Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (3 page)

[
She picks out a pair of jeweled sandals and
rushes to the dressing table.
]

Why, year before last, when Susan McPheeters was singled
out fo’ that honor, y’ know what happened to her?
Y'know what happened to poor little Susie McPheeters?

BRICK
[
absently
]:

No. What happened to little Susie McPheeters?

MARGARET:

Somebody spit tobacco juice in her face.

BRICK
[
dreamily
]:

Somebody spit tobacco juice in her face?

MARGARET:

That's right, some old drunk leaned out of a window in the Hotel Gayoso and
yelled, “Hey, Queen, hey, hey, there, Queenie!” Poor Susie
looked up and flashed him a radiant smile and he shot out a squirt of tobacco juice
right in poor Susie's face.

BRICK:

Well, what d'you know about that.

MARGARET
[
gaily
]:

What do I know about it? I was there, I saw it!

BRICK
[
absently
]:

Must have been kind of funny.

MARGARET:

Susie didn't think so. Had hysterics. Screamed like a banshee. They had to
stop th’ parade an’ remove her from her throne an’ go on
with—

[
She catches sight of him in the mirror,
gasps slightly, wheels about to face him. Count ten.
]

—Why are you looking at me like that?

BRICK
[
whistling
softly, now
]:

Like what, Maggie?

MARGARET
[
intensely, fearfully
]:

The way y’ were lookin’ at me just now, befo’ I caught your eye
in the mirror and you started t’ whistle! I don't know how
t’ describe it but it froze my blood!—I've caught you
lookin’ at me like that so often lately. What are you thinkin’ of when
you look at me like that?

BRICK:

I wasn't conscious of lookin’ at you, Maggie.

MARGARET:

Well, I was conscious of it! What were you thinkin'?

BRICK:

I don't remember thinking of anything, Maggie.

MARGARET:

Don't you think I know that—? Don't
you—?—Think I know that—?

BRICK
[
coolly
]:

Know
what,
Maggie?

MARGARET
[
struggling for expression
]:

That I've gone through this—
hideous!
—
transformation,
become—
hard! Frantic!

[
Then she adds, almost
tenderly:
]

—
cruel!!

That's what you've been observing in me lately. How could
y’ help but observe it? That's all right. I'm
not—thin-skinned any more, can't afford t* be
thin-skinned any more.

[
She is now recovering her
power.
]

—But Brick? Brick?

BRICK:

Did you say something?

MARGARET:

I was
goin’
t’ say something: that I
get—lonely. Very!

BRICK:

Ev'rybody gets that . . .

MARGARET:

Living with someone you love can be lonelier—than living entirely
alone
!—if the one that y’ love
doesn't love you. . . .

[
There is a pause. Brick hobbles downstage
and asks, without looking at her:
]

BRICK:

Would you like to live alone, Maggie?

[
Another pause: then
—
after she has caught a quick, hurt breath:
]

MARGARET:

No!—God.—I
wouldn't!

[
Another gasping breath. She forcibly
controls what must have been an impulse to cry out. We see her deliberately,
very forcibly, going all the way back to the world in which you can talk about
ordinary matters.
]

Did you have a nice shower?

BRICK:

Uh-huh.

MARGARET:

Was the water cool?

BRICK:

No.

MARGARET:

But it made y’ feel fresh, huh?

BRICK:

Fresher. . . .

MARGARET:

I know something would make y’ feel
much
fresher!

BRICK:

What?

MARGARET:

An alcohol rub. Or cologne, a rub with cologne!

BRICK:

That's good after a workout but I haven't been workin’ out,
Maggie.

MARGARET:

You've kept in good shape, though.

BRICK
[
indifferently
]:

You think so, Maggie?

MARGARET:

I always thought drinkin’ men lost their looks, but I was plainly
mistaken.

BRICK
[
wryly
]:

Why, thanks, Maggie.

MARGARET:

You're the only drinkin’ man I know that it never seems t’ put
fat on.

BRICK:

I'm gettin’ softer, Maggie.

MARGARET:

Well, sooner or later it's bound to soften you up. It was just beginning to
soften up Skipper when—

[
She stops short.
]

I'm sorry. I never could keep my fingers off a sore—I wish
you
would
lose your looks. If you did it would make the
martyrdom of Saint Maggie a little more bearable. But no such goddam luck. I
actually believe you've gotten better looking since you've gone on the
bottle. Yeah, a person who didn't know you would think you'd never had
a tense nerve in your body or a strained muscle.

[
There are sounds of croquet on the lawn
below: the click of mallets, light voices, near and distant.
]

Of course, you always had that detached quality as if you were playing a
game without much concern over whether you won or lost, and now that you've
lost the game, not lost but just quit playing, you have that rare sort of charm that
usually only happens in very old or hopelessly sick people, the charm of the
defeated.—You look so cool, so cool, so enviably cool.

[
Music is heard.
]

They're playing croquet. The moon has appeared and it's
white, just beginning to turn a little bit yellow. . . .

You were a wonderful lover. . . .

Such a wonderful person to go to bed with, and I think mostly because
you were really indifferent to it. Isn't that right? Never had any
anxiety about it, did it naturally, easily, slowly, with absolute confidence and
perfect calm, more like opening a door for a lady or seating her at a table than
giving expression to any longing for her. Your indifference made you wonderful at
lovemaking—
strange?
—but true. .
. .

You know, if I thought you would never, never,
never
make love to me again—I would go downstairs to the kitchen
and
pick out the longest and sharpest knife I could find and
stick it straight into my heart, I swear that I would!

But one thing I don't have is the charm of the defeated, my hat
is still in the ring, and I am determined to win!

[
There is the sound of croquet mallets
hitting croquet balls.
]

—What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof?—I
wish I knew. . . .

Just staying on it, I guess, as long as she can. . . .

[
More croquet sounds.
]

Later tonight I'm going to tell you I love you an’ maybe
by that time you'll be drunk enough to believe me. Yes, they're
playing croquet . . .

Big Daddy is dying of cancer. . . .

What were you thinking of when I caught you looking at me like
that? Were you thinking of Skipper?

[
Brick takes up his crutch,
rises.
]

Oh, excuse me, forgive me, but laws of silence don't work!
No, laws of silence don't work. . . .

[
Brick crosses to the bar, takes a quick
drink, and rubs his head with a towel.
]

Laws of silence don't work. . . .

When something is festering in your memory or your imagination, laws of
silence don't work, it's just like shutting a door and locking it on a
house on fire in hope of forgetting that the house is burning. But not facing a fire
doesn't put it out. Silence about a thing just magnifies it. It grows and
festers in silence, becomes malignant. . . .

Get dressed, Brick.

[
He drops his crutch.
]

BRICK:

I've dropped my crutch.

[
He has stopped rubbing his hair dry but
still stands hanging onto the towel rack in a white towel-cloth
robe.
]

MARGARET:

Lean on me.

BRICK:

No, just give me my crutch.

MARGARET:

Lean on my shoulder.

BRICK:

I
don't want to lean on your shoulder, I want my
crutch!

[
This is spoken like sudden
lightning.
]

Are you going to give me my crutch or do I have to get down on my knees
on the floor and—

MARGARET:

Here, here, take it, take it!

[
She has thrust the crutch at
him.
]

BRICK
[
hobbling
out
]:

Thanks . . .

MARGARET:

We mustn't scream at each other, the walls in this house have ears. . . .

[
He hobbles directly to liquor cabinet to
get a new drink.
]

—but that's the first time I've heard you raise
your voice in a long time, Brick. A crack in the wall?—Of
composure?

—I think that's a good sign. . . .

A sign of nerves in a player on the defensive!

[
Brick turns and smiles at her coolly over
his fresh drink.
]

BRICK:

It just hasn't happened yet, Maggie.

MARGARET:

What?

BRICK:

The click I get in my head when I've had enough of this stuff to make me
peaceful. . . .

Will you do me a favor?

MARGARET:

Maybe I will. What favor?

BRICK:

Just, just keep your voice down!

MARGARET
[
in a
hoarse whisper
]:

I'll do you that favor, I'll speak in a whisper, if not shut up
completely, if
you
will do
me
a favor and make that drink your last one till after the party.

BRICK:

What party?

MARGARET:

Big Daddy's birthday party.

BRICK:

Is this Big Daddy's birthday?

MARGARET:

You know this is Big Daddy's birthday!

BRICK:

No, I don't, I forgot it.

MARGARET:

Well, I remembered it for you. . . .

[
They are
both speaking as breathlessly as a pair of kids after a fight, drawing deep
exhausted breaths and looking at each other with faraway eyes, shaking and
panting together as if they had broken apart from a violent
struggle.
]

BRICK:

Good for you, Maggie.

MARGARET:

You just have to scribble a few lines on this card.

BRICK:

You scribble something, Maggie.

MARGARET:

It's got to be your handwriting; it's your present, I've given
him my present; it's got to be your handwriting!

[
The tension between them is building again,
the voices becoming shrill once more.
]

BRICK:

I didn't get him a present.

MARGARET:

I got one for you.

BRICK:

All right. You write the card, then.

MARGARET:

And have him know you didn't remember his birthday?

BRICK:

I didn't remember his birthday.

MARGARET:

You don't have to prove you didn't!

BRICK:

I don't want to fool him about it.

MARGARET:

Just write “Love, Brick!” for God's—

BRICK:

No.

MARGARET:

You've
got
to!

BRICK:

I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. You keep forgetting the
conditions on which I agreed to stay on living with you.

MARGARET
[
out
before she knows it
]:

I'm not living with you. We occupy the same cage.

BRICK:

You've got to remember the conditions agreed on.

MARGARET:

They're impossible conditions!

BRICK:

Then why don't you—?

MARGARET:

HUSH! Who is out there? Is somebody at the door?

[
There are footsteps in the
hall.
]

MAE
[
outside
]:

May I enter a moment?

MARGARET:

Oh,
you!
Sure. Come in, Mae.

[Mae enters bearing aloft the bow of a young
lady's archery set.
]

MAE:

Brick, is this thing yours?

MARGARET:

Why, Sister Woman—that's my Diana Trophy. Won it at the intercollegiate
archery contest on the Ole Miss campus.

MAE:

It's a mighty dangerous thing to leave exposed round a house full of nawmal
rid-blooded children attracted t'weapons.