The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays (10 page)
Read The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays Online
Authors: Tennessee Williams
[
They embrace. Richard enters with cocktail shaker and glasses
.]
RICHARD
: Oh. I see you’ve gotten pretty well acquainted.
ANNABELLE
:
Richard—
RICHARD
: Yes?
ANNABELLE:
Paul and I are going to be married!
RICHARD
: What? [
Looks at Paul
.]
PAUL
[
dazed
]: Yes. It’s one of the incredible things that only happens in newspaper stories.
RICHARD
:
Well—well
! Annabelle, I left the sandwiches in the kitchen.
ANNABELLE
: Oh, no, I’m not that stupid. If you have any objections you can make them in my presence!
RICHARD
: Objections? Hell, no! It’s swell, it’s marvelous,
it’s—
[
He looks at Paul
.] Colossal! You get the sandwiches, Paul!
ANNABELLE
: We’ll get them together.
RICHARD
: Great. I guess this calls for a bit of a celebration!
[
Paul and Annabelle go out the rear door. Richard goes quickly to the phone
.]
Ernest? This is Richard. Come on upstairs right away. [
Curtains begin to close
.] Paul and I have a woman up here and she’s gone serious on us! Hurry!!
CURTAIN
A SATIRE
Every Twenty Minutes
was first performed on March 23, 2011 at the Southern Rep Theatre, New Orleans, as part of the Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival’s centennial tribute to Williams. It was directed by Aimée Hayes; the set design was by Ashley Sehorn; the costume design was by Laura Sirkin-Brown; the sound design was by Mike Harkins; the props were designed by Sarah Zoghbi; and the lighting design was by Joan Long. The cast, in order of appearance, was as follows:
| A WOMAN | Lara Grice |
| A MAN | Sean Glazebrook |
Scene: the corner of a fashionable city apartment with a radio, chair, sofa, and cellaret with floor lamp. A man and a woman of about forty have just returned from a late party. The man is glancing through the paper and drinking a hi-ball. The woman is smoking
.
WOMAN
: They say that every twenty minutes somebody in America kills himself.
MAN
: Who says?
WOMAN
: The newspapers.
MAN
: How the hell do they know!
WOMAN
: They’ve got statistics.
MAN
: My God, they’ve statistics for everything, haven’t they! [
He turns a page
.]
WOMAN
: That’s rather often don’t you think? For people to be killing themselves?
MAN
: No. Not often enough really when you think of the number and kinds of people there are.
WOMAN
[
turning away
]: You’re such a cynic, George.
MAN
[
lightly
]: Oh, no, just a realist.
WOMAN
: Call it what you wish, I think you’re a very cold-blooded proposition.
MAN
: I belong to a cold-blooded generation. The generation of fish. We sink or swim and nobody gives a damn which. [
He takes another drink
.]
WOMAN
: Thank God I was born with a set of decent emotions!
MAN
: Emotions are troublesome things.
WOMAN
: Without them life is just a set of automatic reflexes.
MAN
: What’s wrong with that? Damned convenient I think! Saves one a lot of needless stewing. Have a drink?
WOMAN
: No, thank you. I’ve had my quota tonight.
MAN
: I can’t say they’ve done you much good.
WOMAN
: I’m still conscious, if that’s what you mean.
MAN
: Yes. That’s what I mean. [
He turns the radio on
.]
WOMAN
[
clasping her head
]: Please leave it off!
MAN
: Why?
WOMAN
: I’ve got a headache.
MAN
: Take an aspirin.
WOMAN
: It isn’t that kind of a headache. [
She sinks onto the couch
.]
MAN
: What kind is it, then?
WOMAN
: The kind that goes on and on and never stops.
MAN
: May I suggest a remedy?
WOMAN
: Yes, if you only would.
MAN
: You’ll find my revolver in the left-hand drawer of the chifferobe. Results guaranteed.
WOMAN
: Perhaps I will surprise you by using it some day.
MAN
: Nothing would surprise me. [
He drinks again
.]
WOMAN
: No. I guess nothing would. Are you really alive?
MAN
: I think so.
WOMAN
: But you’re not absolutely sure of it?
MAN
: One can’t be sure of anything these days.
WOMAN
: Do you have sensations?
MAN
: Yes.
WOMAN
: Likes and dislikes?
MAN
: Yes.
WOMAN
: What do you like, George?
MAN
: Hmm. The faint spicy fragrance of a carnation, good whiskey,
and—
WOMAN
: And being untrue to your wife!
MAN
[
giving her a quick, cold glance
]: Yes, that most of all.
WOMAN
: You’re admirably frank about it.
MAN
: Why shouldn’t I be?
WOMAN
: You might wish to spare my feelings.
MAN
: Your feelings are yours, not mine.
WOMAN
: You loved me once.
MAN
: Did I?
WOMAN
: Yes. Once.
MAN
: How do you know?
WOMAN
: You told me that you did.
MAN
: Perhaps I was lying.
WOMAN
[
violently
]: If you were you ought to be hanged for it!
MAN
: Why?
WOMAN
: Because I believed you!
MAN
: You were much too credulous in your younger days.
WOMAN
: I guess I never belonged to this generation of fish, which you’re so proud of representing!
MAN
: No, my dear. You’re a hopeless anachronism.
WOMAN
: I thank God for that if it means having red blood in my veins!
MAN
: Do you?
WOMAN
: Yes.
MAN
: Even though it makes you miserable?
WOMAN
: Yes, even though it makes me miserable.
MAN
: Ah, well.
WOMAN
: I can’t live without something to care for.
MAN
: Then care for something.
WOMAN
: I haven’t got anything.
MAN
: Get something.
WOMAN
: What?
MAN
: A lover perhaps.
WOMAN
: That sort of thing is disgusting.
MAN
: You see how contradictory you are. You say you’re miserable without something to care for and when I suggest something you say that is disgusting.
WOMAN
: I want something real. I don’t want any trumped-up affair.
MAN
: After all that’s your problem. I can’t solve it for you. [
He turns the radio on again
.]
WOMAN
: Will you leave that radio off?
MAN
: No.
WOMAN
: It’s driving me to distraction!
MAN
: I like this orchestra.
WOMAN
: You know that I can’t stand jazz.
MAN
[
stretching himself
]: I love it. It’s America, my dear. Our native land!
WOMAN
: Maybe yours, not mine.
MAN
: It’s the gold fish bowl that we swim in.
WOMAN
: I hate it.
MAN
: Because of its barbarism?
WOMAN
: It isn’t barbaric. It’s ultra-civilized. It’s neurotic.
MAN
: So is America. So am I. So are you. We’re all of us inmates of a vast asylum, bordered on the north by the Arctic Ocean, on the South by the Straits of Magellan, on the East by
the—
WOMAN
[
screaming
]: Stop! [
Pause
.]
MAN
[
quietly
]: Your nerves, my dear.
WOMAN
[
rising slowly
]: Yes, my nerves.
MAN
: You’d better go to your room and sleep it off.
WOMAN
: Yes. Sleep it off. That’s good! [
She laughs bitterly and goes toward the door
.]
MAN
: Would you mind leaving me a cigarette?
WOMAN
: Here.
MAN
: Thank you.
WOMAN
: Not at all. [
She goes to the inner door
.]
WOMAN
: Is there anything else I can do for you, George?
MAN
: Nothing.
WOMAN
: Are you quite sure?
MAN
: Nothing.
WOMAN
[
screaming
]: Nothing, nothing!
[
She goes in and slams door. Man gazes at it mildly for a moment
.]
THE END
CHARACTERS
JOHN
MARY
PRISON GUARD
PRIEST
PART I
Scene: a small apartment in an American city. Time: winter, 1918. A young man and his wife are discovered in a living room, seated together on sofa. The man is still in uniform, having just returned from “overseas.”
MARY
: It’s marvelous, darling!
JOHN
[
absently
]: Marvelous? What’s marvelous!
MARY
: Having you
back—like
this!
JOHN
[
with a short laugh, not entirely pleasant
]: Marvelous, is it? [
He kisses her
.] What do you mean, like this?
MARY
: Why, like you are, darling! Uninjured! Completely safe and sound. Oh, if you only knew how frightened I was the whole time, the whole time, John, my heart in my mouth whenever the paper came in the evening, or a letter, or the telephone
rang—day
in and day out, night after night, that terrible pain, it seemed like, in my heart! That feeling
of—of
. . .
JOHN
[
impatiently
]: I know, I know! Let’s not speak of it now. It’s over! [
There is an almost desperate ring to his voice. He gets up, lighting a cigarette, and fretfully pacing the small room
.]
MARY
: That’s why I
say—it’s
so marvelous! Marvelous, John! To think that you’re back without a wound, without a
scar—without
a single scratch. When I look at those other
men—
JOHN
[
with abrupt passion
]: When you look at those other men, yes! When you see the empty
coat—sleeves
dangling! When you see the eyeless sockets, the wooden legs, the crutches, the scarred, ruined faces! Yes! You think it is terrible, terrible! But when you look at me you clasp your hands and you
say—how
marvelous, how marvelous! He’s back without a scratch! [
Goes over to the window and flings it up
.] There should be some kind of an X-ray, Mary, that looks into the minds of men and sees the things there that don’t show on their faces and bodies. Some kind of a powerful light that would expose the
horrible, unspeakable wounds and scars that men have on the insides of their brains! [
Clutching his head
.] The thoughts that they have at night when they can’t sleep. The recollections, Mary! The voices that they hear crying out. The strange, inhuman voices. And the faces they see. The eyes of men with bayonets stuck in their bellies. Yes, that for instance. And the eyes of men strangling with gas. The sound of a young boy whimpering with half his face blown off!
Yes—that
for instance, Mary! I’ve seen those things, heard
them—and
dreamed about them afterwards. Dreamed and dreamed. Now I’m tired of dreaming, Mary. Take me into a dark room and put me to sleep, Mary. But don’t let me dream anymore!
MARY
[
shocked almost speechless
]:
John—John—I
didn’t know. . . .
[
The lights are extinguished
.]
PART II
[
Ten years later. A much more luxurious apartment. the height of the post-war prosperity. Mary and John are discovered in living room. Children
’
s playthings on floor. John smoking cigar and restlessly pacing floor. Mary listening to radio
.]
JOHN
: Cut that damned thing off!
MARY
[
frowning
]: No, I won’t! I’m listening to it!
JOHN
: Cut it off, I say! [
He dashes over to radio and turns it off
.] I can’t stand it, Mary. It gets on my nerves! God, I wish something would happen. I’m tired of waiting, waiting!
MARY
[
astonished
]: John! What’s the matter?
JOHN
: Oh, that Hogan mob! They’re trying to pin something on me! Think I squealed, see? Me, a squealer! I’ve always played this game straight! But by God if they want dirty work . . .
MARY
: John! The children. . . . [
She lifts finger to her lips
.] Oh, I can’t understand why you don’t get out of it, John. If I’d ever dreamed you’d get into a racket like
this—a
dishonest, dirty, ugly . . .
JOHN
: Shut up! It makes you a living, don’t it? Look at this! The cream of everything! That’s what I’ve got you living on, Mary, the
cream! What other girls you used to run around with are living like this? Most expensive apartment in this end of town! Your own car, your own account at the bank! And trips to Florida and California! Fur coats and diamonds! Yeah, and swell schools for the kiddies! You got everything, Mary!
MARY
: Everything but what I most
want—security
, John! That’s what every mother wants most!
John—ever
since you came back from the
war—you’ve
been restless and
wild—like
there was a fever inside of
you—something
that wouldn’t let you be still—it’s been ten years,
John—surely
you can quiet down
now—get
into something decent and live a quiet, normal life!
[
Just then there is the rattle of a machine gun and the window is smashed
.]
MARY
[
screaming
]: What’s that?
JOHN
[
in a shrill whisper
]: DUCK! THE LIGHTS! [
He switches them off
.] There! [
Another burst of machine gun fire. A child
’
s voice is heard
.]
CHILD
’
S VOICE
: Mama! Mama! What’s that? [
Another burst of fire. A child screams. Then Mary screams
.]
JOHN
[
rushing to window
]: I’ll get the sons of bitches!
MARY
[
turning on light
]: John! John! It’s the baby!
[
The child is discovered on the floor, struck down by machine gun fire. Loud cries from the neighbors; a policeman
’
s whistle; general confusion. John stands at the window with his pistol cocked, his eyes wildly gleaming
.]
JOHN
: Machine guns, eh? Been a long time, Mary, since I’ve heard that
sound—dodged
bullets—raised
a gun to shoot back! Ten years. The last
time—Argonne—and
Belleau
Woods—and
Château-Thierry—the
war’s not over,
Mary—the
armistice was a fake! [
He laughs wildly
.] The whole thing was just a big fake!
[
The lights are extinguished
.]
PART III
[
Scene: a cell in the state penitentiary, several years later. Condemned Man
’
s Row. John is in prison uniform seated on cot, a newspaper in his hands. Mary is weeping
.]
JOHN
[
harshly
]: I see by the paper that Mayor Kelly made an armistice speech
today—yeah
, out at Memorial
Park—swell
speech—you
oughta read it,
Mary—it
would give you a damned good
laugh—He
has a fine gift for
language—very
eloquent, as they
say—
Listen to this, for instance! Down here at the bottom, he says, “We come here today to Honor the
dead—But
at the same time we must not forget to bestow some measure of praise and appreciation upon the living! We must not forget to honor the
living—as
well as the dead!” [
To Mary
.] That’s very fine, ain’t it? Yeah, that’s swell stuff! They’ve honored the living, all right. Remember those years right after the war, Mary, when I was so broken up inside that I couldn’t hold down a job, when I went practically begging from door to door, when I showed them my medals and my soldier’s cap and they said, Yeah, we can buy those things at the ten cents store? That was honoring the living, wasn’t it! Oh, I’m not whining, Mary! I guess I’ve got what’s coming to me all right! But I’d like to tell that Mayor a thing or two. I’d like to write him a farewell letter! Honor the
living—yeah!
Don’t even give them a fighting chance. . . . [
He gets up and advances to the bars
.] Honor the living! Honor the living! What a laugh that gives me! [
He roars with laughter
.] Tell us to get down on our knees and lick your bloody boots, that’s the honor you give us!
GUARD
[
advancing to cell door
]: What’s the matter there, Riley? Pipe down! Here’s the Father come to speak to you again. . . .
JOHN
: Aw, I got nothing to say to you, Father.
PRIEST
: Have you made your peace with God?
JOHN
: My what?
PRIEST
[
raising his voice and producing a cross
]: I said, my son, have you made your peace with God!
JOHN
[
roaring with laughter
]: My peace with God! My peace with God! Yeah! You bet! Long ago! When they signed the armistice, Father!
That’s when I made my peace with God! When the war was over and all I had to do was to come back and be
honored—Honor
the living, Father! Honor the living as well as the dead!
[
He laughs wildly as the lights are extinguished
.]
THE END