Characters:
THE NON-SMOKER
THE SMOKER
THE RECEPTIONIST
[A waiting room. There is a sign reading "NO SMOKING", with the usual symbol. A Reception desk, with RECEPTIONIST behind it. Chairs. The following to music? THE NON-SMOKER sits and reads a magazine. THE SMOKER enters and goes over to the Reception desk, and is booked in. He sits. THE RECEPTIONIST stands up, puts a sign on the desk reading: "Back in 10 minutes: Please Wait", and leaves.THE SMOKER searches through his pockets and takes out a packet of cigarettes; then takes a cigarette out, puts it in his mouth, and lights it. THE NON-SMOKER freezes behind his magazine. THE SMOKER breathes the smoke out in relief, and relaxes. THE NON-SMOKER lowers his magazine, and directs at the SMOKER a glare of pure hatred. As he is seated behind the SMOKER the latter takes no notice. THE NON-SMOKER seems about to say something to the SMOKER, but decides against it. Irritated, he tries to go on reading his magazine. THE SMOKER starts blowing out large clouds of smoke. THE NON-SMOKER sniffs the air, glances malevolently at the other, goes back to the magazine. THE SMOKER creates another cloud, and the NON-SMOKER reaches a decision. He puts the magazine down, irritated, and calls over:]
NON-SMOKER: Excuse me.
[THE SMOKER doesn't realise the other is talking to him.]
NON-SMOKER: Excuse me, sir.
[THE SMOKER realises he is being addressed, and turns round.]
SMOKER: Sorry?
NON-SMOKER: No smoking. [He points to the sign.]
SMOKER [blandly]: Yes, I can read, thanks. [He goes on smoking.]
[Pause.]
NON-SMOKER: Aren't you going to put your cigarette out?
SMOKER: No. Why should I?
NON-SMOKER: Because it says "No Smoking"!
SMOKER: So?
[THE NON-SMOKER is rendered speechless by this. The SMOKER inhales from the cigarette, exhales, then at last turns round in his seat to face the NON-SMOKER, and explains.]
It's just a sign, a bit of coloured plastic. It'll keep on saying "No Smoking", whatever I do.
NON-SMOKER: That's stupid!
SMOKER [shrugs]: It's made of plastic. You can't expect Einstein.
NON-SMOKER: Oh, you know what I mean!
SMOKER: Do I?
NON-SMOKER: I don't mean the sign's stupid--I mean you!
[Reaction from SMOKER.]No, I mean…. The argument!
SMOKER: That's better. What's stupid about it?
NON-SMOKER [struggles for an argument; at length]: It's a sign. You're supposed to do what it says.
SMOKER [laughs]: My God! Is that what you do?
NON-SMOKER: What?
SMOKER: Go round obeying signs.
NON-SMOKER: Of course.
SMOKER: Well, okay. [Turns back to face front, and goes on smoking. He picks up a magazine and starts skimming through it.]
[THE NON-SMOKER is left floundering. He stands up and takes a seat opposite the SMOKER, and stares at him.]
SMOKER [looking up]: Yes?
NON-SMOKER: Put out that cigarette.
SMOKER: Why? NON-SMOKER: Because.... [looks at sign; pauses] Because I want you to.
SMOKER [puts down magazine]: Ah, now we're talking! Now that's a proper reason! And why do you want me to put out my cigarette?
NON-SMOKER: Because it's against the rules.
SMOKER [with an admonishing finger]: Ah-ah! Irrelevant! It's just you and me here. Why do you want me to put out the cigarette?
NON-SMOKER: This is ridiculous.... It's a filthy habit.
SMOKER: Smoking, you mean?
NON-SMOKER: Of course I mean smoking.
SMOKER: So you want me to stop smoking because it's a filthy habit.
NON-SMOKER: That's what I said, yes. You'll kill yourself!
SMOKER: Well, thanks for your concern--but isn't that my business?
NON-SMOKER: What about passive smoking?
SMOKER: What about it?
NON-SMOKER: By smoking in this public place you're putting my lungs at risk as well as yours, and that's why that sign is up there, and that's why I want you to put that cigarette out! [Triumphantly.]
SMOKER [really pleased]: Oh, well done!
NON-SMOKER: Thanks.
SMOKER: You've come up with something really relevant at last. So it's your health that's at stake. That's very good. [He continues smoking.]
NON-SMOKER: So are you going to put it out?SMOKER: No.
NON-SMOKER [exasperated]: Why not??
SMOKER: I want to explore this. I came in here and started smoking, and your immediate thought was: "Oh, my God! I'm going to get lung cancer." Is that it?
NON-SMOKER: Well---
SMOKER: I thought not. You see, that isn't the real reason why you want me to stop smoking - it's just a rationalisation. A puny whiff of smoke in a room this size isn't going to give you cancer, is it? There must be another reason.
NON-SMOKER: Look, what is this?
SMOKER: I just want to get to the bottom of this. What's your problem exactly? It's intriguing.
NON-SMOKER: My problem?? What's your problem? would be a better question.
SMOKER: Oh, but that's easy. I haven't got a problem--I like smoking, that's all. But you've been acting very odd ever since I came in. You've done nothing but harass me for no apparent reason.
NON-SMOKER: I'm sorry??
SMOKER: Granted.
NON-SMOKER: You're smoking in a room where smoking isn't allowed! You don't call that a reason?
SMOKER: Of course not. No one of any intelligence pays attention to such things. As for that passive smoking argument of yours, we can rule that out at once. It's just a red herring.
NON-SMOKER [resigned]: If you say so.
SMOKER: No, there must be something else.... Perhaps you just don't like the smell of smoke.
NON-SMOKER: Well, it isn't pleasant....
SMOKER: There are lots of unpleasant smells in the world. But you don't go up to truck drivers and say, "Pardon me, your vehicle is emitting a rather horrible odour, could you please switch off the engine?" At least, I hope you don't.
NON-SMOKER: But that's completely different!
SMOKER: No, it isn't. So that's another one ruled out. We're making progress.
NON-SMOKER: I'm glad you think so.
SMOKER [looking at him suddenly]: You're getting irritable. You'd be much more relaxed about things if you smoked, you know.... [An idea.] Ah!
NON-SMOKER [wearily]: What?
SMOKER: Envy!
NON-SMOKER: Oh, for God's sake!
SMOKER: You look at me smoking and you envy my happiness, and that's why you try and bring me down to your level. It all makes sense now! By the way, do you smoke?
NON-SMOKER: Of course I don't!
SMOKER: Of course you don't. Well, it was worth checking. You could have been a smoker who happened to be obeying the "No Smoking" sign. It could happen....
NON-SMOKER [a terrible effort at patience]: Look, it's quite simple. This is a No Smoking room. You were smoking. I asked you to stop. That's all. That's reasonable, isn't it? After all, there've got to be rules. That's what keeps society going, rules.
SMOKER [pause; he looks at NON-SMOKER]: You really believe that?
NON-SMOKER: Of course.
SMOKER: Well, okay. [Pause.] And that's what this is all about, isn't it? It isn't about smoking at all, really - it's about obeying the rules.
NON-SMOKER: It's about getting you to put out your cigarette.
SMOKER [sigh]: This is getting boring. Can't you talk about anything else?
NON-SMOKER: No. I don't understand why you don't do what I say. All the arguments are against you.
SMOKER: If all the arguments are against me, how come it's you that's losing?
NON-SMOKER [another tack]: Look, if you don't put your cigarette out, I'm going to tell the receptionist.
SMOKER [calmly]: Oh, deary me. Well, I am petrified.
NON-SMOKER: Have you no respect for law and order?
SMOKER: Of course not. Look, what is it with you about rules and regulations? Can't you think for yourself?
NON-SMOKER [suddenly shouting]: Shut up! Why don't you listen to me? Oh, this is awful!
[THE NON-SMOKER stands up and starts pacing distractedly.]
SMOKER [watching him]: I tell you, you should smoke. Then you wouldn't get into this state.
NON-SMOKER: It's like arguing with a Martian. Look, don't you have at least a morsel of human compassion?
SMOKER: Of course I do.
NON-SMOKER: Then why do you torment me??
SMOKER [astonished]: Because I want to!
NON-SMOKER: You do everything you want to do?
SMOKER: Naturally.
NON-SMOKER: Even if the authorities don't want you to?
SMOKER: Especially if they don't want me to. [Stubs out cigarette on table.]
[NON-SMOKER realises, after a second, what the other has done.]
NON-SMOKER: Aha!!
[SMOKER takes out another cigarette and lights it. NON-SMOKER realises.]
NON-SMOKER [disappointed]: Oh.
SMOKER [shaking out match]: You were saying?
NON-SMOKER: This is intolerable! Look, for the last time, are you going to put that cigarette out?
SMOKER: I've just lit it.
NON-SMOKER: So? Are you going to put it out?
SMOKER: You said that was the last time you were going to ask that!
NON-SMOKER: I lied. Are you going to put it out?
SMOKER: No.
NON-SMOKER: Right! You asked for it!
[Suddenly he leaps across, and tries to grab the cigarette from THE SMOKER's hand - but THE SMOKER is too quick for him. He leaps up and retreats behind a chair.]
SMOKER: What are you doing??
NON-SMOKER: If you won't listen to reason.... [He approaches SMOKER like a hunter stalking his prey. He suddenly lunges for the cigarette.] Give me that!
SMOKER [snatching it out of his reach]: Not likely!
[THE NON-SMOKER pounces; THE SMOKER scrambles out of the way, his composure ruffled. He finds another chair to protect him.]
SMOKER: This is very uncivilised.
NON-SMOKER: Yes, isn't it?
[Another scramble. They are both getting rather out of breath.]
SMOKER: You're mad! NON-SMOKER: It's a mad world. [Approaching him, coaxingly:] Come on: give me the cigarette.
SMOKER: Shan't.
[NON-SMOKER suddenly snatches the cigarette.]
NON-SMOKER: Ha!
[He holds it in triumph. At this precise moment the door opens and the RECEPTIONIST is framed in the doorway. It is like a teacher returning to a room of rowdy children. The two turn to the RECEPTIONIST rather guilty. Long pause, and the RECEPTIONIST assesses the situation--sees or smells the smoke in the air, and turns to the NON-SMOKER who of course still has the cigarette. Realisation crosses the NON-SMOKER'S face. End.]
Some quotes on sutta
To my sweet cigarette I am singing
This joyous and bright bacca-role;
Just now to my lips she was clinging,
Her spirit was soothing my soul.
With figure so slender and dapper
I feel the soft touch of it yet,
Adorned in her dainty white wrapper,
How fair is my own cigarette!
'Twere better, perhaps, that we part, love;
'Twere better, if never we'd met.
Alas, you are part of my heart, love,
Destructive but sweet cigarette!
Though matchless, by matches she's fired,
And glows both with pleasure and pride;
By her soft, balmy breath I'm inspired,
And kiss and caress my new bride.
E'en the clouds of her nature are joyous,
Though other clouds cause us regret;
From worry and care they decoy us,
The clouds of a sweet cigarette.
'Twere better, etc.
The houris in paradise living
Dissolve in the first love embrace,
Their life to their love freely giving,--
And so with my love 'tis the case;
For when her life's last spark is flying,
Still sweet to the end is my pet,
Who helps me, although she is dying,
To light up a fresh cigarette!
'Twere better, etc.
When Life was all a summer day,
And I was under twenty,
Three loves were scattered in my way--
And three at once are plenty.
Three hearts, if offered with a grace,
One thinks not of refusing;
The task in this especial case
Was only that of choosing.
I knew not which to make my pet,--
My pipe, cigar, or cigarette.
To cheer my night or glad my day
My pipe was ever willing;
The meerschaum or the lowly clay
Alike repaid the filling.
Grown men delight in blowing clouds,
As boys in blowing bubbles,
Our cares to puff away in crowds
And vanish all our troubles.
My pipe I nearly made my pet,
Above cigar or cigarette.
A tiny paper, tightly rolled
About some Latakia,
Contains within its magic fold
A mighty _panacea_.
Some thought of sorrow or of strife
At ev'ry whiff will vanish;
And all the scenery of life
Turn picturesquely Spanish.
But still I could not quite forget
Cigar and pipe for cigarette.
To yield an after-dinner puff
O'er _demi-tasse_ and brandy,
No cigarettes are strong enough,
No pipes are ever handy.
However fine may be the feed,
It only moves my laughter
Unless a dry delicious weed
Appears a little after.
A prime cigar I firmly set
Above a pipe or cigarette.
But after all I try in vain
To fetter my opinion;
Since each upon my giddy brain
Has boasted a dominion.
Comparisons I'll not provoke,
Lest _all_ should be offended.
Let this discussion end in smoke
As many more have ended.
And each I'll make a special pet;
My pipe, cigar, and cigarette.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl,
As mist from the waterfall given,
Or the locks that float round beauty's throat
In the whispering air of even.
_Chorus_. Then drown the fears of the coming years,
And the dread of change before us;
The way is sweet to our willing feet,
With the smoke-wreaths twining o'er us.
As the light beams through the ringlets blue,
Will hope beam through our sorrow,
While the gathering wreath of the smoke we breathe
Shuts out the fear of to-morrow.
A magic charm in the evening calm
Calls thought from mem'ry's treasure;
But clear and bright in the liquid light
Are the smoke-called dreams of pleasure.
Then who shall chide, with boasting pride,
Delights they ne'er have tasted?
Oh, let them smile while we beguile
The hour with joys they've wasted.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down;
And he, from his meerschaum's glossy brown,
With a ring of smoke made his king a crown.
The cherry stem, with its amber tip,
Thoughtfully rested on his lip,
As the goblet's rim from which heroes sip.
And, looking out through the early green,
He called on his patron saint, I ween,--
That misty maiden, Saint Nicotine,--
While ever rested that crown so fair,
Poised in the warm and pulseless air,
On the carven chessman's ivory hair.
Dreamily wandered the game along,
Quietly moving at even-song,
While the striving kings stood firm and strong,
Until that one which of late was crowned
Flinched from a knight's determined bound,
And in sullen majesty left the ground,
Reeling back; and it came to pass
That, waiting to mutter no funeral mass,
A bishop had dealt him the _coup de grace_.
And so, as we sat, we reasoned still
Of fate and of fortune, of human will,
And what are the purposes men fulfil.
For we see at last, when the truth arrives,
The moves on the chess-board of our lives,--
That fields may be lost, though the king survives.
Not always he whom the world reveres
Merits its honor or wins its cheers,
Standing the best at the end of the years.
Not always he who has lost the fight
Rises again with the coming light,
Battles anew for his ancient right
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose
Was just the very one you might suppose.
Love keep a shop?--his trade, oh! quickly name!
A dealer in tobacco--fie, for shame!
No less than true, and set aside all joke,
From oldest time he ever dealt in smoke;
Than smoke, no other thing he sold, or made;
Smoke all the substance of his stock in trade;
His capital all smoke, smoke all his store,
'Twas nothing else; but lovers ask no more--
And thousands enter daily at his door!
Hence it was ever, and it e'er will be
The trade most suited to his faculty:
Fed by the vapors of their heart's desire,
No other food his votaries require;
For that they seek--the favor of the fair--
Is unsubstantial as the smoke and air.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream,
Upon the grassy bank of some calm stream--
And smoke.
To climb with daring feet some rugged rock,
And sit aloft where gulls and curlews flock--
And smoke.
To wander lonely on the ocean's brink,
And of the good old times to muse and think--
And smoke.
To hide me in some deep and woody glen,
Far from unhealthy haunts of sordid men--
And smoke.
To linger in some fairy haunted vale,
While all about me falls the moonlight pale--
And smoke.
Before I was famous I used to sit
In a dull old under-ground room I knew,
And sip cheap beer, and be glad for it,
With a wild Bohemian friend or two.
And oh, it was joy to loiter thus,
At peace in the heart of the city's stir,
Entombed, while life hurried over us,
In our lazy bacchanal sepulchre.
There was artist George, with the blond Greek head,
And the startling creeds, and the loose cravat;
There was splenetic journalistic Fred,
Of the sharp retort and the shabby hat;
There was dreamy Frank, of the lounging gait,
Who lived on nothing a year, or less,
And always meant to be something great,
But only meant, and smoked to excess;
And last myself, whom their funny sneers
Annoyed no whit as they laughed and said,
I listened to all their grand ideas
And wrote them out for my daily bread!
The Teuton beer-bibbers came and went,
Night after night, and stared, good folk,
At our table, noisy with argument,
And our chronic aureoles of smoke.
And oh, my life! but we all loved well
The talk,--free, fearless, keen, profound,--
The rockets of wit that flashed and fell
In that dull old tavern under-ground!
But there came a change in my days at last,
And fortune forgot to starve and stint,
And the people chose to admire aghast
The book I had eaten dirt to print.
And new friends gathered about me then,
New voices summoned me there and here;
The world went down in my dingy den,
And drew me forth from the pipes and beer.
I took the stamp of my altered lot,
As the sands of the certain seasons ran,
And slowly, whether I would or not,
I felt myself growing a gentleman.
But now and then I would break the thrall,
I would yield to a pang of dumb regret,
And steal to join them, and find them all,
With the amber wassail near them yet,--
Find, and join them, and try to seem
A fourth for the old queer merry three,
With my fame as much of a yearning dream
As my morrow's dinner was wont to be.
But the wit would lag, and the mirth would lack,
And the god of jollity hear no call,
And the prosperous broadcloth on my back
Hung over their spirits like a pall!
It was not that they failed, each one, to try
Their warmth of welcome to speak and show;
I should just have risen and said good-bye,
With a haughty look, had they served me so.
It was rather that each would seem, instead,
With not one vestige of spleen or pride,
Across a chasm of change to spread
His greeting hands to the further side.
And our gladdest words rang strange and cold,
Like the echoes of other long-lost words;
And the nights were no more the nights of old
Than spring would be spring without the birds!
So they waned and waned, these visits of mine,
'Till I married the heiress, ending here.
For if caste approves the cigars and wine,
She must frown perforce upon pipes and beer.
And now 'tis years since I saw these men,
Years since I knew them living yet.
And of this alone I am sure since then,--
That none has gained what he toiled to get.
For I keep strict watch on the world of art,
And George, with his wide, rich-dowered brain!
His fervent fancy, his ardent heart,
Though he greatly toiled, has toiled in vain.
And Fred, for all he may sparkle bright
In caustic column, in clever quip,
Of a truth must still be hiding his light
Beneath the bushel of journalship.
And dreamy Frank must be dreaming still,
Lounging through life, if yet alive,
Smoking his vast preposterous fill,
Lounging, smoking, striving to strive.
And I, the fourth in that old queer throng,
Fourth and least, as my soul avows,--
I alone have been counted strong,
I alone have the laurelled brows!
Well, and what has it all been worth?
May not my soul to my soul confess
That "succeeding," here upon earth,
Does not alway assume success?
I would cast, and gladly, from this gray head
Its crown, to regain one sweet lost year
With artist George, with splenetic Fred,
With dreamy Frank, with the pipes and beer!
Ma pauvre petite,
My little sweet,
Why do you cry?
Why this small tear,
So pure and clear,
In each blue eye?
"My cigarette--
I 'm smoking yet?"
(I'll be discreet.)
I toss it, see,
Away from me
Into the street.
You see I do
All things for you.
Come, let us sup.
(But, oh, what joy
To be that boy
Who picked it up.)
When that last pipe is smoked at last
And pouch and pipe put by,
And Smoked and Smoker both alike
In dust and ashes lie,
What of the Smoker? Whither passed?
Ah, will he smoke no more?
And will there be no golden cloud
Upon the golden shore?
Ah! who shall say we cry in vain
To Fate upon his hill,
For, howsoe'er we ask and ask,
He goes on smoking still.
But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing
If other men pursue
Their various earthly joys again
Beyond that distant blue,
If the poor Smoker might not ply
His peaceful passion too.
If Indian braves may still up there
On merry scalping go,
And buried Britons rise again
With arrow and with bow,
May not the Smoker hope to take
His "cutty" from below?
So let us trust; and when at length
You lay me 'neath the yew,
Forget not, O my friends, I pray,
Pipes and tobacco too!
