PROSTITUTE. Careful, or we’ll both be in the river.

SOLDIER (has got hold of her). Oh yeah.

PROSTITUTE. Hold on tight.

SOLDIER. Don’t you worry . . . ah . . .

PROSTITUTE. Would have been better on the bench.

SOLDIER. Who cares? Come on, get up.

PROSTITUTE. What’s the rush?

SOLDIER. Got to get to barracks. I’m late.

PROSTITUTE. So what’s your name, then?

SOLDIER. What do you care?

PROSTITUTE. I’m Leocadia.

SOLDIER. Uh! That’s a new one.

PROSTITUTE. Hey . . . I want to tell you something . . . you were so good . . . so . . . ooh . . . so . . . come here . . .

SOLDIER. You’ve got to be kidding.

PROSTITUTE. Hey.

SOLDIER. What is it now?

PROSTITUTE. At least gimme sixpence for the housekeeper.

SOLDIER. Huh! What sort of a sucker do you think I am? See you, ‘Leocadia’.

PROSTITUTE. You scum! Bastard!

He’s gone.

2. The Soldier and the Maid

The Prater. Sunday evening. A path leading from the Wurstelprater towards a dark avenue of trees. The distant sounds of the amusement park; and the ‘Five-Kreutzer Polka’, a corny dance tune, played by a brass band.

MAID. Go on, tell me. Why do you have to go so early?

The SOLDIER is embarrassed, and laughs stupidly.

It was lovely. I love dancing.

He holds the MAID around the waist. She lets him.

We’re not dancing now. Why are you holding me so tight?

SOLDIER. What was your name again? Kathi, isn’t it?

MAID. You’ve got some Kathi on the brain.

SOLDIER. Oh, yeah, I know: Marie.

MAID. It’s getting dark. Spooky.

SOLDIER. You got nothing to worry about. You’re with me. I’ll look after you.

MAID. What are we doing out here? All on our own. Come on, let’s go back inside. It’s all dark out here.

SOLDIER (draws on his cigar, making the end glow). There, that’s lit things up!

Laughs.

Hello, gorgeous!

MAID. Hey, what are you doing? I might have known . . .

SOLDIER. Damn, if yours aren’t the nicest handful in there tonight.

MAID. Tested all the rest, then, have you?

SOLDIER. You can tell, dancing with someone. Quite a lot you can tell that way, wouldn’t you say?

MAID. But you was dancing with that blonde a lot more than you was with me. That squinty one.

SOLDIER. Friend of a friend, you might say.

MAID. What, that corporal with the twirly moustache?

SOLDIER. No, my friend was the civvy: you know, he was sat next to me, the bloke with a croaky voice.

MAID. Oh, him. He’s got a bloody nerve.

SOLDIER. What’d he do to you? I’ll show him. What’d he do?

MAID. Oh, nothing. Just how he was with the other girls.

SOLDIER. So tell me, Marie.

MAID. Watch it with that cigar, will you?

SOLDIER. Sorry. Marie. Come here, darling.

MAID. You’re being a bit familiar, aren’t you?