27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays (16 page)

CURTAIN

S
CENE
II

It is late one night that winter. The furnished room is empty except for the cat. Through the frosted panes of the window in the left wall a steely winter moonlight enters. The window in the right wall admits the flickering ruddy glow of the plant and its pulse-like throbbing is heard faintly. The Little Man enters and switches on the suspended electric globe. He carries a small package. He smiles at Nitchevo and unwraps the package. It is a small bottle of cream which he brandishes before her.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
Just a minute. (
He lowers the window shade that faces the plant.
)
Now. We forget the plant. (
He pours the cream in a blue saucer.
)
There. Supper. (
He sets it on the floor by the bed and sits to watch her eat.
)
Nitchevo, don’t be nervous. There’s nothing to worry about. In winter my hands get stiff, it makes me clumsy. But I can rub them together, I can massage the joints. And when the weather turns warmer—the stiffness will pass away. Then I won’t jam up the machine any more. Today Mr. Woodson got mad. He bawled me out. Because my clumsy fingers jammed the machine. He stood behind me and watched me and grunted—like this! (
He utters an ominous grunt.
)
Oh, it was like a knife stuck in me, between my ribs! Because, you see, I . . . have to
keep
this job, to provide the supper. Well . . . I began to shake! Like this! (
He imitates shaking.
)
And he kept standing behind me, watching and grunting. My hands went faster and faster, they broke the rhythm. All of a sudden a part was put out of place, the machine was jammed, the belt conveyor stopped! SCR-E-E-ECH! Every man along the line looked at me! Up and down and all along the line they turned and stared—at
me!
Mr. Woodson grabbed me by the shoulder! “There you go,” he said, “you clumsy Dago! Jammed up the works again, you brainless Spick!” (
He covers his face.
)
Oh, Nitchevo—I lost my dignity—I cried. . . . (
He draws his breath in a shuddering sob.
)
But now we forget about that, that’s over and done! It’s night, we’re alone together—the room is warm—we sleep. . . . (
He strips off his shirt and lies back on the bed. There is a knock at the door and he sits up quickly. He makes a warning gesture to the cat. But the caller is not to be easily discouraged. The knock is repeated, the door is thrust open. It is the Landlady in a soiled but fancy negligee.
)

L
ANDLADY:
(
resentfully but coyly
)
Oh—you were playing possum.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I’m—not dressed.

L
ANDLADY:
Nobody needs to be bashful on my account. I thought you’d gone out and left on the light in your room. We got to economize on electric current.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I always turn it off when I go out.

L
ANDLADY:
I don’t believe you ever go out, except to the plant.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I’m on the night-shift now.

L
ANDLADY:
The grave-yard shift, they call it. What is the trouble with you and Oliver Woodson?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
Trouble? Why?

L
ANDLADY:
I met him in the Bright Spot Delicatessen. “Oh, by way,” I said to him, “how’s that feller I sent you getting along, that Eyetalian feller?” “Aw, him!” said Mr. Woodson. “Say, what’s the matter with him? Isn’t he doing okay?” “Naw, he jams things up!” “Well,” I said, “give him time, I think he’s nervous. Maybe he tries too hard.”

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
What did he say?

L
ANDLADY:
He grunted. (
She smiles. The Little Man pours the rest of the cream in the cat’s saucer. He is trembling.
)
You must try an’ get over being so nervous. Maybe what you need is more amusement. (
She sits on the edge of the bed, with the balalaika.
)
Sit back down! There’s room for two on this sofa! (
She pats the space beside her. He gingerly sits back down at a considerable distance. His hands knot anxiously together. She plays a soft chord on the balalaika and hums with a sidelong glance at the nervous roomer.
)
Tired?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
Yes.

L
ANDLADY:
Some nights I hear you—talking through the door. Who is he talking to, I used to wonder. (
She chuckles.
)
At first I imagined you had a woman in here. Well, I’m a tolerant woman. I know what people need is more than food and more than work at the plant. (
She plays dreamily for a moment.
)
So when I heard that talking I was pleased. I said to myself—"That lonely little man has found a woman!” I only
hoped it wasn’t one picked up—you know—on the street. Women like that aren’t likely to be very clean. Female hygiene’s a lot more—complicated. Well . . . (
The Little Man looks down in an agony of embarrassment.
)

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
It wasn’t—a woman.

L
ANDLADY:
I know. I found that out. Just you. Carrying on a one-sided conversation with a cat! Funny, yes—but kind of pitiful, too. You a man not even middle-aged yet—devoting all that care and time and affection—on what? A stray alley-cat you inherited just by chance from the man who stayed here before you, that fool of a Russian! The strangest kind of a romance . . . a man—and a cat! What we mustn’t do, is disregard nature. Nature says—"Man take woman or—man be lonesome!” (
She smiles at him coyly and moves a little closer.
)
Nature has certainly never said, “Man take cat!”

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
(
suddenly, awkwardly rising
)
Nature has never said anything to me.

L
ANDLADY:
(
impatiently
)
Because you wouldn’t listen!

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
Oh, I listened. But all I ever heard was my own voice—asking me troublesome questions!

L
ANDLADY:
You hear
me
,
don’t you?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I hear you singing when I come home sometimes. That’s very good, I like it.

L
ANDLADY:
Then why don’t you stop in the parlor and have a chat? Why do you act so bashful? (
She rises and stands back of him.
)
We could talk—have fun! When you took this room you gave me a false impression.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
What do you mean?

L
ANDLADY:
Have you forgotten the conversation we had?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I don’t remember any conversation.

L
ANDLADY:
You said you wanted to do just like the Russian.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I meant about the cat, to have her with me!

L
ANDLADY:
I told you he also helped about the house!

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I’m on the night-shift now!

L
ANDLADY
: Quit dodging the issue! (
There is a pause and then she touches his shoulder.
)
I thought I explained things to you. My husband’s a chronic invalid, codein, now, twice a day! Naturally I have—lots of steam to blow off! (
The Little Man moves nervously away. She follows ponderously, reaching above her to switch off the electric globe.
)
Now—that’s better, ain’t it?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I don’t think I know—exactly.

L
ANDLADY:
You ain’t satisfied with the room?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
I like the room.

L
ANDLADY:
I had the idea you wasn’t satisfied with it.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
The room is home. I like it.

L
ANDLADY:
The way you avoided having a conversation—almost ran past the front room every night. Why don’t we talk together? The cat’s got your tongue?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
You wouldn’t be talking—to me.

L
ANDLADY:
I’m talking to you—direckly!

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
Not to
me.

L
ANDLADY:
You
!
Me! Where is any third party?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
There isn’t a second party.

L
ANDLADY:
What?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
You’re only talking to something you think is me.

L
ANDLADY:
Now we
are
getting in deep.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
You made me say it. (
turning to face her
)
I’m not like you, a solid, touchable being.

L
ANDLADY:
Words—wonderful! The cat’s let go of your tongue?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
You’re wrong if you think I’m—a person! I’m not—no person! At all . . .

L
ANDLADY:
What are you, then, little man?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
(
sighing and shrugging
)
A kind of a—ghost of a—man . . .

L
ANDLADY:
(
laughing
)
So you’re not Napoleon, you’re Napoleon’s ghost!

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
When a body is born in the world—it can’t back out. . . .

L
ANDLADY:
Huh?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
But sometimes—

L
ANDLADY:
What?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
(
with a bewildered gesture
)
The body is only—a shell. It may be alive—when what’s inside—is too afraid to come out! It stays locked up and alone! Single! Private! That’s how it is—with me. You’re not talking to me—but just what you
think
is me!

L
ANDLADY:
(
laughing gently
)
Such a lot of words. You’ve thrown me the dictionary. All you needed to say was that you’re lonesome. (
She touches his shoulder.
)
Plain old lonesomeness, that’s what’s the matter with you! (
He turns to her and she gently touches his face.
)
Nature says, “Don’t be lonesome!” (
The curtain begins to fall.
)
Nature says—
"Don’t
—be lonesome!”

CURTAIN

S
CENE
III

It is again late at night. The Little Man enters with snow on his turned-up collar and knitted black wool cap.

He carries the usual little package of cream for his friend the cat. Again he follows his nightly routine of lowering the shade on the glare of the plant, pouring the cream in the blue saucer, and the sighing relaxation on the bed.

LITTLE MAN:
Nitchevo—don’t worry—don’t be nervous! (
A needless admonition for Nitchevo doesn’t have a care in the world. The Little Man, smiling, watches her as he half-reclines on the bed.
)
As long as we stick together there’s nothing to fear. There’s only danger when two who belong to each other get separated. We won’t get separated—never!

Will we? (
There is a rap at the door.
)
Bella? (
The door is pushed open and the Old Man steps inside.
)

O
LD
M
LAN:
May I come in? (
The Little Man nods.
)
Don’t mention this visit to my daughter-in-law. She doesn’t approve of my having social relations with her roomers. Where is a chair?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
(
shoving one toward him
)
Here.

O
LD
M
LAN:
Thank you. I won’t stay long.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
You may stay as long as you wish.

O
LD
M
LAN:
That’s very generous of you. But I won’t do it. I know how tiresome I am, a tiresome old man who makes his need of companionship a nuisance. I don’t suppose you—have a little tobacco?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
(
producing some
)
Yes—here. Shall I roll it for you?

O
LD
M
LAN:
Oh, no, no, no. I have a wonderful lightness in my fingers!

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
Mine shake, they’re always clumsy.

O
LD
M
LAN:
Yes. I understand that. So I—dropped in. I thought we would have a talk.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
(
embarrassed
)
I don’t—talk much.

O
LD
M
LAN:
Fools hate silence. I like it. I see you have books. From the public library?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
One or two. I own them.

O
LD
M
LAN:
As I was passing outside, I heard some clinking.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
Clinking?

O
LD
M
LAN
: Yes—like bottles. I collect empty bottles which I exchange at the Bright Spot Delicatessen.

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
The bottle you heard was only a little cream bottle. It’s under the bed.

O
LD
M
LAN:
Oh. That wouldn’t do any good. You drink cream?

L
ITTLE
M
AN:
The cat.