"THE HAIRY APE"

A Comedy of Ancient and Modern Life

In Eight Scenes


By

EUGENE O'NEILL





CHARACTERS


  ROBERT SMITH, "YANK"
  PADDY
  LONG
  MILDRED DOUGLAS
  HER AUNT
  SECOND ENGINEER
  A GUARD
  A SECRETARY OF AN ORGANIZATION
  STOKERS, LADIES, GENTLEMEN, ETC.





SCENE I


SCENE--_The firemen's forecastle of a transatlantic liner an hour after
sailing from New York for the voyage across. Tiers of narrow, steel
bunks, three deep, on all sides. An entrance in rear. Benches on the
floor before the bunks. The room is crowded with men, shouting,
cursing, laughing, singing--a confused, inchoate uproar swelling into a
sort of unity, a meaning--the bewildered, furious, baffled defiance of
a beast in a cage. Nearly all the men are drunk. Many bottles are
passed from hand to hand. All are dressed in dungaree pants, heavy ugly
shoes. Some wear singlets, but the majority are stripped to the waist._

_The treatment of this scene, or of any other scene in the play, should
by no means be naturalistic. The effect sought after is a cramped space
in the bowels of a ship, imprisoned by white steel. The lines of bunks,
the uprights supporting them, cross each other like the steel framework
of a cage. The ceiling crushes down upon the men's heads. They cannot
stand upright. This accentuates the natural stooping posture which
shovelling coal and the resultant over-development of back and shoulder
muscles have given them. The men themselves should resemble those
pictures in which the appearance of Neanderthal Man is guessed at. All
are hairy-chested, with long arms of tremendous power, and low,
receding brows above their small, fierce, resentful eyes. All the
civilized white races are represented, but except for the slight
differentiation in color of hair, skin, eyes, all these men are alike._

_The curtain rises on a tumult of sound. YANK is seated in the
foreground. He seems broader, fiercer, more truculent, more powerful,
more sure of himself than the rest. They respect his superior
strength--the grudging respect of fear. Then, too, he represents to
them a self-expression, the very last word in what they are, their most
highly developed individual._

VOICES--Gif me trink dere, you!

'Ave a wet!

Salute!

Gesundheit!

Skoal!

Drunk as a lord, God stiffen you!

Here's how!

Luck!

Pass back that bottle, damn you!

Pourin' it down his neck!

Ho, Froggy! Where the devil have you been?

La Touraine.

I hit him smash in yaw, py Gott!

Jenkins--the First--he's a rotten swine--

And the coppers nabbed him--and I run--

I like peer better. It don't pig head gif you.

A slut, I'm sayin'! She robbed me aslape--

To hell with 'em all!

You're a bloody liar!

Say dot again!

[_Commotion. Two men about to fight are pulled apart._]

No scrappin' now!

To-night--

See who's the best man!

Bloody Dutchman!

To-night on the for'ard square.

I'll bet on Dutchy.

He packa da wallop, I tella you!

Shut up, Wop!

No fightin', maties. We're all chums, ain't we?

[_A voice starts bawling a song._]

    "Beer, beer, glorious beer!
    Fill yourselves right up to here."

YANK--[_For the first time seeming to take notice of the uproar about
him, turns around threateningly--in a tone of contemptuous authority._]
"Choke off dat noise! Where d'yuh get dat beer stuff? Beer, hell!
Beer's for goils--and Dutchmen. Me for somep'n wit a kick to it! Gimme
a drink, one of youse guys. [_Several bottles are eagerly offered. He
takes a tremendous gulp at one of them; then, keeping the bottle in his
hand, glares belligerently at the owner, who hastens to acquiesce in
this robbery by saying:_] All righto, Yank. Keep it and have another."
[_Yank contemptuously turns his back on the crowd again. For a second
there is an embarrassed silence. Then--_]

VOICES--We must be passing the Hook. She's beginning to roll to it. Six
days in hell--and then Southampton. Py Yesus, I vish somepody take my
first vatch for me! Gittin' seasick, Square-head? Drink up and forget
it! What's in your bottle? Gin. Dot's nigger trink. Absinthe? It's
doped. You'll go off your chump, Froggy! Cochon! Whiskey, that's the
ticket! Where's Paddy? Going asleep. Sing us that whiskey song, Paddy.
[_They all turn to an old, wizened Irishman who is dozing, very drunk,
on the benches forward. His face is extremely monkey-like with all the
sad, patient pathos of that animal in his small eyes._] Singa da song,
Caruso Pat! He's gettin' old. The drink is too much for him. He's too
drunk.

PADDY--[_Blinking about him, starts to his feet resentfully, swaying,
holding on to the edge of a bunk._] I'm never too drunk to sing. 'Tis
only when I'm dead to the world I'd be wishful to sing at all. [_With a
sort of sad contempt._] "Whiskey Johnny," ye want? A chanty, ye want?
Now that's a queer wish from the ugly like of you, God help you. But no
matther. [_He starts to sing in a thin, nasal, doleful tone:_]

    Oh, whiskey is the life of man!
        Whiskey! O Johnny!

[_They all join in on this._]

    Oh, whiskey is the life of man!
        Whiskey for my Johnny! [_Again chorus_]
    Oh, whiskey drove my old man mad!
        Whiskey! O Johnny!
    Oh, whiskey drove my old man mad!
        Whiskey for my Johnny!

YANK--[_Again turning around scornfully._] Aw hell! Nix on dat old
sailing ship stuff! All dat bull's dead, see? And you're dead, too, yuh
damned old Harp, on'y yuh don't know it. Take it easy, see. Give us a
rest. Nix on de loud noise. [_With a cynical grin._] Can't youse see
I'm tryin' to t'ink?

ALL--[_Repeating the word after him as one with same cynical amused
mockery._] Think! [_The chorused word has a brazen metallic quality as
if their throats were phonograph horns. It is followed by a general
uproar of hard, barking laughter._]

VOICES--Don't be cracking your head wid ut, Yank.

You gat headache, py yingo!

One thing about it--it rhymes with drink!

Ha, ha, ha!

Drink, don't think!

Drink, don't think!

Drink, don't think!

[_A whole chorus of voices has taken up this refrain, stamping on the
floor, pounding on the benches with fists._]

YANK--[_Taking a gulp from his bottle--good-naturedly._] Aw right. Can
de noise. I got yuh de foist time. [_The uproar subsides. A very
drunken sentimental tenor begins to sing:_]

    "Far away in Canada,
    Far across the sea,
    There's a lass who fondly waits
    Making a home for me--"

YANK--[_Fiercely contemptuous._] Shut up, yuh lousey boob! Where d'yuh
get dat tripe? Home? Home, hell! I'll make a home for yuh! I'll knock
yuh dead. Home! T'hell wit home! Where d'yuh get dat tripe? Dis is
home, see? What d'yuh want wit home? [_Proudly._] I runned away from
mine when I was a kid. On'y too glad to beat it, dat was me. Home was
lickings for me, dat's all. But yuh can bet your shoit noone ain't
never licked me since! Wanter try it, any of youse? Huh! I guess not.
[_In a more placated but still contemptuous tone._] Goils waitin' for
yuh, huh? Aw, hell! Dat's all tripe. Dey don't wait for noone. Dey'd
double-cross yuh for a nickel. Dey're all tarts, get me? Treat 'em
rough, dat's me. To hell wit 'em. Tarts, dat's what, de whole bunch of
'em.

LONG--[_Very drunk, jumps on a bench excitedly, gesticulating with a
bottle in his hand._] Listen 'ere, Comrades! Yank 'ere is right. 'E
says this 'ere stinkin' ship is our 'ome. And 'e says as 'ome is 'ell.
And 'e's right! This is 'ell. We lives in 'ell, Comrades--and right
enough we'll die in it. [_Raging._] And who's ter blame, I arsks yer?
We ain't. We wasn't born this rotten way. All men is born free and
ekal. That's in the bleedin' Bible, maties. But what d'they care for
the Bible--them lazy, bloated swine what travels first cabin? Them's
the ones. They dragged us down 'til we're on'y wage slaves in the
bowels of a bloody ship, sweatin', burnin' up, eatin' coal dust! Hit's
them's ter blame--the damned capitalist clarss! [_There had been a
gradual murmur of contemptuous resentment rising among the men until
now he is interrupted by a storm of catcalls, hisses, boos, hard
laughter._]

VOICES--Turn it off!

Shut up!

Sit down!

Closa da face!

Tamn fool! (Etc.)

YANK--[_Standing up and glaring at Long._] Sit down before I knock yuh
down! [_Long makes haste to efface himself. Yank goes on
contemptuously._] De Bible, huh? De Cap'tlist class, huh? Aw nix on dat
Salvation Army-Socialist bull. Git a soapbox! Hire a hall! Come and be
saved, huh? Jerk us to Jesus, huh? Aw g'wan! I've listened to lots of
guys like you, see, Yuh're all wrong. Wanter know what I t'ink? Yuh
ain't no good for noone. Yuh're de bunk. Yuh ain't got no noive, get
me? Yuh're yellow, dat's what. Yellow, dat's you. Say! What's dem slobs
in de foist cabin got to do wit us? We're better men dan dey are, ain't
we? Sure! One of us guys could clean up de whole mob wit one mit. Put
one of 'em down here for one watch in de stokehole, what'd happen?
Dey'd carry him off on a stretcher. Dem boids don't amount to nothin'.
Dey're just baggage. Who makes dis old tub run? Ain't it us guys? Well
den, we belong, don't we? We belong and dey don't. Dat's all. [_A loud
chorus of approval. Yank goes on_] As for dis bein' hell--aw, nuts! Yuh
lost your noive, dat's what. Dis is a man's job, get me? It belongs. It
runs dis tub. No stiffs need apply. But yuh're a stiff, see? Yuh're
yellow, dat's you.

VOICES--[_With a great hard pride in them._]

Righto!

A man's job!

Talk is cheap, Long.

He never could hold up his end.

Divil take him!

Yank's right. We make it go.

Py Gott, Yank say right ting!

We don't need noone cryin' over us.

Makin' speeches.

Throw him out!

Yellow!

Chuck him overboard!

I'll break his jaw for him!

[_They crowd around Long threateningly._]

YANK--[_Half good-natured again--contemptuously._] Aw, take it easy.
Leave him alone. He ain't woith a punch. Drink up. Here's how, whoever
owns dis. [_He takes a long swallow from his bottle. All drink with
him. In a flash all is hilarious amiability again, back-slapping, loud
talk, etc._]

PADDY--[_Who has been sitting in a blinking, melancholy daze--suddenly
cries out in a voice full of old sorrow._] We belong to this, you're
saying? We make the ship to go, you're saying? Yerra then, that
Almighty God have pity on us! [_His voice runs into the wail of a keen,
he rocks back and forth on his bench. The men stare at him, startled
and impressed in spite of themselves._] Oh, to be back in the fine days
of my youth, ochone! Oh, there was fine beautiful ships them
days--clippers wid tall masts touching the sky--fine strong men in
them--men that was sons of the sea as if 'twas the mother that bore
them. Oh, the clean skins of them, and the clear eyes, the straight
backs and full chests of them! Brave men they was, and bold men surely!
We'd be sailing out, bound down round the Horn maybe. We'd be making
sail in the dawn, with a fair breeze, singing a chanty song wid no care
to it. And astern the land would be sinking low and dying out, but we'd
give it no heed but a laugh, and never a look behind. For the day that
was, was enough, for we was free men--and I'm thinking 'tis only slaves
do be giving heed to the day that's gone or the day to come--until
they're old like me. [_With a sort of religious exaltation._] Oh, to be
scudding south again wid the power of the Trade Wind driving her on
steady through the nights and the days! Full sail on her! Nights and
days! Nights when the foam of the wake would be flaming wid fire, when
the sky'd be blazing and winking wid stars. Or the full of the moon
maybe. Then you'd see her driving through the gray night, her sails
stretching aloft all silver and white, not a sound on the deck, the lot
of us dreaming dreams, till you'd believe 'twas no real ship at all you
was on but a ghost ship like the Flying Dutchman they say does be
roaming the seas forevermore widout touching a port. And there was the
days, too. A warm sun on the clean decks. Sun warming the blood of you,
and wind over the miles of shiny green ocean like strong drink to your
lungs. Work--aye, hard work--but who'd mind that at all? Sure, you
worked under the sky and 'twas work wid skill and daring to it. And wid
the day done, in the dog watch, smoking me pipe at ease, the lookout
would be raising land maybe, and we'd see the mountains of South
Americy wid the red fire of the setting sun painting their white tops
and the clouds floating by them! [_His tone of exaltation ceases. He
goes on mournfully._] Yerra, what's the use of talking? 'Tis a dead
man's whisper. [_To Yank resentfully._] 'Twas them days men belonged to
ships, not now. 'Twas them days a ship was part of the sea, and a man
was part of a ship, and the sea joined all together and made it one.
[_Scornfully._] Is it one wid this you'd be, Yank--black smoke from the
funnels smudging the sea, smudging the decks--the bloody engines
pounding and throbbing and shaking--wid divil a sight of sun or a
breath of clean air--choking our lungs wid coal dust--breaking our
backs and hearts in the hell of the stokehole--feeding the bloody
furnace--feeding our lives along wid the coal, I'm thinking--caged in
by steel from a sight of the sky like bloody apes in the Zoo! [_With a
harsh laugh._] Ho-ho, divil mend you! Is it to belong to that you're
wishing? Is it a flesh and blood wheel of the engines you'd be?

YANK--[_Who has been listening with a contemptuous sneer, barks out the
answer._] Sure ting! Dat's me! What about it?

PADDY--[_As if to himself--with great sorrow._] Me time is past due.
That a great wave wid sun in the heart of it may sweep me over the side
sometime I'd be dreaming of the days that's gone!

YANK--Aw, yuh crazy Mick! [_He springs to his feet and advances on
Paddy threateningly--then stops, fighting some queer struggle within
himself--lets his hands fall to his sides--contemptuously._] Aw, take
it easy. Yuh're aw right, at dat. Yuh're bugs, dat's all--nutty as a
cuckoo. All dat tripe yuh been pullin'--Aw, dat's all right. On'y it's
dead, get me? Yuh don't belong no more, see. Yuh don't get de stuff.
Yuh're too old. [_Disgustedly._] But aw say, come up for air onct in a
while, can't yuh? See what's happened since yuh croaked. [_He suddenly
bursts forth vehemently, growing more and more excited._] Say! Sure!
Sure I meant it! What de hell--Say, lemme talk! Hey! Hey, you old Harp!
Hey, youse guys! Say, listen to me--wait a moment--I gotter talk, see.
I belong and he don't. He's dead but I'm livin'. Listen to me! Sure I'm
part of de engines! Why de hell not! Dey move, don't dey? Dey're speed,
ain't dey? Dey smash trou, don't dey? Twenty-five knots a hour! Dat's
goin' some! Dat's new stuff! Dat belongs! But him, he's too old. He
gets dizzy. Say, listen. All dat crazy tripe about nights and days; all
dat crazy tripe about stars and moons; all dat crazy tripe about suns
and winds, fresh air and de rest of it--Aw hell, dat's all a dope
dream! Hittin' de pipe of de past, dat's what he's doin'. He's old and
don't belong no more. But me, I'm young! I'm in de pink! I move wit it!
It, get me! I mean de ting dat's de guts of all dis. It ploughs trou
all de tripe he's been sayin'. It blows dat up! It knocks dat dead! It
slams dat off en de face of de oith! It, get me! De engines and de coal
and de smoke and all de rest of it! He can't breathe and swallow coal
dust, but I kin, see? Dat's fresh air for me! Dat's food for me! I'm
new, get me? Hell in de stokehole? Sure! It takes a man to work in
hell. Hell, sure, dat's my fav'rite climate. I eat it up! I git fat on
it! It's me makes it hot! It's me makes it roar! It's me makes it move!
Sure, on'y for me everyting stops. It all goes dead, get me? De noise
and smoke and all de engines movin' de woild, dey stop. Dere ain't
nothin' no more! Dat's what I'm sayin'. Everyting else dat makes de
woild move, somep'n makes it move. It can't move witout somep'n else,
see? Den yuh get down to me. I'm at de bottom, get me! Dere ain't
nothin' foither. I'm de end! I'm de start! I start somep'n and de woild
moves! It--dat's me!--de new dat's moiderin' de old! I'm de ting in
coal dat makes it boin; I'm steam and oil for de engines; I'm de ting
in noise dat makes yuh hear it; I'm smoke and express trains and
steamers and factory whistles; I'm de ting in gold dat makes it money!
And I'm what makes iron into steel! Steel, dat stands for de whole
ting! And I'm steel--steel--steel! I'm de muscles in steel, de punch
behind it! [_As he says this he pounds with his fist against the steel
bunks. All the men, roused to a pitch of frenzied self-glorification by
his speech, do likewise. There is a deafening metallic roar, through
which Yank's voice can be heard bellowing._] Slaves, hell! We run de
whole woiks. All de rich guys dat tink dey're somep'n, dey ain't
nothin'! Dey don't belong. But us guys, we're in de move, we're at de
bottom, de whole ting is us! [_Paddy from the start of Yank's speech
has been taking one gulp after another from his bottle, at first
frightenedly, as if he were afraid to listen, then desperately, as if
to drown his senses, but finally has achieved complete indifferent,
even amused, drunkenness. Yank sees his lips moving. He quells the
uproar with a shout._] Hey, youse guys, take it easy! Wait a moment! De
nutty Harp is sayin' someth'n.

PADDY--[_Is heard now--throws his head back with a mocking burst of
laughter._] Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho---

YANK--[_Drawing back his fist, with a snarl._] Aw! Look out who yuh're
givin' the bark!

PADDY--[_Begins to sing the "Muler of Dee" with enormous good-nature._]

    "I care for nobody, no, not I,
    And nobody cares for me."

YANK--[_Good-natured himself in a flash, interrupts PADDY with a slap
on the bare back like a report._] Dat's de stuff! Now yuh're gettin'
wise to somep'n. Care for nobody, dat's de dope! To hell wit 'em all!
And nix on nobody else carin'. I kin care for myself, get me! [_Eight
bells sound, muffled, vibrating through the steel walls as if some
enormous brazen gong were imbedded in the heart of the ship. All the
men jump up mechanically, fie through the door silently close upon each
other's heels in what is very like a prisoners lockstep. YANK slaps
PADDY on the back._] Our watch, yuh old Harp! [_Mockingly._] Come on
down in hell. Eat up de coal dust. Drink in de heat. It's it, see! Act
like yuh liked it, yuh better--or croak yuhself.

PADDY--[_With jovial defiance._] To the divil wid it! I'll not report
this watch. Let thim log me and be damned. I'm no slave the like of
you. I'll be sittin' here at me ease, and drinking, and thinking, and
dreaming dreams.

YANK--[_Contemptuously._] Tinkin' and dreamin', what'll that get yuh?
What's tinkin' got to do wit it? We move, don't we? Speed, ain't it?
Fog, dat's all you stand for. But we drive trou dat, don't we? We split
dat up and smash trou--twenty-five knots a hour! [_Turns his back on
Paddy scornfully._] Aw, yuh make me sick! Yuh don't belong! [_He
strides out the door in rear. Paddy hums to himself, blinking
drowsily._]

[_Curtain_]




SCENE II


SCENE--Two days out. A section of the promenade deck. MILDRED DOUGLAS
and her aunt are discovered reclining in deck chairs. The former is a
girl of twenty, slender, delicate, with a pale, pretty face marred by a
self-conscious expression of disdainful superiority. She looks fretful,
nervous and discontented, bored by her own anemia. Her aunt is a
pompous and proud--and fat--old lady. She is a type even to the point
of a double chin and lorgnettes. She is dressed pretentiously, as if
afraid her face alone would never indicate her position in life.
MILDRED is dressed all in white.

The impression to be conveyed by this scene is one of the beautiful,
vivid life of the sea all about--sunshine on the deck in a great flood,
the fresh sea wind blowing across it. In the midst of this, these two
incongruous, artificial figures, inert and disharmonious, the elder
like a gray lump of dough touched up with rouge, the younger looking as
if the vitality of her stock had been sapped before she was conceived,
so that she is the expression not of its life energy but merely of the
artificialities that energy had won for itself in the spending.

MILDRED--[_Looking up with affected dreaminess._] How the black smoke
swirls back against the sky! Is it not beautiful?

AUNT--[_Without looking up._] I dislike smoke of any kind.

MILDRED--My great-grandmother smoked a pipe--a clay pipe.

AUNT--[_Ruffling._] Vulgar!

MILDRED--She was too distant a relative to be vulgar. Time mellows
pipes.

AUNT--[_Pretending boredom but irritated._] Did the sociology you took
up at college teach you that--to play the ghoul on every possible
occasion, excavating old bones? Why not let your great-grandmother rest
in her grave?

MILDRED--[_Dreamily._] With her pipe beside her--puffing in Paradise.

AUNT--[_With spite._] Yes, you are a natural born ghoul. You are even
getting to look like one, my dear.

MILDRED--[_In a passionless tone._] I detest you, Aunt. [_Looking at
her critically._] Do you know what you remind me of? Of a cold pork
pudding against a background of linoleum tablecloth in the kitchen of
a--but the possibilities are wearisome. [_She closes her eyes._]

AUNT--[_With a bitter laugh._] Merci for your candor. But since I am
and must be your chaperone--in appearance, at least--let us patch up
some sort of armed truce. For my part you are quite free to indulge any
pose of eccentricity that beguiles you--as long as you observe the
amenities--

MILDRED--[_Drawling._] The inanities?

AUNT--[_Going on as if she hadn't heard._] After exhausting the morbid
thrills of social service work on New York's East Side--how they must
have hated you, by the way, the poor that you made so much poorer in
their own eyes!--you are now bent on making your slumming
international. Well, I hope Whitechapel will provide the needed nerve
tonic. Do not ask me to chaperone you there, however. I told your
father I would not. I loathe deformity. We will hire an army of
detectives and you may investigate everything--they allow you to see.

MILDRED--[_Protesting with a trace of genuine earnestness._] Please do
not mock at my attempts to discover how the other half lives. Give me
credit for some sort of groping sincerity in that at least. I would
like to help them. I would like to be some use in the world. Is it my
fault I don't know how? I would like to be sincere, to touch life
somewhere. [_With weary bitterness._] But I'm afraid I have neither the
vitality nor integrity. All that was burnt out in our stock before I
was born. Grandfather's blast furnaces, flaming to the sky, melting
steel, making millions--then father keeping those home fires burning,
making more millions--and little me at the tail-end of it all. I'm a
waste product in the Bessemer process--like the millions. Or rather, I
inherit the acquired trait of the by-product, wealth, but none of the
energy, none of the strength of the steel that made it. I am sired by
gold and darned by it, as they say at the race track--damned in more
ways than one, [_She laughs mirthlessly_].

AUNT--[_Unimpressed--superciliously._] You seem to be going in for
sincerity to-day. It isn't becoming to you, really--except as an
obvious pose. Be as artificial as you are, I advise. There's a sort of
sincerity in that, you know. And, after all, you must confess you like
that better.

MILDRED--[_Again affected and bored._] Yes, I suppose I do. Pardon me
for my outburst. When a leopard complains of its spots, it must sound
rather grotesque. [_In a mocking tone._] Purr, little leopard. Purr,
scratch, tear, kill, gorge yourself and be happy--only stay in the
jungle where your spots are camouflage. In a cage they make you
conspicuous.

AUNT--I don't know what you are talking about.

MILDRED--It would be rude to talk about anything to you. Let's just
talk. [_She looks at her wrist watch._] Well, thank goodness, it's
about time for them to come for me. That ought to give me a new thrill,
Aunt.

AUNT--[_Affectedly troubled._] You don't mean to say you're really
going? The dirt--the heat must be frightful--

MILDRED--Grandfather started as a puddler. I should have inherited an
immunity to heat that would make a salamander shiver. It will be fun to
put it to the test.

AUNT--But don't you have to have the captain's--or
someone's--permission to visit the stokehole?

MILDRED--[_With a triumphant smile._] I have it--both his and the chief
engineer's. Oh, they didn't want to at first, in spite of my social
service credentials. They didn't seem a bit anxious that I should
investigate how the other half lives and works on a ship. So I had to
tell them that my father, the president of Nazareth Steel, chairman of
the board of directors of this line, had told me it would be all right.

AUNT--He didn't.

MILDRED--How naive age makes one! But I said he did, Aunt. I even said
he had given me a letter to them--which I had lost. And they were
afraid to take the chance that I might be lying. [_Excitedly._] So it's
ho! for the stokehole. The second engineer is to escort me. [_Looking
at her watch again._] It's time. And here he comes, I think. [_The
SECOND ENGINEER enters, He is a husky, fine-looking man of thirty-five
or so. He stops before the two and tips his cap, visibly embarrassed
and ill-at-ease._]

SECOND ENGINEER--Miss Douglas?

MILDRED--Yes. [_Throwing off her rugs and getting to her feet._] Are we
all ready to start?

SECOND ENGINEER--In just a second, ma'am. I'm waiting for the Fourth.
He's coming along.

MILDRED--[_With a scornful smile._] You don't care to shoulder this
responsibility alone, is that it?

SECOND ENGINEER--[_Forcing a smile._] Two are better than one.
[_Disturbed by her eyes, glances out to sea--blurts out._] A fine day
we're having.

MILDRED--Is it?

SECOND ENGINEER--A nice warm breeze--

MILDRED--It feels cold to me.

SECOND ENGINEER--But it's hot enough in the sun--

MILDRED--Not hot enough for me. I don't like Nature. I was never
athletic.

SECOND ENGINEER--[_Forcing a smile._] Well, you'll find it hot enough
where you're going.

MILDRED--Do you mean hell?

SECOND ENGINEER--[_Flabbergasted, decides to laugh._] Ho-ho! No, I mean
the stokehole.

MILDRED--My grandfather was a puddler. He played with boiling steel.

SECOND ENGINEER--[_All at sea--uneasily._] Is that so? Hum, you'll
excuse me, ma'am, but are you intending to wear that dress.

MILDRED--Why not?

SECOND ENGINEER--You'll likely rub against oil and dirt. It can't be
helped.

MILDRED--It doesn't matter. I have lots of white dresses.

SECOND ENGINEER--I have an old coat you might throw over--

MILDRED--I have fifty dresses like this. I will throw this one into the
sea when I come back. That ought to wash it clean, don't you think?

SECOND ENGINEER--[_Doggedly._] There's ladders to climb down that are
none too clean--and dark alleyways--

MILDRED--I will wear this very dress and none other.

SECOND ENGINEER--No offence meant. It's none of my business. I was only
warning you--

MILDRED--Warning? That sounds thrilling.

SECOND ENGINEER--[_Looking down the deck--with a sigh of
relief._]--There's the Fourth now. He's waiting for us. If you'll come--

MILDRED--Go on. I'll follow you. [_He goes. Mildred turns a mocking
smile on her aunt._] An oaf--but a handsome, virile oaf.

AUNT--[_Scornfully._] Poser!

MILDRED--Take care. He said there were dark alleyways--

AUNT--[_In the same tone._] Poser!

MILDRED--[_Biting her lips angrily._] You are right. But would that my
millions were not so anemically chaste!

AUNT--Yes, for a fresh pose I have no doubt you would drag the name of
Douglas in the gutter!

MILDRED--From which it sprang. Good-by, Aunt. Don't pray too hard that
I may fall into the fiery furnace.

AUNT--Poser!

MILDRED--[_Viciously._] Old hag! [_She slaps her aunt insultingly
across the face and walks off, laughing gaily._]

AUNT--[_Screams after her._] I said poser!

[_Curtain_]




SCENE III


SCENE--The stokehole. In the rear, the dimly-outlined bulks of the
furnaces and boilers. High overhead one hanging electric bulb sheds
just enough light through the murky air laden with coal dust to pile up
masses of shadows everywhere. A line of men, stripped to the waist, is
before the furnace doors. They bend over, looking neither to right nor
left, handling their shovels as if they were part of their bodies, with
a strange, awkward, swinging rhythm. They use the shovels to throw open
the furnace doors. Then from these fiery round holes in the black a
flood of terrific light and heat pours full upon the men who are
outlined in silhouette in the crouching, inhuman attitudes of chained
gorillas. The men shovel with a rhythmic motion, swinging as on a pivot
from the coal which lies in heaps on the floor behind to hurl it into
the flaming mouths before them. There is a tumult of noise--the brazen
clang of the furnace doors as they are flung open or slammed shut, the
grating, teeth-gritting grind of steel against steel, of crunching
coal. This clash of sounds stuns one's ears with its rending
dissonance. But there is order in it, rhythm, a mechanical regulated
recurrence, a tempo. And rising above all, making the air hum with the
quiver of liberated energy, the roar of leaping flames in the furnaces,
the monotonous throbbing beat of the engines.

As the curtain rises, the furnace doors are shut. The men are taking a
breathing spell. One or two are arranging the coal behind them, pulling
it into more accessible heaps. The others can be dimly made out leaning
on their shovels in relaxed attitudes of exhaustion.

PADDY--[_From somewhere in the line--plaintively._] Yerra, will this
divil's own watch nivir end? Me back is broke. I'm destroyed entirely.

YANK--[_From the center of the line--with exuberant scorn._] Aw, yuh
make me sick! Lie down and croak, why don't yuh? Always beefin', dat's
you! Say, dis is a cinch! Dis was made for me! It's my meat, get me!
[_A whistle is blown--a thin, shrill note from somewhere overhead in
the darkness. Yank curses without resentment._] Dere's de damn engineer
crakin' de whip. He tinks we're loafin'.

PADDY--[_Vindictively._] God stiffen him!

YANK--[_In an exultant tone of command._] Come on, youse guys! Git into
de game! She's gittin' hungry! Pile some grub in her! Trow it into her
belly! Come on now, all of youse! Open her up! [_At this last all the
men, who have followed his movements of getting into position, throw
open their furnace doors with a deafening clang. The fiery light floods
over their shoulders as they bend round for the coal. Rivulets of sooty
sweat have traced maps on their backs. The enlarged muscles form
bunches of high light and shadow._]

YANK--[_Chanting a count as he shovels without seeming effort._]
One--two--tree--[_His voice rising exultantly in the joy of battle._]
Dat's de stuff! Let her have it! All togedder now! Sling it into her!
Let her ride! Shoot de piece now! Call de toin on her! Drive her into
it! Feel her move! Watch her smoke! Speed, dat's her middle name! Give
her coal, youse guys! Coal, dat's her booze! Drink it up, baby! Let's
see yuh sprint! Dig in and gain a lap! Dere she go-o-es [_This last in
the chanting formula of the gallery gods at the six-day bike race. He
slams his furnace door shut. The others do likewise with as much unison
as their wearied bodies will permit. The effect is of one fiery eye
after another being blotted out with a series of accompanying bangs._]

PADDY--[_Groaning._] Me back is broke. I'm bate out--bate--[_There is a
pause. Then the inexorable whistle sounds again from the dim regions
above the electric light. There is a growl of cursing rage from all
sides._]

YANK--[_Shaking his fist upward--contemptuously._] Take it easy dere,
you! Who d'yuh tinks runnin' dis game, me or you? When I git ready, we
move. Not before! When I git ready, get me!

VOICES--[_Approvingly._] That's the stuff!

Yank tal him, py golly!

Yank ain't affeerd.

Goot poy, Yank!

Give him hell!

Tell 'im 'e's a bloody swine!

Bloody slave-driver!

YANK--[_Contemptuously._] He ain't got no noive. He's yellow, get me?
All de engineers is yellow. Dey got streaks a mile wide. Aw, to hell
wit him! Let's move, youse guys. We had a rest. Come on, she needs it!
Give her pep! It ain't for him. Him and his whistle, dey don't belong.
But we belong, see! We gotter feed de baby! Come on! [_He turns and
flings his furnace door open. They all follow his lead. At this instant
the Second and Fourth Engineers enter from the darkness on the left
with Mildred between them. She starts, turns paler, her pose is
crumbling, she shivers with fright in spite of the blazing heat, but
forces herself to leave the Engineers and take a few steps nearer the
men. She is right behind Yank. All this happens quickly while the men
have their backs turned._]

YANK--Come on, youse guys! [_He is turning to get coal when the whistle
sounds again in a peremptory, irritating note. This drives Yank into a
sudden fury. While the other men have turned full around and stopped
dumfounded by the spectacle of Mildred standing there in her white
dress, Yank does not turn far enough to see her. Besides, his head is
thrown back, he blinks upward through the murk trying to find the owner
of the whistle, he brandishes his shovel murderously over his head in
one hand, pounding on his chest, gorilla-like, with the other,
shouting:_] Toin off dat whistle! Come down outa dere, yuh yellow,
brass-buttoned, Belfast bum, yuh! Come down and I'll knock yer brains
out! Yuh lousey, stinkin', yellow mut of a Catholic-moiderin' bastard!
Come down and I'll moider yuh! Pullin' dat whistle on me, huh? I'll
show yuh! I'll crash yer skull in! I'll drive yer teet' down yer troat!
I'll slam yer nose trou de back of yer head! I'll cut yer guts out for
a nickel, yuh lousey boob, yuh dirty, crummy, muck-eatin' son of a--

[_Suddenly he becomes conscious of all the other men staring at
something directly behind his back. He whirls defensively with a
snarling, murderous growl, crouching to spring, his lips drawn back
o'ver his teeth, his small eyes gleaming ferociously. He sees Mildred,
like a white apparition in the full light from the open furnace doors.
He glares into her eyes, turned to stone. As for her, during his speech
she has listened, paralyzed with horror, terror, her whole personality
crushed, beaten in, collapsed, by the terrific impact of this unknown,
abysmal brutality, naked and shameless. As she looks at his gorilla
face, as his eyes bore into hers, she utters a low, choking cry and
shrinks away from him, putting both hands up before her eyes to shut
out the sight of his face, to protect her own. This startles Yank to a
reaction. His mouth falls open, his eyes grow bewildered._]

MILDRED--[_About to faint--to the Engineers, who now have her one by
each arm--whimperingly._] Take me away! Oh, the filthy beast! [_She
faints. They carry her quickly back, disappearing in the darkness at
the left, rear. An iron door clangs shut. Rage and bewildered fury rush
back on Yank. He feels himself insulted in some unknown fashion in the
very heart of his pride. He roars:_] God damn yuh! [_And hurls his
shovel after them at the door which has just closed. It hits the steel
bulkhead with a clang and falls clattering on the steel floor. From
overhead the whistle sounds again in a long, angry, insistent command._]

[_Curtain_]




SCENE IV


SCENE--The firemen's forecastle. Yank's watch has just come off duty
and had dinner. Their faces and bodies shine from a soap and water
scrubbing but around their eyes, where a hasty dousing does not touch,
the coal dust sticks like black make-up, giving them a queer, sinister
expression. Yank has not washed either face or body. He stands out in
contrast to them, a blackened, brooding figure. He is seated forward on
a bench in the exact attitude of Rodin's "The Thinker." The others,
most of them smoking pipes, are staring at Yank half-apprehensively, as
if fearing an outburst; half-amusedly, as if they saw a joke somewhere
that tickled them.

VOICES--He ain't ate nothin'.

Py golly, a fallar gat gat grub in him.

Divil a lie.

Yank feeda da fire, no feeda da face.

Ha-ha.

He ain't even washed hisself.

He's forgot.

Hey, Yank, you forgot to wash.

YANK--[_Sullenly._] Forgot nothin'! To hell wit washin'.

VOICES--It'll stick to you. It'll get under your skin. Give yer the
bleedin' itch, that's wot. It makes spots on you--like a leopard. Like
a piebald nigger, you mean. Better wash up, Yank. You sleep better.
Wash up, Yank. Wash up! Wash up!

YANK--[_Resentfully._] Aw say, youse guys. Lemme alone. Can't youse see
I'm tryin' to tink?

ALL--[_Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery._]
Think! [_The word has a brazen, metallic quality as if their throats
were phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking
laughter._]

YANK--[_Springing to his feet and glaring at them belligerently._] Yes,
tink! Tink, dat's what I said! What about it? [_They are silent,
puzzled by his sudden resentment at what used to be one of his jokes.
Yank sits down again in the same attitude of "The Thinker."_]

VOICES--Leave him alone.

He's got a grouch on.

Why wouldn't he?

PADDY--[_With a wink at the others._] Sure I know what's the matther.
'Tis aisy to see. He's fallen in love, I'm telling you.

ALL--[_Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery._]
Love! [_The word has a brazen, metallic quality as if their throats
were phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking
laughter._]

YANK--[_With a contemptuous snort._] Love, hell! Hate, dat's what. I've
fallen in hate, get me?

PADDY--[_Philosophically_] 'Twould take a wise man to tell one from the
other. [_With a bitter, ironical scorn, increasing as he goes on._] But
I'm telling you it's love that's in it. Sure what else but love for us
poor bastes in the stokehole would be bringing a fine lady, dressed
like a white quane, down a mile of ladders and steps to be havin' a
look at us? [_A growl of anger goes up from all sides._]

LONG--[_Jumping on a bench--hecticly_] Hinsultin' us! Hinsultin' us,
the bloody cow! And them bloody engineers! What right 'as they got to
be exhibitin' us 's if we was bleedin' monkeys in a menagerie? Did we
sign for hinsults to our dignity as 'onest workers? Is that in the
ship's articles? You kin bloody well bet it ain't! But I knows why they
done it. I arsked a deck steward 'o she was and 'e told me. 'Er old
man's a bleedin' millionaire, a bloody Capitalist! 'E's got enuf bloody
gold to sink this bleedin' ship! 'E makes arf the bloody steel in the
world! 'E owns this bloody boat! And you and me, comrades, we're 'is
slaves! And the skipper and mates and engineers, they're 'is slaves!
And she's 'is bloody daughter and we're all 'er slaves, too! And she
gives 'er orders as 'ow she wants to see the bloody animals below decks
and down they takes 'er! [_There is a roar of rage from all sides._]

YANK--[_Blinking at him bewilderedly._] Say! Wait a moment! Is all dat
straight goods?

LONG--Straight as string! The bleedin' steward as waits on 'em, 'e told
me about 'er. And what're we goin' ter do, I arsks yer? 'Ave we got ter
swaller 'er hinsults like dogs? It ain't in the ship's articles. I tell
yer we got a case. We kin go ter law--

YANK--[_With abysmal contempt._] Hell! Law!

ALL--[_Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery._] Law!
[_The word has a brazen metallic quality as if their throats were
phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking
laughter._]

LONG--[_Feeling the ground slipping from under his feet--desperately._]
As voters and citizens we kin force the bloody governments--

YANK--[_With abysmal contempt._] Hell! Governments!

ALL--[_Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery._]
Governments! [_The word has a brazen metallic quality as if their
throats were phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard,
barking laughter._]

LONG--[_Hysterically._] We're free and equal in the sight of God--

YANK--[_With abysmal contempt._] Hell! God!

ALL--[_Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery._] God!
[_The word has a brazen metallic quality as if their throats were
phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking
laughter._]

YANK--[_Witheringly._] Aw, join de Salvation Army!

ALL--Sit down! Shut up! Damn fool! Sea-lawyer! [_Long slinks back out
of sight._]

PADDY--[_Continuing the trend of his thoughts as if he had never been
interrupted--bitterly._] And there she was standing behind us, and the
Second pointing at us like a man you'd hear in a circus would be
saying: In this cage is a queerer kind of baboon than ever you'd find
in darkest Africy. We roast them in their own sweat--and be damned if
you won't hear some of thim saying they like it! [_He glances
scornfully at Yank._]

YANK--[_With a bewildered uncertain growl._] Aw!

PADDY--And there was Yank roarin' curses and turning round wid his
shovel to brain her--and she looked at him, and him at her--

YANK--[_Slowly._] She was all white. I tought she was a ghost. Sure.

PADDY--[_With heavy, biting sarcasm._] 'Twas love at first sight, divil
a doubt of it! If you'd seen the endearin' look on her pale mug when
she shrivelled away with her hands over her eyes to shut out the sight
of him! Sure, 'twas as if she'd seen a great hairy ape escaped from the
Zoo!

YANK--[_Stung--with a growl of rage._] Aw!

PADDY--And the loving way Yank heaved his shovel at the skull of her,
only she was out the door! [_A grin breaking over his face._] 'Twas
touching, I'm telling you! It put the touch of home, swate home in the
stokehole. [_There is a roar of laughter from all._]

YANK--[_Glaring at Paddy menacingly._] Aw, choke dat off, see!

PADDY--[_Not heeding him--to the others._] And her grabbin' at the
Second's arm for protection. [_With a grotesque imitation of a woman's
voice._] Kiss me, Engineer dear, for it's dark down here and me old
man's in Wall Street making money! Hug me tight, darlin', for I'm
afeerd in the dark and me mother's on deck makin' eyes at the skipper!
[_Another roar of laughter._]

YANK--[_Threateningly._] Say! What yuh tryin' to do, kid me, yuh old
Harp?

PADDY--Divil a bit! Ain't I wishin' myself you'd brained her?

YANK--[_Fiercely._] I'll brain her! I'll brain her yet, wait 'n' see!
[_Coming over to Paddy--slowly._] Say, is dat what she called me--a
hairy ape?

PADDY--She looked it at you if she didn't say the word itself.

YANK--[_Grinning horribly._] Hairy ape, huh? Sure! Dat's de way she
looked at me, aw right. Hairy ape! So dat's me, huh? [_Bursting into
rage--as if she were still in front of him._] Yuh skinny tart! Yuh
white-faced bum, yuh! I'll show yuh who's a ape! [_Turning to the
others, bewilderment seizing him again._] Say, youse guys. I was
bawlin' him out for pullin' de whistle on us. You heard me. And den I
seen youse lookin' at somep'n and I tought he'd sneaked down to come up
in back of me, and I hopped round to knock him dead wit de shovel. And
dere she was wit de light on her! Christ, yuh coulda pushed me over
with a finger! I was scared, get me? Sure! I tought she was a ghost,
see? She was all in white like dey wrap around stiffs. You seen her.
Kin yuh blame me? She didn't belong, dat's what. And den when I come to
and seen it was a real skoit and seen de way she was lookin' at
me--like Paddy said--Christ, I was sore, get me? I don't stand for dat
stuff from nobody. And I flung de shovel--on'y she'd beat it.
[_Furiously._] I wished it'd banged her! I wished it'd knocked her
block off!

LONG--And be 'anged for murder or 'lectrocuted? She ain't bleedin' well
worth it.

YANK--I don't give a damn what! I'd be square wit her, wouldn't I? Tink
I wanter let her put somep'n over on me? Tink I'm goin' to let her git
away wit dat stuff? Yuh don't know me! Noone ain't never put nothin'
over on me and got away wit it, see!--not dat kind of stuff--no guy and
no skoit neither! I'll fix her! Maybe she'll come down again--

VOICE--No chance, Yank. You scared her out of a year's growth.

YANK--I scared her? Why de hell should I scare her? Who de hell is she?
Ain't she de same as me? Hairy ape, huh? [_With his old confident
bravado._] I'll show her I'm better'n her, if she on'y knew it. I
belong and she don't, see! I move and she's dead! Twenty-five knots a
hour, dats me! Dat carries her but I make dat. She's on'y baggage.
Sure! [_Again bewilderedly._] But, Christ, she was funny lookin'! Did
yuh pipe her hands? White and skinny. Yuh could see de bones trough
'em. And her mush, dat was dead white, too. And her eyes, dey was like
dey'd seen a ghost. Me, dat was! Sure! Hairy ape! Ghost, huh? Look at
dat arm! [_He extends his right arm, swelling out the great muscles._]
I coulda took her wit dat, wit' just my little finger even, and broke
her in two. [_Again bewilderedly._] Say, who is dat skoit, huh? What is
she? What's she come from? Who made her? Who give her de noive to look
at me like dat? Dis ting's got my goat right. I don't get her. She's
new to me. What does a skoit like her mean, huh? She don't belong, get
me! I can't see her. [_With growing anger._] But one ting I'm wise to,
aw right, aw right! Youse all kin bet your shoits I'll git even wit
her. I'll show her if she tinks she--She grinds de organ and I'm on de
string, huh? I'll fix her! Let her come down again and I'll fling her
in de furnace! She'll move den! She won't shiver at nothin', den!
Speed, dat'll be her! She'll belong den! [_He grins horribly._]

PADDY--She'll never come. She's had her belly-full, I'm telling you.
She'll be in bed now, I'm thinking, wid ten doctors and nurses feedin'
her salts to clean the fear out of her.

YANK--[_Enraged._] Yuh tink I made her sick, too, do yuh? Just lookin'
at me, huh? Hairy ape, huh? [_In a frenzy of rage._] I'll fix her! I'll
tell her where to git off! She'll git down on her knees and take it
back or I'll bust de face offen her! [_Shaking one fist upward and
beating on his chest with the other._] I'll find yuh! I'm comin', d'yuh
hear? I'll fix yuh, God damn yuh! [_He makes a rush for the door._]

VOICES--Stop him!

He'll get shot!

He'll murder her!

Trip him up!

Hold him!

He's gone crazy!

Gott, he's strong!

Hold him down!

Look out for a kick!

Pin his arms!

[_They have all piled on him and, after a fierce struggle, by sheer
weight of numbers have borne him to the floor just inside the door._]

PADDY--[_Who has remained detached._] Kape him down till he's cooled
off. [_Scornfully._] Yerra, Yank, you're a great fool. Is it payin'
attention at all you are to the like of that skinny sow widout one drop
of rale blood in her?

YANK--[_Frenziedly, from the bottom of the heap._] She done me doit!
She done me doit, didn't she? I'll git square wit her! I'll get her
some way! Git offen me, youse guys! Lemme up! I'll show her who's a ape!

[_Curtain_]




SCENE V


SCENE--Three weeks later. A corner of Fifth Avenue in the Fifties on a
fine, Sunday morning. A general atmosphere of clean, well-tidied, wide
street; a flood of mellow, tempered sunshine; gentle, genteel breezes.
In the rear, the show windows of two shops, a jewelry establishment on
the corner, a furrier's next to it. Here the adornments of extreme
wealth are tantalizingly displayed. The jeweler's window is gaudy with
glittering diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls, etc., fashioned in
ornate tiaras, crowns, necklaces, collars, etc. From each piece hangs
an enormous tag from which a dollar sign and numerals in intermittent
electric lights wink out the incredible prices. The same in the
furrier's. Rich furs of all varieties hang there bathed in a downpour
of artificial light. The general effect is of a background of
magnificence cheapened and made grotesque by commercialism, a
background in tawdry disharmony with the clear light and sunshine on
the street itself.

Up the side street Yank and Long come swaggering. Long is dressed in
shore clothes, wears a black Windsor tie, cloth cap. Yank is in his
dirty dungarees. A fireman's cap with black peak is cocked defiantly on
the side of his head. He has not shaved for days and around his fierce,
resentful eyes--as around those of Long to a lesser degree--the black
smudge of coal dust still sticks like make-up. They hesitate and stand
together at the corner, swaggering, looking about them with a forced,
defiant contempt.

LONG--[_Indicating it all with an oratorical gesture._] Well, 'ere we
are. Fif' Avenoo. This 'ere's their bleedin' private lane, as yer might
say. [_Bitterly._] We're trespassers 'ere. Proletarians keep orf the
grass!

YANK--[_Dully._] I don't see no grass, yuh boob. [_Staring at the
sidewalk._] Clean, ain't it? Yuh could eat a fried egg offen it. The
white wings got some job sweepin' dis up. [_Looking up and down the
avenue--surlily._] Where's all de white-collar stiffs yuh said was
here--and de skoits--her kind?

LONG--In church, blarst 'em! Arskin' Jesus to give 'em more money.

YANK--Choich, huh? I useter go to choich onct--sure--when I was a kid.
Me old man and woman, dey made me. Dey never went demselves, dough.
Always got too big a head on Sunday mornin', dat was dem. [_With a
grin._] Dey was scrappers for fair, bot' of dem. On Satiday nights when
dey bot' got a skinful dey could put up a bout oughter been staged at
de Garden. When dey got trough dere wasn't a chair or table wit a leg
under it. Or else dey bot' jumped on me for somep'n. Dat was where I
loined to take punishment. [_With a grin and a swagger._] I'm a chip
offen de old block, get me?

LONG--Did yer old man follow the sea?

YANK--Naw. Worked along shore. I runned away when me old lady croaked
wit de tremens. I helped at truckin' and in de market. Den I shipped in
de stokehole. Sure. Dat belongs. De rest was nothin'. [_Looking around
him._] I ain't never seen dis before. De Brooklyn waterfront, dat was
where I was dragged up. [_Taking a deep breath._] Dis ain't so bad at
dat, huh?

LONG--Not bad? Well, we pays for it wiv our bloody sweat, if yer wants
to know!

YANK--[_With sudden angry disgust._] Aw, hell! I don't see noone,
see--like her. All dis gives me a pain. It don't belong. Say, ain't
dere a backroom around dis dump? Let's go shoot a ball. All dis is too
clean and quiet and dolled-up, get me! It gives me a pain.

LONG--Wait and yer'll bloody well see--

YANK--I don't wait for noone. I keep on de move. Say, what yuh drag me
up here for, anyway? Tryin' to kid me, yuh simp, yuh?

LONG--Yer wants to get back at her, don't yer? That's what yer been
saying' every bloomin' 'our since she hinsulted yer.

YANK--[_Vehemently._] Sure ting I do! Didn't I try to git even wit her
in Southampton? Didn't I sneak on de dock and wait for her by de
gangplank? I was goin' to spit in her pale mug, see! Sure, right in her
pop-eyes! Dat woulda made me even, see? But no chanct. Dere was a whole
army of plain clothes bulls around. Dey spotted me and gimme de bum's
rush. I never seen her. But I'll git square wit her yet, you watch!
[_Furiously._] De lousey tart! She tinks she kin get away wit
moider--but not wit me! I'll fix her! I'll tink of a way!

LONG--[_As disgusted as he dares to be._] Ain't that why I brought yer
up 'ere--to show yer? Yer been lookin' at this 'ere 'ole affair wrong.
Yer been actin' an' talkin' 's if it was all a bleedin' personal matter
between yer and that bloody cow. I wants to convince yer she was on'y a
representative of 'er clarss. I wants to awaken yer bloody clarss
consciousness. Then yer'll see it's 'er clarss yer've got to fight, not
'er alone. There's a 'ole mob of 'em like 'er, Gawd blind 'em!

YANK--[_Spitting on his hands--belligerently._] De more de merrier when
I gits started. Bring on de gang!

LONG--Yer'll see 'em in arf a mo', when that church lets out. [_He
turns and sees the window display in the two stores for the first
time._] Blimey! Look at that, will yer? [_They both walk back and stand
looking in the jewelers. Long flies into a fury._] Just look at this
'ere bloomin' mess! Just look at it! Look at the bleedin' prices on
'em--more'n our 'old bloody stokehole makes in ten voyages sweatin' in
'ell! And they--her and her bloody clarss--buys 'em for toys to dangle
on 'em! One of these 'ere would buy scoff for a starvin' family for a
year!

YANK--Aw, cut de sob stuff! T' hell wit de starvin' family! Yuh'll be
passin' de hat to me next. [_With naive admiration._] Say, dem tings is
pretty, huh? Bet yuh dey'd hock for a piece of change aw right. [_Then
turning away, bored._] But, aw hell, what good are dey? Let her have
'em. Dey don't belong no more'n she does. [_With a gesture of sweeping
the jewelers into oblivion._] All dat don't count, get me?

LONG--[_Who has moved to the furriers--indignantly._] And I s'pose this
'ere don't count neither--skins of poor, 'armless animals slaughtered
so as 'er and 'ers can keep their bleedin' noses warm!

YANK--[_Who has been staring at something inside--with queer
excitement._] Take a slant at dat! Give it de once-over! Monkey
fur--two t'ousand bucks! [_Bewilderedly._] Is dat straight
goods--monkey fur? What de hell--?

LONG--[_Bitterly._] It's straight enuf. [_With grim humor._] They
wouldn't bloody well pay that for a 'airy ape's skin--no, nor for the
'ole livin' ape with all 'is 'ead, and body, and soul thrown in!

YANK--[_Clenching his fists, his face growing pale with rage as if the
skin in the window were a personal insult._] Trowin' it up in my face!
Christ! I'll fix her!

LONG--[_Excitedly._] Church is out. 'Ere they come, the bleedin' swine.
[_After a glance at Yank's lowering face--uneasily._] Easy goes,
Comrade. Keep yer bloomin' temper. Remember force defeats itself. It
ain't our weapon. We must impress our demands through peaceful
means--the votes of the on-marching proletarians of the bloody world!

YANK--[_With abysmal contempt._] Votes, hell! Votes is a joke, see.
Votes for women! Let dem do it!

LONG--[_Still more uneasily._] Calm, now. Treat 'em wiv the proper
contempt. Observe the bleedin' parasites but 'old yer 'orses.

YANK--[_Angrily._] Git away from me! Yuh're yellow, dat's what. Force,
dat's me! De punch, dat's me every time, see! [_The crowd from church
enter from the right, sauntering slowly and affectedly, their heads
held stiffly up, looking neither to right nor left, talking in
toneless, simpering voices. The women are rouged, calcimined, dyed,
overdressed to the nth degree. The men are in Prince Alberts, high
hats, spats, canes, etc. A procession of gaudy marionettes, yet with
something of the relentless horror of Frankensteins in their detached,
mechanical unawareness._]

VOICES--Dear Doctor Caiaphas! He is so sincere!
    What was the sermon? I dozed off.
    About the radicals, my dear--and the false
        doctrines that are being preached.
    We must organize a hundred per cent American bazaar.
    And let everyone contribute one one-hundredth percent
        of their income tax.
    What an original idea!
    We can devote the proceeds to rehabilitating the veil of the
        temple.
    But that has been done so many times.

YANK--[_Glaring from one to the other of them--with an insulting snort
of scorn._] Huh! Huh! [_Without seeming to see him, they make wide
detours to avoid the spot where he stands in the middle of the
sidewalk._]

LONG--[_Frightenedly._] Keep yer bloomin' mouth shut, I tells yer.

YANK--[_Viciously._] G'wan! Tell it to Sweeney! [_He swaggers away and
deliberately lurches into a top-hatted gentleman, then glares at him
pugnaciously._] Say, who d'yuh tink yuh're bumpin'? Tink yuh own de
oith?

GENTLEMAN--[_Coldly and affectedly._] I beg your pardon. [_He has not
looked at YANK and passes on without a glance, leaving him bewildered._]

LONG--[_Rushing up and grabbing YANK's arm._] 'Ere! Come away! This
wasn't what I meant. Yer'll 'ave the bloody coppers down on us.

YANK--[_Savagely--giving him a push that sends him sprawling._] G'wan!

LONG--[_Picks himself up--hysterically._] I'll pop orf then. This ain't
what I meant. And whatever 'appens, yer can't blame me. [_He slinks off
left._]

YANK--T' hell wit youse! [_He approaches a lady--with a vicious grin
and a smirking wink._] Hello, Kiddo. How's every little ting? Got
anyting on for to-night? I know an old boiler down to de docks we kin
crawl into. [_The lady stalks by without a look, without a change of
pace. YANK turns to others--insultingly._] Holy smokes, what a mug! Go
hide yuhself before de horses shy at yuh. Gee, pipe de heinie on dat
one! Say, youse, yuh look like de stoin of a ferryboat. Paint and
powder! All dolled up to kill! Yuh look like stiffs laid out for de
boneyard! Aw, g'wan, de lot of youse! Yuh give me de eye-ache. Yuh
don't belong, get me! Look at me, why don't youse dare? I belong, dat's
me! [_Pointing to a skyscraper across the street which is in process of
construction--with bravado._] See dat building goin' up dere? See de
steel work? Steel, dat's me! Youse guys live on it and tink yuh're
somep'n. But I'm IN it, see! I'm de hoistin' engine dat makes it go up!
I'm it--de inside and bottom of it! Sure! I'm steel and steam and smoke
and de rest of it! It moves--speed--twenty-five stories up--and me at
de top and bottom--movin'! Youse simps don't move. Yuh're on'y dolls I
winds up to see 'm spin. Yuh're de garbage, get me--de leavins--de
ashes we dump over de side! Now, whata yuh gotto say? [_But as they
seem neither to see nor hear him, he flies into a fury._] Bums! Pigs!
Tarts! Bitches! [_He turns in a rage on the men, bumping viciously into
them but not jarring them the least bit. Rather it is he who recoils
after each collision. He keeps growling._] Git off de oith! G'wan, yuh
bum! Look where yuh're goin,' can't yuh? Git outa here! Fight, why
don't yuh? Put up yer mits! Don't be a dog! Fight or I'll knock yuh
dead! [_But, without seeming to see him, they all answer with
mechanical affected politeness:_] I beg your pardon. [_Then at a cry
from one of the women, they all scurry to the furrier's window._]

THE WOMAN--[_Ecstatically, with a gasp of delight._] Monkey fur! [_The
whole crowd of men and women chorus after her in the same tone of
affected delight._] Monkey fur!

YANK--[_With a jerk of his head back on his shoulders, as if he had
received a punch full in the face--raging._] I see yuh, all in white! I
see yuh, yuh white-faced tart, yuh! Hairy ape, huh? I'll hairy ape yuh!
[_He bends down and grips at the street curbing as if to pluck it out
and hurl it. Foiled in this, snarling with passion, he leaps to the
lamp-post on the corner and tries to pull it up for a club. Just at
that moment a bus is heard rumbling up. A fat, high-hatted, spatted
gentleman runs out from the side street. He calls out plaintively:
"Bus! Bus! Stop there!" and runs full tilt into the bending, straining
YANK, who is bowled off his balance._]

YANK--[_Seeing a fight--with a roar of joy as he springs to his feet._]
At last! Bus, huh? I'll bust yuh! [_He lets drive a terrific swing, his
fist landing full on the fat gentleman's face. But the gentleman stands
unmoved as if nothing had happened._]

GENTLEMAN--I beg your pardon. [_Then irritably._] You have made me lose
my bus. [_He claps his hands and begins to scream:_] Officer! Officer!
[_Many police whistles shrill out on the instant and a whole platoon of
policemen rush in on YANK from all sides. He tries to fight but is
clubbed to the pavement and fallen upon. The crowd at the window have
not moved or noticed this disturbance. The clanging gong of the patrol
wagon approaches with a clamoring din._]

[_Curtain_]




SCENE VI


SCENE--Night of the following day. A row of cells in the prison on
Blackwells Island. The cells extend back diagonally from right front to
left rear. They do not stop, but disappear in the dark background as if
they ran on, numberless, into infinity. One electric bulb from the low
ceiling of the narrow corridor sheds its light through the heavy steel
bars of the cell at the extreme front and reveals part of the interior.
YANK can be seen within, crouched on the edge of his cot in the
attitude of Rodin's "The Thinker." His face is spotted with black and
blue bruises. A blood-stained bandage is wrapped around his head.

YANK--[_Suddenly starting as if awakening from a dream, reaches out and
shakes the bars--aloud to himself, wonderingly._] Steel. Dis is de Zoo,
huh? [_A burst of hard, barking laughter comes from the unseen
occupants of the cells, runs back down the tier, and abruptly ceases._]

VOICES--[_Mockingly._] The Zoo? That's a new name for this coop--a damn
good name! Steel, eh? You said a mouthful. This is the old iron house.
Who is that boob talkin'? He's the bloke they brung in out of his head.
The bulls had beat him up fierce.

YANK--[_Dully._] I musta been dreamin'. I tought I was in a cage at de
Zoo--but de apes don't talk, do dey?

VOICES--[_With mocking laughter._] You're in a cage aw right.

A coop!

A pen!

A sty!

A kennel! [_Hard laughter--a pause._]

Say, guy! Who are you? No, never mind lying. What are you?

Yes, tell us your sad story. What's your game?

What did they jug yuh for?

YANK--[_Dully._] I was a fireman--stokin' on de liners. [_Then with
sudden rage, rattling his cell bars._] I'm a hairy ape, get me? And
I'll bust youse all in de jaw if yuh don't lay off kiddin' me.

VOICES--Huh! You're a hard boiled duck ain't you!

When you spit, it bounces! [_Laughter._]

Aw, can it. He's a regular guy. Ain't you?

What did he say he was--a ape?

YANK--[_Defiantly._] Sure ting! Ain't dat what youse all are--apes? [_A
silence. Then a furious rattling of bars from down the corridor._]

A VOICE--[_Thick with rage._] I'll show yuh who's a ape, yuh bum!

VOICES--Ssshh! Nix!

Can de noise!

Piano!

You'll have the guard down on us!

YANK--[_Scornfully._] De guard? Yuh mean de keeper, don't yuh? [_Angry
exclamations from all the cells._]

VOICE--[_Placatingly._] Aw, don't pay no attention to him. He's off his
nut from the beatin'-up he got. Say, you guy! We're waitin' to hear
what they landed you for--or ain't yuh tellin'?

YANK--Sure, I'll tell youse. Sure! Why de hell not? On'y--youse won't
get me. Nobody gets me but me, see? I started to tell de Judge and all
he says was: "Toity days to tink it over." Tink it over! Christ, dat's
all I been doin' for weeks! [_After a pause._] I was tryin' to git even
wit someone, see?--someone dat done me doit.

VOICES--[_Cynically._] De old stuff, I bet. Your goil, huh?

Give yuh the double-cross, huh?

That's them every time!

Did yuh beat up de odder guy?

YANK--[_Disgustedly_] Aw, yuh're all wrong! Sure dere was a skoit in
it--but not what youse mean, not dat old tripe. Dis was a new kind of
skoit. She was dolled up all in white--in de stokehole. I tought she
was a ghost. Sure. [_A pause._]

VOICES--[_Whispering._] Gee, he's still nutty.

Let him rave. It's fun listenin'.

YANK--[_Unheeding--groping in his thoughts._] Her hands--dey was skinny
and white like dey wasn't real but painted on somep'n. Dere was a
million miles from me to her--twenty-five knots a hour. She was like
some dead ting de cat brung in. Sure, dat's what. She didn't belong.
She belonged in de window of a toy store, or on de top of a garbage
can, see! Sure! [_He breaks out angrily._] But would yuh believe it,
she had de noive to do me doit. She lamped me like she was seein'
somep'n broke loose from de menagerie. Christ, yuh'd oughter seen her
eyes! [_He rattles the bars of his cell furiously._] But I'll get back
at her yet, you watch! And if I can't find her I'll take it out on de
gang she runs wit. I'm wise to where dey hangs out now. I'll show her
who belongs! I'll show her who's in de move and who ain't. You watch my
smoke!

VOICES--[_Serious and joking._] Dat's de talkin'!

Take her for all she's got!

What was this dame, anyway? Who was she, eh?

YANK--I dunno. First cabin stiff. Her old man's a millionaire, dey
says--name of Douglas.

VOICES--Douglas? That's the president of the Steel Trust, I bet.

Sure. I seen his mug in de papers.

He's filthy with dough.

VOICE--Hey, feller, take a tip from me. If you want to get back at that
dame, you better join the Wobblies. You'll get some action then.

YANK--Wobblies? What de hell's dat?

VOICE--Ain't you ever heard of the I. W. W.?

YANK--Naw. What is it?

VOICE--A gang of blokes--a tough gang. I been readin' about 'em to-day
in the paper. The guard give me the Sunday Times. There's a long spiel
about 'em. It's from a speech made in the Senate by a guy named Senator
Queen. [_He is in the cell next to YANK's. There is a rustling of
paper._] Wait'll I see if I got light enough and I'll read you. Listen.
[_He reads:_] "There is a menace existing in this country to-day which
threatens the vitals of our fair Republic--as foul a menace against the
very life-blood of the American Eagle as was the foul conspiracy of
Cataline against the eagles of ancient Rome!"

VOICE [_Disgustedly._] Aw hell! Tell him to salt de tail of dat eagle!

VOICE--[_Reading:_] "I refer to that devil's brew of rascals,
jailbirds, murderers and cutthroats who libel all honest working men by
calling themselves the Industrial Workers of the World; but in the
light of their nefarious plots, I call them the Industrious WRECKERS of
the World!"

YANK--[_With vengeful satisfaction._] Wreckers, dat's de right dope!
Dat belongs! Me for dem!

VOICE--Ssshh! [_Reading._] "This fiendish organization is a foul ulcer
on the fair body of our Democracy--"

VOICE--Democracy, hell! Give him the boid, fellers--the raspberry!
[_They do._]

VOICE--Ssshh! [_Reading:_] "Like Cato I say to this senate, the I. W.
W. must be destroyed! For they represent an ever-present dagger pointed
at the heart of the greatest nation the world has ever known, where all
men are born free and equal, with equal opportunities to all, where the
Founding Fathers have guaranteed to each one happiness, where Truth,
Honor, Liberty, Justice, and the Brotherhood of Man are a religion
absorbed with one's mother's milk, taught at our father's knee, sealed,
signed, and stamped upon in the glorious Constitution of these United
States!" [_A perfect storm of hisses, catcalls, boos, and hard
laughter._]

VOICES--[_Scornfully._] Hurrah for de Fort' of July!

Pass de hat!

Liberty!

Justice!

Honor!

Opportunity!

Brotherhood!

ALL--[_With abysmal scorn._] Aw, hell!

VOICE--Give that Queen Senator guy the bark! All togedder
now--one--two--tree--[_A terrific chorus of barking and yapping._]

GUARD--[_From a distance._] Quiet there, youse--or I'll git the hose.
[_The noise subsides._]

YANK--[_With growling rage._] I'd like to catch dat senator guy alone
for a second. I'd loin him some trute!

VOICE--Ssshh! Here's where he gits down to cases on the Wobblies.
[_Reads:_] "They plot with fire in one hand and dynamite in the other.
They stop not before murder to gain their ends, nor at the outraging of
defenceless womanhood. They would tear down society, put the lowest
scum in the seats of the mighty, turn Almighty God's revealed plan for
the world topsy-turvy, and make of our sweet and lovely civilization a
shambles, a desolation where man, God's masterpiece, would soon
degenerate back to the ape!"

VOICE--[_To YANK._] Hey, you guy. There's your ape stuff again.

YANK--[_With a growl of fury._] I got him. So dey blow up tings, do
dey? Dey turn tings round, do dey? Hey, lend me dat paper, will yuh?

VOICE--Sure. Give it to him. On'y keep it to yourself, see. We don't
wanter listen to no more of that slop.

VOICE--Here you are. Hide it under your mattress.

YANK--[_Reaching out._] Tanks. I can't read much but I kin manage. [_He
sits, the paper in the hand at his side, in the attitude of Rodin's
"The Thinker." A pause. Several snores from down the corridor. Suddenly
YANK jumps to his feet with a furious groan as if some appalling
thought had crashed on him--bewilderedly._] Sure--her old
man--president of de Steel Trust--makes half de steel in de
world--steel--where I tought I belonged--drivin' trou--movin'--in
dat--to make HER--and cage me in for her to spit on! Christ [_He shakes
the bars of his cell door till the whole tier trembles. Irritated,
protesting exclamations from those awakened or trying to get to
sleep._] He made dis--dis cage! Steel! IT don't belong, dat's what!
Cages, cells, locks, bolts, bars--dat's what it means!--holdin' me down
wit him at de top! But I'll drive trou! Fire, dat melts it! I'll be
fire--under de heap--fire dat never goes out--hot as hell--breakin' out
in de night--[_While he has been saying this last he has shaken his
cell door to a clanging accompaniment. As he comes to the "breakin'
out" he seizes one bar with both hands and, putting his two feet up
against the others so that his position is parallel to the floor like a
monkey's, he gives a great wrench backwards. The bar bends like a
licorice stick under his tremendous strength. Just at this moment the
PRISON GUARD rushes in, dragging a hose behind him._]

GUARD--[_Angrily._] I'll loin youse bums to wake me up! [_Sees YANK._]
Hello, it's you, huh? Got the D.T.s, hey? Well, I'll cure 'em. I'll
drown your snakes for yuh! [_Noticing the bar._] Hell, look at dat bar
bended! On'y a bug is strong enough for dat!

YANK--[_Glaring at him._] Or a hairy ape, yuh big yellow bum! Look out!
Here I come! [_He grabs another bar._]

GUARD--[_Scared now--yelling off left._] Toin de hoose on, Ben!--full
pressure! And call de others--and a strait jacket! [_The curtain is
falling. As it hides YANK from view, there is a splattering smash as
the stream of water hits the steel of YANK's cell._]

[_Curtain_]




SCENE VII


SCENE--Nearly a month later. An I. W. W. local near the waterfront,
showing the interior of a front room on the ground floor, and the
street outside. Moonlight on the narrow street, buildings massed in
black shadow. The interior of the room, which is general assembly room,
office, and reading room, resembles some dingy settlement boys club. A
desk and high stool are in one corner. A table with papers, stacks of
pamphlets, chairs about it, is at center. The whole is decidedly cheap,
banal, commonplace and unmysterious as a room could well be. The
secretary is perched on the stool making entries in a large ledger. An
eye shade casts his face into shadows. Eight or ten men, longshoremen,
iron workers, and the like, are grouped about the table. Two are
playing checkers. One is writing a letter. Most of them are smoking
pipes. A big signboard is on the wall at the rear, "Industrial Workers
of the World--Local No. 57."

YANK--[_Comes down the street outside. He is dressed as in Scene Five.
He moves cautiously, mysteriously. He comes to a point opposite the
door; tiptoes softly up to it, listens, is impressed by the silence
within, knocks carefully, as if he were guessing at the password to
some secret rite. Listens. No answer. Knocks again a bit louder. No
answer. Knocks impatiently, much louder._]

SECRETARY--[_Turning around on his stool._] What the devil is
that--someone knocking? [_Shouts:_] Come in, why don't you? [_All the
men in the room look up. YANK opens the door slowly, gingerly, as if
afraid of an ambush. He looks around for secret doors, mystery, is
taken aback by the commonplaceness of the room and the men in it,
thinks he may have gotten in the wrong place, then sees the signboard
on the wall and is reassured._]

YANK--[_Blurts out._] Hello.

MEN--[_Reservedly._] Hello.

YANK--[_More easily._] I tought I'd bumped into de wrong dump.

SECRETARY--[_Scrutinizing him carefully._] Maybe you have. Are you a
member?

YANK--Naw, not yet. Dat's what I come for--to join.

SECRETARY--That's easy. What's your job--longshore?

YANK--Naw. Fireman--stoker on de liners.

SECRETARY--[_With satisfaction._] Welcome to our city. Glad to know you
people are waking up at last. We haven't got many members in your line.

YANK--Naw. Dey're all dead to de woild.

SECRETARY--Well, you can help to wake 'em. What's your name? I'll make
out your card.

YANK--[_Confused._] Name? Lemme tink.

SECRETARY--[_Sharply._] Don't you know your own name?

YANK--Sure; but I been just Yank for so long--Bob, dat's it--Bob Smith.

SECRETARY--[_Writing._] Robert Smith. [_Fills out the rest of card._]
Here you are. Cost you half a dollar.

YANK--Is dat all--four bits? Dat's easy. [_Gives the SECRETARY the
money._]

SECRETARY--[_Throwing it in drawer._] Thanks. Well, make yourself at
home. No introductions needed. There's literature on the table. Take
some of those pamphlets with you to distribute aboard ship. They may
bring results. Sow the seed, only go about it right. Don't get caught
and fired. We got plenty out of work. What we need is men who can hold
their jobs--and work for us at the same time.

YANK--Sure. [_But he still stands, embarrassed and uneasy._]

SECRETARY--[_Looking at him--curiously._] What did you knock for? Think
we had a coon in uniform to open doors?

YANK--Naw. I tought it was locked--and dat yuh'd wanter give me the
once-over trou a peep-hole or somep'n to see if I was right.

SECRETARY--[_Alert and suspicious but with an easy laugh._] Think we
were running a crap game? That door is never locked. What put that in
your nut?

YANK--[_With a knowing grin, convinced that this is all camouflage, a
part of the secrecy._] Dis burg is full of bulls, ain't it?

SECRETARY--[_Sharply._] What have the cops got to do with us? We're
breaking no laws.

YANK--[_With a knowing wink._] Sure. Youse wouldn't for woilds. Sure.
I'm wise to dat.

SECRETARY--You seem to be wise to a lot of stuff none of us knows about.

YANK--[_With another wink._] Aw, dat's aw right, see. [_Then made a bit
resentful by the suspicious glances from all sides._] Aw, can it! Youse
needn't put me trou de toid degree. Can't youse see I belong? Sure! I'm
reg'lar. I'll stick, get me? I'll shoot de woiks for youse. Dat's why I
wanted to join in.

SECRETARY--[_Breezily, feeling him out._] That's the right spirit. Only
are you sure you understand what you've joined? It's all plain and
above board; still, some guys get a wrong slant on us. [_Sharply._]
What's your notion of the purpose of the I. W. W.?

YANK--Aw, I know all about it.

SECRETARY--[_Sarcastically._] Well, give us some of your valuable
information.

YANK--[_Cunningly._] I know enough not to speak outa my toin. [_Then
resentfully again._] Aw, say! I'm reg'lar. I'm wise to de game. I know
yuh got to watch your step wit a stranger. For all youse know, I might
be a plain-clothes dick, or somep'n, dat's what yuh're tinkin', huh?
Aw, forget it! I belong, see? Ask any guy down to de docks if I don't.

SECRETARY--Who said you didn't?

YANK--After I'm 'nitiated, I'll show yuh.

SECRETARY--[_Astounded._] Initiated? There's no initiation.

YANK--[_Disappointed._] Ain't there no password--no grip nor nothin'?

SECRETARY--What'd you think this is--the Elks--or the Black Hand?

YANK--De Elks, hell! De Black Hand, dey're a lot of yellow backstickin'
Ginees. Naw. Dis is a man's gang, ain't it?

SECRETARY--You said it! That's why we stand on our two feet in the
open. We got no secrets.

YANK--[_Surprised but admiringly._] Yuh mean to say yuh always run wide
open--like dis?

SECRETARY--Exactly.

YANK--Den yuh sure got your noive wit youse!

SECRETARY--[_Sharply._] Just what was it made you want to join us? Come
out with that straight.

YANK--Yuh call me? Well, I got noive, too! Here's my hand. Yuh wanter
blow tings up, don't yuh? Well, dat's me! I belong!

SECRETARY--[_With pretended carelessness._] You mean change the unequal
conditions of society by legitimate direct action--or with dynamite?

YANK--Dynamite! Blow it offen de oith--steel--all de cages--all de
factories, steamers, buildings, jails--de Steel Trust and all dat makes
it go.

SECRETARY--So--that's your idea, eh? And did you have any special job
in that line you wanted to propose to us. [_He makes a sign to the men,
who get up cautiously one by one and group behind YANK._]

YANK--[_Boldly._] Sure, I'll come out wit it. I'll show youse I'm one
of de gang. Dere's dat millionaire guy, Douglas--

SECRETARY--President of the Steel Trust, you mean? Do you want to
assassinate him?

YANK--Naw, dat don't get yuh nothin'. I mean blow up de factory, de
woiks, where he makes de steel. Dat's what I'm after--to blow up de
steel, knock all de steel in de woild up to de moon. Dat'll fix tings!
[_Eagerly, with a touch of bravado._] I'll do it by me lonesome! I'll
show yuh! Tell me where his woiks is, how to git there, all de dope.
Gimme de stuff, de old butter--and watch me do de rest! Watch de smoke
and see it move! I don't give a damn if dey nab me--long as it's done!
I'll soive life for it--and give 'em de laugh! [_Half to himself._] And
I'll write her a letter and tell her de hairy ape done it. Dat'll
square tings.

SECRETARY--[_Stepping away from YANK._] Very interesting. [_He gives a
signal. The men, huskies all, throw themselves on YANK and before he
knows it they have his legs and arms pinioned. But he is too
flabbergasted to make a struggle, anyway. They feel him over for
weapons._]

MAN--No gat, no knife. Shall we give him what's what and put the boots
to him?

SECRETARY--No. He isn't worth the trouble we'd get into. He's too
stupid. [_He comes closer and laughs mockingly in YANK'S face._] Ho-ho!
By God, this is the biggest joke they've put up on us yet. Hey, you
Joke! Who sent you--Burns or Pinkerton? No, by God, you're such a
bonehead I'll bet you're in the Secret Service! Well, you dirty spy,
you rotten agent provocator, you can go back and tell whatever skunk is
paying you blood-money for betraying your brothers that he's wasting
his coin. You couldn't catch a cold. And tell him that all he'll ever
get on us, or ever has got, is just his own sneaking plots that he's
framed up to put us in jail. We are what our manifesto says we are,
neither more or less--and we'll give him a copy of that any time he
calls. And as for you--[_He glares scornfully at YANK, who is sunk in
an oblivious stupor._] Oh, hell, what's the use of talking? You're a
brainless ape.

YANK--[_Aroused by the word to fierce but futile struggles._] What's
dat, yuh Sheeny bum, yuh!

SECRETARY--Throw him out, boys. [_In spite of his struggles, this is
done with gusto and eclat. Propelled by several parting kicks, YANK
lands sprawling in the middle of the narrow cobbled street. With a
growl he starts to get up and storm the closed door, but stops
bewildered by the confusion in his brain, pathetically impotent. He
sits there, brooding, in as near to the attitude of Rodin's "Thinker"
as he can get in his position._]

YANK--[_Bitterly._] So dem boids don't tink I belong, neider. Aw, to
hell wit 'em! Dey're in de wrong pew--de same old bull--soapboxes and
Salvation Army--no guts! Cut out an hour offen de job a day and make me
happy! Gimme a dollar more a day and make me happy! Tree square a day,
and cauliflowers in de front yard--ekal rights--a woman and kids--a
lousey vote--and I'm all fixed for Jesus, huh? Aw, hell! What does dat
get yuh? Dis ting's in your inside, but it ain't your belly. Feedin'
your face--sinkers and coffee--dat don't touch it. It's way down--at de
bottom. Yuh can't grab it, and yuh can't stop it. It moves, and
everyting moves. It stops and de whole woild stops. Dat's me now--I
don't tick, see?--I'm a busted Ingersoll, dat's what. Steel was me, and
I owned de woild. Now I ain't steel, and de woild owns me. Aw, hell! I
can't see--it's all dark, get me? It's all wrong! [_He turns a bitter
mocking face up like an ape gibbering at the moon._] Say, youse up
dere, Man in de Moon, yuh look so wise, gimme de answer, huh? Slip me
de inside dope, de information right from de stable--where do I get off
at, huh?

A POLICEMAN--[_Who has come up the street in time to hear this
last--with grim humor._] You'll get off at the station, you boob, if
you don't get up out of that and keep movin'.

YANK--[_Looking up at him--with a hard, bitter laugh._] Sure! Lock me
up! Put me in a cage! Dat's de on'y answer yuh know. G'wan, lock me up!

POLICEMAN--What you been doin'?

YANK--Enuf to gimme life for! I was born, see? Sure, dat's de charge.
Write it in de blotter. I was born, get me!

POLICEMAN--[_Jocosely._] God pity your old woman! [_Then
matter-of-fact._] But I've no time for kidding. You're soused. I'd run
you in but it's too long a walk to the station. Come on now, get up, or
I'll fan your ears with this club. Beat it now! [_He hauls YANK to his
feet._]

YANK--[_In a vague mocking tone._] Say, where do I go from here?

POLICEMAN--[_Giving him a push--with a grin, indifferently._] Go to
hell.

[_Curtain_]




SCENE VIII


SCENE--Twilight of the next day. The monkey house at the Zoo. One spot
of clear gray light falls on the front of one cage so that the interior
can be seen. The other cages are vague, shrouded in shadow from which
chatterings pitched in a conversational tone can be heard. On the one
cage a sign from which the word "gorilla" stands out. The gigantic
animal himself is seen squatting on his haunches on a bench in much the
same attitude as Rodin's "Thinker." YANK enters from the left.
Immediately a chorus of angry chattering and screeching breaks out. The
gorilla turns his eyes but makes no sound or move.

YANK--[_With a hard, bitter laugh._] Welcome to your city, huh? Hail,
hail, de gang's all here! [_At the sound of his voice the chattering
dies away into an attentive silence. YANK walks up to the gorilla's
cage and, leaning over the railing, stares in at its occupant, who
stares back at him, silent and motionless. There is a pause of dead
stillness. Then YANK begins to talk in a friendly confidential tone,
half-mockingly, but with a deep undercurrent of sympathy._] Say, yuh're
some hard-lookin' guy, ain't yuh? I seen lots of tough nuts dat de gang
called gorillas, but yuh're de foist real one I ever seen. Some chest
yuh got, and shoulders, and dem arms and mits! I bet yuh got a punch in
eider fist dat'd knock 'em all silly! [_This with genuine admiration.
The gorilla, as if he understood, stands upright, swelling out his
chest and pounding on it with his fist. YANK grins sympathetically._]
Sure, I get yuh. Yuh challenge de whole woild, huh? Yuh got what I was
sayin' even if yuh muffed de woids. [_Then bitterness creeping in._]
And why wouldn't yuh get me? Ain't we both members of de same club--de
Hairy Apes? [_They stare at each other--a pause--then YANK goes on
slowly and bitterly._] So yuh're what she seen when she looked at me,
de white-faced tart! I was you to her, get me? On'y outa de cage--broke
out--free to moider her, see? Sure! Dat's what she tought. She wasn't
wise dat I was in a cage, too--worser'n yours--sure--a damn
sight--'cause you got some chanct to bust loose--but me--[_He grows
confused._] Aw, hell! It's all wrong, ain't it? [_A pause._] I s'pose
yuh wanter know what I'm doin' here, huh? I been warmin' a bench down
to de Battery--ever since last night. Sure. I seen de sun come up. Dat
was pretty, too--all red and pink and green. I was lookin' at de
skyscrapers--steel--and all de ships comin' in, sailin' out, all over
de oith--and dey was steel, too. De sun was warm, dey wasn't no clouds,
and dere was a breeze blowin'. Sure, it was great stuff. I got it aw
right--what Paddy said about dat bein' de right dope--on'y I couldn't
get IN it, see? I couldn't belong in dat. It was over my head. And I
kept tinkin'--and den I beat it up here to see what youse was like. And
I waited till dey was all gone to git yuh alone. Say, how d'yuh feel
sittin' in dat pen all de time, havin' to stand for 'em comin' and
starin' at yuh--de white-faced, skinny tarts and de boobs what marry
'em--makin' fun of yuh, laughin' at yuh, gittin' scared of yuh--damn
'em! [_He pounds on the rail with his fist. The gorilla rattles the
bars of his cage and snarls. All the other monkeys set up an angry
chattering in the darkness. YANK goes on excitedly._] Sure! Dat's de
way it hits me, too. On'y yuh're lucky, see? Yuh don't belong wit 'em
and yuh know it. But me, I belong wit 'em--but I don't, see? Dey don't
belong wit me, dat's what. Get me? Tinkin' is hard--[_He passes one
hand across his forehead with a painful gesture. The gorilla growls
impatiently. YANK goes on gropingly._] It's dis way, what I'm drivin'
at. Youse can sit and dope dream in de past, green woods, de jungle and
de rest of it. Den yuh belong and dey don't. Den yuh kin laugh at 'em,
see? Yuh're de champ of de woild. But me--I ain't got no past to tink
in, nor nothin' dat's comin', on'y what's now--and dat don't belong.
Sure, you're de best off! Yuh can't tink, can yuh? Yuh can't talk
neider. But I kin make a bluff at talkin' and tinkin'--a'most git away
wit it--a'most!--and dat's where de joker comes in. [_He laughs._] I
ain't on oith and I ain't in heaven, get me? I'm in de middle tryin' to
separate 'em, takin' all de woist punches from bot' of 'em. Maybe dat's
what dey call hell, huh? But you, yuh're at de bottom. You belong!
Sure! Yuh're de on'y one in de woild dat does, yuh lucky stiff! [_The
gorilla growls proudly._] And dat's why dey gotter put yuh in a cage,
see? [_The gorilla roars angrily._] Sure! Yuh get me. It beats it when
you try to tink it or talk it--it's way down--deep--behind--you 'n' me
we feel it. Sure! Bot' members of dis club! [_He laughs--then in a
savage tone._] What de hell! T' hell wit it! A little action, dat's our
meat! Dat belongs! Knock 'em down and keep bustin' 'em till dey croaks
yuh wit a gat--wit steel! Sure! Are yuh game? Dey've looked at youse,
ain't dey--in a cage? Wanter git even? Wanter wind up like a sport
'stead of croakin' slow in dere? [_The gorilla roars an emphatic
affirmative. YANK goes on with a sort of furious exaltation._] Sure!
Yuh're reg'lar! Yuh'll stick to de finish! Me 'n' you, huh?--bot'
members of this club! We'll put up one last star bout dat'll knock 'em
offen deir seats! Dey'll have to make de cages stronger after we're
trou! [_The gorilla is straining at his bars, growling, hopping from
one foot to the other. YANK takes a jimmy from under his coat and
forces the lock on the cage door. He throws this open._] Pardon from de
governor! Step out and shake hands! I'll take yuh for a walk down Fif'
Avenoo. We'll knock 'em offen de oith and croak wit de band playin'.
Come on, Brother. [_The gorilla scrambles gingerly out of his cage.
Goes to YANK and stands looking at him. YANK keeps his mocking
tone--holds out his hand._] Shake--de secret grip of our order.
[_Something, the tone of mockery, perhaps, suddenly enrages the animal.
With a spring he wraps his huge arms around YANK in a murderous hug.
There is a crackling snap of crushed ribs--a gasping cry, still
mocking, from YANK._] Hey, I didn't say, kiss me. [_The gorilla lets
the crushed body slip to the floor; stands over it uncertainly,
considering; then picks it up, throws it in the cage, shuts the door,
and shuffles off menacingly into the darkness at left. A great uproar
of frightened chattering and whimpering comes from the other cages.
Then YANK moves, groaning, opening his eyes, and there is silence. He
mutters painfully._] Say--dey oughter match him--wit Zybszko. He got
me, aw right. I'm trou. Even him didn't tink I belonged. [_Then, with
sudden passionate despair._] Christ, where do I get off at? Where do I
fit in? [_Checking himself as suddenly._] Aw, what de hell! No
squakin', see! No quittin', get me! Croak wit your boots on! [_He grabs
hold of the bars of the cage and hauls himself painfully to his
feet--looks around him bewilderedly--forces a mocking laugh._] In de
cage, huh? [_In the strident tones of a circus barker._] Ladies and
gents, step forward and take a slant at de one and only--[_His voice
weakening_]--one and original--Hairy Ape from de wilds of--[_He slips
in a heap on the floor and dies. The monkeys set up a chattering,
whimpering wail. And, perhaps, the Hairy Ape at last belongs._]

[_Curtain_]

TEATRO DEL OPRIMIDO * Voces en la Sombra (Voices in the Shadow) by Benjamín Gavarre

TEATRO DEL OPRIMIDO

 * Voces en la Sombra (Voices in the Shadow)

by Benjamín Gavarre

It is almost six in the afternoon, the time marked by an old clock that can be easily distinguished.

Light filters through a small window.

It is the ironing room but also the junk room.

María Encarnación, a woman of about twenty-five, is ironing a shirt on the ironing board. The shirt, visibly wrinkled, is white, it belongs to a man and is a size that corresponds to a large man or perhaps an obese man.

Encarnación expertly irons the collar, the shoulders... the cuffs... And repeats each time she finishes a part...

Encarnación. — "So it doesn't wrinkle"... The collar, the shoulders... the cuffs... Then the sleeves, the front...

Encarnación reflects. She looks at the clock and breathes with some anxiety. She puts down the iron and looks at the shirt... She repeats:

Encarnación. — ...the collar, the shoulders, the cuffs... I'm missing the sleeves, the front, the back.... The back...

She looks at the wall clock again.

Encarnación. — I have to study... I have to do my homework.

She leaves the shirt hanging on a hanger. Steam comes out of the iron because she has not turned it off as she usually does in a mechanical act. She takes out a large, lined notebook, the professional kind.

She opens the notebook and writes while saying aloud...

Encarnación. — The wings... the winged ones, the salty ones, the room, the fairies... linked...

It is noticeable that she writes what she is saying.

Encarnación. — The wings... the winged ones, the salty ones, the room, the fairies... linked...

Lost in her work, she realizes that Holofernes, her husband, is watching her from the door frame. He is a fat, large man, about forty years old.

Holofernes. — (In a low but imperative voice) My shirt.

Encarnación continues with her work... She doesn't look at him because she doesn't hear him.

Holofernes. — (Louder) My shirt. Work. I work.

Encarnación turns to look at him. She closes the notebook.

Encarnación. — At this hour? Are you going to work at night? Again?

Holofernes. — Again, no, not today. And if I work at night, today or whenever I feel like it, it's none of your business.

Encarnación. — So you want it right now.

Holofernes. — (Aggressive, but in a low volume) I wanted it yesterday.

Encarnación. — How? I don't understand.

Holofernes. — I mean... Forget it. You never understand anything.

Encarnación. — I never understand anything. Okay. Yes. (Hesitates) What I do understand is that you need the shirt tomorrow, to go to your office, tomorrow, early.

Holofernes. — Don't you understand? I need you to have my shirt ready, now. I want to have everything I'm going to wear tomorrow prepared.

Encarnación. — Mm, well then I'm going to iron it for you and take it to you and put it with all the things you need to go to work tomorrow. I have to study. I have to do my homework.

Holofernes. — When you finish studying?... What does that mean?

Encarnación. — Nothing, that I have to go, and I haven't done my homework... I finish my homework, iron your shirt, leave it with your things... and then I'll go to school. I start at eight.

Holofernes. — Please, you're still stuck on the idea that you're going to learn to read and write... at your age?

Encarnación. — At my age, yes... That's what the night courses are for, for people my age... and there are even older people than me.

Holofernes. — Older? And in that little school did you learn to say that barbarism?

Encarnación. — That what?

Holofernes. — Excuse me. I must remember that you are just going to learn to read and write... "Barbarism": incorrect use of language, used by the ignorant classes.

Encarnación. — Did you take that out of a dictionary?

Holofernes. — Of course. I took it out of my personal dictionary. Dedicated so that people like you can understand it.

Encarnación. — Well, there you have it. That's why I'm going to go to school, so that I can lose my ignorance and understand what someone like you tells me. I want to be a prepared woman.

Holofernes. — But how can you even think about it? How can you believe that you can be more than what you are. You are a poor dirty thing, a little dirty thing. You will never get out of what you are supposed to do in life... Iron my shirts and make me food.

Encarnación. — Are you serious?

Holofernes. — Or do you think I married you for your pretty face? You are so ugly.

Encarnación. — So ugly?

Holofernes. — And you don't even cook well. You only make pure slop: watery rice, watery squash.

Encarnación. — So you think I'm ugly.

Holofernes. — Well, who has told you otherwise? Or is that what you're going to the little school for, to find another dirty thing like you who will do you a favor?

Encarnación. — My teacher...

Holofernes. — (Doesn't listen to her) And if everything doesn't come out watery, it all comes out burnt. Your breaded cutlets get burnt, your chicken gets burnt... Whore, the only thing that doesn't burn is your ass.

Encarnación. — (Her husband's abuse doesn't surprise her) My teacher says....

Holofernes. — The only thing you half know how to do is iron, but look, you don't even know how to turn off the iron, it's going to break, steam keeps coming out, you don't do your job well and now I don't have a shirt to wear, to go to work, to support you, so that you can swallow the watery and burnt food you prepare for me.

Encarnación. — (She takes the iron and, against her will, begins to iron what was left) I'm going to iron your shirt so you stop bothering me.

Holofernes. — You're not doing me any favors. It's your obligation. That's what women are for.

Encarnación. — (Long pause. Encarnación stammers in a low voice) "So it doesn't wrinkle"... The collar, the shoulders... the cuffs... Then the sleeves, the front... (She finishes ironing and offers the shirt to her husband with great dignity. She looks at him defiantly and says...) My teacher says that you perpetrate gender violence.

Holofernes. — Your teacher what?... What did you say?... I perpetrate? And what is that, where do you get those words? They are not yours.

Encarnación— She says that you are an oppressive and abusive violent man.

Holofernes. — Tssss! Get out!

Encarnación. — And that what I should do is empo... empo... wer myself.

Holofernes. — (Mocking) Empo... Empo... Please! So you're not just going to learn to read and write. You're not going to be taught "This is how the bear goes, this is how the bear washes itself."

Encarnación. — What is that?

Holofernes. — Those are the words one writes when learning to read and write, when one is a child, when you are five or six years old. That's how I learned.

Encarnación. — (Gathers courage; mocks him) Really, that's how you learned to write... with "This is how the bear goes, this is how the bear washes itself." That was many years ago.

Holofernes. — I know what you're trying to do. I'm not stupid. Your little teacher is trying to turn you against me. She says I am... (Pause, reflects) What she says is false. I have never mistreated you.

Encarnación. — No?? You have hit me.

Holofernes. — Of course not.

Encarnación. — And when you hit me with the iron?

Holofernes. — But I didn't hit you as you say, or what, did I hit you with my fist? We had barely gotten together. After you got pregnant.

Encarnación. — After you got me pregnant.

Holofernes. — You were acting like a whore. You got pregnant to grab me by the balls, to trap me.

Encarnación. — To be trapped by the gentleman. To iron his shirts, to cook his watery and burnt food, so that you would make me abort anyway, even though I wanted the little girl.

Holofernes. — What little girl?

Encarnación. — It was going to be a girl.

Holofernes. — You're stupid, where do you get that from, it was a two-month-old fetus.

Encarnación. — I know it was a girl. And you kicked me. You don't hit me, with your fist, but you kicked me.

Holofernes. — But that's not why you aborted. You took those pills that harmed you.

Encarnación. — I took those pills that you gave me, that were supposed to take away the pain, and they made me abort.

Holofernes. — That's what you say.

Encarnación. — That's what my family told me.

Holofernes. — Your family doesn't even care about you, they got rid of you.

Encarnación. — It's true, no one cares about me, you don't care about me either. And as I told you... I'm going to study and I'm going to prepare myself to get rid of you, to get rid of years of abuse. I don't have to put up with gender violence.

Holofernes. — Or what the... I already told you that I have never hit you.

Encarnación. — You don't need to hit me... with your fist. You have mistreated me. You mistreat me in many ways. You treat me badly, you speak to me worse. You perpetrate violence...

Holofernes. — There's that little word again... "Perpetrate." Those are words you've heard where you go... to learn to read and write. Well, what kind of night school did you find, full of feminists, for sure. Well, look, if you don't like living with me, go with your little teacher, go with your feminists and see if they support you there, little dirty thing.

Encarnación. — I'm going to ask you not to call me that again.

Holofernes. — You don't want me to call you how, "little dirty thing"... Huh, Little Dirty Thing?

Encarnación. — (Grabs the iron that she hasn't unplugged yet and raises it, threatening her husband) I'm warning you!

Holofernes. — What are you warning me about, are you going to hit me? With the iron? Now you are going to perpetrate gender violence? Please! You are nothing but a poor unhappy woman.

Encarnación. — Exactly. I am unhappy by your side. I have been unhappy all these years by your side. But it's over. You can expect to hear from me. I'm going to do everything possible so that according to the law you give me what I deserve.

Holofernes. — "According to the law." Well, well; they have advised you well in your little school.

Encarnación. — Yes, they told me that I don't have to put up with your mistreatment, your nights out with who knows who, your constant abuse. I am going to learn to read, yes, I am going to learn to write, and as you can see, I am also going to learn to speak, to defend myself. You are going to have to pay for all the damage you have done to me, but you are going to have to pay me where it hurts the most, you are going to give me money.

Holofernes. — If it weren't for the pity I feel for you, you would make me laugh a lot. You are nobody. Everything you are you owe to me. You were a poor little dirty thing abandoned by your family and everyone. No one has ever loved you and I gave you the opportunity to give you a home. You are ugly, stupid, and you will never achieve anything in life.

Encarnación. — Maybe not, but if I keep staying by your side, I'm sure I'll end up becoming what your horrible words say. Don't worry, there must be a reason why you are the way you are. I think that if I am a dirty thing, you are a poor devil, fat and ugly. Or what, have you never looked in a mirror? You are horrible, on the outside, but especially on the inside. We'll leave it here. It ends here.

Holofernes. — You think so? It ends here? No, darling. You're not leaving here without paying.

Encarnación. (Raises the iron and threatens her husband once more) I'm warning you.

Holofernes. — You don't raise your voice at me anymore. You should know that I am the one in charge here. I am the strongest and let me give you bad news, your classes are over, little dirty thing, you've come this far.

Holofernes approaches threateningly and snatches the iron from Encarnación.

Dark.

Los Vendidos 1967 ORIGINAL en INGLES -ESPAÑOL. LUIS VALDEZ

 

Los Vendidos 

De Luis Valdez

Original en inglés-español

1967 

First Performance: Brown Beret junta, Elysian Park, East Los Angeles. 

Characters: 

Honest Sancho 

Secretary 

Farmworker 

Pachuco 

Revolucionario 

Mexican-American 

Scene: HONEST SANCHO’s Used Mexican Lot and Mexican Curio Shop. Three models are on display in HONEST SANCHO ’s shop. To the right, there is a REVOLUCIONARIO, complete with sombrero, carrilleras and carabina 30-30. At center, on the floor, there is the 

FARMWORKER, under a broad straw sombrero. At stage left is the PACHUCO, filero in hand. HONEST SANCHO is moving among his models, dusting them off and preparing for another day of business. 

SANCHO: Bueno, bueno, mis monos, vamos a ver a quién vendemos ahora, ¿no? (To audience.) ¡Quihubo! I’m Honest Sancho and this is my shop. Antes fui contratista, pero ahora logré tener mi negocito. All I need now is a customer. (A bell rings offstage.) Ay, a customer! 

SECRETARY: (Entering.) Good morning, I’m Miss Jimenez from … 

SANCHO: Ah, una chicana! Welcome, welcome Señorita Jiménez. 

SECRETARY: (Anglo pronunciation.) JIM-enez. 

SANCHO: ¿Qué? 

SECRETARY: My name is Miss JIM-enez. Don’t you speak English? What’s wrong with you? SANCHO: Oh, nothing, Señorita JIM-enez. I’m here to help you. 

SECRETARY: That’s better. As I was starting to say, I’m a secretary from Governor Reagan’s office, and we’re looking for a Mexican type for the administration. 

SANCHO: Well, you come to the right place, lady. This is Honest Sancho’s Used Mexican Lot, and we got all types here. Any particular type you want? SECRETARY: Yes, we were looking for somebody suave … 

SANCHO: Suave. 

SECRETARY: Debonaire. 

SANCHO: De buen aire. 

SECRETARY: Dark. 

SANCHO: Prieto. 

SECRETARY: But of course, not too dark. 

SANCHO: No muy prieto. 

SECRETARY: Perhaps, beige. 

SANCHO: Beige, just the tone. Asi como cafecito con leche, ¿no? 

SECRETARY: One more thing. He must be hard-working. 

SANCHO: That could only be one model. Step right over here to the center of the shop, lady. (They cross to the FARMWORKER.) This is our standard farmworker model. As you can see, in the words of our beloved Senator George Murphy, he is “built close to the ground.” Also, take special notice of his 4-ply Goodyear huaraches, made from the rain tire. This wide-brimmed sombrero is an extra added feature; keeps off the sun, rain and dust. 

SECRETARY: Yes, it does look durable. 

SANCHO: And our farmworker model is friendly. Muy amable. Watch. (Snaps his fingers.) 

FARMWORKER: (Lifts up head.) Buenos días, señorita. (His head drops.) 

SECRETARY: My, he is friendly. 

SANCHO: Didn’t I tell you? Loves his patrones! But his most attractive feature is that he’s hardworking. Let me show you. (Snaps fingers. FARMWORKER stands.) 

FARMWORKER: ¡El jale! (He begins to work.) SANCHO: As you can see he is cutting grapes. 

SECRETARY: Oh, I wouldn’t know. 

SANCHO: He also picks cotton. (Snaps. FARMWORKER begins to pick cotton.) 

SECRETARY: Versatile, isn’t he? 

SANCHO: He also picks melons. (Snaps. FARMWORKER picks melons.) That’s his slow speed for late in the season. Here’s his fast speed. (Snap. FARMWORKER picks faster.) 

SECRETARY: Chihuahua … I mean, goodness, he sure is a hardworker. 

SANCHO: (Pulls the FARMWORKER to his feet.) And that isn’t the half of it. Do you see these little holes on his arms that appear to be pores? During those hot sluggish days in the field when the vines or the branches get so entangled, it’s almost impossible to move, these holes emit certain grease that allows our model to slip and slide right through the crop with no trouble at all. 

SECRETARY: Wonderful. But is he economical? 

SANCHO: Economical? Señorita, you are looking at the Volkswagen of Mexicans. Pennies a day is all it takes. One plate of beans and tortillas will keep him going all day. That, and chile. Plenty of chile. Chile jalapeños, chile verde, chile colorado. But, of course, if you do give him chile, (Snap. FARMWORKER turns left face. Snap. FARMWORKER bends over.) then you have to change his oil filter once a week. 

SECRETARY: What about storage? 

SANCHO: No problem. You know these new farm labor camps our Honorable Governor Reagan has built out by Parlier or Raisin City? They were designed with our model in mind. Five, six, seven, even ten in one of those shacks will give you no trouble at all. You can also put him in old barns, old cars, riverbanks. You can even leave him out in the field over night with no worry! 

SECRETARY: Remarkable. 

SANCHO: And here’s an added feature: every year at the end of the season, this model goes back to Mexico and doesn’t return, automatically, until next Spring. 

SECRETARY: How about that. But tell me, does he speak English? 

SANCHO: Another outstanding feature is that last year this model was programmed to go out on STRIKE! (Snap.) 

FARMWORKER: ¡Huelga! ¡Huelga! Hermanos, sálganse de esos files. (Snap. He stops.) 

SECRETARY: No! Oh no, we can’t strike in the State Capitol. 

SANCHO: Well, he also scabs. (Snap.) 

FARMWORKER: Me vendo barato, ¿y qué? (Snap.) 

SECRETARY: That’s much better, but you didn’t answer my question. Does he speak English? 

SANCHO: Bueno … no, pero he has other … 

SECRETARY: No. 

SANCHO: Other features. 

SECRETARY: No! He just won’t do! 

SANCHO: Okay, okay, pues. We have other models. 

SECRETARY: I hope so. What we need is something a little more sophisticated. 

SANCHO: Sophisti-qué? 

SECRETARY: An urban model. 

SANCHO: Ah, from the city! Step right back. Over here in this corner of the shop is exactly what you’re looking for. Introducing our new 1969 JOHNNY PACHUCO model! This is our fast-back model. Streamlined. Built for speed, low-riding, city life. Take a look at some of these features. Mag shoes, dual exhausts, green chartruese paint-job, dark-tint windshield, a little poof on top. Let me just turn him on. (Snap. JOHNNY walks to stage center with a PACHUCO bounce.) 

SECRETARY: What was that? 

SANCHO: That, señorita, was the Chicano shuffle. 

SECRETARY: Okay, what does he do? 

SANCHO: Anything and everything necessary for city life. For instance, survival: he knife fights. (Snaps. JOHNNY pulls out a switchblade and swings at SECRETARY. SECRETARY screams.) He dances. (Snap.) 

JOHNNY: (Singing.) “Angel Baby, my Angel Baby …” (Snap.) 

SANCHO: And here’s a feature no city model can be without. He gets arrested, but not without resisting, ofcourse. (Snap.) 

JOHNNY: En la madre, la placa. I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! (JOHNNY turns and stands up against an imaginary wall, legs spread out, arms behind his back.) 

SECRETARY: Oh no, we can’t have arrests! We must maintain law and order. 

SANCHO: But he’s bilingual. 

SECRETARY: Bilingual? 

SANCHO: Simón que yes. He speaks English! Johnny, give us some English. (Snap.) 

JOHNNY: (Comes downstage.) Fuck-you! 

SECRETARY: (Gasps.) Oh! I’ve never been so insulted in my whole life! 

SANCHO: Well, he learned it in your school. 

SECRETARY: I don’t care where he learned it. 

SANCHO: But he’s economical. 

SECRETARY: Economical? 

SANCHO: Nickels and dimes. You can keep Johnny running on hamburgers, Taco Bell tacos, Lucky Lager beer, Thunderbird wine, yesca … 

SECRETARY: Yesca? 

SANCHO: Mota. 

SECRETARY: Mota? 

SANCHO: Leños … marijuana. (Snap. JOHNNY inhales on an imaginary joint.) 

SECRETARY: That’s against the law! 

JOHNNY: (Big smile, holding his breath.) Yeah. 

SANCHO: He also sniffs glue. (Snap. JOHNNY inhales glue, big smile.) 

JOHNNY: Tha’s too much man, ese. 

SECRETARY: No, Mr. Sancho, I dont’ think this … 

SANCHO: Wait a minute, he has other qualities I know you’ll love. For example, an inferiority complex. (Snap.) 

JOHNNY: (To SANCHO.) You think you’re better than me, huh, ese? (Swings switchblade.) 

SANCHO: He can also be beaten and he bruises. Cut him and he bleeds, kick him and he … (He beats, bruises and kicks PACHUCO.) Would you like to try it? 

SECRETARY: Oh, I couldn’t. 

SANCHO: Be my guest. He’s a great scape goat. 

SECRETARY: No really. 

SANCHO: Please. 

SECRETARY: Well, all right. Just once. (She kicks PACHUCO.) Oh, he’s so soft. SANCHO: Wasn’t that good? Try again. 

SECRETARY: (Kicks PACHUCO.) Oh, he’s so wonderful! (She kicks him again.) 

SANCHO: Okay, that’s enough, lady. You’ll ruin the merchandise. Yes, our Johnny Pachuco model can give you many hours of pleasure. Why, the LAPD just bought 20 of these to train their rookie cops on. And talk about maintenance. Señorita, you are looking at an entirely selfsupporting machine. You’re never going to find our Johnny Pachuco model on the relief rolls. 

No, sir, this model knows how to liberate. 

SECRETARY: Liberate? 

SANCHO: He steals. (Snap. JOHNNY rushes to SECRETARY and steals her purse.) 

JOHNNY: ¡Dame esa bolsa, vieja! (He grabs the purse and runs. Snap by SANCHO, he stops. 

SECRETARY runs after JOHNNY and grabs purse away from him, kicking him as she goes.) 

SECRETARY: No, no, no! We can’t have any more thieves in the State Administration. Put him back. 

SANCHO: Okay, we still got other models. Come on, Johnny, we’ll sell you to some old lady. (SANCHO takes JOHNNY back to his place.) 

SECRETARY: Mr. Sancho, I don’t think you quite understand what we need. What we need is something that will attract the women voters. Something more traditional, more romantic. 

SANCHO: Ah, a lover. (He smiles meaningfully.) Step right over here, señorita. Introducing our standard Revolucionario and/or Early California Bandit type. As you can see, he is well-built, sturdy, durable. This is the International Harvester of Mexicans. 

SECRETARY: What does he do? 

SANCHO: You name it, he does it. He rides horses, stays in the mountains, crosses deserts, plains, rivers, leads revolutions, follows revolutions, kills, can be killed, serves as a martyr, hero, movie star. Did I say movie star? Did you ever see Viva Zapata? Viva Villa, Villa Rides, Pancho Villa Returns, Pancho Villa Goes Back, Pancho Villa Meets Abbott and Costello? 

SECRETARY: I’ve never seen any of those. 

SANCHO: Well, he was in all of them. Listen to this. (Snap.) 

REVOLUCIONARIO: (Scream.) ¡Viva Villaaaaa! 

SECRETARY: That’s awfully loud. 

SANCHO: He has a volume control. (He adjusts volume. Snap.) 

REVOLUCIONARIO: (Mousey voice.) Viva Villa. 

SECRETARY: That’s better. 

SANCHO: And even if you didn’t see him in the movies, perhaps you saw him on TV. He makes commercials. (Snap.) 

REVOLUCIONARIO: Is there a Frito Bandito in your house? 

SECRETARY: Oh yes, I’ve seen that one! 

SANCHO: Another feature about this one is that he is economical. He runs on raw horsemeat and tequila! 

SECRETARY: Isn’t that rather savage? 

SANCHO: Al contrario, it makes him a lover. (Snap.) 

REVOLUCIONARIO: (To SECRETARY.) Ay, mamasota, cochota, ven pa ‘ca! (He grabs 

SECRETARY and folds her back, Latin-lover style.) 

SANCHO: (Snap. REVOLUCIONARIO goes back upright.) Now wasn’t that nice? 

SECRETARY: Well, it was rather nice. 

SANCHO: And finally, there is one outstanding feature about this model I know the ladies are going to love: he’s a genuine antique! He was made in Mexico in 1910! 

SECRETARY: Made in Mexico? 

SANCHO: That’s right. Once in Tijuana, twice in Guadalajara, three times in Cuernavaca. 

SECRETARY: Mr. Sancho, I thought he was an American product. 

SANCHO: No, but … 

SECRETARY: No, I’m sorry. We can’t buy anything but American made products. He just won’t do. 

SANCHO: But he’s an antique! 

SECRETARY: I don’t care. You still don’t understand what we need. It’s true we need Mexican models, such as these, but it’s more important that he be American. 

SANCHO: American? 

SECRETARY: That’s right, and judging from what you’ve shown me, I don’t think you have what we want. Well, my lunch hour’s almost over, I better … 

SANCHO: Wait a minute! Mexican but American? 

SECRETARY: That’s correct. 

SANCHO: Mexican but … (A sudden flash.) American! Yeah, I think we’ve got exactly what you want. He just came in today! Give me a minute. (He exits. Talks from backstage.) Here he is in the shop. Let me just get some papers off. There. Introducing our new 1970 Mexican-American! 

Ta-ra-ra-raaaa! (SANCHO brings out the MEXICAN-AMERICAN model, a clean-shaven middle class type in a business suit, with glasses.) 

SECRETARY: (Impressed.) Where have you been hiding this one? 

SANCHO: He just came in this morning. Ain’t he a beauty? Feast you eyes on him! Sturdy U.S. Steel frame, streamlined, modern. As a matter of fact, he is built exactly like our Anglo models, except that he comes in a variety of darker shades: naugahide, leather or leatherette. 

SECRETARY: Naugahide. 

SANCHO: Well, we’ll just write that down. Yes, señorita, this model represents the apex of American engineering! He is bilingual, college educated, ambitious! Say the word “acculturate” and he accelerates. He is intelligent, well-mannered, clean. Did I say clean? (Snap. MEXICANAMERICAN raises his arm.) Smell. 

SECRETARY: (Smells.) Old Sobaco, my favorite. 

SANCHO: (Snap. MEXICAN-AMERICAN turns toward SANCHO.) Eric? (To SECRETARY.) We call him Eric García. (To ERIC.) I want you to meet Miss JIM-enez, Eric. 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: Miss JIM-enez, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. (He kisses her hand.) 

SECRETARY: Oh, my, how charming! 

SANCHO: Did you feel the suction? He has seven especially engineered suction cups right behind his lips. He’s a charmer all right! 

SECRETARY: How about boards, does he function on boards? 

SANCHO: You name them, he is on them. Parole boards, draft boards, school boards, taco quality control boards, surf boards, two by fours. 

SECRETARY: Does he function in politics? 

SANCHO: Señorita, you are looking at a political machine. Have you ever heard of the OEO, EOC, COD, WAR ON POVERTY? That’s our model! Not only that, he makes political speeches. 

SECRETARY: May I hear one? 

SANCHO: With pleasure. (Snap.) Eric, give us a speech. 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: Mr. Congressman, Mr. Chairman, members of the board, honored guests, ladies and gentlemen. (SANCHO and SECRETARY applaud.) Please, please. I come before you as a Mexican-American to tell you about the problems of the Mexican. The problems of the Mexican stem from one thing and one thing only: he’s stupid. He’s uneducated. He needs to stay in school. He needs to be ambitious, foward-looking, harder-working. He needs to think American, American, American, American, American! God bless America! God bless America! God bless 

America! (He goes out of control. SANCHO snaps frantically and the MEXICAN-AMERICAN finally slumps forward, bending at the waist.) 

SECRETARY: Oh my, he’s patriotic too! 

SANCHO: Sí, señorita, he loves his country. Let me just make a little adjustment here. (Stands MEXICAN-AMERICAN up.) 

SECRETARY: What about upkeep? Is he economical? 

SANCHO: Well, no, I won’t lie to you. The Mexican-American costs a little bit more, but you get what you pay for. He’s worth every extra cent. You can keep him running on dry Martinis, Langendorf bread … 

SECRETARY: Apple pie? 

SANCHO: Only Mom’s. Of course, he’s also programmed to eat Mexican food at ceremonial functions, but I must warn you, an overdose of beans will plug up his exhaust. 

SECRETARY: Fine! There’s just one more question. How much do you want for him? 

SANCHO: Well, I tell you what I’m gonna do. Today and today only, because you’ve been so sweet, I’m gonna let you steal this model from me! I’m gonna let you drive him off the lot for the simple price of, let’s see, taxes and license included, $15,000. 

SECRETARY: Fifteen thousand dollars? For a Mexican!!!! 

SANCHO: Mexican? What are you talking about? This is a Mexican-American! We had to melt down two pachucos, a farmworker and three gabachos to make this model! You want quality, but you gotta pay for it! This is no cheap run-about. He’s got class! 

SECRETARY: Okay, I’ll take him. 

SANCHO: You will? 

SECRETARY: Here’s your money. 

SANCHO: You mind if I count it? 

SECRETARY: Go right ahead. 

SANCHO: Well, you’ll get your pink slip in the mail. Oh, do you want me to wrap him up for up? We have a box in the back. 

SECRETARY: No, thank you. The Governor is having a luncheon this afternoon, and we need a brown face in the crowd. How do I drive him? 

SANCHO: Just snap your fingers. He’ll do anything you want. (SECRETARY snaps. MEXICANAMERICAN steps forward.) 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: ¡Raza querida, vamos levantando armas para liberarnos de estos desgraciados gabachos que nos explotan! Vamos … 

SECRETARY: What did he say? 

SANCHO: Something about taking up arms, killing white people, etc. 

SECRETARY: But he’s not supposed to say that! 

SANCHO: Look, lady, don’t blame me for bugs from the factory. He’s your Mexican-American, you bought him, now drive him off the lot! 

SECRETARY: But he’s broken! 

SANCHO: Try snapping another finger. (SECRETARY snaps. MEXICAN-AMERICAN comes to life again.) 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: Esta gran humanidad ha dicho basta! ¡Y se ha puesto en marcha! ¡Basta! ¡Basta! ¡Viva la raza! ¡Viva la causa! ¡Viva la huelga! ¡Vivan los brown berets! ¡Vivan los estudiantes! ¡Chicano power!(The MEXICAN-AMERICAN turns toward the SECRETARY, who gasps and backs up. He keeps turning toward the PACHUCO, FARMWORKER and REVOLUCIONARIO, snapping his fingers and turning each of them on, one by one.) 

PACHUCO: (Snap. To SECRETARY.) I’m going to get you, baby! ¡Viva la raza! 

FARMWORKER: (Snap. to SECRETARY.) ¡Viva la huelga! ¡Viva la ¡huelga! ¡Viva la huelga! 

REVOLUCIONARIO: (Snap. To SECRETARY.) ¡Viva la revolución! (The three models join together and advance toward the SECRETARY, who backs up and runs out of the shop screaming. SANCHO is at the other end of the shop holding his money in his hand. All freeze. After a few seconds of silence, the PACHUCO moves and stretches, shaking his arms and loosening up. The 

FARMWORKER and REVOLUCIONARIO do the same. SANCHO stays where he is, frozen to his spot.) 

JOHNNY: Man, that was a long one, ese. (Others agree with him.) 

FARMWORKER: How did we do? 

JOHNYY: Pretty good, look at all that lana, man! (He goes over to SANCHO and removes the money from his hand. SANCHO stays where he is.) REVOLUCIONARIO: En la madre, look at all the money. 

JOHNNY: We keep this up, we’re going to be rich. 

FARMWORKER: They think we’re machines. 

REVOLUCIONARIO: Burros. 

JOHNNY: Puppets. 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: The only thing I don’t like is how come I always get to play the goddamn Mexican-American? 

JOHNNY: That’s what you get for finishing high school. 

FARMWORKER: How about our wages, ese? 

JOHNNY: Here it comes right now. $3,000 for you, $3,000 for you, $3,000 for you and $3,000 for me. The rest we put back into the business. 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: Too much, man. Heh, where you vatos going tonight? 

FARMWORKER: I’m going over to Concha’s. There’s a party. 

JOHNNY: Wait a minute, vatos. What about our salesman? I think he needs an oil job. 

REVOLUCIONARIO: Leave him to me. (The PACHUCO, FARMWORKER and MEXICANAMERICAN exit, talking loudly about their plans for the night. The REVOLUCIONARIO goes over to SANCHO, removes his derby hat and cigar, lifts him up and throws him over his shoulder. SANCHO hangs loose, lifeless. To audience.) He’s the best model we got! ¡Ajúa! (Exit.) 

Filus (Monolog) von Benjamín Gavarre Silva

 

Filus

(Monolog)

von Benjamín Gavarre Silva

Figur:

Filus (Stimme von Bosca, Höhlenartige Stimme, Stimme von Abus)

1.

Keller, fast völlig dunkel. Alte Möbel und verlassene Gegenstände. Stimmen von oben: Streit zwischen Filus und seiner Schwester Bosca.

Filus' Stimme. – Du bist zu jung und nicht verheiratet!

Boscas Stimme. – Ach ja? Weißt du, was passiert, wenn ich wütend werde?

Filus' Stimme. – Ich weiß, was passieren kann, wenn du mir ein Haar krümmst!

Boscas Stimme. – Uih, wie furchterregend!

Filus' Stimme. – Das hast du dir selbst zuzuschreiben!

Boscas Stimme. – Mit mir ziehst du den Kürzeren. (Es ist zu verstehen, dass Bosca ihn schlägt.)

Filus' Stimme. – Hilfe! Bosca ist verrückt geworden! Abus, kontrolliere deine Enkelin!

Die Großmutter schimpft Filus.

Abus' Stimme. – Filus! Lass deine Schwester in Ruhe! Was ist los mit dir? Ich habe dir gesagt, du sollst den Keller aufräumen. Was hast du gemacht?

Boscas Stimme. – Filus hat den ganzen Tag nachgedacht. Er denkt über seine wunderbaren, unerreichbaren Projekte nach.

Filus' Stimme. – Meine Projekte sind transzendent, bedeutsam.

Boscas Stimme. – Uih, wie wichtig du klingst!

Abus' Stimme. – Streitet euch nicht. Filus, fünf Minuten, um den Keller zu putzen.

Filus' Stimme. – Lass mich in Ruhe, Oma; ich will es so, wie es ist.

Abus' Stimme. – Putz diesen Saustall weg.

Filus' Stimme. – Ich bin niemandes Sklave.

Abus' Stimme. – Du tust es.

Boscas Stimme. – Tu es nicht, Filus! Rette die Menschheit!

Filus' Stimme. – Halt endlich den Mund!

Abus' Stimme. – Ich nehme dir das Internet weg.

Boscas Stimme. – Das wird ihm wehtun.

Filus' Stimme. – (Schreit sehr laut) Gut, Oma! Ich werde es tun, aber auf meine Weise!

Abus' Stimme. – Wie du willst.

Boscas Stimme. – Schnell, Brüderchen, schnell. Tschüss.

Dunkel

2.

Filus im Keller.

Filus. – (Kommt schlecht gelaunt, aber entschlossen die Treppe herunter. Nimmt den Besen). Auf meine Art. Ein Loch reparieren? Ich, Filus, verwandle es auf wunderbare Weise. (Bricht in komisches Weinen aus) Warum ich!

Lässt den Besen fallen und setzt sich erschöpft auf ein altes Möbelstück.

Warum ich!

Sucht in einer der Schubladen des Möbelstücks und findet ein paar Strümpfe. Öffnet das alte, noch intakte Päckchen... und zieht sich einen der Strümpfe über den Kopf.

(Spöttisch) Wehe mir! Wehe mir, dass ich kein Gesicht habe! Oh, ich habe mein Gesicht verloren! Ich habe kein Gesicht, wehe mir!

Öffnet die Tür eines heruntergekommenen Kleiderschranks und holt einen alten, falschen Schädel heraus.

(Theatralisch, spricht mit dem Schädel) Bist du es, Urgroßvater? (Er selbst spielt seinen vermeintlichen Urgroßvater) Ich?... Ich bin der legendäre Vicomte Filus III. Man hat mich in Kairo ermordet, als ich die Nacht mit einem Kamel verbrachte. Könntest du diesen blöden Strumpf von deinem Kopf nehmen? (Filus antwortet seinem Urgroßvater) Ich langweile mich, Urgroßvater. Ich hasse die Normalität. Ich verstehe nicht, warum niemand merkt, dass ich überlegen bin. Meine Großmutter verlangt von mir dieselben Pflichten, dieselben Hausarbeiten, die natürlich für jeden gut sind, aber mich ehrlich gesagt langweilen, weil ich... (Wieder antwortet der Urgroßvater) Ja, ja, ja... (Improvisiert ein Lied) Warum reibst du dich nicht, warum kratzt du dich nicht, warum wirst du nicht müde vom Denken... Gib dir eine gute Massage, wo du sie brauchst, ich schwöre dir, es ist süß, es ist sehr angenehm, sich zu kratzen, sich zu reiben, mhhh, man muss es genießen können! (Filus, scheinbar unbehaglich) Genug, Opa... Uropa, äh... „Das“ ist nicht, was ich brauche, es ist... es ist zu viel... (Urgroßvater) Lüstern, exzentrisch, kontrovers?... Und vor allem, dein Reich ist nicht von dieser Welt. (Filus) Ich will etwas Wichtiges in diesem Leben tun. Etwas Transzendentes. Etwas, das die Welt verändert. (Urgroßvater) Die Welt, ach, die Welt, Filus. In ihren Anfängen war sie nichts als eine riesige glühende Masse. Dann kamen die Dinosaurier. Sie fraßen die stinkende Masse, die noch nicht gut durchgekocht war, bekamen Verdauungsprobleme und starben natürlich. Dann, aus den Dinosauriern, entstanden die Menschen; sie bildeten Gesellschaften, verschiedene Institutionen... Und dann wurdest du geboren. (Filus) Ich weiß nicht. Mir scheint deine Sichtweise sehr pessimistisch, Opa. Ich glaube, ich lasse dich besser in Ruhe. (Urgroßvater) Ich bin dein Urgroßvater, nicht dein Großvater. (Filus) Wie auch immer, tschüss.

Lässt den Schädel fallen und bleibt einen Moment nachdenklich. Dann geht er zu einem kleinen Wagen, auf dem mehrere Gläser mit unangenehmen Inhalten stehen, wie sehr alte und getrocknete Laborproben.

(Mit einem Glas in der Hand, imitiert er seine Schwester Bosca) Schau mal, Filus, das ist nicht außergewöhnlich... Ich habe diese Blutprobe am Montag vorletzter Woche genommen (Dann nimmt er ein anderes Glas mit Laborproben und imitiert weiter seine angebliche Schwester) Dann... habe ich diese Urinprobe am Dienstag genommen... Ist das nicht ein Unglück? Ich will diese unerwünschten Proben in akzeptable verwandeln. (Als Filus antwortet er Bosca) Bosca, du bist verrückt. Alles, was du machst, ist ekelhaft. (Bosca) Oh... danke, Brüderchen. Aber denk dran... Du musst den Keller aufräumen, sonst nimmt Oma dir das Internet weg.

Filus entfernt sich vom Probenwagen und nimmt wieder den Besen. Er fegt ohne Überzeugung.

Danke, Oma. (Pathetisch, aber komisch) Du hast mich gezwungen, als wäre ich dein Diener, als wäre ich dein Sklave! Bei dir ziehe ich immer den Kürzeren. Ich verstehe nicht, warum du den Keller aufräumen musst, wenn du nie runterkommst. Der Keller gehört mir. Nur mir. (Er fegt und ordnet die Möbel weiter. Dann nimmt er Eimer und Mopp und putzt gemütlich im Rhythmus der Musik seines Handys.) (Nach ein paar Minuten sieht er sich um und ruft zufrieden über die leichten Veränderungen, die er erreicht hat, aus) Nun, ich muss zugeben, ein bisschen Putzen hat nicht geschadet! Es ist erstaunlich, wie ich einen Gegenstand bewege... So, und so, und so... (Er bewegt die alten Möbel und hinterlässt Ordnung.) und der Raum verändert sich. Erstaunlich. Genauso, nur umgekehrt proportional, fegt und wirft dieser Müll in diesen Eimer... und was passiert? (Er wirft den gesammelten Müll in den Eimer.) Sehr erstaunlich. (Er hinterlässt den gesamten Keller wirklich aufgeräumt und sauber.) Hier ist, wie ich allein durch ein paar Bewegungen den Raum verändern kann. (Er hält inne, um „das Ergebnis“ zu betrachten.) Ja, alles war so einfach; bloße Frage, einige Änderungen vorzunehmen und so... den Raum zu schaffen, der nicht existierte. Am Ende werde ich dann sagen: Alles ist Bild, alles nur Schein. Daher: Der Raum ist die Form! (Er nimmt seine Stimme auf seinem Handy auf.) Und so entdecke ich heute, dass eine leichte Veränderung genügt, damit die gesamte Struktur die Form annimmt... Das neue Bild! (Für sich selbst.) Ich bin definitiv ein Genie. (Er sinniert.) Aber warum mich auf Objekte oder Räume beschränken? Warum nicht...? Ich könnte erschaffen... Das neue Bild eines Lebewesens!...

Mmh. Das wäre so einfach… Was brauche ich?... Ich weiß es schon.

Dunkel

3.

Es sind Tage vergangen. Als das Licht zurückkehrt, sehen wir eine Fotomontage, die in fröhlichen Farben mit einem Bild einer gütigen, sehr traditionellen, sehr ihren Pflichten ergebenen Großmutter gemalt ist, mit Schürze, alten Kleidern, Lockenwicklern auf dem Kopf, das Bild einer Hausfrau, aber sehr betagt. In diesem Bild befindet sich ein Loch, in das man das Gesicht stecken und zur Figur werden kann.

Filus steht, sein Handy immer in der Hand, hinter einem Rednerpult, inmitten einer wissenschaftlichen Konferenz. Sein Publikum ist eine imaginäre Gruppe von Spezialisten auf dem Gebiet der Genetik.

(Filus agiert didaktisch, komisch eitel) Ich habe das genialste Kosmetik-Transformationsprogramm entworfen. Ich konnte das attraktivste Bild schaffen, ich konnte es definitiv schaffen.

Mit Hilfe seines Handys spielt Filus aufgezeichneten Applaus ab und verbeugt sich.

(Geht hinter das Bild von Abus und steckt seinen Kopf in das Loch, um sie darzustellen) Bravo, Filus.

(Als Filus kehrt er zum Rednerpult zurück) Wie wir wissen, ist das äußere Erscheinungsbild heutzutage von grundlegender Bedeutung. Es werden Vermögen ausgegeben, um uns attraktiver zu machen, vor allem für das Objekt unserer Begierde. (Angebliches Lachen von Abus) Ich habe all mein Wissen darauf konzentriert, die Veränderungswünsche auch bei so unendlich alten Wesen... wie meiner kleinen Oma... (Gerührt) zu verwandeln. Und siehe da, ich, Filus und nur Filus, habe meine kleine Oma streng in das verwandelt, was sie sich gewünscht hat. (Er spielt wieder aufgezeichneten Applaus ab.)

Und natürlich sind die Ergebnisse, obwohl zufriedenstellend, noch nicht schlüssig.

Ich muss auf einige Momente vor dem Experiment zurückgreifen. Ich erzähle Ihnen, was vor einigen Tagen passiert ist:

4.

(Lichtwechsel zu Sepia. Filus verlässt das Podium und interviewt seine Großmutter. Er nähert sich ihr, sanft.) Abus, ich möchte, dass du an das denkst, wonach du dich dein ganzes Leben gesehnt hast, an das, was in der rauen Realität unmöglich zu erreichen ist.

(„Abus“). Filus, ich könnte das nicht öffentlich sagen! Ich möchte nicht unangemessen sein... aber ich erzähle es dir. Nun; wie du weißt, hat es mir nie an Verehrern gefehlt... Alles Aristokraten; einige Botschafter und der eine oder andere Musiker. Freundlich, das schon. Sehr, sehr höflich und natürlich vom ältesten und blassesten Adel. Du kannst dir den Erfolg, den ich hatte, nicht vorstellen. Und natürlich ließ ich mich umwerben, denn obwohl Aristokraten, waren meine Verehrer schließlich doch Menschen; aber in Wirklichkeit hat mich keiner von ihnen... absolut nichts fühlen lassen. Und jetzt sind die Aristokraten vorbei, und ehrlich gesagt bedauere ich es überhaupt nicht... Und nein, es ist nicht so, dass ich verliebt bin, nein. Denn wie könnte ich in... So sehr ich auch nicht aufhören kann, an ihn zu denken, seit er Teil unseres Dienstes geworden ist. Es ist nicht so, dass ich ihn mir nicht aus dem Kopf schlagen könnte, aus der Vorstellung will ich sagen. Und das, obwohl ich ihn noch nicht einmal gehört habe, ich weiß nicht einmal, wie er spricht oder was er denkt. Und nein, ich empfinde keinerlei Wunsch, so jung er auch sein mag und so... so... hemdsärmelig...

(Filus) Abus, ich verstehe dich nicht, von wem redest du?

(Abus) Und nein, ich glaube nicht, dass meine vergebliche Absicht, die Nacht mit ihm zu verbringen, als geschmacklos betrachtet werden sollte. Wenn es niemand bemerkt, dann... Sag du, glaubst du, es wäre verpönt, wenn ich die Nacht mit... (Flüsternd) mit dem Gärtner verbringen würde?...

(Filus, fassungslos, schreit) Mit dem Gärtner! (Stille. Filus sieht sich um und setzt dann seine wissenschaftliche Ausführung fort. Angeberisch) Oma. Wenn ich dich bitte, den Frauentyp zu beschreiben, der den Gärtner unweigerlich deinen Füßen zu Füßen legen würde… Wiiiie wäre sie.

(Oma) Hübsch, elegant, sympathisch... elegant...

(Filus) Oma. Wenn du dir etwas wünschen könntest und zur attraktivsten Frau der Welt würdest... wie wärst du dann? Beschreibe diese Frau!

(Oma) Hübsch, elegant, sympathisch... elegant...

(Filus) Oma.

(Oma) Elegant... mit einem Hütchen. Mit einer Tasche. Sympathisch.

(Filus. Nimmt an, dass seine Großmutter ihre Beschreibung nicht ändern wird... beginnt das Experiment) Gut. Gut. (Sehr aufgeregt.) Bereit, Oma? Bist du bereit? Wir stehen vor einem der glorreichsten, bedeutendsten Experimente! Du wirst Teil dieser von mir und nur von mir erschaffenen Realität sein! Hier beginnt die Geschichte der nach Belieben veränderbaren Welt! Hier ist das erste Beispiel meiner brillanten Intelligenz. Teilen Sie mit mir Ruhm und Ehre: Ich bin jetzt ein entscheidender Teil der Geschichte der Menschheit!

5.

Passende Beleuchtung und spezielle Soundeffekte. Es wird dunkel, und wenn das Licht wieder angeht, sehen wir nun ... eine andere Fotomontage, diesmal aber mit der Großmutter, die elegant gekleidet ist, keine Schürze trägt, eine Handtasche hat und man sagen könnte, dass sie hübsch sowie sympathisch und liebenswert aussieht. Es ist das Bild dessen, was Abus sein wollte, bereit, ihren Gärtner zu erobern oder mit ihren Freundinnen auszugehen.

Filus füllt die Öffnung des Bildes mit einer Maske, die das sanfte und sehr gut geschminkte Gesicht der Großmutter zeigt.

(Filus. Entfernt sich von der Öffnung. Nimmt die Maske ab und wendet sich an sein Publikum.) Und das war alles. Nichts ist passiert. Oder doch, es war ein voller Erfolg. Die Kontrollen waren in Ordnung. Die Daten waren richtig. Das Experiment wurde ordnungsgemäß durchgeführt. Aber... Was passieren musste, ist passiert. Meine Großmutter bat darum, eine hübsche, elegante, sympathische... elegante... Frau zu sein, und das war sie bereits. Sie war immer so. Sie fühlt sich sehr wohl mit dem, wer sie ist... und das, meine Damen und Herren, ist... Sehr gut. Sehr gut... Ja, die Wahrheit sei gesagt.

(Filus legt sehr traurig seinen aufgezeichneten Applaus ein, macht aber dieses Mal keine Verbeugungen.)

Ach, aber so konnte das nicht bleiben. Nein, Sir. Ich musste weiterforschen und experimentieren.

Dunkel

6.

Als das Licht angeht, kommt Filus mit einem Karren herein, auf dem eine mannshohe Kapsel steht. In der Kapsel befindet sich anstelle einer Person die Puppe seiner Schwester Bosca, mit der er interagieren wird.)

(Filus wendet sich an sein Fachpublikum) Bevor ich mit dem zweiten Experiment begann… hatte ich ein interessantes Gespräch mit meiner Schwester. Es war ungefähr so…

Er interagiert mit der Puppe, die seine Schwester darstellt.

— „Bosca, Schwesterchen…“

— „Was, Filus!“

— „Warum erzählst du mir nicht von deinem größten Wunsch, deiner größten Sehnsucht?“

— „Ich? Nein, Filus, ich mag mich so, wie ich bin.“

— „Sag mir deine Wünsche, Bosca!“

— „Nein, Filus, lass mich in Ruhe. Ich will keine Veränderung, Filuuus! Hilfe, Filus ist verrückt geworden! Omaaa!“

(Filus belehrend, unterhaltsam) Wir leben zweifellos in Zeiten, in denen jeder Kräfte haben möchte. Jeder möchte fliegen, Gedanken lesen, inter… inter… galaktische Reisen unternehmen. Wie auch immer. Jeder wünscht sich zumindest eine Kraft, die wir kontrollieren können und die Teil unseres täglichen Lebens ist. Also habe ich geforscht. Ich habe große Fortschritte in der Wissenschaft der Quanten-Esdrodosphäre gemacht und konnte die besten Ergebnisse für eine signifikante Veränderung der Versuchspersonen erzielen. In diesem Fall war die Versuchsperson… Bosca. Meine Schwester. Ich erzähle Ihnen, wie alles war. (Er bringt Boscas Puppe zur Kapsel und schließt den Deckel. Er verabschiedet sich mit einer traurigen Geste.)

(Filus geht ans Rednerpult und wendet sich wieder an sein Publikum) ... daher hatten die Alchemisten zwar Recht in ihren Absichten, waren aber technologisch und wissenschaftlich unfähig, die Umwandlung der Elemente zu erreichen. Ich, selbst mit den positiven Ergebnissen, obwohl nicht die von mir erwarteten, was das Wichtigste ist... lerne wie jeder gute Wissenschaftler und mehr noch... bestätige meine Hypothese: DIE WELT IST VERÄNDERBAR.

Abus' Stimme. – (Von oben) Bravo, Filus; das wird ihnen gefallen.

Filus. – (Fährt leicht unbehaglich durch die Intervention fort) Ich habe eine momentane Modifikation vorgenommen und dabei ein Lebewesen als Studienobjekt genommen. Da ich jedoch mit der lediglich umstandsbedingten Veränderung, obwohl erfolgreich, nicht zufrieden war, nicht wahr, Abus... (Abus' Lachen von oben) beschloss ich, mein Experiment noch weiter zu treiben: eine intrinsische Transformation der Grundstruktur vorzunehmen. Das heißt, eine gründliche, molekulare und dauerhafte Transmutation. (Aufgeregt) Eine drastische Veränderung der Physiologie eines Lebewesens, ausgehend von den primären esdrodosphärischen Elementen. Ja, ich meine genau eine totale innere Metamorphose, aber ohne signifikante äußere Veränderungen. (Sehr aufgeregt) Genau, ich spreche von der machbaren quantenhaften und chromosomen-genetischen Veränderung in einem Lebewesen. (Spielt mit seinem eigenen Mobiltelefon aufgezeichneten Applaus ab).

Abus' Stimme. – Das ist es, Filus... bravo!

Filus. – (Fasst sich wieder). Ich möchte die unendliche Kooperation meines zweiten und aktuellen Studienobjekts würdigen, die sich bereitwillig selbst für dieses Experiment zur Verfügung gestellt hat. Sie… sollte… eigentlich…. In dieser Kapsel sein… Sie wissen schon. Ich fragte sie: Bosca, liebe Schwester, was ist dein tiefster Wunsch…? In was soll ich dich verwandeln…? Mehr oder weniger diese Worte.

(Sein Telefon klingelt, er beantwortet die Nachricht) Ja, ich erinnere mich… Ja, Oma. „Fliegen, übermenschliche Kräfte haben, jeden kontrollieren können, den man will… Und natürlich die Fähigkeit haben, Wände zu durchdringen, wann immer man will, ja, wann immer sie wollte… die Identität von wem auch immer annehmen, Gedanken lesen… und… und… und… Unsichtbar werden.“

(Spricht professionell auf sein Handy). Das Subjekt wollte unsichtbar werden.

Das ist es.

(Bleibt ein paar Sekunden still stehen). Und… nun ja… anscheinend… hat das Experiment… funktioniert. Ich habe sie in diese Kapsel gesteckt. (Er öffnet den Deckel der Kapsel, und es ist offensichtlich, dass sie leer ist. Wenn möglich, wird das Innere der leeren Kapsel dem Publikum wie bei einem Zaubertrick gezeigt). Und… nun ja… sie ist nicht mehr da.

Eine Erklärung, die ich geben kann, ist, dass sie tatsächlich unsichtbar ist… aber… warum kommuniziert sie nicht? Und andererseits. Sie ist unsichtbar, sage ich, aber sie ist sicherlich nicht stumm. Nein. Sie mag die Kommunikation sehr. Sie wissen schon. Und selbst wenn sie unsichtbar und stumm wäre… sie könnte mich berühren, sie könnte mir zumindest einen Stoß, einen Tritt geben… Oder etwas nicht so Gewalttätiges. Sie könnte meine Hand nehmen.

(Nimmt seinen Platz als Redner wieder ein). Wir können sagen, dass das Experiment ein… relativer Erfolg war. Wir konnten das Subjekt transformieren. Aber… wir konnten keinen Kontakt mehr zu ihm herstellen. Das ist es.

Aufgezeichneter, spärlicher Applaus. Filus' betretenes Gesicht.

Dunkel

7.

Filus sitzt mit einer Socke auf dem Kopf auf einem alten Möbelstück.

Filus. – (Enttäuscht). Nein, ich bin nicht das Genie aller Zeiten. Ich bin ein Versager. Ich habe kein Gesicht. Nichts, was ich tue, klappt. (Der Deckel der Kapsel öffnet sich, dann wird sie beleuchtet. Ein hoher, ferner Ton ist zu hören). Schwesterchen? Bosca? Bist du da? (Filus nimmt die Socke vom Kopf und springt aufgeregt auf. Er stellt sich neben die Kapsel und versucht, seine Schwester zur Kommunikation zu bewegen). Bosca...! (Er klopft mit den Knöcheln gegen den Deckel, öffnet und schließt ihn mehrmals). Hey...! (Er schließt den Deckel und versucht zu hören, was drinnen passiert. Nervöses Frauenlachen, Männergelächter sind zu hören). Bosca, was machst du da?

Man hört eine verzerrte Frauenstimme.

Verzerrte Frauenstimme. – Filus...! Geh weg! Geh von hier weg, bevor es zu...!

Filus. – Bosca?... (Stille. Filus, verwirrt, öffnet den Deckel der Kapsel). Und dieses Buch? Es ist auf dieser Seite aufgeschlagen… Es zeigt eine Katze, die in einem Kreis eingeschlossen ist. Eine weiße Katze… Warum eine weiße Katze? (Filus nimmt das Buch und beginnt zu lesen). Besonderer Zauberspruch für den Fall, dass alles verloren ist: Ziehe einen großen Kreis; mit dem Salz von tausend Jahren ziehe einen Kreis. Beginne in Ruhe und erreiche langsam eine hohe Nacht. Mache die Welt zur Dunkelheit und die Nacht zur Sphäre. Wenn das Licht des Feuers im Zentrum steht, wirst du die Worte kennen... (Filus stellt sich unter einen Lichtstrahl auf der Bühne; dann zündet er eine Kerze an und stellt sie in die Mitte. Er geht vorsichtig hinaus und nimmt das Buch wieder). Nun, sieh auf Seite zweihunderteinundvierzig nach... (Gehorsam). Seite zwei, vier, eins: da ist sie. (Er liest). Wenn du weißt, wie viele Leben eine Katze hat, geh und stelle dich in die Mitte. (Er erreicht die Mitte des Kreises. Filus nimmt die Kerze und liest weiter). Bist du schon drin?... (Filus antwortet). Ja, und was nun...? (Er liest). Nun, wenn du wirklich weißt, wie viele Leben die Katze hat, zähle die nötigen Male immer wieder, bis sie kommt. (Er hört auf zu lesen). Ich verstehe... Danke, Bosca, wo immer du auch bist. Ich hoffe, du kannst mir verzeihen. Aber ich verstehe nichts davon, von dem Buch und der weißen Katze… Und… ich glaube… ich stelle mir vor… ich bin sicher, dass es ein Zauberspruch ist, damit eine Katze erscheint. Sehr interessant. (Sehnsüchtig). Es ist Magie. (Er besinnt sich). Nein, aber was sage ich da. Ich hasse Magie und diesen Unsinn. (Er liest wieder). Das ist ja kinderleicht. Mal sehen... (Er verlässt den Kreis und legt das Buch und die ausgelöschte Kerze auf ein Möbelstück. Er stellt eine Tafel auf das Stativ und schreibt). Eine Katze hat sieben Leben. Sieben Katzen einmal (7 x 1 = 7). Das sind sieben. (Er notiert weiter die Mengen). Sieben Katzen zweimal: vierzehn... (Tafel: 7 x 2 = 14). Plus sieben... (Er notiert und sagt: 14 + 7 = 21) gleich einundzwanzig. Und wenn wir dieses Ergebnis einem exponentiellen Wert unterwerfen, haben wir einundzwanzig, plus achtundzwanzig, plus fünfunddreißig plus zweiundvierzig... (Er notiert und sagt: 21 + 28 + 35 + 42) plus sieben mal sieben, das sind neunundvierzig... (Er notiert und sagt: +49) wir erhalten als Ergebnis: Hundertsechsundneunzig Katzen (Er notiert: 196 Katzen).

Und wenn wir von hinten nach vorne addieren (Er schreibt und sagt: 6 + 9 = 15 + 1) Oder nein... Besser von vorne nach hinten... wir haben: eins, plus neun gleich zehn (Er schreibt und sagt: 1 + 9 = 10) und wenn wir die sechs addieren, haben wir...

(Er schreibt und sagt 10 + 6 = 16) sechzehn... Und eins plus sechs ist natürlich und einfach das Endergebnis... (Er schreibt 1 + 6) Das ergibt SIEBEN!... Also hat die Katze sieben Leben. Oder waren es nicht neun?... Ich werde es auf Google suchen... (Er sucht auf seinem Handy) Es hat sieben oder neun... je nach Land. Nun gut. Wie auch immer, wo ist die verdammte Katze...?

Das Licht geht vollständig aus. Dann leuchtet langsam die Mitte des Kreises auf, und wir sehen…

Das Bild eines leibhaftigen Dämons, einer Statue oder einer großen Puppe, vielleicht eines Alebrije oder Judas. Von innen hört man seine Stimme.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Hier bin ich, Filus… Du hast mich gerufen.

Filus. – (Verächtlich). Ich habe dich nicht gerufen. Ich wollte eine Antwort.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Komm, näher dich.

Filus. – Ich komme nicht näher. Wo ist meine Schwester? Hast du sie?

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Ja oder ja…?

Filus. – Ja, was?

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Ich bin die Lösung für deine Probleme, ich bin die Lösung.

Filus. – Wirklich? Ich möchte, dass meine Experimente funktionieren; ich möchte, dass meine Schwester zurückkommt. Bist du in der Lage, mir zu helfen?

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Alles, was du tust, funktioniert. Deshalb bin ich gekommen.

Filus. – Nichts, was ich tue, funktioniert. Du weißt es nicht. Ich habe meine Oma in dasselbe verwandelt, was sie vorher war, und dann habe ich meine Schwester verschwinden lassen. Warum sagst du, dass meine Experimente funktionieren? Ich bin ein Versager. Ich bin abscheulich.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Hilf mir, Filus... Gib mir deine Hand.

Filus. – Und wie soll ich dir die Hand geben? Du hast keine Hand.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Ich brauche dich, Filus.

Filus. – Ach ja, klar. Dann bist du kein sehr mächtiger Dämon.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Komm, du wirst dich amüsieren.

Filus. – Ich weiß nicht... Ich glaube nicht.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Wenn du nicht kommst, wird deine Schwester nicht mehr zu dir zurückkehren.

Filus. – Das dachte ich mir schon. Du hast sie.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Aha. Aha.

Filus. – Was? So antwortest du? Aha und aha. Ehrlich gesagt, als Dämon lässt du sehr zu wünschen übrig.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Und du als Wissenschaftler bist erbärmlich. Deine Schwester in ein Gravitationsfeld der Esdro… Esdro… sphäre zu verwandeln.

Filus. – Was? Esdrosphäre… Woher weißt du das?

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Ich halte mich auf dem Laufenden.

Filus. – (Überrascht). Du...? (Misstrauisch). Wie gut, dass du dich auf dem Laufenden hältst…, das freut mich sehr… Schwesterchen.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Was lässt dich glauben, dass ich deine Schwester bin?

Filus. – Ganz einfach. Du hast dich im Geschlecht geirrt, du hast informiert gesagt, es sei denn, du bist eine Teufelin und kein Dämon… Und… noch klarer… Das Gravitationsfeld ist ein Konzept, das ich in meinen letzten Experimenten entwickelt habe, sowie die Quantenrealität und die intersekionale Esdrosphäre… absolut meins… die Esdrosphäre vor allem ist meine… ich meine… äh…

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Ah… Ja, natürlich, die Esdro… Ferferofero…

Filus. – Und ehrlich gesagt, Bosca, finde ich es sehr geschmacklos, dass du mein Telefon ausspioniert hast, wo ich alles aufgenommen habe… und dass du privilegierte Informationen benutzt.

Höhlenartige Stimme. – Teufel!

Filus. – (Verärgert) Das sage ich auch… (Plötzlich optimistisch) Aber mir fällt ein, Bosca, dass der Prozess kurz vor der Umkehr steht. Am Anfang warst du stumm, unsichtbar und hattest keine Berührung. Du hattest keinen Tastsinn, nicht wahr?

Höhlenartige Stimme. – (Zögernd). Nnnnein.

Filus. – (Aufrichtig). Ich kann mich jetzt beruhigen, und du noch mehr… Ich versichere dir, dass du in ein paar Tagen… Du wirst….

Plötzliche Dunkelheit und Explosion.

8.

Einige Tage sind vergangen. Als das Licht zurückkehrt, sind der Dämon und die Kapsel verschwunden. Filus steht wieder am Rednerpult. Die Beleuchtung ist warm, und alles ist aufgeräumt.

(Filus, ruhig glücklich). Tatsache ist, dass Bosca jetzt glücklicher ist als zuvor. Und nein, niemand hat sie gezwungen, im esdrodosphärischen Gravitationszustand zu bleiben, meiner Erfindung, und sie kann, wenn sie will, lernen, zurückzukehren und dann nach ihren Wünschen zu gehen. Die Transformation ist nicht endgültig, und sie hat die Möglichkeiten, so zu leben, unsichtbar… Ihre Stimme wird jeden Tag etwas klarer, und nun ja, es scheint… dass sie den Tastsinn nach Belieben einsetzen kann… Wenn sie will, können sie sie spüren, und wenn sie nicht will… Sie wissen schon.

Mein Abus ist jetzt sehr glücklich, wieder Single zu sein... es scheint, dass der Gärtner nur ein weiteres Abenteuer war, aber sie ist definitiv glücklicher mit ihren Freundinnen. Was noch? Ich? Wenn das das Wichtigste ist... Nein. Es stimmt nicht. Ich bin wirklich ein bisschen demütiger geworden, vor allem seit ich meine esdrodosphärische Gravitationsforschung veröffentlicht habe, wissen Sie, und... nun, ich habe ein Stipendium und werde sehr bald in... dem Zentrum von... (Filus benimmt sich seltsam, als ob ihn eine Kraft plötzlich schubsen oder kneifen würde). An einer sehr angesehenen Institution... wissen Sie... und... Bosca?... Du bist es, natürlich bist du es. Sprich, Schwesterchen, ich weiß, dass du sprechen kannst, selbst mit deiner rauen Stimme... Hey, hör auf... Lass mich. Gut... Ich glaube, das war's für heute. Ich verlasse euch, ich muss für einen Moment nach oben gehen und diesen Keller verlassen... denn das ist der Ort..., wo ich die meiste Zeit verbringe, und ich muss auch... rausgehen und etwas frische Luft schnappen... Freie... Bitte... Oma... Abuus... Abuuuus.... Bosca ist definitiv verrückt geworden!... Abuuus. Omaaaaaa.

Schlussapplaus.

® Benjamín Gavarre Silva