Tea for Two

Early evening. A small room resembling a domestic shed.

Garden tools hang in straight, ordered lines at the back of the room.
 

An OLD MAN sits to the right of the stage in a rocking chair.

He rocks back and forth steadily, naturally, throughout the scene. Below right is a small kitchen area, with a gas stove and sink.
At the left-hand side of the room is a door. A small stool sits beside it.

An easel with a nondescript landscape painting stands behind the stool, in the far left corner.

​

In the middle of the room, a stuffed Alsatian sits prominently (facing the audience) on a round, oak coffee-table. Scattered around the dog are a whole host of variously coloured, undiagnosed bottles of tablets.
A pot of tea sits beside the dog. Steam rises from the spout, indicating it's just been brewed. Two small cups are beside it. They appear to have some sort of royal insignia imprinted on them, but it is unclear of what royalty they hold allegiance to.
 

The OLD MAN continues to rock for several moments with nothing changing in the scene.
Suddenly, he begins to cough violently.
He bends over in the rocking chair, coughing into his hand. Eventually, he resurfaces and wipes his hand on the Alsatian's head.
 

OLD MAN
Ah, it's no use Blondie. The days are getting shorter, less vivid, there's no denying it.
 

After several seconds of waiting for the dog to answer, he sits back again in the chair.
He lights a cigarette and resumes his rocking. He seems a little sadder than before.
A knock on the door sounds, slow and ominous.
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
Come in.
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
(Louder)
Come in.
 

The door to the left of the stage opens slowly.
The OLD MAN squints over at the unseen  (to the audience) face behind the door.
 

OLD MAN
Right... right, I was wondering when you'd arrive.
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
You wanna take a seat?
 

The door stays open, but no-one enters.
The OLD MAN exhales slowly and coughs lightly into the smoke.
 

OLD MAN
Hmmm, I thought so. Give it a bit of time, eh? Well, okay, we've got plenty of time here. No-one's going anywhere.
 

He looks at his wrist, realising he's not wearing a watch.
A black-gloved hand emerges from behind the doorway and slowly points at the OLD MAN.
 

OLD MAN
What? Oh... the cigarette? Of course, of course. What kind of a host would I be otherwise?
 

He leans forward and stumps out the cigarette. Not into an ashtray, but into the table.
The OLD MAN stretches in his chair as the hand retracts again.
 

OLD MAN
Ah, I must admit, I feel better already.
 

Something is thrown (though politely rather than aggressively) from the door. The OLD MAN reacts surprisingly quick and catches the object mid-flight.
He looks down and inspects closely what he holds in his hand.
 

OLD MAN
Ah yes... Real gold too? Why, I am a lucky fella.
 

He wraps it around his frail wrist: a gold watch.
 

OLD MAN
You even know my size too, eh? What luck.
 

He holds his wrist up into the light.
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
Are you sure you won't come in...(Looking again at his watch) You see, I'm not really sure how much time we'll have to chat... I mean, I know I said we had plenty, but, but...
 

He trails off and looks disconsolately at the table.
 

OLD MAN
(Cheering up)
Look here, I have some...
 

He looks around the table, lifting up the stuffed Alsatian and scattering bottles across the floor.
 

OLD MAN
A bit of everything really: red ones for the blues, black ones for dulling, green ones mulling... colours for all your moods really. Well, you know the drill.
 

He looks confused.
 

OLD MAN
You... you do know the drill, don't you?
 

The door shudders slightly, as if in agreement.
 

OLD MAN
(Thoughtfully)
Yes, sure you do. I can imagine, all those days in the bunker. All those hours to reconsider. Yes...
 

The OLD MAN looks at the door.
 

OLD MAN
Oh, you, you want to come in now do you? Of course, of course, please enter. Yes, you must be thirsty, in need of a warm beverage, right?
 

He stands up (wincing painfully) and gestures towards the table uncertainly.
 

OLD MAN
I just made a fresh pot of tea. Please, do come in. Don't worry about your boots. (Laughs nervously) Why, look at the floor. It doesn't matter at all, it's used to a bit of dirt. Yes, there's been a whole host of unclean feet that have traipsed this worn out ground, I can tell you that for nothing.
 

The door opens wider.
 

Slowly, very slowly, a MAN enters the room. The MAN perfectly resembles Hitler in every sense, from his close-cropped moustache to the SS military regalia he wears. The only thing significantly different is his posture. He is no longer an imposing figure of hatred, but in a state of almost catatonic passivity, stood blankly upright, gazing straight ahead.
 

The OLD MAN reacts to his appearance as if he's seen him for the first time, as if a member of the audience. He is unable to stifle his shock at the MAN's appearance.
 

OLD MAN
Good God, please forgive me, but it appears the years have been harder on you than they have even me. Please, please sit.
 

He indicates the stool beside the MAN, but the MAN either ignores him or doesn't comprehend.
The OLD MAN walks over cautiously to the figure and peers curiously at his face.
 

OLD MAN
Your eyes, your eyes are more than I expected! My, they're mere pinpricks of darkness, how do you ever see?
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
How did you find your way here?
 

Still no visible response.
The OLD MAN backs away, retreating into his rocking chair. He begins rocking again, as if trying to soothe himself.
The MAN continues to stands, looking at nothing.
 

OLD MAN
(Sadly shaking his head)
Ah, you will never learn, will you? Regret will never enter your system.
 

He laughs sadly and wipes his forehead as if he's perspiring.
 

OLD MAN
(Becoming more and more frantic)
You're almost like a robot... a supposed invention too strange to be believable. No, regret will never enter your system, not even now, not after all the horror... after all the proof that what you did was inhumane and nothing more, an evil that cannot be rationalised, nor justified in any sense... No, not even by madness...
 

Pause
 

OLD MAN
I cannot understand... A leader; someone who speaks of wanting the best for his country, for his people. He must have love as well as just politics, as well as just hatred for another. And I mean real love, for people. Not for money, not for power, but people! All people.
 

Pause
 

OLD MAN
Surely... surely this is the primary goal, what we must strive to achieve, unashamed of looking weak or being taken advantage of...
 

He laughs.
 

OLD MAN
But then, what do I know? This love, or even what we'd call "leniency", well, it makes no sense from the other side right? The side of these people willing to commit such atrocities. They perceive it as weakness, and in a distorted yet real sense that's what it becomes: a weakness, a flaw, a character defect.
 

He shakes his head.
 

OLD MAN
What do I know, eh? I'm a tired old man...
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
But no, that's not right. Age doesn't come into it. Even as a young man, I can't say I knew any better. Yes, maybe I was a bit more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as the saying goes, but no... I can't say I knew any better then than I do now.
 

He sighs and focuses on the rocking of the chair.
Several moments pass.
Eventually, the OLD MAN seems to regain his calm, gentle manner.
 

OLD MAN
Please, why don't you sit down? You do look very tired.
 

Pause.
 

The MAN makes no move to sit.
 

OLD MAN
Come on, we'll have tea. I've made it especially. Tea for two. (He looks over at the table, at the pot of tea) Look, it's still warm. It'll be good for you, it's a cold night.
 

The OLD MAN stands up and begins to pour the tea into the two cups.
He walks over to the other side of the table and offers the MAN a cup.
The MAN makes no move to hold the cup, so the OLD MAN puts it gently on the table, just in front of him.
Again he retreats, slowly backing away to his rocking chair.
He begins to rock again.
 

OLD MAN
I read... I read somewhere you had quite a time with your father? Some violence, is that right?
 

No response.
 

OLD MAN
I'm sorry, didn't mean to pry. Only I had the same sort of troubles by the sounds of it... with my old man.
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
Maybe not to such an extent as you did, but, you know, troubles. Sometimes it helps to talk. (Thoughtfully) Sometimes it seems it's all we have really, when you boil it down to the essentials...
 

Still no response.
 

OLD MAN
It's okay, I understand. I hope you didn't think I was looking for idle gossip or anything. I just thought it might help... comprehend things better, for both of us. Do you understand?
 

No response.
 

The OLD MAN takes a sip from his tea and pulls a disgusted face.
 

OLD MAN
Ugh! God, I'm sorry. Guess it got colder quicker than I thought. I don't know about you, but I've gotta get it down me boiling hot, or it just loses its taste completely.
 

He gets up and again walks cautiously over to the MAN.
He delicately reaches down and takes his cup from the table.
 

OLD MAN
Won't take a minute. And we'll have a nice warm brew before you know it. Perfect for a time like this...
 

He heads towards the kitchen area and puts the kettle on the gas stove.
The OLD MAN idly watches the kettle, his back turned to the MAN.
 

OLD MAN
You know, I read somewhere... (Laughing slightly) probably the same somewhere I read about your father actually... (He turns and looks at the MAN) You have a lot of material written about you, (He turns back to the kettle) but I guess it's what you expected, eh?
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
(Frowning)
Now, what was I saying?
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
Ah yes, well I read somewhere that you never actually visited the camps... Is this... is this true?
 

The OLD MAN turns again to look at the MAN, to witness any reaction. There is none.
The kettle begins to boil.
 

OLD MAN
(Voice wavering on the point of rage)
I guess the smell never entered your nostrils? The smell of burning flesh... of all those people, those fellow human beings you'd ordered to be exterminated.
 

Pause.
The OLD MAN takes the kettle from the boil and walks slowly back to the table.
He pours another two cups of tea.
 

OLD MAN
I'm sorry if it's a bit morbid, but it's not for that reason I ask. No, it's...
 

Again cautious, he takes the cup over to the MAN.
 

OLD MAN
It's lovely and warm now, should make you feel much better, I reckon.
 

Sensing the MAN isn't going to take it, he places it delicately on the table in the same spot as before.
He retreats.
 

OLD MAN
(Lowering himself into his chair)
No, it's not for morbidity's sake I enquire. It's, well...
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
Well I've been trying to think of a reason, some type of logic explaining, if only partially, how you could carry on in this cold-blooded way of yours, seemingly without remorse, without regret or visible guilt, even up until the writing of your will... Even up until the six children dead, the capsule and the inevitable gunshot?
 

Pause.
 

OLD MAN
The only thing I can come up with is... well, is that it was all done in abstract; that you didn't really understand what you were doing; somehow the reality of it all had warped into an ideological chaotic mess you couldn't see the end of... This is the only conclusion I can offer... I mean, you were a painter weren't you? An artist? Hmm, yes, an artist. It doesn't make sense, it can't make sense, it's...
 

Suddenly, the MAN erupts. He upturns the table ferociously, sending the Alsatian, the tea and the endless tablets to the floor.
He screams in an animalistic manner, black-gloved hands outstretched above him.
He turns to look viciously at the OLD MAN.
 

MAN
(Furiously)
I will not be broken by kindness!!!
 

Pause.
 

MAN
I will not be broken by human kindness!!!
 

Pause.
 

MAN
You hear me you scum!?! I will not be broken by kindness!
 

He turns to face the auditorium.
 

MAN
You will not break me with your humanism!!!
He backs away from the audience and slumps onto the stool.
The OLD MAN watches the MAN sadly as he begins to weep uncontrollably.
 

MAN
(Between intermittent sobs)
I will not be broken... I will not be broken...
 

The MAN begins to rock back and forth on the stool.
The OLD MAN unconsciously mimics the rocking motion in his chair. Gradually, their rocking becomes synchronised, though it is apparent that neither character notices this.
The lights slowly fade as both men continue to rock softly back and forth.
In the darkness a knock on the door sounds, loud and abrupt.
 

OLD MAN
Ah so soon, he's early. My oh my... (laughs lightly) this is going to be somewhat awkward.
 

Sound of door opening slowly.
 

End.

​