HUSBAND: Taste good?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: [Eats on.] Oh!
HUSBAND: Want another?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No, I've eaten too much already.
HUSBAND: You haven't any wine left. [Fills her glass.]
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No . . . please . . . I'll just let it stand.
HUSBAND: Come, sit by me.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Just a minute . . . not finished yet. [HUSBAND stands up, goes behind her chair and puts his arms around her, turning her head up to him.] Well, what is it?
HUSBAND: I'd like a kiss.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: [Gives him a kiss.] You're pretty fresh.
HUSBAND: Has that just occurred to you?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, no, I discovered that before . . . on the street. You must have a fine opinion of me.
HUSBAND: Why?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: For going to a private room with you right away.
HUSBAND: Well, hardly right away.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: But you do have such a winning way.
HUSBAND: Think so, really?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: And after all, what's the harm?
HUSBAND: What indeed.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: What difference is it whether one goes for a walk or--
HUSBAND: It's too cold to walk, anyway.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, much too cold.
HUSBAND: But it's nice and warm here, isn't it? [Sits on the sofa again, pulling the SWEET YOUNG GIRL down next to him.]
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: [Weakening.] Yes . . .
HUSBAND: Tell me . . . you've noticed me before, haven't you?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Of course. I noticed you on Singer Street.
HUSBAND: I don't mean only today. I mean the day before, and the day before that, when I was following you.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Lots of men follow me.
HUSBAND: I don't doubt it. But did you notice me?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Do you know what happened to me just the other day? My own cousin's husband tried to follow me in the dark and didn't recognize me.
HUSBAND: Did he speak to you?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Speak to me? D'you think everybody's as fresh as you are?
HUSBAND: Well, it does happen, you know.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Certainly it happens.
HUSBAND: Well what do you do then?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Nothing at all. I just don't answer.
HUSBAND: Hmmm . . . but you answered me.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Are you mad at me?
HUSBAND: [Kissing her impulsively.] Your lips taste of whipped cream.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, they're naturally sweet.
HUSBAND: I suppose a great many have told you that?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: A great many! What crazy ideas you have!
HUSBAND: Be honest for once. How many have kissed this mouth of yours?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Why do you want to know? You wouldn't believe it if I told you!
HUSBAND: Why not?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Try and guess.
HUSBAND: Well . . . let's say . . . but you won't be angry?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Why should I be angry?
HUSBAND: Alright then, I guess . . . twenty.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: [Freeing herself from him.] Why not start at a hundred?
HUSBAND: Well, I only guessed.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: But you didn't guess right.
HUSBAND: Alright, then, ten.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: [Offended.] Of course. When a girl lets herself get talked to on the street and goes right to a private room with a man . . .
HUSBAND: Don't be so childish. Whether one walks along the street or sits in a room . . . After all, we're in a restaurant. Any moment the waiter might come in--there's really nothing wrong in it . . .
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: That's what I just figured out myself.
HUSBAND: Were you ever in a private room before?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Well, if I must speak the truth; yes.
HUSBAND: Now, I like it when you're straightforward like that.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: But not the way--the way you think. I was in a private room with a girl friend and her fiancé last Easter, once.
HUSBAND: It wouldn't have been a catastrophe if you'd gone once with--your sweetheart.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Of course it wouldn't have been a catastrophe. But I have no sweetheart.
HUSBAND: Oh, go on!
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Honest to God I haven't.
HUSBAND: But you're not trying to make me believe that I'm . . .
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: That you what? . . . I haven't had one for over six months.
HUSBAND: Oh, I see . . . But before that? Who was it then?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Why are you so curious?
HUSBAND: I'm curious because I love you.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Do you mean that?
HUSBAND: Of course I do. You must see that. So come, tell me. [Presses her closely to him.]
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Well, what do you want me to tell you?
HUSBAND: Oh, don't make me go on coaxing you. I want to know who it was.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: [Laughing.] Well, a man.
HUSBAND: But who--who?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: He looked a little like you.
HUSBAND: Did he now?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: If you hadn't looked so much like him . . .
HUSBAND: What would have happened?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Now why ask, when you see that . . .
HUSBAND: [Understanding.] Oh, so that's why you let me speak to you.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes, if you insist.
HUSBAND: Now I really don't know whether to be glad or annoyed.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: I'd be glad if I were in your place.
HUSBAND: I suppose so.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Even the way you talk reminds me so of him . . . and the way you look at one . . .
HUSBAND: What was he?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Even the eyes--
HUSBAND: What was his name?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Don't look at me that way, please. [HUSBAND embraces her. Long, passionate kiss. SWEET YOUNG GIRL tries to pull herself free and stand up.]
HUSBAND: Why do you go away from me?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: It's time to go home.
HUSBAND: Later.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No, really I must go home now. What do you suppose mother would say?
HUSBAND: You live with your mother?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Of course I live with my mother. What did you think?
HUSBAND: I see. Do you live alone with her?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: "Alone" is good! There're five of us! Two boys and two more girls.
HUSBAND: Don't sit so far away from me. Are you the oldest?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No, I'm the second. The oldest is Kathi, she's in business, in a flower-shop. Then I come.
HUSBAND: And what do you do?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Me? I stay home.
HUSBAND: All the time?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Well, someone's got to stay home.
HUSBAND: Yes, of course--but what do you say to your mother when you--come home very late?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: That happens very seldom.
HUSBAND: Well, today, for instance. Your mother'll ask you, won't she?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Certainly she'll ask me. No matter how careful I am, they all wake up when I come in.
HUSBAND: Well, what will you say to her?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: I'll say I've been to the theatre.
HUSBAND: Will she believe that?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Why shouldn't she? I go to the theatre lots. Why, just last Sunday I was at the opera with my girlfriend and her fiancé and my older brother.
HUSBAND: Where do you get the tickets?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, my brother's a hairdresser!
HUSBAND: Ah, hairdressers . . . probably theatrical hairdresser.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Why are you so curious?
HUSBAND: It interests me. And what is your other brother?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: He's still in school. He wants to be a teacher. Did you ever!
HUSBAND: And then you have a little sister besides?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes, she's still a kid, but you've got to keep an eye on her already. You have know idea how bad girls get in school nowadays! Would you believe it, I caught her having a rendezvous the other day.
HUSBAND: Really?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes. She went walking with a boy from the school at half past seven, in Strozzi Lane. The little brat!
HUSBAND: What did you do?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: I gave her a spanking, alright!
HUSBAND: You're strict, aren't you?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Who else is there to be? The oldest girl is in business and all mother does is nag. Everything always falls on me.
HUSBAND: God, but you're sweet! [Kisses her, grows tender again.] You remind me of somebody too.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Really? Who?
HUSBAND: Not anyone special . . . just the . . . oh, well, when I was young. Come, my child, drink!
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: How old are you, anyway? . . . You . . . oh, dear . . . I don't even know what your name is.
HUSBAND: Karl.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Is it really? You're really called Karl?
HUSBAND: Was his name Karl, too?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No, that's absolutely a miracle . . . that's . . . and the eyes . . . the expression . . . [Shakes her head.]
HUSBAND: But you haven't yet told me who he was.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: He was a rotter, that's what he was--or else he wouldn't have left me in the lurch.
HUSBAND: Did you love him very much?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Certainly I did.
HUSBAND: I know what he was, a lieutenant.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No, he wasn't in the army. They didn't take him. His father has a house in . . . but why should you know that?
HUSBAND: [Kissing her.] You've got grey eyes . . . at first I thought they were black.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Well, aren't they pretty enough for you? [HUSBAND kisses her eyes.] No, no . . . that's more than I can stand . . . please . . . Oh, Lord . . . no, please, let me get up . . . just for a minute . . . please.
HUSBAND: [More and more caressing.] Oh, no.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Please, Karl . . .
HUSBAND: How old are you? Eighteen?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Past nineteen.
HUSBAND: Nineteen . . . and I--
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: You're thirty . . .
HUSBAND: And then some . . . Don't let's talk about it.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: He was thirty-two, too, when I met him.
HUSBAND: How long ago was that.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: I don't remember anymore . . . Say, there must have been something in my wine.
HUSBAND: Why?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: I'm all . . . everything swims around . . .
HUSBAND: Just hold on to me tight. That's right . . . [He presses her to him, becomes more and more affectionate. She hardly resists him.] Listen, my sweet, we might just as well go now.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes . . . home.
HUSBAND: No, not exactly home . . .
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: What do you mean? . . . Oh, no; oh, no . . . I won't go anywhere, how can you suggest--
HUSBAND: Well then, my dear, listen--next time we meet we'll arrange it so that . . . [He has slipped to the floor, and laid his head in her lap.] That's lovely, oh, that's lovely . . .
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: What are you doing? [Kisses his hair.] Listen, there must have been something in that wine . . . so sleepy . . . what'd happen if I couldn't get up again? But, Karl, listen . . . Karl, really . . . if someone should come in . . . please, Karl . . . the waiter . . .
HUSBAND: Not a chance . . . no waiter will come in here . . . not if I know it . . .
* * *
[SWEET YOUNG GIRL leans against the corner of the sofa with closed eyes. HUSBAND paces to and fro in the small room, then lights a cigarette. Prolonged silence.]
HUSBAND: [Contemplating the SWEET YOUNG GIRL for a long time, to himself.] Who knows who this girl really is, anyway? . . . Damn it all . . . So quick . . . not very wise of me . . . Hmmm . . .
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: [Without opening her eyes.] There must have been something in the wine.
HUSBAND: But why?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Otherwise . . .
HUSBAND: Why do you blame everything on the wine? . . .
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Where are you? Why are you so far away? Come to me. [HUSBAND goes and sits next to her.] Now tell me, do you really like me?
HUSBAND: You know I do . . . [Stops short.] Of course I do.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: But, honest . . . it's so . . . Come on, tell me the truth, what was in the wine?
HUSBAND: What do you think I am, a poisoner?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: But, look, I don't understand. I'm really not so . . . After all, we've only known each other for . . . Honest, I'm not like this . . . Honest to God--if you thought that of me . . .
HUSBAND: What are you worrying about? I don't think anything bad about you. I just think that you're fond of me.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes . . .
HUSBAND: After all, when two young people are alone in a room together eating supper and drinking wine . . . there doesn't have to be anything in the wine.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, I didn't really mean that.
HUSBAND: Then what did you say it for?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: [Rather defiantly.] I was ashamed of myself.
HUSBAND: That's absurd. There's absolutely no reason for that. Especially since I remind you of your first love.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes.
HUSBAND: Of the first.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes, that's right.
HUSBAND: Now I'd like very much to know who the others were.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: There weren't any.
HUSBAND: That's not true; that can't be true.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Please stop nagging at me.--
HUSBAND: Want a cigarette?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No, thanks.
HUSBAND: Do you know how late it is?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No, what?
HUSBAND: Half past eleven.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Really?
HUSBAND: Well--but--how about your mother? She's used to it, is she?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Do you really want to send me home already?
HUSBAND: But a while ago you yourself--
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: You've changed, haven't you? What did I do to you?
HUSBAND: Don't be silly, child, nothing of the kind.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Honest to God, it was only your expression that did it, otherwise I'd have been . . . long ago . . . lots of men have begged me to go to a private room with them.
HUSBAND: Well, how about . . . coming here soon again . . . or maybe somewhere else--
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Don't know.
HUSBAND: What do you mean, you don't know?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Well, you didn't have to ask, did you?
HUSBAND: Alright then, when? I'd like to explain to you first of all that I don't live in Vienna. I only come here for a few days at a time, now and then.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, go on, aren't you Viennese?
HUSBAND: Certainly I'm Viennese. But I live out of town now.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Where?
HUSBAND: Oh, what difference does it make.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Don't be afraid, I won't go there.
HUSBAND: Oh, well, you could come if it would amuse you. I live in Graz.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: You're married aren't you?
HUSBAND: [Highly startled.] What makes you think that?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, I just felt you were.
HUSBAND: Wouldn't it upset you if I were?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, I'd rather have you single, of course. But you are married?
HUSBAND: I'd like to know what makes you think so?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: When a man says he doesn't live in Vienna, and hasn't much time--
HUSBAND: Well, that's not so improbable.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: I don't believe it.
HUSBAND: And your conscience wouldn't bother you at having led astray a married man?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, go on, your wife's probably doing the same thing.
HUSBAND: [Very indignant.] Now look here, I won't allow remarks like that!
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: I thought you didn't have a wife.
HUSBAND: Whether I have or not is no excuse for saying things like that. [Stands up.]
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, now, Karl, what's the matter? Mad at me? Honest, I really didn't know you were married. I was just talking. Come on, please, be nice to me again.
HUSBAND: [Goes to her after a few moments.] You certainly are amazing creatures, you . . . women. [HUSBAND grows tender again.]
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: No . . . don't . . . it's too late, anyway.
HUSBAND: Then listen to me, will you? Let's talk seriously. I'd like to see you again, often.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Would you, honest?
HUSBAND: But in that case there must . . . well, I've got to be able to depend on you. I can't be watching you all the time.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Oh, I can take care of myself.
HUSBAND: You see, you're . . . well, not exactly inexperienced . . . but young--and--on the whole, men are an unscrupulous race.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: You don't say!
HUSBAND: I don't mean that only in a moral sense--Well, you understand me, surely--
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Look here, what do you think I am, anyway?
HUSBAND: Well, then--if you really want to be my sweetheart--mine alone--something can be arranged--even if I do live in Graz most of the time. After all, a place where people can walk in at any moment isn't the thing for us. [SWEET YOUNG GIRL cuddles up to him.] Next time . . . we'll be together somewhere else, won't we?
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes.
HUSBAND: Where we can be entirely undisturbed.
SWEET YOUNG GIRL: Yes.
HUSBAND: [Embracing her passionately.] We'll talk over the details on the way home. [Stands up, opens the door.] Waiter . . . the check!
