The Dwarfs by Harold Pinter Read Free Book Online

bus. No trouble. That’s all I’ve got to say about Bach. There you are. You shouldn’t have asked me.
    - Well, said Pete. Ah. Yes, you’ve told me something. They stood with their hands in their pockets, on the carpet.
    - What about a cup of cocoa?
    - Cocoa?
    - Yes, Pete said, we’ll drink a toast.
    - All right. All right, I don’t mind doing that.
    They left the room and walked down to the scullery, the cat following. Through the basement window, the moon shone crooked on the hanging crockery. Len switched on the light and put the kettle on. He brought out a tin of cocoa.
    - Yes, you’ve got something there.
    - It’s not possible.
    - My face is a death’s head, Pete said, looking into the flaked mirror above the sink.
    - You’re quite right.
    - Do you know, a neighbour stopped me the other day and told me I was the handsomest man she’d ever seen.
    - What did you say to that?
    - What could I say?
    - I’ve got a few bagels, Len said.
    Pete sat at the table and stroked its surface.
    - This is a very solid table.
    - I said I’ve got some bagels.
    - No thanks. How long have you had this table?
    - It’s a family heirloom.
    - Yes, said Pete, leaning back, I’d like a good table, and a good chair. Solid stuff. Made for the bearer. I’d put them in a boat. Sail it down the river. A houseboat. You could sit in the cabin and look out at the water.
    - Who’d be steering?
    - You could park it. Park it. There’s not a soul in sight.
    - Where would you go?
    - Go? Pete said. You wouldn’t go.
    - Here’s your cocoa.
    They sipped.
    - How’s Mark?
    - Fine, Len shrugged.
    - What does he have to say for himself?
    - He said he wouldn’t spit last night.
    - I’m glad to hear it.
    - I’m glad to be able to say it.
    - What’s he got to spit about?
    - Well, he likes a good spit sometimes.
    - Yes, but what’s he spitting, or not spitting, about, this time? Pete asked.
    - My examiner.
    - Who?
    - Christ. Jesus Christ.
    - What, Pete said, sitting up, is he thinking of having a gob at Jesus Christ?
    - Not exactly. But he can’t help it now and again, I suppose.
    - What are you gabbling about?
    - Well, Len said, you told him yourself I was having a look at the New Testament.
    - Oh. So he’s spitting at that, eh?
    - I told you, he said he wouldn’t.
    - That’s very generous of him.
    - Well, he may be in a position to. You can never tell.
    Pete dug his hands in his pockets and laughed.
    - You’re talking like Joe Doakes. In a position to spit at Jesus Christ? I’ll split a gut in a minute. But go on, I’m interested. Tell me. Why do you think he’s in a position to spit?
    - You’re tearing my fingernails off, one by one.
    - I’m letting you off lightly. Come on.
    - All right. I think he has one answer, that’s all. Even if he hasn’t, I think I think he has, and even if I don’t think he has he may have or, if you like, someone with his name may have.
    - Someone with his name may have! You’ve made the cat crawl under the table. Is this how you talk to the cat every night?
    - All right, Len said. You’ve got something to say. Why don’t you say it?
    - No, Pete said.
    He picked up his cup and gulped.
    - No, he smiled. I’ve got nothing to say.
    - Really? Len frowned .
    He looked up and shook his head and then, reflecting, began to chuckle.
    - All right. He said something else though, that I’m sure you’ll appreciate.
    - What’s that?
    - He was talking about Dean Swift, you see, and he said he ended up eating his own shit and left his money to lunatic asylums. Have you seen Pete lately? Just like that. Straight off. What do you think of that?
    Pete sat forward and laughed.
    - That’s very amusing.
    - Amusing! I should say it is.
    - Yes, very odd.
    - Odd? What do you mean, odd?
    - When I got home from work the other day, Pete said, a neighbour was at the door. Smoke was coming through the window.
    - What?
    - It was all right. It was a cake I’d forgotten about, in the oven. The place was intact, but the cake was