The Complete Stories (forword by John Updike)

(Rings a bell.)

CHAMBERLAIN: He's a confused old man, if I may say so, already quite out of hand.

PRINCE: If that's so, all the more reason for strengthening the guard in the way I've suggested.

(Enter servant.)

PRINCE: The Warden of the tomb!

(Servant leads in Warden, holding him tight around the waist to prevent him from collapsing. Ancient red livery hanging loosely about Warden, brightly polished silver buttons, several decorations. Cap in hand, he trembles under the gentlemen's gaze.)

PRINCE: Put him on the divan!

(Servant lays him down and goes off. Pause. A faint rattling in Warden's throat.)

PRINCE (again in armchair): Can you hear?

WARDEN (tries to answer but fails, is too exhausted, sinks back again).

PRINCE: Try to pull yourself together. We're waiting.

CHAMBERLAIN (leaning over Prince): What could this man give information about? And credible and important information at that? He ought to be taken straight to bed.

WARDEN: Not to bed — still strong — fairly — can still hold my end up.

PRINCE: So you should. You've only just turned sixty. Granted, you look very weak.

WARDEN: I'll pick up in no time — feel better in a minute.

PRINCE: It wasn't meant as a reproach. I'm only sorry you aren't feeling well. Have you anything to complain about?

WARDEN: Hard work — hard work — not complaining — but very weak — wrestling bouts every night.

PRINCE: What d'you say?

WARDEN: Hard work.

PRINCE: You said something else.

WARDEN: Wrestling bouts.

PRINCE: Wrestling bouts? What kind of wrestling bouts?

WARDEN: With the blessed ancestors.

PRINCE: I don't understand. D'you have bad dreams?

WARDEN: No dreams — don't sleep.

PRINCE: Then let's hear about these — these wrestling bouts.

WARDEN (remains silent).

PRINCE (to Chamberlain): Why doesn't he speak?

CHAMBERLAIN (hurrying to Warden): He may die any minute.

PRINCE (stands up).

WARDEN (as Chamberlain touches him): Don't, don't, don't! (Fights off Chamberlain's hands, then collapses in tears.)