Waiting for Godot

Waiting for Godot

Samuel Beckett

A country road. A tree.
Evening.

 Nothing to be done.

True. (He buttons his fly.) Never neglect the little things of life.

Sometimes I feel it coming all the same. Then I go all queer. (He takes off his hat, peers inside it, feels about inside it, shakes it, puts it on again.) How shall I say? Relieved and at the same time . . . (he searches for the word) . . . appalled. (With emphasis.) AP-PALLED. (He takes off his hat again, peers inside it.) Funny. (He knocks on the crown as though to dislodge a foreign body, peers into it again, puts it on again.) Nothing to be done. (Estragon with a supreme effort succeeds in pulling off his boot. He peers inside it, feels about inside it, turns it upside down, shakes it, looks on the ground to see if anything has fallen out, finds nothing, feels inside it again, staring sightlessly before him.) Well?

There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet.

VLADIMIR:

Let's wait and see what he says.

ESTRAGON:

Who?

VLADIMIR:

Godot.

ESTRAGON:

Good idea.

VLADIMIR:

Let's wait till we know exactly how we stand.

ESTRAGON:

On the other hand it might be better to strike the iron before it freezes.

VLADIMIR:

I'm curious to hear what he has to offer. Then we'll take it or leave it.

ESTRAGON:

What exactly did we ask him for?

VLADIMIR:

Were you not there?

ESTRAGON:

I can't have been listening.

VLADIMIR:

Oh . . . Nothing very definite.

ESTRAGON:

A kind of prayer.

VLADIMIR:

Precisely.

ESTRAGON:

A vague supplication.

VLADIMIR:

Exactly.

ESTRAGON:

And what did he reply?

VLADIMIR:

That he'd see.

ESTRAGON:

That he couldn't promise anything.

VLADIMIR:

That he'd have to think it over.

ESTRAGON:

In the quiet of his home.

VLADIMIR:

Consult his family.

ESTRAGON:

His friends.

VLADIMIR:

His agents.

ESTRAGON:

His correspondents.

VLADIMIR:

His books.

ESTRAGON:

His bank account.

VLADIMIR:

Before taking a decision.

ESTRAGON:

It's the normal thing.

VLADIMIR:

Is it not?

ESTRAGON:

I think it is.

VLADIMIR:

I think so too.

Silence.

VLADIMIR:

At last! (Estragon gets up and goes towards Vladimir, a boot in each hand. He puts them down at edge of stage, straightens and contemplates the moon.) #

What are you doing?

ESTRAGON:

Pale for weariness.

VLADIMIR:

Eh?

ESTRAGON:

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the likes of us.

Next day. Same time.


Same place.

A dog came in the kitchen
And stole a crust of bread.
Then cook up with a ladle
And beat him till he was dead.

Then all the dogs came running
And dug the dog a tomb–

He stops, broods, resumes:

Then all the dogs came running
And dug the dog a tomb
And wrote upon the tombstone
For the eyes of dogs to come:

A dog came in the kitchen
And stole a crust of bread.
Then cook up with a ladle
And beat him till he was dead.

Then all the dogs came running
And dug the dog a tomb–

He stops, broods, resumes:

Then all the dogs came running
And dug the dog a tomb–

He stops, broods. Softly.

And dug the dog a tomb . . .

VLADIMIR:

All I know is that the hours are long, under these conditions, and constrain us to beguile them with proceedings which –how shall I say– which may at first sight seem reasonable, until they become a habit. You may say it is to prevent our reason from foundering. No doubt. But has it not long been straying in the night without end of the abyssal depths? That's what I sometimes wonder. You follow my reasoning?

ESTRAGON:

(aphoristic for once). We are all born mad. Some remain so.

VLADIMIR:

Let us not waste our time in idle discourse! (Pause. Vehemently.) Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for once the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us! What do you say? (Estragon says nothing.) It is true that when with folded arms we weigh the pros and cons we are no less a credit to our species. The tiger bounds to the help of his congeners without the least reflection, or else he slinks away into the depths of the thickets. But that is not the question. What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come—

When! When! One day, is that not enough for you, one day he went dumb, one day I went blind, one day we'll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second, is that not enough for you? (Calmer.) They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more. (He jerks the rope.) On!

ESTRAGON:

Well, shall we go?

VLADIMIR:

Yes, let's go.

They do not move.