Silver Arrows

	Silver Arrows
	We become aware of a distinct hubbub from beyond a door. Drinking. Gossip. Glasses. Suddenly, the hubbub is silenced. A couple of sentences in German are almost audible: a man’s voice. Then applause; approbation. The hubbub returns, perhaps even redoubled. When the door opens, of course, the party grows louder; but when it is shut, the sound returns to an ambient level. A young woman has entered. This is Erica Popp. She sits and sips a Martini from a cocktail glass.
Erica	Sometimes we know everything that will happen. (She is speaking almost unnaturally slowly.) Sometimes we know everything that will happen. He has seen me. I saw him, looking, with his blue eyes. His arms half-folded. He saw me. And I stared back for slightly too long. I judged it nicely: slightly too long. But not too much too long. He shall have to disengage himself from his friends, of course. I know. And from all the wealthy aristocrats who were with him in that car. With him every roar of the way, in that car, that silver machine, banking round the turns at two- hundred-and-seventy-five kilometres per hour. He will have to manage that. He will have to disengage himself politely, and with a smile, and with a promise to be back. I know. But that is what he shall do. (She sips her Martini.) And then he will steal away. Ostensibly, perhaps, for the washroom, or for a glass of cold water. For a breath of fresh air. Something. But he saw me enter. He knows where I am. I have no doubt of that. And he will enter. Sometimes we know everything that happens.
	We hear the noise of the party intrude as the door opens and man enters - Seaman - who after shutting the door behind him, with the customary tapping and flamboyance prepares, lights and begins to enjoy, a cigarette.
Erica	Herr Seaman.
Seaman	Of course. Fraulein. I apologise. For not having noticed you there. My dear. Do you have a drink?
Erica	I made no sound. You would not have known.
Seaman	Fraulein.
Erica	Herr Seaman.
Seaman	We have met, I think, on one previous occasion.
Erica	We have. I remember it well.
Seaman	I hope I did not make too displeasing an impression.
Erica	You did not. That is, I do not recall exactly. (Pause.)
Seaman	You were at the race?
Erica	Indeed.
Seaman	I was lucky.
Erica	It is not luck.
Seaman	I assure you, Fraulein, that luck is essential. (Pause) The most important talent a racing-driver can have is luck.
Erica	I am sure you are talking nonsense, Herr Seaman. The designers of these masterpieces, these silver machines, they cannot accommodate luck.
Seaman	Perhaps not. Perhaps not. But without luck, I am sure that these silver machines, as you call them, would never achieve the success to which we have grown accustomed.
Erica	You are superstitious?
Seaman	One is always tempted by superstition when one is in love with Lady Luck. Indeed, I find myself, almost against my better judgement I hardly need say, adjusting my wardrobe so that the shirt I wore to my last success is ready again, clean and pressed. And yet (almost to himself) I try my darnedest to deny this fact even to myself. Strange. And I always, always, put on my right shoe and then my left. Never the other way round. There is no other way round. A thousand things. It is absurd, I know.
Erica	And do you pray, Herr Seaman?
Seaman	Prayer, I concede, I leave to the monks and the priests in their monasteries and in their cold churches.
Erica	Perhaps you do not believe in their God?
Seaman	My god is a metal, shiny god. My god holds me in a lethal embrace: five hundred litres of fuel wrapped around my soul as I race the devil. Enough to burn down a cathedral, I am sure.
Erica	Why does one take such risks?
Seaman	You are not, of course, the first to ask that question. (A significant and long pause.)
Erica	But shall I be the first to hear a proper answer?
Seaman	I have my answer ready, Fraulein. In my silver machine, it is I who am a god. I am my own god. I am no longer an animal. No longer a thing of flesh and blood. (The door opens and the noise of the party, which has been underscoring the conversation in a subdued murmur is redoubled, or more than redoubled.)
A man's voice	Dick? Everyone’s out here.
Seaman	(Raising his voice.) I shall join you very shortly. (And as the door closes) Not everyone. (And to Erica) Fraulein. Forgive my bluntness.
Erica	I find it easy to forgive bluntness when the subject-matter is entirely to my taste.
Seaman	Ah.
Erica	Your bluntness?
Seaman	Fraulein. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Or conversed with. Or so admired. I should not like this to be our last meeting.
Erica	I am sure it shall not be.
Seaman	And do you have reasons for such confidence?
Erica	I do. Come with me tomorrow to our villa at Baden-Baden. My father is planning to invite you: he will have some of his acquaintance there. You will be most welcome. And now, take my arm, and let us join the others in your celebration. I need to enjoy at least two more Martinis before retiring. And I am sure that out of your silver machine you are again a thing of flesh and blood. And a gentleman.