John Graham Jones - Writer -

Plays

The Room

THE ROOM

The comfortable lounge room of what may be a second class hotel: a bit dingy though not dirty. No one is there. A "Voice Over" says: "Welcome to Pleasantways; we know you will be happy here for your short stay. Everything we do will be for your sakes: our aim is to please you. You are here to enjoy yourselves in your own way and to rest in peaceful surroundings." In the room there are only four upright chairs. There is a door (right) and there are curtains drawn over what should be a window (left), and at the back of the room there is another closed door.
The door (right) opens and Mrs Emily Walker enters. She is a rather large woman of seventy two; she has a positive if not domineering attitude to others but this may cover an inner uncertainty. It seems she suffers with arthritis since she has to use two walking sticks to get about. With her is Miss Sally Green, in her forties, a timid, nervous, withdrawn type. The door closes automatically behind them.

MRS WALKER: I wish someone would do something about that infernal recording.
MISS GREEN: It gets on your nerves doesn't it? Playing the same thing all the time.
MRS WALKER: Why do they keep playing it? And who's putting it on? (looks around the room) A bit... empty... plain... More like a prison cell than a comfortable room. Quite pleasant outside but here...
MISS GREEN: Yes, there were some lovely lawns and gardens...
MRS WALKER: (Interrupts, sighs) I must have seat.

She sits down on a chair, one of four, no other pieces of furniture there.

MRS WALKER: That's better. My poor old legs!

Miss Green starts to cough, quietly at first then almost uncontrollably. Takes a seat and, eventually, stops coughing.

MRS WALKER: Nasty.
MISS GREEN: Yes. I don't know what it is... Starts, then... can't seem to control it somehow.
MRS WALKER: Plenty of fresh air, that's what you want, my dear. And that's what we should all be getting here. At least that's what my stepson lead me to believe. (looks at the door) Weren't the others following us here?
MISS GREEN: Yes, I believe so.
MRS WALKER: The door is closed. I didn't close it, did you?
MISS GREEN: No. (looks at it) Seems to have one of those little 'things' on it, a spring or something.

The door opens and two more women enter. They are Mrs Helen Light, about fifty, ashen faced, evidently very ill, rather dull company, and Miss Sylvia Purnell, of an antic disposition, healthy in body and, seemingly, for a while at least, healthy in mind too. She is her late twenties, eager to please.

MISS PURNELL: There's no one about, not a living soul, not in the corridor or in the main room: you know, the big one back there. No one. We looked, didn't we Helen?
MRS LIGHT: You did. (to Mrs Walker) I can't get about so quickly as I used to... (sees the sticks Mrs Walker uses) O I'm sorry...

Mrs Walker ignores the apology.

MRS WALKER: Must be someone here surely. I was dropped off, my stepson brought in my luggage, I was told over some megaphone system to go to this room but I have not come across a single living human being.

They all say "Nor me" or words to that effect, shaking their heads.

MISS PURNELL: Or a dead one.

They all look a bit mystified.

MISS PURNELL: (giggles) You said you hadn't seen a single living human being and then I said.... (joke fades, suddenly glum) O never mind.

She turns away from them, stands with her back to them. They give each other wondering looks.

MRS LIGHT: A chair. Just what I want. (sits) That's better. Hah! Bliss.
MRS WALKER: Mine's rather hard. (shuffles) I like a really cosy chair myself. But there: can't get comfortable anywhere - pain, pain, pain, all the time.
MISS PURNELL: (turns to face them) All the time?
MRS WALKER: All the time, day and night.
MISS PURNELL: I'm so sorry.

Miss Green starts coughing again. They all look at her then embarrassedly turn away. At last she recovers.

MISS GREEN: I'm sorry.
MRS LIGHT: That's all right, my dear, don't worry about it.
MISS PURNELL: (eagerly) Shall I give you a good slap on the back?
MISS GREEN: No thank you, I'm fine now. It's just a little frog in my throat, that's all.
MISS PURNELL: Croak. (giggles) Croak. Leap frog!

The others appear a little embarrassed.