s a friend of yours?
    FOSTER He does.
    BRIGGS I’m talking about The Bull’s Head in Chalk Farm.
    SPOONER Yes, yes. So am I.
    BRIGGS So am I.
    FOSTER I know the Bull’s Head. The landlord’s a friend of mine.
    BRIGGS He collects the mugs.
    FOSTER A firstclass pub. I’ve known the landlord for years.
    BRIGGS He says he’s a friend of the landlord.
    FOSTER He says he’s a friend of our friend too.
    BRIGGS What friend?
    FOSTER Our host.
    BRIGGS He’s a bloody friend of everyone then.
    FOSTER He’s everybody’s bloody friend. How many friends have you got altogether, Mr Friend?
    BRIGGS He probably couldn’t count them.
    FOSTER Well, there’s me too, now. I’m another one of your new friends. I’m your newest new friend. Not him. Not Briggs. He’s nobody’s fucking friend. People tend to be a little wary of Briggs. They balk at giving him their all. But me they like at first sight.
    BRIGGS Sometimes they love you at first sight.
    FOSTER Sometimes they do. That’s why, when I travel, I get all the gold, nobody offers me dross. People take an immediate shine to me, especially women, especially in Siam or Bali. He knows I’m not a liar. Tell him about the Siamese girls.
    BRIGGS They loved him at first sight.
    FOSTER ( to Spooner ) You’re not Siamese though, are you?
    BRIGGS He’s a very long way from being Siamese.
    FOSTER Ever been out there?
    SPOONER I’ve been to Amsterdam.
    Foster and Briggs stare at him.
    I mean that was the last place . . . I visited. I know Europe well. My name is Spooner, by the way. Yes, one afternoon in Amsterdam . . . I was sitting outside a café by a canal. The weatherwas superb. At another table, in shadow, was a man whistling under his breath, sitting very still, almost rigid. At the side of the canal was a fisherman. He caught a fish. He lifted it high. The waiter cheered and applauded, the two men, the waiter and the fisherman, laughed. A little girl, passing, laughed. Two lovers, passing, kissed. The fish was lofted, on the rod. The fish and the rod glinted in the sun, as they swayed. The fisherman’s cheeks were flushed, with pleasure. I decided to paint a picture—of the canal, the waiter, the child, the fisherman, the lovers, the fish, and in background, in shadow, the man at the other table, and to call it The Whistler. The Whistler. If you had seen the picture, and the title, would the title have baffled you?
    Pause.
    FOSTER ( to Briggs ) Do you want to answer that question?
    BRIGGS No. Go on. You answer it.
    FOSTER Well, speaking for myself, I think I would have been baffled by that title. But I might have appreciated the picture. I might even have been grateful for it.
    Pause.
    Did you hear what I said? I might have been grateful for the picture. A good work of art tends to move me. You follow me? I’m not a cunt, you know.
    Pause.
    I’m very interested to hear you’re a painter. You do it in your spare time, I suppose?
    SPOONER Quite.
    FOSTER Did you ever paint that picture, The Whistler?
    SPOONER Not yet, I’m afraid.
    FOSTER Don’t leave it too long. You might lose the inspiration.
    BRIGGS Ever painted a beermug?
    SPOONER You must come and see my collection, any time you wish.
    BRIGGS What of, beermugs?
    SPOONER No, no. Paintings.
    FOSTER Where do you keep it?
    SPOONER At my house in the country. You