27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays (12 page)

M
ISS
COLLINS:
(
lowering her eyes but speaking with tenderness and pride
)
Yes—I’m expecting a
child.

E
LEVATOR
B
OY:
Jeez!
(
He claps his hand over his mouth and turns away quickly.
)

M
ISS
COLLINS:
Even if it’s not legitimate, I think it has a perfect right to its father’s name—don’t you?

P
ORTER:
Yes. Sure, Miss Collins.

M
ISS
COLLINS:
A child is innocent and pure. No matter how it’s conceived. And it must
not
be made to suffer! So I intend to dispose of the little property Cousin Ethel left me and give the child a private education where it won’t come under the evil influence of the Christian church! I want to make sure that it doesn’t grow up in the shadow of the cross and then have to walk along blocks that scorch you with terrible sunlight! (
The elevator buzzer sounds from the hall.
)

P
ORTER:
Frank! Somebody wants to come up. (
The Elevator Boy goes out. The elevator door bangs shut. The Porter clears his throat.
)
Yes, it’d be better—to go off some place else.

M
ISS
COLLINS:
If only I had the courage—but I don’t. I’ve grown so used to it here, and people outside—it’s always so
hard
to
face
them!

P
ORTER:
Maybe you won’t—have to face nobody, Miss Collins. (
The elevator door clangs open.
)

M
ISS
COLLINS:
(
rising fearfully
)
Is someone coming—here?

P
ORTER:
You just take it easy, Miss Collins.

M
ISS
COLLINS:
If that’s the officers coming for Richard, tell them to go away. I’ve decided not to prosecute Mr. Martin. (
Mr. Abrams enters with the Doctor and the Nurse. The Elevator Boy gawks from the doorway. The Doctor is the weary
,
professional type, the Nurse hard and efficient. Mr. Abrams is a small, kindly person, sincerely troubled by the situation.
)

M
ISS
COLLINS:
(
shrinking back, her voice faltering
)
I’ve decided not to—prosecute Mr. Martin . . .

D
OCTOR:
Miss Collins?

M
R. ABRAMS:
(
with attempted heartiness
)
Yes, this is the lady you wanted to meet, Dr. White.

D
OCTOR:
Hmmm. (
briskly to the Nurse
)
Go in her bedroom and get a few things together.

N
URSE:
Yes, sir. (
She goes quickly across to the bedroom.
)

M
ISS
COLLINS:
(
fearfully shrinking
)
Things?

D
OCTOR:
Yes, Miss Tyler will help you pack up an overnight bag. (
smiling mechanically
)
A strange place always seems more homelike the first few days when we have a few of our little personal articles around us.

M
ISS
COLLINS:
A strange—place?

D
OCTOR:
(
carelessly, making a memorandum
)
Don’t be disturbed, Miss Collins.

M
ISS
COLLINS:
I know! (
excitedly
)
You’ve come from the Holy Communion to place me under arrest! On moral charges!

M
R. ABRAMS:
Oh, no, Miss Collins, you got the wrong idea. This is a doctor who—

D
OCTOR:
(
impatiently
)
Now, now, you’re just going away for a while till things get straightened out. (
He glances at his watch.
)
Two-twenty-five! Miss Tyler?

N
URSE:
Coming!

M
ISS
COLLINS:
(
with slow and sad comprehension
)
Oh. . . . I’m going away. . . .

M
R. ABRAMS:
She was always a lady, Doctor, such a perfect lady.

D
OCTOR:
Yes. No doubt.

M
R. ABRAMS:
It seems too bad!

M
ISS
COLLINS:
Let me—write him a note. A pencil? Please?

M
R. ABRAMS:
Here, Miss Collins. (
She takes the pencil and
crouches over the table. The Nurse comes out with a hard, forced smile, carrying a suitcase.
)

D
OCTOR:
Ready, Miss Tyler?

N
URSE:
All ready, Dr. White. (
She goes up to Miss Collins.
) Come along, dear, we can tend to that later!

M
R. ABRAMS:
(
sharply
)
Let her finish the note!

M
ISS
COLLINS:
(
straightening with a frightened smile
)
It’s—finished.

N
URSE:
All right, dear, come along. (
She propels her firmly toward the door.
)

M
ISS
COLLINS:
(
turning suddenly back
)
Oh, Mr. Abrams!

M
R. ABRAMS:
Yes, Miss Collins?

M
ISS
COLLINS:
If he should come again—and find me gone—I’d rather you didn’t tell him—about the baby. . . . I think its better for
me
to tell him
that,
(
gently smiling
)
You know how men
are,
don’t you?

M
R. ABRAMS:
Yes, Miss Collins.

P
ORTER:
Goodbye, Miss Collins. (
The Nurse pulls firmly at her arm. She smiles over her shoulder with a slight apologetic gesture.
)

M
ISS
COLLINS:
Mother will bring in—something cool—after while . . . (
She disappears down the hall with the Nurse. The elevator door clangs shut with the metallic sound of a locked cage. The wires hum.
)

M
R. ABRAMS:
She wrote him a note.

P
ORTER:
What did she write, Mr. Abrams?

M
R. ABRAMS: “
Dear—Richard. I’m going away for a while. But don’t worry, I’ll be back. I have a secret to tell you. Love—Lucretia.” (
He coughs.
)
We got to clear out this stuff an’ pile it down in the basement till I find out where it goes.

P
ORTER:
(
dully
)
Tonight, Mr. Abrams?

M
R. ABRAMS:
(
roughly to hide his feeling
)
No, no, not tonight, you old fool. Enough has happened tonight! (
then gently
)

We can do it tomorrow. Turn out that bedroom light—and close the window. (
Music playing softly becomes audible as the men go out slowly, closing the door, and the light fades out.
)

CURTAIN

Auto-Da-Fé

A Tragedy in One Act

CHARACTERS

M
ME.
D
UVENET

E
LOI
,*
her son.

*
Pronounced Ell-wah. The part is created for Mr. John Abbott.

Auto-Da-Fé

S
CENE:
The front porch of an old frame cottage in the Vieux Carré of New Orleans. There are palm or banana trees, one on either side of the porch steps: pots of geraniums and other vivid flowers along the low balustrade. There is an effect of sinister antiquity in the setting, even the flowers suggesting the richness of decay. Not far off on Bourbon Street the lurid procession of bars and hot-spots throws out distance-muted strains of the juke-organs and occasional shouts of laughter. Mme. Duvenet, a frail woman of sixty-seven, is rocking on the porch in the faint, sad glow of an August sunset. Eloi, her son, comes out the screen-door. He is a frail man in his late thirties, a gaunt, ascetic type with feverish dark eyes.

Mother and son are both fanatics and their speech has something of the quality of poetic or religious incantation.

M
ME:
D
UVENET:
Why did you speak so crossly to Miss Bordelon?

E
LOI:
(
standing against the column
)
She gets on my nerves.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You take a dislike to every boarder we get.

E
LOI:
She's not to be trusted. I think she goes in my room.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
What makes you think that?

E
LOI:
I've found some evidence of it.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Well, I can assure you she doesn't go in your room.

E
LOI
: Somebody goes in my room and roots through my things.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Nobody ever touches a thing in your room.

E
LOI:
My room is my own. I don't want anyone in it.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You know very well that I have to go in to clean it.

E
LOI:
I don't want it cleaned.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You want the room to be filthy?

E
LOI:
Just don't go in it to clean it or anything else.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
How could you live in a room that was never cleaned?

E
LOI:
I'll clean it myself when cleaning is necessary.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
A person would think that you were concealing something.

E
LOI:
What would I have to conceal?

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Nothing that I can imagine. That's why it's so strange that you have such a strong objection to even your mother going into your room.

E
LOI:
Everyone wants a little privacy, Mother.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
(
stiffly
)
Your privacy, Eloi, shall be regarded as sacred.

E
LOI:
Huh.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I'll just allow the filth to accumulate there.

E
LOI:
(
sharply
)
What do you mean by “the filth"?

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
(
sadly
)
The dust and disorder that you would rather live in than have your mother come in to clean it up.

E
LOI:
Your broom and your dust-pan wouldn't accomplish much. Even the air in this neighborhood is unclean.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
It is not as clean as it might be. I love clean window-curtains, I love white linen, I want immaculate, spotless things in a house.

E
LOI:
Then why don't we move to the new part of town where it's cleaner?

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
The property in this block has lost all value. We couldn't sell our place for what it would cost us to put new paint on the walls.

E
LOI:
I don't understand you, Mother. You harp on purity,
purity all the time, and yet you're willing to stay in the midst of corruption.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I harp on nothing. I stay here because I have to. And as for corruption, I've never allowed it to touch me.

E
LOI:
It does, it does. We can't help breathing it here. It gets in our nostrils and even goes in our blood.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I think you're the one that harps on things around here. You won't talk quietly. You always fly off on some tangent and raise your voice and get us all stirred up for no good reason.

E
LOI:
I've had about all that I can put up with, Mother.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Then what do you want to do?

E
LOI:
Move, move. This asthma of mine, in a pure atmosphere uptown where the air is fresher, I know that I wouldn't have it nearly so often.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I leave it entirely to you. If you can find someone to make an acceptable offer, I'm willing to move.

E
LOI:
You don't have the power to move or the will to break from anything that you're used to. You don't know how much we've been affected already!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
By what, Eloi?

E
LOI:
This fetid old swamp we live in, the Vieux Carré! Every imaginable kind of degeneracy springs up here, not at arm's length, even, but right in our presence!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Now I think you're exaggerating a little.

E
LOI:
You read the papers, you hear people talk, you walk past open windows. You can't be entirely unconscious of what goes on! A woman was horribly mutilated last night. A man smashed a bottle and twisted the jagged end of it in her face.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
They bring such things on themselves by their loose behavior.

E
LOI:
Night after night there are crimes taking place in the parks.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
The parks aren't all in the Quarter.

E
LOI:
The parks aren't all in the Quarter but decadence is. This is the primary lesion, the—focal infection, the—chancre! In medical language, it spreads by—metastasis! It creeps through the capillaries and into the main blood vessels. From there it is spread all through the surrounding tissue! Finally nothing is left outside the decay!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Eloi, you are being unnecessarily violent in your speech.

E
LOI
: I feel that strongly about it.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You mustn't allow yourself to sound like a fanatic.

E
LOI:
You take no stand against it?

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You know the stand that I take.

E
LOI:
I know what ought to be done.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
There ought to be legislation to make for reforms.

E
LOI:
Not only reforms but action really drastic!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I favor that, too, within all practical bounds.

E
LOI:
Practical, practical. You can't be practical, Mother, and wipe out evil! The town should be razed.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You mean this old section torn down?

E
LOI:
Condemned and demolished!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
That's not a reasonable stand.

E
LOI:
It's the stand I take.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Then I'm afraid you're not a reasonable person.

E
LOI:
I have good precedence for it.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
What do you mean?

E
LOI
: All through the Scriptures are cases of cities destroyed by the justice of fire when they got to be nests of foulness!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Eloi, Eloi.

E
LOI:
Condemn it, I say, and purify it with fire!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You're breathing hoarsely. That's what brings on asthma, over-excitement, not just breathing bad air!

E
LOI:
(
after a thoughtful pause
)
I
am
breathing hoarsely.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Sit down and try to relax.

E
LOI:
I can't any more.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You'd better go in and take an amytal tablet.

E
LOI:
I don't want to get to depending too much on drugs. I'm not very well, I'm never well any more.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You never will take the proper care of yourself.

E
LOI:
I can hardly remember the time when I really felt good.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You've never been quite as strong as I'd like you to be.

E
LOI:
I seem to have chronic fatigue.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
The Duvenet trouble has always been mostly with nerves.

E
LOI:
Look! I had a sinus infection! You call that nerves?

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
No, but—

E
LOI:
Look! This asthma, this choking, this suffocation I have, do you call that nerves?

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I never agreed with the doctor about that condition.

E
LOI:
You hate all doctors, you're rabid on the subject!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I think all healing begins with faith in the spirit.

E
LOI:
How can I keep on going when I don't sleep?

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I think your insomnia's caused by eating at night.

E
LOI:
It soothes my stomach.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Liquids would serve that purpose!

E
LOI:
Liquids don't satisfy me.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Well, something digestible, then. A little hot

cereal maybe with cocoa or Postum.

E
LOI:
All that kind of slop is nauseating to look at!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I notice at night you won't keep the covers on you.

E
LOI:
I can't stand covers in summer.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You've got to have something over your body at night.

E
LOI:
Oh, Lord, oh, Lord.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Your body perspires and when it's exposed, you catch cold!

E
LOI:
You're rabid upon the subject of catching cold.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Only because you're unusually prone to colds.

E
LOI:
(
with curious intensity
)
It isn't a cold! It is a sinus infection!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Sinus infection and all catarrhal conditions are caused by the same things as colds!

E
LOI:
At ten every morning, as regular as clock-work, a headache commences and doesn't let up till late in the afternoon.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Nasal congestion is often the cause of headache.

E
LOI:
Nasal congestion has nothing to do with this one!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
How do you know?

E
LOI:
It isn't in that location!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Where is it, then?

E
LOI:
It's here at the base of the skull. And it runs around here.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Around where?

E
LOI:
Around here!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
(
touching his forehead
)
Oh! There!

E
LOI:
No, no, are you blind? I said
here!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Oh, here!

E
LOI:
Yes! Here!

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
Well, that could be eye-strain.

E
LOI:
When I've just changed my glasses?

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You read consistently in the wrong kind of light.

E
LOI
: You seem to think I'm a saboteur of myself.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
You actually are.

E
LOI:
You just don't know, (
darkly
)
There's lots of things that you don't know about, Mother.

M
ME.
D
UVENET:
I've never pretended nor wished to know a great deal. (
They fall into a silence
,
and Mme. Duvenet rocks slowly back and forth. The light is nearly gone. A distant juke-box can be heard playing “The New San Antonio Rose.” She speaks, finally, in a gentle, liturgical tone.
)
There are three simple rules I wish that you would observe. One: you should wear under-shirts whenever there's changeable weather! Two: don't sleep without covers, don't kick them off in the night! Three: chew your food, don't gulp it. Eat like a human being and not like a dog! In addition to those three very simple rules of common hygiene, all that you need is faith in spiritual healing! (
Eloi looks at her for a moment in weary desperation. Then he groans aloud and rises from the steps.
)
Why that look, and the groan?