Waiting for Godot Read Online Free PDF Page B

didn't notice?
     
    VLADIMIR:
Oh perhaps just a teeny weeny little bit.
     
    ESTRAGON:
I thought it was intentional.
     
    POZZO:
You see my memory is defective.
Silence.
     
    ESTRAGON:
In the meantime, nothing happens.
     
    POZZO:
You find it tedious?
     
    ESTRAGON:
Somewhat.
     
    POZZO:
(to Vladimir). And you, Sir?
     
    VLADIMIR:
I've been better entertained.
Silence. Pozzo struggles inwardly.
     
    POZZO:
Gentlemen, you have been . . . civil to me.
     
    ESTRAGON:
Not at all!
     
    VLADIMIR:
What an idea!
     
    POZZO:
Yes yes, you have been correct. So that I ask myself is there anything I can do in
my turn for these honest fellows who are having such a dull, dull time.
     
    ESTRAGON:
Even ten francs would be a help.
     
    VLADIMIR:
We are not beggars!
     
    POZZO:
Is there anything I can do, that's what I ask myself, to cheer them up? I have
given them bones, I have talked to them about this and that, I have explained
the twilight, admittedly. But is it enough, that's what tortures me, is it enough?
     
    ESTRAGON:
Even five.
     
    VLADIMIR:
(to Estragon, indignantly). That's enough!
     
    ESTRAGON:
I couldn't accept less.
     
    POZZO:
Is is enough? No doubt. But I am liberal. It's my nature. This evening. So much
the worse for me. (He jerks the rope. Lucky looks at him.) For I shall suffer, no
doubt about that. (He picks up the whip.) What do you prefer? Shall we have him
dance, or sing, or recite, or think, or�
     
    ESTRAGON:
Who?
     
    POZZO:
Who! You know how to think, you two?
     
    VLADIMIR:
He thinks?
     
    POZZO:
Certainly. Aloud. He even used to think very prettily once, I could listen to him
for hours. Now . . . (he shudders). So much the worse for me. Well, would you
like him to think something for us?
     
    ESTRAGON:
I'd rather he dance, it'd be more fun.
     
    POZZO:
Not necessarily.
     
    ESTRAGON:
Wouldn't it, Didi, be more fun?
     
    VLADIMIR:
I'd like well to hear him think.
     
    ESTRAGON:
Perhaps he could dance first and think afterwards, if it isn't too much to ask him.
     
    VLADIMIR:
(to Pozzo). Would that be possible?
     
    POZZO:
By all means, nothing simpler. It's the natural order.
He laughs briefly.
     
    VLADIMIR:
Then let him dance.
Silence.
     
    POZZO:
Do you hear, hog?
     
    ESTRAGON:
He never refuses?
     
    POZZO:
He refused once. (Silence.) Dance, misery!
Lucky puts down bag and basket, advances towards front, turns to Pozzo. Lucky
dances. He stops.
     
    ESTRAGON:
Is that all?
     
    POZZO:
Encore!
Lucky executes the same movements, stops.
     
    ESTRAGON:
Pooh! I'd do as well myself. (He imitates Lucky, almost falls.) With a little
practice.
     
    POZZO:
He used to dance the farandole, the fling, the brawl, the jig, the fandango and
even the hornpipe. He capered. For joy. Now that's the best he can do. Do you
know what he calls it?
     
    ESTRAGON:
The Scapegoat's Agony.
     
    VLADIMIR:
The Hard Stool.
     
    POZZO:
The Net. He thinks he's entangled in a net.
     
    VLADIMIR:
(squirming like an aesthete). There's something about it . . .
Lucky makes to return to his burdens.
     
    POZZO:
Woaa!
Lucky stiffens.
     
    ESTRAGON:
Tell us about the time he refused.
     
    POZZO:
With pleasure, with pleasure. (He fumbles in his pockets.) Wait. (He fumbles.)
What have I done with my spray? (He fumbles.) Well now isn't that . . . (He looks
up, consternation on his features. Faintly.) I can't find my pulverizer!
     
    ESTRAGON:
(faintly). My left lung is very weak! (He coughs feebly. In ringing tones.) But my
right lung is as sound as a bell!
     
    POZZO:
(normal voice). No matter! What was I saying. (He ponders.) Wait. (Ponders.)
Well now isn't that . . . (He raises his head.) Help me!
     
    ESTRAGON:
Wait!
     
    VLADIMIR:
Wait!
     
    POZZO:
Wait!
All three take off their hats simultaneously, press their hands to their foreheads,
concentrate.
     
    ESTRAGON:
(triumphantly). Ah!
     
    VLADIMIR:
He has it.
     
    POZZO:
(impatient). Well?
     
    ESTRAGON:
Why doesn't he put down his