27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays (20 page)

J
OE:
Hush up!

M
OTHER:
(
faintly from another room
)
Joe—Myra . . . (
She moans.
)

M
YRA:
(
frightened
)
What’s that?

J
OE:
It’s Mother, she’s sick, she’s—(
Myra runs out hall door and the lights come up again.
)—dead!

S
ILVA:
What?

J
OE:
Nothing. You want some perfume?

S
ILVA:
What kinda perfume?

J
OE:
Carnation.

S
ILVA:
Naw. I resent the suggestion. (
The Movers crowd in again.
)

1ST
M
OVER:
(
to 3rd Mover
)
Quit horsin’ around on a job. Git them rugs.

3RD
M
OVER:
Awright, straw boss. They should’ve put in a pinch-hitter. Meighan or Flowers.

2ND
M
OVER:
Flowers? He couldn’t hit an elephant’s ass. Grab an end a the sofa. Hup!

4TH
M
OVER:
Cabbage for supper nex’ door.

W
OMAN:
(
calling mournfully from the street
)
May-zeeee! Oh,
May-
zeeee!

3RD
M
OVER:
In that game a’ Chicago . . . (
The Movers carry the sofa and other furniture out the entrance door. Joe removes a picture from wall.
)

S
ILVA:
(
looking up from the magazine
)
Myra’s, huh?

J
OE:
One she had in the rotogravure, time she broke a record in the Mississippi Valley relays.

S
ILVA:
(
taking the picture
)
She had a sweet shape on her, huh?

J
OE:
Yes.

S
ILVA:
What makes a girl go like that.

J
OE:
Like what?

S
ILVA:
You know.

J
OE:
No, I
don’t
know! Why don’t you get out of here and leave me alone?

S
ILVA:
Because I don’t want to. Because I’m reading a story. Because I think you’re nuts.

J
OE:
Yeah? Gimme that picture. (
He bends over his suitcase to pack the photograph with his things and as he does so the lights dim a little and Myra comes in. She is appreciably cheaper and more sophisticated and wears a negligee she could not have bought with her monthly salary.
)

M
YRA:
I wish you’d quit having that dago around the place.

J
OE:
(
rising
)
Silva?

M
YRA:
Yeah. I don’t like the way he looks at me.

J
OE:
Looks at you?

M
YRA:
Yeh. I might as well be standing naked in front of him the way that he looks. (
Joe laughs harshly.
)
You think it’s funny—him looking at me that way?

J
OE:
Yes. It
is
funny.

M
YRA:
My sense a the comical don’t quite agree with yours.

J
OE:
(
looking at her
)
You’re getting awfully skittish—objecting to guys looking at you.

M
YRA:
Well, that boy is repulsive.

J
OE:
Because he don’t live somewhere off a Ladue?

M
YRA:
No
.
Because he don’t take a bath.

J
OE:
That’s not true. Silva takes a shower ev’ry morning at the party headquarters.

M
YRA:
Party headquarters! You better try to associate with people that will do you some good instead of—radical dagoes and niggers an’—

J
OE:
Shut up! My God, you’re getting common. Snobbishness, that’s always the first sign. I’ve never known a snob yet that wasn’t fundamentally as common as dirt!

M
YRA:
Is it being a snob not to like dirty people?

J
OE:
Dirty people are what
you
run around with! Geezers in fifty dollar suits with running sores on the back of their necks. You better have your blood tested!

M
YRA:
You—you—you can’t insult me like that! I’m going to—call Papa—tell him to—

J
OE:
I used to have hopes for you, Myra. But not any more. You’re goin’ down the toboggan like a greased pig. Take a look at yourself in the mirror. Why did Silva look at you that way? Why did the newsboy whistle when you walked past him last night? Why? ‘Cause you looked like a whore—like a cheap one, Myra, one he could get for six! (
Myra looks at him, stunned, but does not answer for a moment.
)

M
YRA:
(
quietly
)
You never would have said a thing to me like that—when Mother was living.

J
OE:
No
.
When Mother was living, you wouldn’t have been like this. And stayed on here in the house.

M
YRA:
The house? This isn’t a house. It’s five rooms and a bath and I’m getting out as quick as I can and I mean it! I’m not going to hang around here with a bunch of long-haired lunatics with eyes that strip the clothes off you, and then be called—dirty names!

J
OE:
If my sister was clean . . . I’d kill any fellow that dared to look at her that way!

M
YRA:
You got a swell right—you that just loaf around all day writing crap that nobody reads. You never do nothing, nothing, you don’t make a cent! If I was Papa—I’d kick you out of this place so fast it would— Ahhhhh! (
She turns away in disgust.
)

J
OE:
Maybe that won’t be necessary.

M
YRA:
Oh, no? You been saying that a long time. They’ll move every stick a furniture out a this place before they do you! (
She laughs and goes out. The lights come up.
)

J
OE:
(
to himself
)
Yeah. . . . (
The 1st and 2nd Movers come back and start rolling the carpet. Joe watches them and then speaks aloud.
)
Every stick a furniture out—before me! (
He laughs.
)

S
ILVA:
What?

J
OE:
I got a card from her last week.

S
ILVA:
Who?

J
OE:
Myra.

S
ILVA:
Yeah. You told me that. (
He throws the magazine aside.
)
I wonder where your old man is.

J
OE:
Christ. I don’t know.

S
ILVA:
Funny an old bloke like him just quittin’ his job and lamming out to God knows where—after fifty—or fifty-five years of livin’ a regular middle-class life.

J
OE:
I guess he got tired of living a regular middle-class life.

S
ILVA:
I used to wonder what he was thinking about nights—sitting in that big overstuffed chair. (
The 3rd and 4th Movers have come back and now they remove the big chair. Joe takes his shirt from the chair as they pass and slowly puts it on.
)

J
OE:
So did I. I’m still wondering. He never said a damn thing.

S
ILVA:
Naw?

J
OE:
Just sat there, sat there, night after night after night. Well, he’s gone now, they’re all gone.

S
ILVA:
(
with a change of tone
)
You’d better go, too.

J
OE:
Why don’t you go on ahead an’ wait for me, Silva. I’ll be along in a while.

S
ILVA:
Because I don’t like the way you’re acting and for some goddam reason I feel—responsible for you. You might take a notion to do a Steve Brody out one a them windows.

J
OE:
(
laughing shortly
)
For Chrissakes what would I do that for?

S
ILVA:
Because your state of mind is abnormal. I’ve been lookin’ at you. You’re starin’ off into space like something’s come loose in your head. I know what you’re doing. You’re taking a morbid pleasure in watchin’ this junk hauled off like some dopes get in mooning around a bone-orchard after somebody’s laid under. This place is done for, Joe. You can’t help it. (
Far down at the end of the block an organ grinder has started winding out an old blues tune of ten or fifteen years ago. It approaches gradually with a melancholy gaiety throughout rest of play.
)
Write about it some day. Call it “An Elegy for an Empty Flat.” But right now my advice is to get out of here and get drunk! ‘Cause the world goes on. And you’ve got to keep going on with it.

J
OE:
But not so fast that you can’t even say goodbye.

S
ILVA:
Goodbye? ‘S not in my vocabulary! Hello’s the word nowadays.

J
OE:
You’re kidding yourself. You’re saying goodbye all the time, every minute you live. Because that’s what life is, just a long, long goodbye! (
with almost sobbing intensity
)
To one thing after another! Till you get to the last one, Silva, and that’s—goodbye to yourself! (
He turns sharply to the window.
)
Get out of here now, get out and leave me alone!

S
ILVA:
Okay. But I think you’re weeping like Jesus and it makes me sick. (
He begins to put on his shirt.
)
I’ll see you over at Weston’s if I can still see. (
grinning wryly
)
Remember, kid, what Socrates said. “Hemlock’s a damn bad substitute for a
twenty-six-ounce glass a beer!” (
He laughs and puts on his hat.
)
So long. (
Silva goes out the door, leaving Joe in the bare room. The yellow stains on the walls, the torn peeling paper with its monotonous design, the fantastically hideous chandelier now show up in cruel relief. The sunlight through the double windows is clear and faded as weak lemon water and a fly is heard buzzing during a pause in the organ-grinder’s music. The tune begins again and is drowned in the starting roar of the moving van which ebbs rapidly away. Joe walks slowly to the windows.
)

C
HILD:
(
calling in the street
)
Olly—olly—oxen-free! Olly—olly—oxen-free! (
Joe looks slowly about him. His whole body contracts in a spasm of nostalgic pain. Then he grins wryly, picks up his suitcase and goes over to the door. He slips a hand to his forehead in a mocking salute to the empty room, then thrusts the hand in his pocket and goes slowly out.
)
Olly—olly—oxen-free! (
Scattered shouting and laughter floats up to the room. The music is now fading.
)

SLOW CURTAIN

Hello from Bertha

CHARACTERS

G
OLDIE.

B
ERTHA.

L
ENA.

G
IRL.

Hello from Bertha

S
CENE:
A bedroom in “the valley"
—
a notorious red-light section along the river-flats of East St. Louis. In the center is a massive brass bed with tumbled pillows and covers on which Bertha, a large blonde prostitute, is lying restlessly. A heavy old-fashioned dresser with gilt knobs, gaudy silk cover and two large kewpie dolls stands against the right wall. Beside the bed is a low table with empty gin bottles. An assortment of lurid magazines is scattered carelessly about the floor. The wall-paper is grotesquely brilliant
—
covered with vivid magnified roses
—
and is torn and peeling in some places. On the ceiling are large yellow stains. An old-fashioned chandelier, fringed with red glass pendants, hangs from the center. Goldie comes in at the door in the left wall. She wears a soiled double-piece dress of white and black satin, fitted closely to her almost fleshless body. She stands in the doorway, smoking a cigarette, and stares impatiently at Bertha’s prostrate figure.

GOLDIE:
Well, Bertha, what are you going to do? (
For a moment there is no answer.
)

B
ERTHA:
(
with faint groan
)
I dunno.

G
OLDIE:
You’ve got to decide, Bertha.

B
ERTHA:
I can’t decide nothing.

G
OLDIE:
Why can’t you?

B
ERTHA:
I’m too tired.

G
OLDIE:
That’s no answer.

B
ERTHA:
(
tossing fretfully
)
Well, it’s the only answer I know. I just want to lay here and think things over.

G
OLDIE:
You been layin’ here thinkin’ or somethin’ for the past two weeks. (
Bertha makes an indistinguishable reply.
)
You got to come to some decision. The girls need this room.

B
ERTHA:
(
with hoarse laugh
)
Let ‘em have it!

G
OLDIE:
They can’t with you layin’ here.

B
ERTHA:
(
slapping her hand on bed
)
Oh, God!

G
OLDIE:
Pull yourself together, now, Bertha. (
Bertha tosses again and groans.
)

B
ERTHA:
What’s the matter with me?

G
OLDIE:
You’re sick.

B
ERTHA:
I got a sick headache. Who slipped me that Mickey Finn last night?

G
OLDIE:
Nobody give you no Mickey Finn. You been layin’ here two solid weeks talkin’ out of your head. Now, the sensible thing for you to do, Bertha, is to go back home or—

B
ERTHA:
Go back nowhere!—I’m stayin’ right here till I get on my feet. (
She stubbornly averts her face.
)

G
OLDIE:
The valley’s no place for a girl in your condition. Besides we need this room.

B
ERTHA:
Leave me be, Goldie. I wanta get in some rest before I start workin’.

G
OLDIE:
Bertha, you’ve got to decide! (
The command hangs heavily upon the room’s florid atmosphere for several long moments. Bertha slowly turns her head to Goldie.
)

B
ERTHA:
(
faintly
)
What is it I got to decide?

G
OLDIE:
Where you’re going from here? (
Bertha looks at her silently for a few seconds.
)

B
ERTHA:
Nowhere. Now leave me be, Goldie. I’ve got to get in my rest.

G
OLDIE:
If I let you be, you’d just lay here doin’ nothin’ from now till the crack of doom! (
Bertha’s reply is indistinguishable.
)
Lissen here! If you don’t make up your mind right away, I’m gonna call the ambulance squad to come get you! So you better decide right this minute.

B
ERTHA:
(
Her body has stiffened slightly at this threat.
)
I can’t decide nothing. I’m too tired—worn out.

G
OLDIE:
All right! (
She snaps her purse open.
)
I’ll take this nickel and I’ll make the call right now. I’ll tell ‘em we got a sick girl over here who can’t talk sense.

B
ERTHA:
(
thickly
)
Go ahead. I don’t care what happens to me now.

G
OLDIE:
(
changing her tactics
)
Why don’t you write another letter, Bertha, to that man who sells . . . hardware or something in Memphis?

B
ERTHA:
(
with sudden alertness
)
Charlie? You leave his name off your dirty tongue!

G
OLDIE:
That’s a fine way for you to be talking, me keeping you here just out of kindness and you not bringing in a red, white or blue cent for the last two weeks! Where do you—

B
ERTHA:
Charlie’s a real . . . sweet. Charlie’s a . . . (
Her voice trails into a sobbing mumble.
)

G
OLDIE:
What if he is? All the better reason for you to write him to get you out of this here tight spot you’re in, Bertha.

B
ERTHA:
(
aroused
)
I’ll never ask him for another dime! Get that? He’s forgotten all about me, my name and everything else. (
She runs her hand slowly down her body.
)
Somebody’s cut me up with a knife while I been sleeping.

G
OLDIE:
Pull yourself together, Bertha. If this man’s got money, maybe he’ll send you some to help you git back on your feet.

B
ERTHA:
Sure he’s got money. He owns a hardware store. I reckon I ought to know, I used to work there! He used to say to me, Girlie, any time you need something just let Charlie know. . . . We had good times together in that back room!

G
OLDIE:
I bet he ain’t forgotten it neither.

B
ERTHA:
He’s found out about all the bad things I done since I quit him and . . . come to St. Louie. (
She slaps the bed twice with her palm.
)

G
OLDIE:
Naw, he ain’t, Bertha. I bet he don’t know a thing. (
Bertha laughs weakly.
)

B
ERTHA:
It’s you that’s been writing him things. All the dirt you could think of about me! Your filthy tongue’s been clacking so fast that—

G
OLDIE:
Bertha! (
Bertha mutters an indistinguishable vulgarity.
)
I been a good friend to you, Bertha.

B
ERTHA:
Anyhow he’s married now.

G
OLDIE:
Just write him a little note on a post-card and tell him you’ve had some tough breaks. Remind him of how he said he would help you if ever you needed it, huh?

B
ERTHA:
Leave me alone a while, Goldie. I got an awful feeling inside of me now.

G
OLDIE:
(
advancing a few steps and regarding Bertha more critically
)
You want to see a doctor?

B
ERTHA:
No
.
(
There is a pause.
)

G
OLDIE:
A priest? (
Bertha’s fingers claw the sheet forward.
)

B
ERTHA:
No
!

G
OLDIE:
What religion are you, Bertha?

B
ERTHA:
None.

G
OLDIE:
I thought you said you was Catholic once.

B
ERTHA:
Maybe I did. What of it?

G
OLDIE:
If you could remember, maybe we could get some sisters or something to give you a room like they did for Rose Kramer for you to rest in, and get your strength back—huh, Bertha?

B
ERTHA:
I don’t want no sisters to give me nothing! Just leave me be in here till I get through resting.

G
OLDIE:
Bertha, you’re . . . bad sick, Bertha!

B
ERTHA:
(
after a slight pause
)
Bad?

G
OLDIE:
Yes, Bertha. I don’t want to scare you but . . .

B
ERTHA:
(
hoarsely
)
You mean I’m dying?

G
OLDIE:
(
after a moment’s consideration
)
I didn’t say that. (
There is another pause.
)

B
ERTHA:
No, but you meant it.

G
OLDIE:
We got to provide for the future, Bertha. We can’t just let things slide.

B
ERTHA:
(
attempting to sit up
)
If I’m dying I want to write Charlie. I want to—tell him some things.

G
OLDIE:
If you mean a confession, honey, I think a priest would be—

B
ERTHA:
No, no priest! I want Charlie!

G
OLDIE:
Father Callahan would—

B
ERTHA:
No
! N
o
!
I want Charlie!

G
OLDIE:
Charlie’s in Memphis. He’s running his hardware business.

B
ERTHA:
Yeah. On Central Avenue. The address is 563.

G
OLDIE:
I’ll write him and tell what condition you’re in, huh, Bertha?

B
ERTHA:
(
after a reflective pause
)
No. . . . Just tell him I said hello. (
She turns her face to the wall.
)

G
OLDIE:
I gotta say more than that, Bertha.

B
ERTHA:
That’s all I want you to say. Hello from—Bertha.

G
OLDIE:
That wouldn’t make sense, you know that.

B
ERTHA:
Sure it would. Hello from Bertha to Charlie with all her love. Don’t that make sense?

G
OLDIE:
No
!

B
ERTHA:
Sure it does.

G
OLDIE:
(
turning to the door
)
I better call up the hospital and get them to send out the ambulance squad.

B
ERTHA:
No, you don’t! I’d rather just die than that.

G
OLDIE:
You’re in no condition to stay in the valley, Bertha. A girl in your shape’s got to be looked out for proper or anything’s likely to happen. (
Outside, in the reception room, someone has started the nickel phonograph. It is playing “The St. Louis Blues.” A hoarse male voice joins in the refrain and there is a burst of laughter and the slamming of a door.
)

B
ERTHA:
(
after a slight pause
)
You’re telling me, sister. (
She
elevates her shoulders.
)
I know the rules of this game! (
She stares at Goldie with brilliant, faraway eyes.
)
When you’re out you’re out and there’s no comeback for you neither! (
She shakes her head and then slowly reclines again. She knots her fingers and pounds the bed several times; then her hand relaxes and slips over the side of the bed.
)

G
OLDIE:
Now, pull yourself together, Bertha, and I’ll have you moved to a nice, clean ward where you’ll get good meals and a comfortable bed to sleep in.

B
ERTHA:
Die in, you mean! Help me outa this bed! (
She struggles to rise.
)

G
OLDIE:
(
going to her
)
Don’t get excited, now, Bertha.

B
ERTHA:
Help me up. Yes! Where’s my kimono?

G
OLDIE:
Bertha, you’re not in any shape to go crawling around out of bed!

B
ERTHA:
Shut up, you damned crepe-hanger! Get Lena in here. She’ll help me out with my things.

G
OLDIE:
What’ve you decided on, Bertha?

B
ERTHA:
To go.

G
OLDIE:
Where?

B
ERTHA:
That’s my business.

G
OLDIE:
(
after a pause
)
Well, I’ll call Lena. (
Bertha has risen painfully and now she totters toward the dresser.
)

B
ERTHA:
Wait a minute, you! Look under that tray. The comb and brush tray. (
She sinks, panting, into a rocker.
)
You’ll find five bucks stuck under there.

G
OLDIE:
Bertha, you ain’t got no money under that tray.

B
ERTHA:
You trying to tell me I’m broke?

G
OLDIE:
You been broke for ten days, Bertha. Ever since you took sick you been out of money.

B
ERTHA:
You’re a liar!

G
OLDIE:
(
angrily
)
Don’t call me names, Bertha! (
They glare at each other. A Girl, in what looks like a satin gymnasium
outfit, appears in doorway and glances in curiously. She grins and disappears.
)

B
ERTHA:
(
finally
)
Get Lena in here. She won’t cheat me.

G
OLDIE:
(
going to the dresser
)
Look, Bertha. Just to satisfy you. See under the tray? Nothing there but an old post-card you once got from Charlie.

B
ERTHA:
(
slowly
)
I been robbed. Yes, I been robbed, (
with increasing velocity
)
Just because I’m too sick an’ tired an’ done in to look out for myself, I get robbed! If I was in my strength, you know what I’d do? I’d bust this place wide open! I’d get back my money you stole or take it out of your hide, you old—

G
OLDIE:
Bertha, you spent your last dime. You bought gin with it.

B
ERTHA:
No
!

G
OLDIE:
It was Tuesday night, the night you got sick, you bought yourself a quart of dry gin that night. I swear you did, Bertha!