"—Thing that Happened—"

a play in one act

A nondescript location. Two individuals, ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN (referred to as ROS and GUIL, respectively, hereafter), lean back against a wall.

They are dressed in the manner of their namesakes.

ROS’s expression bespeaks optimistic anticipation; GUIL’s, the other kind.

ROS: How long now?

GUIL: I don't know. We'll be sent for, remember?

ROS: Oh, right, right.

FAN (clutching an autograph book): Excuse me, um, could I get your autographs?

ROS: Of course!

ROS and GUIL take the book, sign their names, and then hand it back.

FAN (reading): “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?” No, ah, I wanted you to sign your names.

ROS: Oh, I'm sorry, did I sign “Guildenstern”?

GUIL (handing the FAN a white card): No, I think I know what she wants.

FAN (reading): “The leads in this year's production of Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead are presently immersed in a new, experimental breed of method acting. They are contractually prohibited from breaking character until the end of the show's run.”

The FAN attempts to hand the card back.

GUIL: Keep it. (He reveals a few more from his pocket.) I have more.

FAN: So you can't...

GUIL (mock confusion): Can't what?

Long pause. The FAN fidgets awkwardly.

FAN: Well, break a leg.

The FAN walks away.

ROS: She looked very disappointed.

GUIL: Well, she wasn't exactly expecting us, was she?

ROS: Who?

GUIL: That woman.

ROS: No, I meant—

GUIL: Oh, of course, I meant Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

ROS: Right.

GUIL: Us.

ROS: Right.

Pause.

ROS: How long now?

GUIL: I told you, we'll be sent for.

ROS: But when?

GUIL: It doesn't really matter; we'll be sent for all the same.

Long pause. GUIL grows increasingly thoughtful. Suddenly, hope flashes across his face.

GUIL: Suppose we left.

ROS (confusion): Help me.

GUIL: Suppose we chose a direction—

ROS: Left?

GUIL: Yes, left, for example, and walked a ways in that direction, and kept walking until we found ourselves somewhere very different from where we are now.

ROS: Where?

GUIL: Somewhere very different. Not here.

ROS: Hmm... I suppose you can't send for people you can't find.

GUIL: You seem to have grasped the idea.

ROS: I see. So you're at ease then with death? With suicide?

GUIL: I think you're giving my statement much too cosmic an interpretation. You can find "somewhere very different" quite easily on this plane of existence.

ROS: My question stands. An unwatched’s pot doesn’t boil. Without a livelihood, you’re left with the alternative.

GUIL: Wherever we are, someone will send for us, and someone will find us. You remember how that woman came up to us.

ROS: I remember how she left.

GUIL: The point: We don’t need this. (He spreads out his arms.) We can go wherever we want. We're us.

ROS: Who?

GUIL: Us.

ROS: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?

GUIL: You know what I mean.

ROS: Supposing you're right—

GUIL: I am.

ROS: —what reason is there to leave? Here our future is certain.

GUIL: Aye, there's the rub.

GUIL pulls a coin from his pocket.

GUIL: Call it.

ROS: Heads, of course.

GUIL spins the coin, letting it fall. It clatters and bounces, eventually spinning to a stop on its edge. Both men stare down at it, ROS nonplussed, GUIL non-nonplussed.

ROS: Again.

GUIL: As you wish.

Again.

GUIL: So now you see. If I stay here, I’ll be sent for. If I’m sent for, I’ll be made to do the impossible. Here my future is death.

ROS: Come now, that was only twice.

GUIL: And yet you haven't asked to see it again.

ROS: Whatever trick you pulled, you'd just pull it again.

GUIL: Come now, you know me better than that. I’ll have you know that, before showing you, I made that same coin flip eighty-six times. Nothing changes the outcome.

ROS: If there’s no trick, what’s your explanation? If you’re so concerned, why don’t you see the, ah… He clears his throat and flashes a white card.

GUIL: If I had an explanation, you wouldn’t have asked that question. The situation provoking it would never have arisen.

ROS: If you had an explanation, you could withhold it all you wished.

GUIL (an exasperated shout): Then I suppose you’ll have to take me on my word!

GUIL grabs ROS by the shoulders.

GUIL: Listen, dear Guildenstern—

ROS: Rosencrantz.

GUIL: —just listen, for time is short. Every passing second carries a greater chance of being the one in which we’re found. In that second, my fate is sealed, and yours too, I fear. There is some malign force imposing itself upon us. Our only chance is to leave. Follow me, Rosencrantz; follow me or die.

ROS stands and strokes his chin, while GUIL paces and wrings his hands.

GUIL (pointing stage right, offstage): I see them! Run!

ROS jumps, startled, as GUIL breaks into a sprint, headed stage left. When he nears the edge of the stage, a lighting rig falls and crushes the pair. Blood pools. The coin rolls out of GUIL’s limp hand, slowing to a stop on its edge.

BLACKOUT

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