Plays by August Strindberg Volume I Part 6

ADOLPH. It's only fifteen minutes to dinner--and no new guests have arrived--for I haven't heard the bell ring. That means we shall be by ourselves--worse luck!

GUSTAV. Are you weak?

ADOLPH. I am nothing at all!--Yes, I am afraid of what is now coming!

But I cannot keep it from coming! The stone has been set rolling--and it was not the first drop of water that started it--nor wad it the last one--but all of them together.

GUSTAV. Let it roll then--for peace will come in no other way. Good-bye for a while now! [Goes out]

(ADOLPH nods back at him. Until then he has been standing with the photograph in his hand. Now he tears it up and flings the pieces under the table. Then he sits down on a chair, pulls nervously at his tie, runs his fingers through his hair, crumples his coat lapel, and so on.)

TEKLA. [Enters, goes straight up to him and gives him a kiss; her manner is friendly, frank, happy, and engaging] h.e.l.lo, little brother! How is he getting on?

ADOLPH. [Almost won over; speaking reluctantly and as if in jest] What mischief have you been up to now that makes you come and kiss me?

TEKLA. I'll tell you: I've spent an awful lot of money.

ADOLPH. You have had a good time then?

TEKLA. Very! But not exactly at that creche meeting. That was plain piffle, to tell the truth.--But what has little brother found to divert himself with while his p.u.s.s.y was away?

(Her eyes wander around the room as if she were looking for somebody or sniffing something.)

ADOLPH. I've simply been bored.

TEKLA. And no company at all?

ADOLPH. Quite by myself.

TEKLA. [Watching him; she sits down on the sofa] Who has been sitting here? ADOLPH. Over there? n.o.body.

TEKLA. That's funny! The seat is still warm, and there is a hollow here that looks as if it had been made by an elbow. Have you had lady callers?

ADOLPH. I? You don't believe it, do you?

TEKLA. But you blush. I think little brother is not telling the truth.

Come and tell p.u.s.s.y now what he has on his conscience.

(Draws him toward herself so that he sinks down with his head resting in her lap.)

ADOLPH. You're a little devil--do you know that?

TEKLA. No, I don't know anything at all about myself.

ADOLPH. You never think about yourself, do you?

TEKLA. [Sniffing and taking notes] I think of nothing but myself--I am a dreadful egoist. But what has made you turn so philosophical all at once?

ADOLPH. Put your hand on my forehead.

TEKLA. [Prattling as if to a baby] Has he got ants in his head again?

Does he want me to take them away, does he? [Kisses him on the forehead]

There now! Is it all right now?

ADOLPH. Now it's all right. [Pause]

TEKLA. Well, tell me now what you have been doing to make the time go?

Have you painted anything?

ADOLPH. No, I am done with painting.

TEKLA. What? Done with painting?

ADOLPH. Yes, but don't scold me for it. How can I help it that I can't paint any longer!

TEKLA. What do you mean to do then?

ADOLPH. I'll become a sculptor.

TEKLA. What a lot of brand new ideas again!

ADOLPH. Yes, but please don't scold! Look at that figure over there.

TEKLA. [Uncovering the wax figure] Well, I declare!--Who is that meant for?

ADOLPH. Guess!

TEKLA. Is it p.u.s.s.y? Has he got no shame at all?

ADOLPH. Is it like?

TEKLA. How can I tell when there is no face?

ADOLPH. Yes, but there is so much else--that's beautiful!

TEKLA. [Taps him playfully on the cheek] Now he must keep still or I'll have to kiss him.

ADOLPH. [Holding her back] Now, now!--Somebody might come!

TEKLA. Well, what do I care? Can't I kiss my own husband, perhaps? Oh yes, that's my lawful right.

ADOLPH. Yes, but don't you know--in the hotel here, they don't believe we are married, because we are kissing each other such a lot. And it makes no difference that we quarrel now and then, for lovers are said to do that also.

TEKLA. Well, but what's the use of quarrelling? Why can't he always be as nice as he is now? Tell me now? Can't he try? Doesn't he want us to be happy?

ADOLPH. Do I want it? Yes, but--

TEKLA. There we are again! Who has put it into his head that he is not to paint any longer?