MY CLEANING LADY – a mystery play of purification
MY CLEANING LADY – A Cleansing Mystery Play
Dramatis Personae:
Act I
WOMAN, CLEANING LADY I, CLEANING LADY II, OLD LADY, HUSBAND, SON 1, SON 2
Voices on TV: 3 ACTRESSES and ACTOR, JOURNALIST
Act II
WOMAN, CLEANING LADY I, WHORE, TWO POLICEMEN, SECURITY GUARD, INVESTIGATING OFFICER, SON 1, SON 2
Act III
MOTHER, SON 1, SON 2, CLEANING LADY 3, Voices on TV: 3 ACTRESSES and ACTOR, SINGER
ACT I
Scene 1 On stage: SON 1’s room. Pulled drapes. Unmade bed. On the shelves: neatly arranged books and dvds. Vis-a-vis the audience is a “montage table”: three monitors, computers etc. on a long table top. Film posters on the walls. A cello and conversations are audible through the door. A key rattles in the lock: SON 1 enters the room. He locks the door behind him, switches on two monitors. Images and sounds come from two cameras hidden in the dining room:
A dining room joined to a kitchen. The shelves have piles of dried wild flowers. A mess from after a party. The light is dusky – the curtains are drawn. OLD LADY snoozes in a wheelchair. Magpies are rattling outside the window. The clock strikes 7:30. WOMAN enters the room wearing a robe. She is throwing out empty bottles.
HUSBAND: (a voice from the depths of the apartment) Are you cleaning up before the cleaning lady arrives again?
WOMAN: A mess like this is a disgrace. We’re off having a good time, and she’s barely making ends meet.
HUSBAND: You make your bed…
WOMAN: She hasn’t slept in a month…
HUSBAND: Why?
WOMAN: Her son… has depression, he drinks. He said he’d come to her courtyard at night and hang himself from the walnut tree. You know, the one that always gives us our nuts. She stands by the window every night and makes sure no one’s hanging himself there.
HUSBAND: That’s emotional blackmail. He needs vodka money.
WOMAN: She only gives it to him for cigarettes.
HUSBAND: Right. She can sleep easy. There’s a way to deal with any woman, not to mention the mother of a drunk.
WOMAN: Women differ depending on how they are treated…
The doorbell rings. WOMAN opens the door and, without waiting for someone to enter, exits the room. An old woman of around 70 enters. She looks around, brushes the snow from her threadbare fur coat. She puts her bag and a bundle of branches on the floor; they are also covered in snow. She removes her shoes, which indicate that there once were better days, as does the rest of her wardrobe. She goes to the door leading to the rest of the apartment and eavesdrops. To herself:
CLEANING LADY I: Having a good time again. (looks into the refrigerator) Fucking miserable.
She begins eating what is left in a pot. Falls to her knees at the sound of footsteps. Begins scrubbing the floor with a rag. WOMAN enters.
WOMAN: My husband and I were working till the morning hours.
WOMAN brews some coffee. CLEANING LADY I arranges the branches in a vase.
CLEANING LADY I: I picked them on the way, Basia. After a while they’ll bloom. I get up at four in the morning to make it here on time. I feed the hens and the piglet. /She wipes down the trash can with her rag./ The turkey’s gone, because he got bit by a rat. He walked around a day after that, but he never recovered. Could you bring the breakfast to your husband and the boys?
WOMAN: The elder one’s in line for a scholarship abroad.
The younger one’s practicing. He’s not to be disturbed.
CLEANING LADY I: Only now he’ll learn to appreciate his mother’s cooking…
WOMAN leaves the room with her coffee. CLEANING LADY I listens in. To herself:
CLEANING LADY I: Supposed to be eternal lovers. Every guy hollers at his girl, even if he don’t drink, and she comes to him on her knees, every one’s a bitch. /Giggles/
WOMAN returns, all dressed up. She turns on the TV. OLD LADY wheels over to the TV.
ACTRESS I: Would he still love me if I wasn’t beautiful?
WOMAN turns off the sound. She passes CLEANING LADY a mop, but she shakes her head.
WOMAN: But for you this is the invention of the century.
CLEANING LADY gets up off her knees. She pulls some eggs from a dirty paper sugar bag.
CLEANING LADY I: I brought them for you, Basia.
WOMAN: It’s too many for us. Don’t you eat them?
CLEANING LADY I: Eggs make us sick. They stink too much of the hens. I start to retch even if someone eats eggs next to me (she slumps on a chair) I’ve got trouble, Basia. /Tears bud in her eyes./ They’re going to chuck my son out of his apartment, he hasn’t paid his rent.
WOMAN/impatient/: But he got that apartment for his children, for taking them out of the orphanage. You see, it would have been better if your grandchildren stayed at the orphanage instead of him bringing them up – your son, the alcoholic. /She exits the room.
SON 1: begins working on the third monitor: he is editing material recorded from two hidden cameras. A knock on the door that sounds orchestrated… two quick knocks, pause, three quick ones again… SON 1 opens the door. Enter SON 2. He recognizes their dining room on the screens.
SON 2: What’s the big idea?
CLEANING LADY I: A father’s a father.
SON 1: I’m not spying on anyone in the washroom.
SON 2: What do you need all this for? Making a fool out of Mom?
CLEANING LADY wipes the tears from her eyes and slowly gets down to cleaning. She washes up, pouring too much warm water and making too much foam. The bubbles begin filling the room. OLD LADY occasionally opens a wary eye. WOMAN enters with a laptop, places it on the table.
SON 1: Don’t worry, Mom can take care of herself. This is going to be an anthem in her honor.
SON 2: And Dad?
SON 1: He’s a Sphinx.
WOMAN: You can clean up the boys’ rooms later.
SON 2: Maybe get his goat… I’ll call him to the dining room and ask them…
SON 1: No interfering, this is supposed to be spontaneous…
SON 2 exits. SON 1 locks the door behind him.
CLEANING LADY I takes her rags deeper into the apartment. OLD LADY in her wheelchair “chases” the bubbles with her cane. WOMAN turns up the TV.
ACTRESS I: Would you still love me if I wasn’t beautiful?
ACTRESS II: I keep men as far away as wilting roses with no memories attached to them.
OLD LADY wants to say something, WOMAN admonishes her. She turns off the volume on the TV, sits at the table, and writes. CLEANING LADY I returns with a bucket and rags. The clock strikes eight. From here on the clock goes faster, striking the hour every few minutes. WOMAN wakes OLD LADY, gives her stale bread and a newspaper.
WOMAN: She’s the only one in the house who wakes without anger, ready to do work that would have bored us long ago; she is needed, the birds are always waiting.
OLD LADY goes over to the balcony, opens the vent, crumbles bread on the floor. Pigeons enter the room. The doorbell rings.
WOMAN: (to the doorbell intercom) Hello. I’m on my way. /To OLD LADY/ Zosia’s downstairs.
She helps OLD LADY get to the intercom and gives her the receiver. She shoos off the pigeons, closes the vent.
OLD LADY: Zosia! I can’t really hear you, the microphone’s on the fritz again. Why didn’t you come on Sunday? I was waiting… the sidewalk’s slippery… is the funeral happening? I don’t remember her… she wasn’t in my class… I won’t be giving her flowers… go, you can go on if your legs aren’t holding up.
WOMAN takes the receiver.
OLD LADY: Maryśka died… too bad it was so late. Stach will never forgive her. She seduced him on a sleigh ride. /To CLEANING LADY I/ Zosia was my friend from school. She’s afraid to take the elevator and so we meet through the intercom. It’s getting harder and harder to hear her.
CLEANING LADY I covers OLD LADY with a blanket. She opens a window to wash it. The doorbell gives a long buzz.
WOMAN: Hello? My husband will be right there, calm down, please don’t cry, my husband’s on his way, he’ll lead you out. /Shouts to her husband, who is somewhere in the apartment./ Zosia’s standing outside the house, she doesn’t know how to get home, she forgot where she lives, help her.
HUSBAND exits. CLEANING LADY I stands on the windowsill, washing the window.
CLEANING LADY I: I see them. A man always comes in handy in a pinch. (A cello is heard from deep within the apartment. CLEANING LADY closes the door joining the “salon” to the rest of the apartment. Muffled music is heard till the end of Act I.) Oh Basia, they say your windows shine the best in the whole building.
WOMAN smiles and turns up the volume on the TV.
ACTRESS II: … I keep men as far away as wilting roses with no memories attached to them.
ACTRESS III: If I was as brave as you, I’d bet on one man till the very end.
WOMAN turns off the sound on the TV. HUSBAND returns. He is carrying a large plastic bag full of snow. He throws it into a bowl and places it on OLD LADY’s lap.
HUSBAND: That’s for mother, instead of a sleigh ride. (He exits, immediately returns). I won’t be home for dinner.
OLD LADY plunges her hands in the snow, grins. The telephone rings. OLD LADY makes a snowball and throws it at CLEANING LADY.
WOMAN: Anka! Where are you calling from?… Hold on. Don’t hang up. I’m going to my room (hangs up, exits. OLD LADY goes to the telephone and switches on the speaker phone – we hear the conversation). Ah, with that Frenchman – where’s the wedding?… Outside of Paris. Anyone here? No, no one, we can talk… there’s just the cleaning lady slogging about the house. /
CLEANING LADY I stops washing the window./ It’s bad, he forgot about our twenty-fifth anniversary… That still doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me… Yes, he loves me, but himself as well. He lets me write… And friendship? Friendship is enough, but as long as you agree to take me as I am… You should come. You’ll have a break. There’ll be heaps of interesting people at the wedding, his acquaintances. No, I’m not coming, sorry, I have to finish this book, the publisher calls every day and threatens to wreak havoc… Maybe you’ll make it. See you. /Enters the “salon.”/
CLEANING LADY I /Coming down from the window sill/ Basia, is your friend marrying a Frenchman?
WOMAN: Yes, what’s wrong with that? He doesn’t drink, just some wine with supper, grand cru.
CLEANING LADY I: Oh, I know those Frenchmen. A neighbor showed me a book about them, about the things they do in bed. What I saw was quite enough for me, thank-you very much.
WOMAN /Laughs/: She’ll be fine, she’s been through a lot in life and she’s got both feet on the ground. /Points at the OLD LADY./ She was also in love with a foreigner – a Danish prince. The only real man she knew in all her life, she said.
CLEANING LADY I: When they took us to work in Germany, the Frenchmen called out at a French station: there go the Polish swine.
WOMAN: To Germany through France? I think you got a bit mixed up. But I’m not surprised, a war would mess with anybody’s head. /Points at OLD LADY/ My sympathies.
CLEANING LADY I (makes herself comfortable at the table) Ah, it’s easy to get used to a war, to killing, I mean. On the first day I said: it’ll only last a week. A week after that, just one more week and it would all be over. And before that week ended, I was used to the war. I’m telling you how it is, child; everyone goes underground: both the living and the dead.
OLD LADY: The gardens turn into cemeteries.
CLEANING LADY pulls out some ethanol to clean the windows.
CLEANING LADY I: My son might be a drunk, but he doesn’t touch the ethanol. He said: I’d rather waste away than drink the ethanol.
WOMAN: And when did they promise you damages for the forced work?
CLEANING LADY I: They’re playing for time, waiting till I kick the bucket. With that kind of money I wouldn’t have to make the rounds of apartments. I’ll do like you, Basia, and go on a trip abroad.
WOMAN: You wouldn’t make it without work. There’s less and less work to be done. You’ll see, soon they’ll be forcing us all to vacation on the beach. Only the chosen ones will work.
CLEANING LADY I: Forced vacations! Maybe you’ve lost your mind, Basia!
WOMAN turns up the volume on the TV.
ACTRESS I (in bed with a man): Don’t go looking far away, no second guesses, this is no trap, it’s no gesture. It’s too dark to recognize me, I could be anything.
WOMAN turns off the TV volume.
CLEANING LADY I (leaning on the broom) The Old Lady’s cuckoo, no offense, not because of the war, but because she’s read too much, and spent too little time walking the earth. I feel sorry for you, Basia, that you always have to be writing.
WOMAN: But then someone always reads it, and praises it, don’t they? That’s pleasant.
CLEANING LADY I: Who really reads it, Basia?
WOMAN shows CLEANING LADY a glossy magazine. OLD LADY dumps some melted snow on the floor.
WOMAN: You see that my husband received an award.
CLEANING LADY I: So I see. I also received a reward before dying. I was given a decent daughter-in-law; she doesn’t drink and she takes care of herself. Now she’s learned to booze, so that he doesn’t have to go out with his friends – but she only drinks a bit, to keep him company.
WOMAN: That’s how it starts. You’ve got to watch out. Father and mother together. (She leaves the room.)
CLEANING LADY I: It isn’t my fault if he’s a drunk, I didn’t teach them to drink or steal.
CLEANING LADY I clatters the pots angrily, empties the garbage can. She picks up the crumpled page of a manuscript, goes to the window, takes the OLD LADY’s glasses and reads:
CLEANING LADY I: The cleaning lady slogs around my house, sticks her head out from under the wardrobe to talk about her drunken sons, opens the windows wide so that I remember the children in the orphanages, washes them one by one, gathers my garbage, I know that – her son raises an ax, the mother voice trails after me through the rooms, the shadows of her sons dart across the walls, she rises…
CLEANING LADY I rolls up the page, stuffs it in her pocket, and pulls a “Mickey” out of her sack. She takes a healthy swig.
I could tell you even more… Groans, slides down to the floor, weakly cries out: Basia!
OLD LADY presses the buzzer on her wheelchair.
WOMAN (bending over the cleaning lady): I told you this work isn’t right for you any more. My husband went out, we’ve got to get to the hospital on our own.
CLEANING LADY I: But it’s not my heart, Basia, I ate too much of something back home, it’s not my heart.
WOMAN: (Sets the Old Lady on the chair. Pulls the CLEANING LADY I onto the wheelchair) We’ll take the elevator.
SON 1 removes his headphones and runs out of the room…
The lights go out.
Scene 2 SON 1’s room, as in Scene 1.
Pictures from the dining room on two monitors.
OLD LADY sleeps in her wheelchair. WOMAN studies an EKG print-out. The doorbell rings.
HUSBAND’S VOICE: Just don’t let her confide in you. They’re getting you down.
Enter new CLEANING LADY.
CLEANING LADY II: Hello. (Looks around the room, points at the bouquet of dried wild flowers spread across the furniture.) Should I vacuum up the dry ones?
WOMAN: I gather new ones every year. No need to vacuum. Don’t you like them? Wouldn’t you like having them around your house?
CLEANING LADY II: They’re a bit scruffy. But that’s not the point. I haven’t got time to be wandering through fields, I have seven children.
CLEANING LADY II gets down to work. She uses modern methods and cleaning agents. She never gets down on her knees.
WOMAN: And how are the kids coming along?
CLEANING LADY II: Number five’s in the hospital with a hereditary kidney ailment. They get all that stuff from their father. (Looks at WOMAN’S clothes) I’ve got the same outfit, bought it at the marketplace. How much did you pay?
WOMAN: Two hundred złoty.
CLEANING LADY II: Twice as much as you should have. You should shop at the bazaar. (Sits, rests) Yesterday in that series that blonde went out with the guy with the scar, the handsome one, when her old man thinks she’s at her mother’s place, he’ll kill her if he ever finds out. Haven’t you seen it?
WOMAN: No, no.
CLEANING LADY II: I can tell you the story, so you’ll be all caught up.
WOMAN: I never watch, thanks anyway.
CLEANING LADY II shrugs her shoulders. WOMAN exits to another room. OLD LADY snoozes in her wheelchair. Doorbell. CLEANING LADY II answers it and yells:
CLEANING LADY II: Mailman! Barbara, M.A. (Passes the letter to WOMAN) You didn’t tell me you had a Master’s degree.
WOMAN: What difference does it make?
CLEANING LADY II: What do you mean? I clean up after a Professor, too. I guess I’m finished for today.
WOMAN (Counting money): There’s a little bonus for the windows, cleanest in the whole building.
CLEANING LADY II takes the money silently, leaves in a huff. WOMAN says loudly to HUSBAND, who is in another room.
WOMAN: Did you hear that?
HUSBAND: From five to ten. Very fertile.
WOMAN: Seven. All sick. Sounds like the father’s absconded.
HUSBAND: You should put her in an armchair, feed her, give her money for her children, and do the cleaning yourself.
WOMAN: Stop mocking. You’ve got to help people out. Everybody does something for people, and we do nothing.
HUSBAND: You give her work, and you’re raising her salary, I just know it. You give away clothing.
WOMAN: Old clothing.
HUSBAND: We pay lethal taxes. Stop suffering for the whole world. Those cleaning ladies are supposed to be helping you out, and not pouring their guts out. It’s sick. You won’t get me involved…
WOMAN turns on the TV.
ACTRESS: Sometimes I think it wasn’t me you loved, but yourself alongside… (Chants to the rhythm of a prayer) the fifth and the tenth, thou shalt not kill what differs in me from you, nor wait for the stumble, or the falling behind, or the loss of the scent, permit me to tread cautiously, thou shalt not force hasty shortcuts, thou shalt respect every difference which does thee no harm…
WOMAN turns off the TV, leaves the room.
SON 1 turns off the computers, shuts off the light, leaves the room.
Scene 3 SON 1’s room. Image on his monitors:
Doorbell. CLEANING LADY II enters, gets down to work without a sound. WOMAN is not in the room. OLD LADY is napping in her wheelchair. The doorbell rings again. CLEANING LADY II answers it. CLEANING LADY I enters.
CLEANING LADY I: Is Basia here?
CLEANING LADY II: Ms Barbara is busy.
CLEANING LADY I: Oh sure, busy writing. And here I am, cleaning.
CLEANING LADY II: They’ve already put you on retirement. Now I’m here.
CLEANING LADY I: I’ve been doing this for thirty years. I began when Basia was still going to school.
CLEANING LADY II: As if I could really give a damn.
CLEANING LADY I grabs a broom and chases out the new cleaning lady. OLD LADY is clearly pleased.
CLEANING LADY I: Get out of our house.
WOMAN enters. She starts as if she’s seen a ghost.
WOMAN: Oh, you scared me. How’s your health?
CLEANING LADY I runs over to her like a young girl, straight posture. Her voice is also younger.
CLEANING LADY I: I came to get some stale bread out of the garbage bin, and I saw the light was on. I came to do some work, Basia, I’m cleaning homes just like I used to. It wasn’t my heart after all.
WOMAN: I can’t allow it. I can’t have you on my conscience. (Shows the ECG.)
CLEANING LADY I: Others are hiring me, it was just the stomach.
WOMAN: For the love of… Well, all right, you can stay.
CLEANING LADY I throws her arms around WOMAN’S neck. She kisses her.
CLEANING LADY I: Thank-you Basia, I’ll get down to work. Things have really gone to seed.
WOMAN turns on the TV.
ACTRESS I: Would he love me… (WOMAN turns off the TV)
OLD LADY crumbles old bread on a newspaper.
CLEANING LADY I takes a photograph out of her pocket.
CLEANING LADY I: Look Basia. That was me, I was young then, wasn’t I? I was popular with the boys.
WOMAN: You’ve still got something in your eyes.
CLEANING LADY I: What?
WOMAN: They still sparkle.
CLEANING LADY I shrugs her shoulders.
CLEANING LADY I: Did you hear the crash on the street before I came? There was an accident on your corner. I look, and Romek’s all bloody, coming out of a cab, and he says, “Hello there.” A neighborhood acquaintance. What a coincidence meeting like that. (Giggles)
WOMAN: I’ve got some new gear for you.
(gives CLEANING LADY I brightly colored knee-pads for rollerblading) They’re for your knees, since you like crawling around – and some straps to secure you when you clean the windows.
CLEANING LADY I: OK, that’ll do for now.
Goes on the window sill and gets ready to clean the window.
WOMAN: Please come down. There’s no way.
CLEANING LADY I reluctantly gets down. WOMAN checks the time. She switches on the TV.
WOMAN: I’m going to be on television.
CLEANING LADY I: In a film?
WOMAN: No, a morning talk show.
A journalist speaks with her on TV. CLEANING LADY I is leaning on a brush, and not listening.
CLEANING LADY I: You look good, Basia, it fills you out a bit. The television cameras went to my son’s factory too, because some mayor or marshal came on a visit. They showed it on TV, I saw him squeeze my son’s hand, even though it was a worker’s hand, all dirty from the machines.
The TV program changes. WOMAN switches it off.
CLEANING LADY I: You know, Basia, I’ve got a problem. My granddaughter’s husband’s in jail. They picked him up after a match, he doesn’t work, he just goes to see matches. (Cries) And my old man doesn’t care. Not my family, he said. He got up from the table, slammed the door, and he said screw me and my food.
The telephone rings.
WOMAN: Hello? Just a minute. It’s your old man.
CLEANING LADY I: He’s calling from work. (Giggles like a schoolgirl) It’s me, why are you calling?… OK? (Puts down the receiver) Well, we’ve made up, he told me to grab a bottle of something on the way home. Next time I’ll stay longer. I’m going to the washroom to fix myself up. He called. Where else would he have managed to pack on a belly like that, if not with me. When he came to me he was as thin as a bone. (Exits to the washroom)
The telephone rings.
WOMAN: Hello? Now I can talk longer. The cleaning lady is slogging about the house. She just stuck her head out from under the wardrobe to tell me about her drunken sons, she gets up from her knees, wrings out the water the threads burst she curses her sons she damns them they pick up an axe they dump slop all over my rooms and now (CLEANING LADY I returns) as a finale, I’ve been made the sons’ accomplice. Hang on, just let me buy off the mother (Puts down the receiver, gives CLEANING LADY I some money, goes back to the telephone) She laughed a moment, then she left, taking out the last ashes. No joke, she was here today… You’re trying to talk me into madness, to keep my head down and follow you… right, I fly on a lady’s parasol, about happiness I know a thing or two… you see everything, you catch it in mid-flight… but under a lady’s parasol I don’t even feel the rain’s caress. No, I won’t come… I’ve got another idea for restoring the house. (Puts down the receiver)
OLD LADY anxiously fidgets in her wheelchair. WOMAN leaves the house with her suitcase.
OLD LADY (straightening up): God be with you. (Turns on the TV, song: You’re trying to talk me into madness, to keep my head down and follow you, I fly on a lady’s parasol, about happiness I know a thing or two. you see everything, you catch it in mid-flight, but under a lady’s parasol not I don’t even feel the rain’s caress.)
ACT II
Scene 1 SON 1’s room. He is editing two film scenes. His voice is audible – that of the director from behind the camera.
A row of garbage bins. WOMAN from the previous act is dressed up and waiting. She hides behind a container. CLEANING LADY I approaches. She does not see WOMAN. She’s looking for a crust of bread. Speaking to herself:
CLEANING LADY I: The swines, they throw out their bread.
Shakes her fist at the building. WOMAN comes out from behind the container.
CLEANING LADY I: Basia!!! What happened? Did your husband dump you?
Sits on an old chair, pulls out a “Mickey.”
WOMAN: I moved out. I knew you’d be here before you cleaned our house. Don’t go to him. Maybe he’ll see the difference without any servants.
CLEANING LADY I: OK, Basia, let’s go clean the new pad. Is he loaded at least?
WOMAN: No, that’s not the point.
CLEANING LADY I: Come on, once you start feeling the pinch you’ll go back to him. He didn’t beat you or anything.
Sighs and drinks. WHORE enters the garbage area, dressed miserably and very provocatively, pays no attention to the women, packs the bread CLEANING LADY I set aside into her own bag.
CLEANING LADY I: Hang on, that’s spoken for. The early bird…
They tussle and insult each other. WOMAN tries to tear them apart. A garbage container spills over. A male corpse is lying behind it. They fall silent. WHORE pulls out a switchblade.
WHORE: This is where I say good-bye, you bumped him off pretty good.
Enter two policemen. They take a look around and see the corpse.
POLICEMAN I: Why don’t you come to our office to continue this conversation.
WOMAN I: was just throwing out the garbage.
POLICEMAN II: Was he part of it? Let’s go. (Into a mobile phone.) I’m taking in three women and one body… (laughs) might be one of those ritual murders.
WHORE: Fucking hell, I was the one who caught you two!
CLEANING LADY I: This madwoman’s the one carrying the knife.
Scene 2
DETECTIVE’S office. He and GUARD are watching a prison cell on a monitor; the three women from the previous scene are on bunks.
WHORE: What did you fucking do to him?
CLEANING LADY I: Shut up, slut, don’t try to frame us. Basia and I are honest women.
OFFICER and GUARD laugh out loud.
WOMAN: Give the woman a break. She’s just as guilty as we are.
CLEANING LADY I: Don’t you go comparing yourself to her. You don’t sell your ass for money, you’ve got an MA. You write books. You’re no street-walker.
WHORE: She can write all she likes, I don’t care. She gets bored, and so she writes. It’s the people who read who have to worry.
CLEANING LADY I: That’s her job.
WHORE: My condolences.
CLEANING LADY I: And when people see her on TV, they read her books.
WHORE: Who fucking reads?
OFFICER and GUARD laugh out loud.
WOMAN: You’re right. We’re pretty similar. My husband and publisher pay me what they please, because they think I’m nice and I’m all theirs, they buy exclusive rights to my body and soul. Like a whore, I must unpack my heart with words.
OFFICER: We better call a translator.
WHORE (Bursts out laughing.): Your ass and soul, and what, you think those rotten curves of yours are the kind of temple where you’ve got to take off your shoes?
OFFICER and GUARD laugh.
CLEANING LADY I: Look at her, a temple. And what do you know, you and your ass for sale?
WHORE: I know I sometimes pray in church. And I don’t make a fuss over my butt – what, are men supposed to kneel before it? Either you pay or you take a hike. Simple as that, you take their money.
WOMAN: I take one man’s money. Anyway, we share it… sort of.
WHORE: Same difference. The money gets taken. But you want them to toast you as a hero because you can squeeze your thighs into your pants. If you’re an MA writer you must want a boy from a Harlequin romance.
CLEANING LADY I: Basia, you might as well be talking about love to the bunk bed. You’re too young for these things. I’ve buried three husbands. And I know that I wouldn’t be down here rotting with you if… oh, never mind. You’ve got to deserve love.
WHORE: Serving’s your specialty.
CLEANING LADY I: And you have children? Basia’s raised two already.
OFFICER and GUARD stop laughing. From here on in they listen intently.
WHORE: Not me, my sister gave birth five times, what I saw was enough for me, every time the girl was ripped apart and scared for her life, she shrieked, no one comforted her, no one held her hand, no one promised her, like back when they took her, her body was torn apart, she clenched her fists on the kitchen table (cries), they left her, they laughed themselves red in the face, they drank and listened to the radio hits. (Laughs) And when the baby cried she huddled up, and got so lost in daydreams, like back when they met and then went out together… What I saw was enough.
CLEANING LADY I: A person needs children in old age… and grandchildren.
WOMAN: Children should be like trees that shape themselves as they please, just touched by a gardener’s hand at a moment joined with the damp and warmth of the soil, and only later nurtured to the rhythm of their growth.
WHORE: On Sunday, did you see that series with the blonde and the guy with the scar. Her old man will kill her if he figures it out.
CLEANING LADY I: Basia doesn’t watch TV series, you can forget about talking to her.
WHORE: But she’s got some hip clothing, how does she know how to dress?
WOMAN: The fashion cremators meet at night, at dawn they put out a bulletin, crowds of cheering women trample one another, and those who get there first thing tomorrow will squabble over the new bulletin…
WHORE: Oh, shut up already. You’re fucking long lost, the court’s out on you. You won’t dig your way out of this shit. But what am I doing here with you? Why should I care?
CLEANING LADY I: Or I. Unless I’m cleaning her place and I have to listen to why they can’t sleep at night.
WOMAN: What about me, I have to hear your tales of woe.
CLEANING LADY I: So that you can write them all down – don’t think I don’t read them. You don’t get nothing out of listening.
WOMAN: And you don’t get nothing for cleaning…
WHORE: Well, speaking of the Devil, I have to be going. My time is money. Other girls will be taking my customers. Let’s tell them what happened at the interrogation (points to WOMAN). She’s gotten the most out of the boys.
CLEANING LADY I: She was already skulking around the garbage area when I got there.
WHORE: She’s written her own sentence, she has no future. She’s never really lived. She just sells what she cooks up in her head.
CLEANING LADY I: Not always, she used to be a brass-tacks kind of woman, a good housekeeper. She used to throw parties, but now her books have lost their demand, and there’s no sense in her life.
WHORE: Nothing to get upset about. What’s she given you?
CLEANING LADY I: Old rags. She’s never complimented my work. Even though the building supervisor says the windows I scrub shine the brightest in the whole building.
WHORE: She’s pretending not to hear it, so she doesn’t have to give you a raise.
CLEANING LADY I: A workman’s job is the thing. If I’d stayed on guard at the factory and hadn’t taken this wretched cleaning job, I’d be retired by now, and instead I’ve got these freaky artists. When the Russkis had that big explosion they didn’t eat any greens or drink any milk for a couple of months. But my old man and I kept on eating and drinking and nothing happened to us. Your line of work is more general. You meet all kinds of people.
WHORE: I can be whatever I want to be.
CLEANING LADY I: Wonder if they’ll keep taking you when your beauty goes. You’re already sniffing round the garbage bins. Basia says: the biggest success is having one man all your life.
WHORE: What else is she going to say, when she’s so sad and thin. No client of mine would manhandle her, not even for free.
CLEANING LADY I: Well, yes and no. Let me tell you how it is. Hard to say why she moved out. He didn’t scream, he’s too well brought up. He took me flowers on Woman’s Day. He let her write.
WHORE: I used to serve important people myself, government workers maybe, in black cars.
CLEANING LADY I: She wrote about me. My eyes are bad, read this. (Hands WHORE a crumpled piece of paper)
WHORE: The cleaning lady slogs around my house, sticks her head out from under the wardrobe to talk about her drunken sons, opens the windows wide so that I remember the children in the orphanages, washes them one by one, gathers my garbage, I know that – her son rises (WOMAN corrects her:) raises. An ax.
CLEANING LADY I cries.
WHORE: You don’t like it, no doubt you’d prefer it was about how marvelously you polish the floors. People, I don’t get it; the shoes don’t match, but they can’t live without each other.
OFFICER’S telephone rings
OFFICER: Hello?… So soon?… The guy must really love her. (Hangs up, to GUARD) The writer’s going home, her husband’s paid bail.
On the monitor. GUARD enters the cell.
GUARD: Ms Barbara, come on out, your husband’s paid up.
WOMAN exits with GUARD. CLEANING LADY I calls after them:
CLEANING LADY I: Basia, I’ll be there on Friday, we’ve got windows to wash, don’t chuck out the bread. (To WHORE) They’ll let us out too, soon enough. Basia will pay our bail, she’s a decent person.
WHORE curls up on her bunk.
WHORE: I don’t give a damn for her mercy, I’m doing my own thing. You clean their filth, just keep slogging around. They’ll call me for an interrogation – that’s the last you’ll see of me. I’m a free woman.
CLEANING LADY I: I wouldn’t give her up for just anyone. She wouldn’t leave me. I’ve still got lots of things to tell her, she’ll get me out of here. We’ll get published yet.
WHORE: She’s going to write about your cleaning? You’ve lost your mind.
GUARD: I don’t understand a thing.
OFFICER: Who can understand women. Maybe it’s some cult woman’s association, it’s revenge on men, such things do happen. Unless it’s just a coincidence.
GUARD: I wouldn’t trust them. There’s money at stake here. The one who left, her husband already paid bail.
OFFICER: They can’t be together, they’re too different. It’s the detective’s biggest riddle: they want to get revenge on men, and yet they fight each other tooth and nail. They’re no threat to us.
GUARD: By morning they’ll be broken, then you can question them.
OFFICER: Everyone’s defenseless when the night’s over. Perfumes lose their power before dawn.
They cut the lights and exit.
ACT III
SON 1’s room a few years later. Bare shelves. Bare walls. SON 1 enters in a black suit. He switches on the computer. He checks the sound through headphones. The image is on two monitors.
Three people dressed in black enter the same living room from Act 1 – the two SONS and WOMAN. Two climbers are washing the front of the building outside.
SON 1: So many people, practically all of them young. There always have been lots of them at those lectures.
MOTHER: He was more with them than with us.
SON 1 takes some whiskey from the cupboard, fills a glass, sits in front of the television.
SON 1: Like every arachnid wife, she gracefully feeds the prisoner from her own hand.
SON 2: On the contrary: in spiders it’s the male that binds the female, to come near it safely.
SON 1 flips the TV channels. We can hear familiar voices from the series in Act I. SON 2 helps his mother off with her fur. MOTHER comes alive to the words of ACTRESS on the TV:
ACTRESS: …it’s already too dark to recognize me, I could be anything…
SON 2 (to his brother): You can’t tear yourself from it, not even today?
Simultaneously
MOTHER Now. I’ll do what I always wanted to do.
SON 1: That’s my job – watching the competition burn itself out. It’s so fucking dreary.
MOTHER runs to the wardrobe in the corridor. She tosses out some blouses and skirts.
MOTHER: Your father couldn’t stand collarless blouses, but I like it plain around the neck, or with a bit of a plunging neckline.
MOTHER grabs the tailor’s scissors and cuts off the collar to the music of a video.
SINGER: You’re such a quick and sturdy man
I’d follow you wherever you go
You seem to adore me like no-one before
And I just can’t take it slow
But now you’re leaving and I’ll miss you so
It’s sad that you’re there and I’m all alone
SON 2 stands helplessly in the room. MOTHER stuffs ruined clothing in the wardrobe. She takes a deep breath of relief and moves to the table by the TV. She tosses cassette tapes from a drawer.
MOTHER: He forced me to learn three languages at once so that I’d be occupied, to take up my time that I’d put aside for writing after doing the household chores (Cuts up the tapes).
SON 1 takes a notebook from his pocket and jots something down.
SON 1: He took you on his trips round the world. You didn’t want to understand what was being said? You, a writer?
MOTHER: He was so possessive. He wanted me all to himself. He made sure I never slipped off anywhere. (She is hacking at the tapes, tearing them off their spools, cutting them up) Words, words, words. His mother also knew languages and she talked to herself. Thoughtless words don’t go to heaven.
SON 1: Why did you go back to him then? For want of courage? I would have forgiven you. It’s only the madwomen that people read.
MOTHER gives no response, sits helplessly on the floor. SON 2 sweeps the scraps of clothing and tape into a single pile. A music video is on TV:
SINGER: You’re trying to talk me into madness, to keep my head down and follow you, I fly on a lady’s parasol,
about happiness I know a thing or two
you see everything,
you catch it in mid-flight
but under a lady’s parasol
I don’t even feel the rain’s caress
SON 1 turns off the volume.
MOTHER raises her hand with the scissors toward her hair. SON 2 tries to snatch away the scissors.
SON 1: Don’t tell me that the bun was his idea.
MOTHER: I don’t even know what’s his and what’s mine (sobs). I don’t know who I am and who I was. From here on in I’m myself.
SON 1 (pointing at a framed photograph): Rome, 1989. Look, Exhibit A. Look at the warmth in his eyes as he stares at you. Try to remember.
SYN 2: You look happy. Have you forgotten?
MOTHER (still holding the scissors)
I forgot… what I was thinking back then. I don’t know… what to say about someone who met other people, woke up in another bed, heard another voice from above. Who am I? I don’t know.
SON 1 (to MOTHER): You’re jealous of his fame. Now it’s your turn to get it. (Lifts a book from the coffee table) The “Prison Odyssey” of a poetess and a prostitute. He would not have been able to bear it. You went for broke behind his back.
MOTHER: He guided me through the comportment of my poses, I danced and danced to his words. I am neither for nor against, I rebounded, I recreated, once I was there, you saw those crowds by the grave. But I was… a bird in painted feathers, taken from him. I entertained the guests, they visited us to look at me, they couldn’t afford a parrot like that.
SON 1: Total hysteria.
SON 2: I always thought… I envied your peace of mind.
SON 1: Why didn’t you find yourself a sentimental pig? We would have forgiven you. You wrote well. Maybe you could write even better in new surroundings. Why did you stay here? Too scared to go?
SON 2: A dog sticks to one owner, too. There were others, they drifted close by you, then they left. You couldn’t have dallied them all; a choice is made once, then it’s like a name’s been given, and one so fair.
SON 1: What are you talking about? They wanted to sleep with her, that’s all. None of them would have wanted to settle down.
MOTHER: A dog is also too scared to leave and needs to be pet. Only one owner pets him…
SON 1: So what are you on about?… Do you remember? I had a method. When I wanted to earn a few coins I’d recite you fragments of your poems. There’s a system for every woman if you want to mess around.
MOTHER: You were so young then.
SON 1: “Perfumes lose their power before dawn” – that was yours, it was a good line. I really liked it.
MOTHER smiles. She gets up, smooths her dress, fixes her collar. SON 2 goes to the telephone and picks up the receiver.
SON 1: You preferred to wallow in the blandness you knew instead of risking a flight into the unknown. Admit it, at least here, before us: you’re scared. We know it already, we’re adults. I can say outright that I’m afraid. (To his brother) And you’re all alone with your fear. We’re all cowards. (To MOTHER) You unloaded your guilt on Dad – indecisively. You chose not to be.
SON 2: I’m calling the cleaning lady. She knows this home better than we do.
(SON 1 approaches a valuable picture on the wall)
SON 1: It would match our bedroom. (Approaches another picture) You always liked this one.
SON 2: Mama’s still alive…
MOTHER: You should inherit it from your father. Call the lawyer, he’s got the will.
SON 1: Your delicate son prefers to take out a loan than to share things honestly with me.
SON 2: And are you really missing anything? I’ll call the cleaning lady.
MOTHER: She was there at the funeral. (Checks her watch) She’s on her way, she promised. Probably thinks there’s going to be a wake. With important people.
SON 1: The cleaning lady? On a day like this? Are we going to bare ourselves before strangers?
MOTHER: She’s like family.
SON 1: The family is sacred, that is, until you admit a stranger in army boots.
MOTHER: First her grandmother used to come. And now she’s cleaning here. So many years with us.
SON 1: It’s revolting. My wife and I don’t let spies into the house. We clean up after ourselves. At first we had one who snooped and eavesdropped. She always brought along gossip from the homes she cleaned. We got all the dirt on strangers. We had precise reports on who was crawling out of whose bed, at what time in the morning, how many bottles they drank and whether the husband beat the wife. We also knew the contents of other people’s wardrobes, their bank accounts, even their fridges. That got my imagination going. I was making a horror film. I borrowed a fake severed hand – it dripped blood like a real one. I put it in the fridge and made a bet with my wife that, as usual, the cleaning lady would check what we were eating. Anka wouldn’t believe it, she was seduced by the woman’s compliments: “Oh Anka, you look so beautiful after that face operation. It’s just that your children don’t look like they’re yours anymore. They’ll have to have the same operations done.” We waited in our room. Not two minutes passed before we heard a screech from the kitchen. We had to take her to the hospital; that’s how shocked she was. She never came back.
MOTHER: That’s cruel. Your father was a sadist too… in kid gloves.
SON 1: You were afraid of becoming too reliant on your husband, but you defend the cleaning lady. (To his brother) I’ve still got the hand at home. We could try it out here. Want to make a bet?
SON 2: I believe you. You burned out the help and now you’re proud to have your wife scrub the house.
SON 1: I buy her the best equipment – it practically cleans by itself.
SON 2: You buy her off. When’s her next plastic surgery, to keep her looking better than her friends, or at least just as good?
SON 1: I have to watch my image. Your cello is sad and made of wood. You don’t care about mass media.
SON 2: The feeling’s mutual.
A key rattles in the lock. Enter the young CLEANING LADY 3 in a fake fur and shiny boots. She’s carrying a bundle of branches wrapped in a plastic bag. She looks around the room in surprise. The climbers scale down from the balcony on their lines.
CLEANING LADY 3: The guests are all gone?
SON 1: There was no one here. Have we disappointed you?
SON 2: Stop it.
MOTHER: Angelika is now cleaning for that famous singer.
SON 2: That’s a step up in society. (to CLEANING LADY) You won’t be dumping our mom now?
SON 1: And what’s new with out favorite artist?
CLEANING LADY 3: The things that go on there! But she’s a real artist. They eat in bed, a big gold one that takes up the whole room. It’s mainly that bed I have to clean. Soon we’re moving to the television station. We’ll be doing a live show for half a year. Just like what you’re watching now, except it’s really happening. I guess I’ll be sending my friend to sub here, because I’ll be there twenty-four hours a day, and her friends will be moving in too… I better get down to work. (Goes to the pile of clippings) Should I sweep this up?
SON 1: No, we’re going to bury it with Dad.
CLEANING LADY 3: I understand – it’s a sad day, but there’s still cleaning to do. Life goes on. (Climbs the ladder, washes a window). They announced on TV yesterday; they’re paying compensation to forced laborers in World War II. Grandma promised to share. But I’ll be earning ten times more money in that reality show. I can put some away for the poor.
SON 2 (to his brother, paying no attention to CLEANING LADY)
Did you see when that Down syndrome girl in her Sunday best sat next to me in church? Whose child was that? You could hear a voice in the choir was off. She bowed when we knelt, she giggled when we clasped our hands in prayer. She tore at the pages of the prayer book, yelling some garbled sounds… I dreaded the moment when we’d greet our neighbors. Her hands were covered in wounds – she had some kind of skin disease. When she took out her hands I grabbed them both and I thought I heard her scratchy voice say: Search for peace inside of you.
CLEANING LADY 3: Our priest doesn’t even know himself how much money to take for a funeral. And isn’t it his duty to serve us for free? Church is just big business. I’m not surprised that people are joining cults. Although apparently they’re money-grubbers as well.
MOTHER puts down the scissors.
MOTHER: You know that Angelika is the granddaughter of Helena, who began cleaning our house even back before you were born.
SON 1 abruptly gets up, changes the channel and turns up the volume on the TV. A black-and-white film on the screen.
CLEANING LADY 3: Don’t trouble yourself, keep on watching. But the best series is on channel fifteen right now, not old stuff like what you’ve got on. There’s only two episodes left till the end. You can see it all there, even… well, you know, but only after midnight.
MOTHER: He doesn’t watch for pleasure. It’s his job. Watching what others are doing.
(a black-and-white version of “Pygmalion” is on TV)
LIZA: You need me to bring your slippers.
HIGGINS: The division of labor.
LIZA: The difference between a lady and a maid is in how she is treated. A gentlemen treats a maid like a princess.
HIGGINS: I treat a princess like a maid.
LIZA: It’s all the same.
HIGGINS: To hell with your complexes.
(SON 1 turns off the volume)
SON 1: Does the series have a happy or a sad ending?
CLEANING LADY 3: Happy, happy. Your work is the only one that always ends with corpses.
SON 1: And you want a love story?
CLEANING LADY 3 (Winks) Love? Those ones come on at night. I have to force my Sebastian to switch them off. He wants to see some girlies at night. He gets all hurt and then he won’t speak to me till morning. I had to swear that I’d only clean on television, till things shine.
SON 1: As far as I can hear, all you talk about is male-female problems. And you want to measure up to us – the crusaders of the golden fleece? And you can’t control your orga(ni)sms. That’s a quote from your poem. (Sticks out a hand to his mother) Once that would have got me 5 złoty.
CLEANING LADY 3: No offense, but last week I saw your film. So there was a man and a lady, but the story didn’t add up. Me and my fella couldn’t keep track of it all. That’s not what life’s like. If you make something life-like, then we’ll have a peek. (Turns to MOTHER) Well, am I right Basia, or not? … That last book of yours sells best because it’s about my grandma’s life.
SON 2: You read it?
CLEANING LADY 3: I didn’t have to, I know what my grandma lived through.
SON 1: But that novel’s fiction. There’s two lines about your grandma, that through her the poet and the whore met in the cell. That’s all thanks to your grandma.
CLEANING LADY: I know what’s what. You’re twisting it all around. I could live off the royalties. And now I’ve got to slave away on TV like an ape. But it was a beautiful funeral. You could see the old man was quite a figure, so many expensive flowers. I know every corner here. If there’s not going to be a party, maybe you should go to a restaurant, or go for a coffee? I’ll clean up everything here.
SON 1: We’re going for lunch. My treat. Angelika, don’t turn off the TV. I’ve set the recorder. I need this film, it’s a classic. My Fair Lady, or you might say: My Cleaning Lady.
They leave. MOTHER goes back to the door and gives the cleaning lady a 100 zł bill
CLEANING LADY 3 (goes out to the balcony): Oh, they’re coming. I see them. Such little people. (Screams) Basia! Don’t hurry up. This’ll take me a few hours yet.
She steps down from the ladder, approaches the telephone, and remembers something. She takes the bunch of sticks from her bag and places them in a vase.
Give them a while, they’ll bloom.
Returns to the telephone.
The lawyer’s busy, I’ll call later. (Dials another number) Jolka? Are you alone? Is the family there? How much time do you need to finish your cleaning? …The funeral was in the morning. There’s no wake.
It’s always been churchy around here. … Dull.
Without the guy around there’s nothing happening… The son’s a musician, always getting stressed out. The other son makes movies, but, you know, not the kind you’d want to watch. He wrote down everything people said today. I threw something in. I bet it’ll be in the next film he makes. It runs in the family. Then they don’t give me a cut of the sales. So now you tell me what’s going on over there. … What? He’s taken a mistress? … You’ve got to pass it on to the husband, or slip him an anonymous note. How about that… That old bird, in her forties. Basia never took a lover. … Because I know. She split two times, but not to another guy, she just split, to make a point. … Once she and Grandma Helena ended up in prison, and once she ran off with a theater troupe. … Grandma told me… but she came back. Later he even published her poems, but they didn’t sell. You’ve got to really live if you’re going to write. It was a big waste of money. … That definitely got to her. … What? what do you mean? And didn’t you tear your hair out when your Roberto didn’t write back to you once. Think about her, with all those unsold books of poetry, nobody reads them apart from her. … She was born with too many feelings. She sits alone on piles of old unanswered letters. Get it, dummy? … I can rhyme too, but I keep things cheery. … Good, keep cleaning. … No, you call, there’s nothing going on here anymore. Hey, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, only if I win the trial… but… you know… her last book, Odyssey, it’s taken right from my grandma… you know, my grandma told her everything, and now she’s making money off it, it’s a bestseller abroad as well… I’ve got a lawyer, she’s going to have to split the profits. That’s the last she’ll see of me with a rag. Where’d I get the cash for a lawyer? The TV station paid me a bit in advance. They’re afraid I’ll just take off, then they’d have a reality problem like the world has never seen. The director says I’ve got potential. I had to promise Sebastian that I’ll only clean fully dressed, but when he sees the money, he’ll clam up. Turn on Channel One. My star has a talk show. Maybe she’ll say something about me. (Hangs up and changes the channel)
TV PRESENTER: The papers say you’ve been racking up the debts.
STAR: Maybe we could talk about rabbits instead.
PRESENTER: Two days ago there was a photo in the papers of your mother-in-law beaten by your father. His neighbors saw the police packing him into a patrol car.
STAR: You filth!!!! I hope you choke on your news… (runs out of the studio)
CLEANING LADY 3
Filth!!!! (to the climbers, who are back on the balcony) That channel’s her competitor, they want to destroy her before she goes on the program with me. Don’t tell anyone, but she’s one of those women who prefers women, but for the reality show they loaned her a man – he’s pretending to be her fiancé. Her wife was furious at first, but they gave her the role of the best friend to ease the pain, and so she’s over it. It’s just me, the cleaner, who’s real. Now I have to ask you to leave. Not a word!
(She ushers off the climbers and pulls the curtains. She poses for the mirror, like for the camera, making indecent gestures with the mop, sits in the armchair before the TV, makes a phone call)
Hello, Mr. lawyer sir, Angelika here… What? Sorry? Why is everyone asking me today if I’ve read it? It’s enough that my grandma told me precisely… Of course, it’s word for word. What do you mean, who was my grandma? She cleaned the houses of important people. What?
Never… she was decent, honest… How could the book not be about my grandma? Hang on…
(She goes to SON’s room, sees the dining room on the monitor. Hangs up)
Hell of a day. Sebastian told me it’s bad luck to clean up after a funeral.
(runs into the foyer, picks up her fur, puts on her boots, picks up a scrap of something from the floor, and runs out, slamming the door behind her. She returns. Fixes her hair, poses for the “camera”)
Well, you got what you wanted. You should be happy, now it’s as plain as day, I’m rotten to the core. And what good does that do you? You hid yourself well. You’ve got the camera, and I should feel ashamed. (Cries) You are so strong and you know everything. I didn’t like your films and now you’re getting your revenge. I wonder if you spy on your own family as well? Everyone wants to look good for others… I’m begging you, give me the film… I’ll visit your mom and clean up for free.
(she drops to her knees, the image on the TV vanishes, the lights go off, we hear canned applause, the end credits roll)
FINIS
