molloy

In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe. 

Samuel Beckett, Molloy

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you must go on

Here he stood. Here he sat. Here he knelt. Here he lay. Here he moved, to and fro, from the door to the window, from the window to the door; from the window to the door, from the door to the window; from the fire to the bed, from the bed to the fire; from the bed to the fire, from the fire to the bed.

Samuel Beckett: from Watt

You must go on.
I can’t go on.
You must go on.
I’ll go on.
You must say words, as long as there are any...


Samuel Beckett: from The Unnamable
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endgame

Bare interior.

Grey Light.

Left and right back, high up, two small windows, curtains drawn.

Front right, a door. Hanging near door, its face to wall, a picture.

Front left, touching each other, covered with an old sheet, two ashbins.

Center, in an armchair on castors, covered with an old sheet, Hamm.

Motionless by the door, his eyes fixed on Hamm, Clov. Very red face.

Brief tableau.

Clov goes and stands under window left. Stiff, staggering walk. He looks up at window left. He turns and looks at window right. He goes and stands under window right. He looks up at window right. He turns and looks at window left. He goes out, comes back immediately with a small step-ladder, carries it over and sets it down under window left, gets up on it, draws back curtain. He gets down, takes six steps (for example) towards window right, goes back for ladder, carries it over and sets it down under window right, gets up on it, draws back curtain. He gets down, takes three steps towards window left, goes back for ladder, carries it over and sets it down under window left, gets up on it, looks out of window. Brief laugh. He gets down, takes one step towards window right, goes back for ladder, carries it over and sets it down under window right, gets up on it, looks out of window. Brief laugh. He gets down, goes with ladder towards ashbins, halts, turns, carries back ladder and sets it down under window right, goes to ashbins, removes sheet covering them, folds it over his arm. He raises one lid, stoops and looks into bin. Brief laugh. He closes lid. Same with other bin. He goes to Hamm, removes sheet covering him, folds it over his arm. In a dressing-gown, a stiff toque on his head, a large blood-stained handkerchief over his face, a whistle hanging from his neck, a rug over his knees, thick socks on his feet, Hamm seems to be asleep. Clov looks him over. Brief laugh. He goes to door, halts, turns towards auditorium.

[...]

HAMM: Bring me under the window.
(Clov goes towards chair.)
I want to feel the light on my face.
(Clov pushes chair.)
Do you remember, in the beginning, when you took me for a turn? You used to hold the chair too high. At every step you nearly tipped me out.
(With senile quaver.)
Ah great fun, we had, the two of us, great fun.
(Gloomily.)
And then we got into the way of it.
(Clov stops the chair under window right.)
There already?
(Pause. He tilts back his head.)
Is it light?

CLOV: It isn't dark.

HAMM (angrily): I'm asking you is it light?

CLOV: Yes.

(Pause.)

HAMM: The curtain isn't closed?

CLOV: No.

HAMM: What window is it?

CLOV: The earth.

HAMM: I knew it!
(Angrily.)
But there's no light there! The other!
(Clov pushes chair towards window left.)
The earth!
(Clov stops the chair under window left. Hamm tilts back his head.)
That's what I call light!
(Pause.)
Feels like a ray of sunshine.
(Pause.)
No?

CLOV: No.

HAMM: It isn't a ray of sunshine I feel on my face?

CLOV: No.

(Pause.)

HAMM: Am I very white?
(Pause. Angrily.)
I'm asking you am I very white?

CLOV: Not more so than usual.

(Pause.)

HAMM: Open the window.

CLOV: What for?

HAMM: I want to hear the sea.

CLOV: You wouldn't hear it.

HAMM: Even if you opened the window?

CLOV: No.

HAMM: Then it's not worth while opening it?

CLOV: No.

HAMM (violently): Then open it!
(Clov gets up on the ladder, opens the window. Pause.)
Have you opened it?

CLOV: Yes.

(Pause.)

HAMM: You swear you've opened it?

CLOV: Yes.

(Pause.)

HAMM: Well...!
(Pause.)
It must be very calm.
(Pause. Violently.)
I'm asking you is it very calm!

CLOV: Yes.

HAMM: It's because there are no more navigators.
(Pause.)
You haven't much conversation all of a sudden. Do you not feel well?

CLOV: I'm cold.

HAMM: What month are we?
(Pause.)
Close the window, we're going back.

(Clov closes the window, gets down, pushes the chair back to its place, remains standing behind it, head bowed.)

(read on. nohow on.)

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stirrings still

One night as he sat at his table head on hands he saw himself rise and go. One night or day. For when his own light went out he was not left in the dark. Light of a kind came from the one high window. Under it still the stool on which till he could or would no more he used to mount to see the sky. Why he did not crane out to see what lay beneath was perhaps because the window was not made to open or because he could or would not open it. Perhaps he knew only too well what lay beneath and did not wish to see it again. So he would simply stand there high above the earth and see through the clouded pane the cloudless sky. Its faint unchanging light unlike any light he could remember from the days and nights when day followed hard on night and night on day. This outer light then when his own went out became his only light till it in its turn went out and left him in the dark. Till it in its turn went out. (read more)

Samuel Beckett

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