Dalliard: Models

	Stephen is there. Hugh enters.


Hugh		Good morning.

Stephen		I beg your pardon?

Hugh		I said good morning.

	Stephen stands back, ashen-faced.

Stephen		At last ...

Hugh		What?

Stephen		After all these years ...

Hugh		Sorry ...?

Stephen		Welcome, comrade. Welcome. Sit down. Rest your weary elbows.
		You'll take a glass of vodka? (Calling.) Mr Dalliard! Break out
		the false passports and the rabbit-skin hats. We are going to
		Moscow.

Hugh		Moscow?

Stephen		What news? Comrade Stalin in rude health, I trust?

Hugh		I'm sorry. I'm not with you. All I said was "good morning".

Stephen		Precisely. The code.

Hugh		Code?

Stephen		It is now twenty-seven summers since Comrade Molenski stood
		slightly to the left of where you are now and told me that, one
		day, a man would come into this shop and give notice of his
		alliegance with the phrase "good morning". And that, on hearing
		these words, Mr Dalliard and I were to detonate our relatives
		and fly to Dover.

Hugh		Fly to Dover?

Stephen		Where a man called Smith would see us safely on to a goods
		train carrying livestock to Minsk.

Hugh		Wait a minute. When I said "good morning", all I meant was ...
		good morning.

Stephen		Oh.

Hugh		I mean ... that's all I meant.

Stephen		Ah. In that case, please accept my green felt apologies, and
		allow me to sing the fourth verse of "An English Country
		Garden" omitting the line "Where tom tits dwell" by way of
		recompense.

Hugh		No, really, don't bother ...

Stephen		Are you quite sure, sir? Mr Dalliard will be happy to accompany
		me on his knees.

Hugh		Knees?

Stephen		Yes, sir. One of the most accomplished knee-players in this
		shop, is Mr Dalliard.

Hugh		No, that's alright. I just came in here to buy a model.

Stephen		A model?

Hugh		Yes.

Stephen		A model?

Hugh		Yes.

Stephen		A model?

Hugh		Yes.

	Pause.

Stephen		A model?

Hugh		That's right. I want to buy a model.

Stephen		With or without plastic struts?

Hugh		Um ... I'm not really sure. I thought an aeroplane ...

Stephen		Let me ask a different question in the same way. Who is this
		model for?

Hugh		It's for my son.

Stephen		Your son?

Hugh		Yes.

Stephen		Just your son?

Hugh		Yes.

Stephen		And when is this "birthday" of his?

Hugh		Wednesday.

Stephen		Yes, that's what I said. When's the day?

Hugh		Wednesday.

Stephen		Are you stupid or just plain deaf?

Hugh		Wednesday.

Stephen		(overcome with embarrassment) Oh, you are genuinely stupid. I'm
		so sorry. I thought you were just being deaf. Mr Dalliard,
		command the earth to swallow me up. I'm so sorry, life must be
		hard enough for stupid people without tactless old bastards
		like that lady over there rubbing it in with salt in your face
		widely. Mr Dalliard, I've gone peculiar.

	Hugh looks round.

Hugh		What lady?

Stephen		So. In plain-flavoured English. When ... is ... your ... son's
		birthday?

Hugh		W ... the day after Tuesday.

Stephen		The day after Tuesday. Doctors are so specific these days,
		aren't they? And are you expecting him to be a boy or a girl?

Hugh		It's my son. He's nine. It'll be his tenth birthday.

Stephen		His tenth? Sir, you're spoiling him. I was only ever allowed
		one. On my birthday, usually. However. No doubt you know your
		own business best. Just don't come bleating to Mr Dalliard and
		me if this over-indulged child grows up to be one of those
		drug jockeys that you're always reading about on television. A
		glass of water?

Hugh		No thank you.

Stephen		A cup of water?

Hugh		No.

Stephen		A plate of water, then?

Hugh		Thank you, no. Just a model aeroplane.

Stephen		A model aeroplane of water?

Hugh		No. Forget the water. I don't want any water. Just the model
		aeroplane kit. I thought perhaps that Messerschmitt 109E in the
		window.

Stephen		The Messerschmitt 109E in the window.

Hugh		Yes please.

Stephen		(with his hand on his head) Fizzy or still?

Hugh		What?

Stephen		That doesn't count. I had my hand on my head. You must ignore
		anything I say with my hand on my head.

Hugh		Oh.

Stephen		So, the Messerschmitt 109E. Sir has a wonderful eye.

Hugh		Thank you.

Stephen		So blue. The ear is a disappointment. Not blue at all. I have a
		little tin of Humbrol paint in cobalt blue ... perhaps you
		would allow me to ...?

Hugh		No thank you. Just the model and I suppose some glue.

Stephen		Oh dear. Glue. So your son is already a drug jockey. Mr
		Dalliard and I warned you on bended legs, but would you listen?
		No. And now look at him.

	Stephen gets from under the counter a beautifully finished and painted 
	model of a Messerschmitt and a plastic bag with glue smeared inside it.

Hugh		What's this?

Stephen		A Messerschmitt 109E and a fix for your degenerate junkie of a
		son, sir.

Hugh		But the model's done.

Stephen		Sir?

Hugh		It's ready assembled.

Stephen		You can't expect us to do all the work ourselves, sir. The
		whole joy of modelling lies in carefully scraping off the
		paint, soaking off the transfers and taking the plane apart
		piece by piece, and putting each of the pieces into a little
		plastic bag which is then sealed and placed inside the box.
		Something to be proud of. An achievement. Strange words in
		these days of Supersonic Hedgehog brothers and ready-sliced
		golf-shots.

Hugh		Alright. Forget it. Just forget it. I'll go somewhere else.

Stephen		Mr Dalliard has a gun trained on you through the curtains. If
		you take so much as one step towards that door, sir, he will,
		at a word from me, shoot you clean through the head with as
		much pity as if you were a helpless seal-pup called Arnold.

Hugh		WHAT?

	Stephen indicates to show that his hand is on his head.

Stephen		So sorry that we couldn't help you, sir. We try to accomodate
		our customers, but not being a hotel we find it almost
		impossible.

Hugh		Yes. Well. This hasn't been a very good morning.

Stephen		Good morning! Mr Dalliard! We have been activated. After all
		these years.

Hugh		You know that historian, David Irving? He doesn't exist.
		Completely made up.