When French playwright Jean-Paul Sartre's contemporary existential masterpiece for stage, No Exit (Huis Clos) was first produced, theater audiences and critics alike were disturbed by its unsympathetic characters and unrelentingly bleak thesis—succinctly stated by Garcin, the journalist-coward trapped in a room with two other craven individuals, all fated to act as each other's torturers for eternity—"Hell is other people."

Even more disturbed by the play's production was Sartre himself—not because he'd created a Frankenstein's monster that had grown out of his artistic control, but because his own artistic control had been, in a sense, wrenched away by No Exit's director. When Sartre presented his astonishing piece of theater to Claude Foussant, the director-in-residence at the Théatre du Vieux-Colombier, Foussant was stunned by the play's first act but perplexed by the short second act that takes place after a brief curtain fall. In fact, Foussant was so confounded by Act II, and its introduction of a new character, that he insisted Sartre remove it, arguing that it completely undermined the psychological tension established by Act I. Sartre, angry and wounded but nonetheless desperate to have another of his dramas staged, acquiesced. The infamous second act of No Exit was excised, and today the bowdlerized play is still regarded as Sartre's masterwork.

Sartre remained stoic about this early artistic compromise for many years until very near his death, at which point he delivered the original, complete manuscript for No Exit to his longtime friend and renowned French theater director, Charles Dullin, to do with it as he pleased. On the first page of the hand-scrawled second act, Sartre had added the following inscription: "Si on doit comprendre vraiment un génie un doit savoir son autre demi." ("To truly understand a genius, one must know his other half.")

—translated by Todd Levin

What follows, Mr. Levin informs us, is an initial reconstruction of Sartre's manuscript, whose cramped writing is still being analyzed by experts. Some still-unintelligible sections have been omitted, while others have been tentatively fleshed out by the translator. Mr. Levin asks the reader to regard this, then, a work in progress.—ed.

Curtain rises. Same DRAWING ROOM in Second Empire style, with one single detail changed: a large ovoid mirror now hangs directly above the mantelpiece, adjacent to the bronze statue.

Garcin, Inez, and Estelle are seated on their respective sofas, glaring at each other. Their gazes are hard-focused and wide-eyed, while their heads and bodies remain equally locked in place. This continues for several moments until Garcin jumps to his feet and exclaims—

GARCIN I win!! You blinked! Inez blinked!!

[Estelle relaxes, and attempts to refocus her eyes on something else.]

INEZ You're mad. Estelle, can't you see he's said this only to distract us from the very obvious fact that he was about to blink himself. Garcin, you are truly a coward.

GARCIN [Dejected] You know how I dislike that.

INEZ I'm sorry. I just adore pushing your buttons. Kiss and make up?

GARCIN If you insist…

[Garcin meets Inez DOWNSTAGE center and they embrace momentarily, as she delivers a small kiss on his mouth.]

ESTELLE Don't forget about me. Honestly, both of you!

[Estelle rises from her sofa and the three throw their arms around each other tightly, then move from their original sofas to new ones in the following arrangement: Inez—STAGE RIGHT; Estelle—STAGE LEFT; Garcin—CENTER STAGE.]

ESTELLE I don't even know how Inez could have possibly blinked anyhow. We haven't been able to close our eyes since we arrived here.

GARCIN Yes, that's why I insisted on this game. I thought it would be equally fair to all of us. But I just couldn't resist declaring myself the winner. Don't you see? What is a contest without a winner? It's something of an existential hell. [Steps out of action, winks grotesquely to audience.] Nonetheless, it was a bit fiendish of me, I suppose, and a somewhat shallow victory considering the circumstances.

INEZ Men!

[All three laugh loudly and then let their laughter fade into a large sigh as they sink comfortably into their sofas.]

GARCIN When we met, I never thought it would be like this. The three of us playing games, flattering each other's vanities, having the best sex of our lives, organizing that 5-K run for breast cancer last fall. Inez, you used to be intolerable.

INEZ I still am. As are you. And you, Estelle.

ESTELLE Aren't I? And yet we tolerate each other. How can that be?

GARCIN I think I understand it, actually. When I began my first employment in journalism—

INEZ [To Estelle] This was before he became an adulterer and military deserter.

GARCIN Shh! When I began my first employment in journalism, I was assigned to share a small, interior office with a copy editor named Artaud. Artaud was a completely detestable character. He smoked cigars incessantly and espoused one racist theory after another, from morning until evening. The Arabs were filthy and listless. The Africans were sex-addicted thieves. The Jews were made of bitter, dark chocolate. And the only relief I had from his fatuous diatribes were his exhaustive coughing fits. Artaud had a thick, tubercular cough that rattled around his throat like a wet, wooden screw. Between his words, which were hateful and insipid, and his cough, which set my tiniest hairs on end, life with Artaud was a daily prison.

I thought of complaining about Artaud but this was my first assignment and he was a tenured employee who maintained an inexplicably close relation to our editor-in-chief. Therefore, any disparaging words I might want to share would only prove more damaging to my own career which was, as I have explained, just beginning.

After approximately six months of suffering through my days with Artaud, I had something of a revelation. You see, I had a choice: I could view Artaud—the xenophobic, grotesquely obese monster—as my torturer or I could accept my daily fate, and begin to find ways to enjoy my time with Artaud, allowing him to become responsible for my bliss rather than my pain.

ESTELLE And is that what you did? Is that how you were able to transcend your suffering?

GARCIN Actually, I learned of a long-term affair Artaud was having with our editor's wife and exposed them in an anonymous letter. Artaud was removed almost immediately; he was ruined professionally. Within the year he ended his own life as he'd lived it—shamefully—by deliberately over-salting his meats. But now I think I would have done things differently. I would have befriended that deplorable beast, just as I have befriended both of you. I would have laughed at his jokes about Persians and permitted him to use my handkerchief to collect the enormous swells of mucous he would loose from the depths of his throat. I would have been his angel, his mirror.

ESTELLE Speaking of mirrors… Inez.

INEZ No.

ESTELLE Oh please! Don't be so disagreeable. Just this once.

INEZ I have heard that an infinite number of times. Why don't you use the new mirror?

ESTELLE Oh, I don't like that one. You're so much better, Inez. [coquettish] Please? I'll make it up to you.

INEZ [Rising from couch, defeated] Oh, if it will make you shut up for a moment…

[Inez crosses to Estelle's sofa, seating herself so she is directly facing Estelle.]

ESTELLE Oh, wonderful! Garcin, won't you please hand me my lipstick?

GARCIN Very well.

[Garcin reaches beside him for Estelle¹s handbag, and fishes around in it until he removes a tube of lipstick. He crosses over to Estelle's sofa and hands her the lipstick. As it is placed in Estelle's hand, her entire demeanor changes. She stands suddenly, clutching the lipstick tightly, and moves DOWNSTAGE, staring out over audience.]

ESTELLE [Speaking as if under a spell] I'm having a vision.

INEZ Here we go again.

ESTELLE He is a man-child. A traitor.

INEZ A man betraying a cause? I'm so terribly surprised. Is it Garcin? Can you see a yellow streak running down the center of his spine?

GARCIN Why don't you put your head in an oven? Oops. Too late.

INEZ Touché.

GARCIN How predictably French of you.

ESTELLE Silence! No, it is definitely not Garcin. And this man has betrayed his friends—for a woman. Yes! The friends detest this woman—as they detest all women—but one of them has chosen to steal away with her. They are dining. He is nervous, in the throes of love. But he is forced into hiding. She has arranged a small, private picnic for the two of them where they believe they are safe from the murderous eyes of other woman-haters. But what's this? Oh no! The other men have learned of his betrayal and they are conspiring against this affair. Oh, how I wish I could warn him. Please! Please don't eat that food! Don't you see? Your friends—those awful cads—have replaced the cheese in your sandwich with slices of hand soap and the delicious, sweet cream from your pastry as been removed—licked clean by Negroes—and replaced with liquid soap. If he eats these items out of politeness he will surely become deathly ill, or at least blow embarrassing soap bubbles from his mouth. Don't eat! Don't you see? Spanky is not your friend, Alfalfa!! Buckwheat and Porky are innocents but Spanky—he is the devil himself!!! Oh Inez, why can't he hear me? [Breaking down now] Why can't they ever hear me? It's gone black now. Soon they'll be showing newsreels and then a delightful Andy Hardy film.

GARCIN Remarkable.

ESTELLE Is that all you can say?

GARCIN I'm sorry. Estelle, I know these visions disturb you, but they are an endless source of entertainment for Inez and myself. Remember the one where the children performed a 'pay as you leave' production of Romeo and Juliet? That was a grand time!

ESTELLE [Through tears] I always did enjoy a good love story. [Pulling it together almost instantly] Now—back to me! Inez. Mirror. Now.

[Estelle returns to her position on her sofa, across from Inez, and begins applying lipstick as Inez guides her motions by pantomiming a mirror reflection of Estelle. Garcin returns to his own sofa, slouching into it and lacing his hands behind his head as if inviting a sleep that will never arrive.]

GARCIN We have great fun, don't we?

INEZ Yes, when I'm on top.

GARCIN Inez? Say it.

INEZ No.

GARCIN Please? Say it just once so I might finally rest in this awful place.

INEZ I won't say it. It would be no fun here without you.

GARCIN But it would be so simple. Just those five simple words: "You are not a coward." If you absolve me, I'll absolve you.

INEZ Never. Besides, I don't need absolution when I have your marvelous orange stick pedicures. But I would give them all up for one hour alone with you, Estelle.

ESTELLE Oh you know I can't do that. I need you to be my mirror. If I give you an hour, I will sacrifice an eternity of looking my best. I can't possibly imagine what we would do alone for an hour anyway, without the presence of a man.

GARCIN [Has finally had enough of this] She's a lesbian! Don't you get it? Hasn't that been painfully obvious from the beginning? How much subtext do you require? For the love of —

[Suddenly, the door opens and Inez, Estelle and Garcin are at attention. The valet appears. He has a book in his favorite hand.]

VALET Inez, here is that volume of Gertrude Stein's poetry you requested.

INEZ You are such an angel.

ESTELLE Why on Earth would you want to read Gertrude Stein?

GARCIN [Exasperated] I have nothing left to say on the subject.

VALET You can thank me later. [Looking OFFSTAGE, past the open doorway] Come in, please. This is certainly no place to be shy.

[Hitler enters slowly, sheepishly, dressed in a full Nazi uniform. He has his head slightly bowed, and he is clutching a sketch pad and a fistful of pencils, holding them both close to his chest. He raises his head slightly to acknowledge his new roommates.]

HITLER Who are these people?

VALET They're your new roommates, of course. Everyone—Hitler. Hitler—everyone.

[Inez, Estelle, and Garcin huddle DOWNSTAGE RIGHT, whispering together.]

HITLER Where am I now?

VALET I will never get used to it. Everyone asks the same questions, don't they? Isn't it all very obvious? I expected you would be brighter.

HITLER This is everything I've feared. Why am I here? Wait. This is for that herring I stole as a child, isn't it? But my family was hungry and, besides, that fishmonger was a Jew. I'm sure he had plenty of money.

VALET I can see we have a long way to go here.

GARCIN I can't believe it! Another man. How can we accommodate one extra?

ESTELLE I think he's attractive. I love a military man. No offense.

GARCIN I will draft a letter of complaint immediately. We can't possibly have another!

INEZ You're jealous!

ESTELLE Oh is he? Garcin, you are jealous. That is so adorable. Still, I think I shall marry Hitler.

[All three embrace. Inez attempts to hold her embrace with Estelle a bit longer, but Estelle politely pries herself free.]

HITLER [To valet] And where am I to sit?

VALET That is not an M.P. I'm afraid. That is most assuredly a Y.P. Your Problem.

HITLER They aren't Gypsies or homosexuals, are they?

VALET You're really incorrigible, you know. And your questions tire me. Why don't you spend some time getting to know the three of them? You will no doubt be passing a great deal of your time together.

HITLER [Seeing the mirror] Oh wonderful. A mirror. I've been meaning to shave this mustache off forever. What a mistake. Let's hope the collective memory of my achievements outweighs the collective memory of my personal appearance.

[Inez, Estelle, and Garcin stand and approach Hitler. They begin circling him, inspecting him.]

INEZ I detest you because you are a man.

ESTELLE I crave you because I validate myself entirely through the eyes of others.

GARCIN I resent you because we have only three sofas.

HITLER Hell is other people! [Delivered in German: "Hölle ist die Leute!"]

INEZ Yes, but it's amazing what the human spirit can endure.

ALL [Leaping into the air together, arms raised high] NO EXIT!!

[Blackout.]

Todd Levin welcomes comments and criticism from Sartre scholars on this work in progress. More of his writing can be found at the Web site Tremble.