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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4015-h.zip b/4015-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce45085 --- /dev/null +++ b/4015-h.zip diff --git a/4015-h/4015-h.htm b/4015-h/4015-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ba5e3c --- /dev/null +++ b/4015-h/4015-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3129 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Hairy Ape, by Eugene O'Neill +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.dialog {text-indent: -5%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.stage {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hairy Ape, by Eugene O'Neill + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Hairy Ape + +Author: Eugene O'Neill + +Posting Date: June 4, 2009 [EBook #4015] +Release Date: May, 2003 +First Posted: October 10, 2001 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAIRY APE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Rowe and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +"THE HAIRY APE" +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +A Comedy of Ancient and Modern Life +</H2> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +In Eight Scenes +</H4> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +By +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +EUGENE O'NEILL +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3> +CHARACTERS +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> + ROBERT SMITH, "YANK"<BR> + PADDY<BR> + LONG<BR> + MILDRED DOUGLAS<BR> + HER AUNT<BR> + SECOND ENGINEER<BR> + A GUARD<BR> + A SECRETARY OF AN ORGANIZATION<BR> + STOKERS, LADIES, GENTLEMEN, ETC.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#chap01">SCENE I</A><BR> +<A HREF="#chap02">SCENE II</A><BR> +<A HREF="#chap03">SCENE III</A><BR> +<A HREF="#chap04">SCENE IV</A><BR> +<A HREF="#chap05">SCENE V</A><BR> +<A HREF="#chap06">SCENE VI</A><BR> +<A HREF="#chap07">SCENE VII</A><BR> +<A HREF="#chap08">SCENE VIII</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE I +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCENE—<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Gif me trink dere, you! +<BR> +'Ave a wet! +<BR> +Salute! +<BR> +Gesundheit! +<BR> +Skoal! +<BR> +Drunk as a lord, God stiffen you! +<BR> +Here's how! +<BR> +Luck! +<BR> +Pass back that bottle, damn you! +<BR> +Pourin' it down his neck! +<BR> +Ho, Froggy! Where the devil have you been? +<BR> +La Touraine. +<BR> +I hit him smash in yaw, py Gott! +<BR> +Jenkins—the First—he's a rotten swine— +<BR> +And the coppers nabbed him—and I run— +<BR> +I like peer better. It don't pig head gif you. +<BR> +A slut, I'm sayin'! She robbed me aslape— +<BR> +To hell with 'em all! +<BR> +You're a bloody liar! +<BR> +Say dot again! +<BR> +[<I>Commotion. Two men about to fight are pulled apart.</I>] +<BR> +No scrappin' now! +<BR> +To-night— +<BR> +See who's the best man! +<BR> +Bloody Dutchman! +<BR> +To-night on the for'ard square. +<BR> +I'll bet on Dutchy. +<BR> +He packa da wallop, I tella you! +<BR> +Shut up, Wop! +<BR> +No fightin', maties. We're all chums, ain't we? +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>A voice starts bawling a song.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Beer, beer, glorious beer!<BR> + Fill yourselves right up to here."<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>For the first time seeming to take notice of the uproar about +him, turns around threateningly—in a tone of contemptuous authority.</I>] +"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. [<I>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:</I>] All righto, Yank. Keep it and have another." +[<I>Yank contemptuously turns his back on the crowd again. For a second +there is an embarrassed silence. Then—</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +[<I>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.</I>] Singa da song, +Caruso Pat! He's gettin' old. The drink is too much for him. He's too +drunk. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Blinking about him, starts to his feet resentfully, swaying, +holding on to the edge of a bunk.</I>] I'm never too drunk to sing. 'Tis +only when I'm dead to the world I'd be wishful to sing at all. [<I>With a +sort of sad contempt.</I>] "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. [<I>He starts to sing in a thin, nasal, doleful tone:</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Oh, whiskey is the life of man!<BR> + Whiskey! O Johnny!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>They all join in on this.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Oh, whiskey is the life of man!<BR> + Whiskey for my Johnny! [<I>Again chorus</I>]<BR> + Oh, whiskey drove my old man mad!<BR> + Whiskey! O Johnny!<BR> + Oh, whiskey drove my old man mad!<BR> + Whiskey for my Johnny!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Again turning around scornfully.</I>] 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. [<I>With a cynical grin.</I>] Can't youse see +I'm tryin' to t'ink? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +ALL—[<I>Repeating the word after him as one with same cynical amused +mockery.</I>] Think! [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Don't be cracking your head wid ut, Yank. +<BR> +You gat headache, py yingo! +<BR> +One thing about it—it rhymes with drink! +<BR> +Ha, ha, ha! +<BR> +Drink, don't think! +<BR> +Drink, don't think! +<BR> +Drink, don't think! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>A whole chorus of voices has taken up this refrain, stamping on the +floor, pounding on the benches with fists.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Taking a gulp from his bottle—good-naturedly.</I>] Aw right. Can +de noise. I got yuh de foist time. [<I>The uproar subsides. A very +drunken sentimental tenor begins to sing:</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Far away in Canada,<BR> + Far across the sea,<BR> + There's a lass who fondly waits<BR> + Making a home for me—"<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Fiercely contemptuous.</I>] 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? [<I>Proudly.</I>] 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. +[<I>In a more placated but still contemptuous tone.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Very drunk, jumps on a bench excitedly, gesticulating with a +bottle in his hand.</I>] 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. [<I>Raging.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Turn it off! +<BR> +Shut up! +<BR> +Sit down! +<BR> +Closa da face! +<BR> +Tamn fool! (Etc.) +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Standing up and glaring at Long.</I>] Sit down before I knock yuh +down! [<I>Long makes haste to efface himself. Yank goes on +contemptuously.</I>] 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. [<I>A loud +chorus of approval. Yank goes on</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—[<I>With a great hard pride in them.</I>] +<BR> +Righto! +<BR> +A man's job! +<BR> +Talk is cheap, Long. +<BR> +He never could hold up his end. +<<BR> +Divil take him! +<BR> +Yank's right. We make it go. +<BR> +Py Gott, Yank say right ting! +<BR> +We don't need noone cryin' over us. +<BR> +Makin' speeches. +<BR> +Throw him out! +<BR> +Yellow! +<BR> +Chuck him overboard! +<BR> +I'll break his jaw for him! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>They crowd around Long threateningly.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Half good-natured again—contemptuously.</I>] Aw, take it easy. +Leave him alone. He ain't woith a punch. Drink up. Here's how, whoever +owns dis. [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Who has been sitting in a blinking, melancholy daze—suddenly +cries out in a voice full of old sorrow.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] 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. [<I>With a sort of religious exaltation.</I>] 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! [<I>His tone of exaltation ceases. He +goes on mournfully.</I>] Yerra, what's the use of talking? 'Tis a dead +man's whisper. [<I>To Yank resentfully.</I>] '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. +[<I>Scornfully.</I>] 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! [<I>With a +harsh laugh.</I>] 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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Who has been listening with a contemptuous sneer, barks out the +answer.</I>] Sure ting! Dat's me! What about it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>As if to himself—with great sorrow.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Aw, yuh crazy Mick! [<I>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.</I>] 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. [<I>Disgustedly.</I>] But aw say, come up for air onct in a +while, can't yuh? See what's happened since yuh croaked. [<I>He suddenly +bursts forth vehemently, growing more and more excited.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] Hey, youse guys, take it easy! Wait a moment! De +nutty Harp is sayin' someth'n. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Is heard now—throws his head back with a mocking burst of +laughter.</I>] Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho—- +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Drawing back his fist, with a snarl.</I>] Aw! Look out who yuh're +givin' the bark! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Begins to sing the "Muler of Dee" with enormous good-nature.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "I care for nobody, no, not I,<BR> + And nobody cares for me."<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Good-natured himself in a flash, interrupts PADDY with a slap +on the bare back like a report.</I>] 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! [<I>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, file through the door silently close upon each +other's heels in what is very like a prisoners lockstep. YANK slaps +PADDY on the back.</I>] Our watch, yuh old Harp! [<I>Mockingly.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>With jovial defiance.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Contemptuously.</I>] 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! [<I>Turns his back on +Paddy scornfully.</I>] Aw, yuh make me sick! Yuh don't belong! [<I>He +strides out the door in rear. Paddy hums to himself, blinking +drowsily.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>Curtain</I>] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE II +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCENE—<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>Looking up with affected dreaminess.</I>] How the black smoke +swirls back against the sky! Is it not beautiful? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>Without looking up.</I>] I dislike smoke of any kind. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—My great-grandmother smoked a pipe—a clay pipe. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>Ruffling.</I>] Vulgar! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—She was too distant a relative to be vulgar. Time mellows +pipes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>Pretending boredom but irritated.</I>] 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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>Dreamily.</I>] With her pipe beside her—puffing in Paradise. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>With spite.</I>] Yes, you are a natural born ghoul. You are even +getting to look like one, my dear. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>In a passionless tone.</I>] I detest you, Aunt. [<I>Looking at +her critically.</I>] 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. [<I>She closes her eyes.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>With a bitter laugh.</I>] 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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>Drawling.</I>] The inanities? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>Going on as if she hadn't heard.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>Protesting with a trace of genuine earnestness.</I>] 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. [<I>With weary bitterness.</I>] 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, [<I>She laughs mirthlessly</I>]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>Unimpressed—superciliously.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>Again affected and bored.</I>] Yes, I suppose I do. Pardon me +for my outburst. When a leopard complains of its spots, it must sound +rather grotesque. [<I>In a mocking tone.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—I don't know what you are talking about. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—It would be rude to talk about anything to you. Let's just +talk. [<I>She looks at her wrist watch.</I>] Well, thank goodness, it's +about time for them to come for me. That ought to give me a new thrill, +Aunt. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>Affectedly troubled.</I>] You don't mean to say you're really +going? The dirt—the heat must be frightful— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—But don't you have to have the captain's—or +someone's—permission to visit the stokehole? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>With a triumphant smile.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—He didn't. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. [<I>Excitedly.</I>] So it's +ho! for the stokehole. The second engineer is to escort me. [<I>Looking +at her watch again.</I>] It's time. And here he comes, I think. [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—Miss Douglas? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—Yes. [<I>Throwing off her rugs and getting to her feet.</I>] Are we +all ready to start? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—In just a second, ma'am. I'm waiting for the Fourth. +He's coming along. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>With a scornful smile.</I>] You don't care to shoulder this +responsibility alone, is that it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—[<I>Forcing a smile.</I>] Two are better than one. +[<I>Disturbed by her eyes, glances out to sea—blurts out.</I>] A fine day +we're having. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—Is it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—A nice warm breeze— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—It feels cold to me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—But it's hot enough in the sun— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—Not hot enough for me. I don't like Nature. I was never +athletic. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—[<I>Forcing a smile.</I>] Well, you'll find it hot enough +where you're going. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—Do you mean hell? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—[<I>Flabbergasted, decides to laugh.</I>] Ho-ho! No, I mean +the stokehole. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—My grandfather was a puddler. He played with boiling steel. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—[<I>All at sea—uneasily.</I>] Is that so? Hum, you'll +excuse me, ma'am, but are you intending to wear that dress. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—Why not? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—You'll likely rub against oil and dirt. It can't be +helped. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—It doesn't matter. I have lots of white dresses. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—I have an old coat you might throw over— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—[<I>Doggedly.</I>] There's ladders to climb down that are +none too clean—and dark alleyways— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—I will wear this very dress and none other. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—No offence meant. It's none of my business. I was only +warning you— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—Warning? That sounds thrilling. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECOND ENGINEER—[<I>Looking down the deck—with a sigh of +relief.</I>]—There's the Fourth now. He's waiting for us. If you'll come— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—Go on. I'll follow you. [<I>He goes. Mildred turns a mocking +smile on her aunt.</I>] An oaf—but a handsome, virile oaf. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>Scornfully.</I>] Poser! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—Take care. He said there were dark alleyways— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>In the same tone.</I>] Poser! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>Biting her lips angrily.</I>] You are right. But would that my +millions were not so anemically chaste! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—Yes, for a fresh pose I have no doubt you would drag the name of +Douglas in the gutter! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—From which it sprang. Good-by, Aunt. Don't pray too hard that +I may fall into the fiery furnace. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—Poser! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>Viciously.</I>] Old hag! [<I>She slaps her aunt insultingly +across the face and walks off, laughing gaily.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT—[<I>Screams after her.</I>] I said poser! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>Curtain</I>] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE III +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCENE—<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>From somewhere in the line—plaintively.</I>] Yerra, will this +divil's own watch nivir end? Me back is broke. I'm destroyed entirely. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>From the center of the line—with exuberant scorn.</I>] 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! +[<I>A whistle is blown—a thin, shrill note from somewhere overhead in +the darkness. Yank curses without resentment.</I>] Dere's de damn engineer +crakin' de whip. He tinks we're loafin'. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Vindictively.</I>] God stiffen him! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>In an exultant tone of command.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Chanting a count as he shovels without seeming effort.</I>] +One—two—tree—[<I>His voice rising exultantly in the joy of battle.</I>] +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 [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Groaning.</I>] Me back is broke. I'm bate out—bate—[<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Shaking his fist upward—contemptuously.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—[<I>Approvingly.</I>] That's the stuff! +<BR> +Yank tal him, py golly! +<BR> +Yank ain't affeerd. +<BR> +Goot poy, Yank! +<BR> +Give him hell! +<BR> +Tell 'im 'e's a bloody swine! +<BR> +Bloody slave-driver! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Contemptuously.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Come on, youse guys! [<I>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:</I>] 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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MILDRED—[<I>About to faint—to the Engineers, who now have her one by +each arm—whimperingly.</I>] Take me away! Oh, the filthy beast! [<I>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:</I>] God damn yuh! [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>Curtain</I>] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE IV +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCENE—<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—He ain't ate nothin'. +<BR> +Py golly, a fallar gat gat grub in him. +<BR> +Divil a lie. +<BR> +Yank feeda da fire, no feeda da face. +<BR> +Ha-ha. +<BR> +He ain't even washed hisself. +<BR> +He's forgot. +<BR> +Hey, Yank, you forgot to wash. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Sullenly.</I>] Forgot nothin'! To hell wit washin'. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Resentfully.</I>] Aw say, youse guys. Lemme alone. Can't youse see +I'm tryin' to tink? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +ALL—[<I>Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery.</I>] +Think! [<I>The word has a brazen, metallic quality as if their throats +were phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking +laughter.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Springing to his feet and glaring at them belligerently.</I>] Yes, +tink! Tink, dat's what I said! What about it? [<I>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."</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Leave him alone. +<BR> +He's got a grouch on. +<BR> +Why wouldn't he? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>With a wink at the others.</I>] Sure I know what's the matther. +'Tis aisy to see. He's fallen in love, I'm telling you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +ALL—[<I>Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery.</I>] +Love! [<I>The word has a brazen, metallic quality as if their throats +were phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking +laughter.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With a contemptuous snort.</I>] Love, hell! Hate, dat's what. I've +fallen in hate, get me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Philosophically</I>] 'Twould take a wise man to tell one from the +other. [<I>With a bitter, ironical scorn, increasing as he goes on.</I>] 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? [<I>A growl of anger goes up from all sides.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Jumping on a bench—hecticly</I>] 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! [<I>There is a roar of rage from all sides.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Blinking at him bewilderedly.</I>] Say! Wait a moment! Is all dat +straight goods? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With abysmal contempt.</I>] Hell! Law! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +ALL—[<I>Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery.</I>] Law! +[<I>The word has a brazen metallic quality as if their throats were +phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking +laughter.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Feeling the ground slipping from under his feet—desperately.</I>] +As voters and citizens we kin force the bloody governments— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With abysmal contempt.</I>] Hell! Governments! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +ALL—[<I>Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery.</I>] +Governments! [<I>The word has a brazen metallic quality as if their +throats were phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, +barking laughter.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Hysterically.</I>] We're free and equal in the sight of God— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With abysmal contempt.</I>] Hell! God! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +ALL—[<I>Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery.</I>] God! +[<I>The word has a brazen metallic quality as if their throats were +phonograph horns. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking +laughter.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Witheringly.</I>] Aw, join de Salvation Army! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +ALL—Sit down! Shut up! Damn fool! Sea-lawyer! [<I>Long slinks back out +of sight.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Continuing the trend of his thoughts as if he had never been +interrupted—bitterly.</I>] 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! [<I>He glances +scornfully at Yank.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With a bewildered uncertain growl.</I>] Aw! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Slowly.</I>] She was all white. I tought she was a ghost. Sure. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>With heavy, biting sarcasm.</I>] '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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Stung—with a growl of rage.</I>] Aw! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—And the loving way Yank heaved his shovel at the skull of her, +only she was out the door! [<I>A grin breaking over his face.</I>] 'Twas +touching, I'm telling you! It put the touch of home, swate home in the +stokehole. [<I>There is a roar of laughter from all.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Glaring at Paddy menacingly.</I>] Aw, choke dat off, see! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Not heeding him—to the others.</I>] And her grabbin' at the +Second's arm for protection. [<I>With a grotesque imitation of a woman's +voice.</I>] 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! +[<I>Another roar of laughter.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Threateningly.</I>] Say! What yuh tryin' to do, kid me, yuh old +Harp? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—Divil a bit! Ain't I wishin' myself you'd brained her? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Fiercely.</I>] I'll brain her! I'll brain her yet, wait 'n' see! +[<I>Coming over to Paddy—slowly.</I>] Say, is dat what she called me—a +hairy ape? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—She looked it at you if she didn't say the word itself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Grinning horribly.</I>] Hairy ape, huh? Sure! Dat's de way she +looked at me, aw right. Hairy ape! So dat's me, huh? [<I>Bursting into +rage—as if she were still in front of him.</I>] Yuh skinny tart! Yuh +white-faced bum, yuh! I'll show yuh who's a ape! [<I>Turning to the +others, bewilderment seizing him again.</I>] 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. +[<I>Furiously.</I>] I wished it'd banged her! I wished it'd knocked her +block off! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—And be 'anged for murder or 'lectrocuted? She ain't bleedin' well +worth it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—No chance, Yank. You scared her out of a year's growth. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? [<I>With his old confident +bravado.</I>] 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! [<I>Again bewilderedly.</I>] 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! [<I>He extends his right arm, swelling out the great muscles.</I>] +I coulda took her wit dat, wit' just my little finger even, and broke +her in two. [<I>Again bewilderedly.</I>] 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. [<I>With growing anger.</I>] 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! [<I>He grins horribly.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Enraged.</I>] Yuh tink I made her sick, too, do yuh? Just lookin' +at me, huh? Hairy ape, huh? [<I>In a frenzy of rage.</I>] 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! [<I>Shaking one fist upward and +beating on his chest with the other.</I>] I'll find yuh! I'm comin', d'yuh +hear? I'll fix yuh, God damn yuh! [<I>He makes a rush for the door.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Stop him! +<BR> +He'll get shot! +<BR> +He'll murder her! +<BR> +Trip him up! +<BR> +Hold him! +<BR> +He's gone crazy! +<BR> +Gott, he's strong! +<BR> +Hold him down! +<BR> +Look out for a kick! +<BR> +Pin his arms! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PADDY—[<I>Who has remained detached.</I>] Kape him down till he's cooled +off. [<I>Scornfully.</I>] 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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Frenziedly, from the bottom of the heap.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>Curtain</I>] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE V +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCENE—<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Indicating it all with an oratorical gesture.</I>] Well, 'ere we +are. Fif' Avenoo. This 'ere's their bleedin' private lane, as yer might +say. [<I>Bitterly.</I>] We're trespassers 'ere. Proletarians keep orf the +grass! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Dully.</I>] I don't see no grass, yuh boob. [<I>Staring at the +sidewalk.</I>] Clean, ain't it? Yuh could eat a fried egg offen it. The +white wings got some job sweepin' dis up. [<I>Looking up and down the +avenue—surlily.</I>] Where's all de white-collar stiffs yuh said was +here—and de skoits—her kind? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—In church, blarst 'em! Arskin' Jesus to give 'em more money. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. [<I>With a +grin.</I>] 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. [<I>With a grin and a swagger.</I>] I'm a chip +offen de old block, get me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—Did yer old man follow the sea? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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'. [<I>Looking around +him.</I>] I ain't never seen dis before. De Brooklyn waterfront, dat was +where I was dragged up. [<I>Taking a deep breath.</I>] Dis ain't so bad at +dat, huh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—Not bad? Well, we pays for it wiv our bloody sweat, if yer wants +to know! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With sudden angry disgust.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—Wait and yer'll bloody well see— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—Yer wants to get back at her, don't yer? That's what yer been +saying' every bloomin' 'our since she hinsulted yer. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Vehemently.</I>] 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! +[<I>Furiously.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>As disgusted as he dares to be.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Spitting on his hands—belligerently.</I>] De more de merrier when +I gits started. Bring on de gang! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—Yer'll see 'em in arf a mo', when that church lets out. [<I>He +turns and sees the window display in the two stores for the first +time.</I>] Blimey! Look at that, will yer? [<I>They both walk back and stand +looking in the jewelers. Long flies into a fury.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Aw, cut de sob stuff! T' hell wit de starvin' family! Yuh'll be +passin' de hat to me next. [<I>With naive admiration.</I>] Say, dem tings is +pretty, huh? Bet yuh dey'd hock for a piece of change aw right. [<I>Then +turning away, bored.</I>] But, aw hell, what good are dey? Let her have +'em. Dey don't belong no more'n she does. [<I>With a gesture of sweeping +the jewelers into oblivion.</I>] All dat don't count, get me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Who has moved to the furriers—indignantly.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Who has been staring at something inside—with queer +excitement.</I>] Take a slant at dat! Give it de once-over! Monkey +fur—two t'ousand bucks! [<I>Bewilderedly.</I>] Is dat straight +goods—monkey fur? What de hell—? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Bitterly.</I>] It's straight enuf. [<I>With grim humor.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Clenching his fists, his face growing pale with rage as if the +skin in the window were a personal insult.</I>] Trowin' it up in my face! +Christ! I'll fix her! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Excitedly.</I>] Church is out. 'Ere they come, the bleedin' swine. +[<I>After a glance at Yank's lowering face—uneasily.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With abysmal contempt.</I>] Votes, hell! Votes is a joke, see. +Votes for women! Let dem do it! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Still more uneasily.</I>] Calm, now. Treat 'em wiv the proper +contempt. Observe the bleedin' parasites but 'old yer 'orses. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Angrily.</I>] Git away from me! Yuh're yellow, dat's what. Force, +dat's me! De punch, dat's me every time, see! [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Dear Doctor Caiaphas! He is so sincere!<BR> + What was the sermon? I dozed off.<BR> + About the radicals, my dear—and the false doctrines that are being preached.<BR> + We must organize a hundred per cent American bazaar.<BR> + And let everyone contribute one one-hundredth percent of their income tax.<BR> + What an original idea!<BR> + We can devote the proceeds to rehabilitating the veil of the temple.<BR> + But that has been done so many times.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Glaring from one to the other of them—with an insulting snort +of scorn.</I>] Huh! Huh! [<I>Without seeming to see him, they make wide +detours to avoid the spot where he stands in the middle of the +sidewalk.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Frightenedly.</I>] Keep yer bloomin' mouth shut, I tells yer. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Viciously.</I>] G'wan! Tell it to Sweeney! [<I>He swaggers away and +deliberately lurches into a top-hatted gentleman, then glares at him +pugnaciously.</I>] Say, who d'yuh tink yuh're bumpin'? Tink yuh own de +oith? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +GENTLEMAN—[<I>Coldly and affectedly.</I>] I beg your pardon. [<I>He has not +looked at YANK and passes on without a glance, leaving him bewildered.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Rushing up and grabbing YANK's arm.</I>] 'Ere! Come away! This +wasn't what I meant. Yer'll 'ave the bloody coppers down on us. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Savagely—giving him a push that sends him sprawling.</I>] G'wan! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LONG—[<I>Picks himself up—hysterically.</I>] I'll pop orf then. This ain't +what I meant. And whatever 'appens, yer can't blame me. [<I>He slinks off +left.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—T' hell wit youse! [<I>He approaches a lady—with a vicious grin +and a smirking wink.</I>] 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. [<I>The lady stalks by without a look, without a change of +pace. YANK turns to others—insultingly.</I>] 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! [<I>Pointing to a skyscraper across the street which is in process of +construction—with bravado.</I>] 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? [<I>But as they +seem neither to see nor hear him, he flies into a fury.</I>] Bums! Pigs! +Tarts! Bitches! [<I>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.</I>] 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! [<I>But, without seeming to see him, they all answer with +mechanical affected politeness:</I>] I beg your pardon. [<I>Then at a cry +from one of the women, they all scurry to the furrier's window.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE WOMAN—[<I>Ecstatically, with a gasp of delight.</I>] Monkey fur! [<I>The +whole crowd of men and women chorus after her in the same tone of +affected delight.</I>] Monkey fur! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With a jerk of his head back on his shoulders, as if he had +received a punch full in the face—raging.</I>] I see yuh, all in white! I +see yuh, yuh white-faced tart, yuh! Hairy ape, huh? I'll hairy ape yuh! +[<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Seeing a fight—with a roar of joy as he springs to his feet.</I>] +At last! Bus, huh? I'll bust yuh! [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +GENTLEMAN—I beg your pardon. [<I>Then irritably.</I>] You have made me lose +my bus. [<I>He claps his hands and begins to scream:</I>] Officer! Officer! +[<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>Curtain</I>] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE VI +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCENE—<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Suddenly starting as if awakening from a dream, reaches out and +shakes the bars—aloud to himself, wonderingly.</I>] Steel. Dis is de Zoo, +huh? [<I>A burst of hard, barking laughter comes from the unseen +occupants of the cells, runs back down the tier, and abruptly ceases.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—[<I>Mockingly.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Dully.</I>] I musta been dreamin'. I tought I was in a cage at de +Zoo—but de apes don't talk, do dey? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—[<I>With mocking laughter.</I>] You're in a cage aw right. +<BR> +A coop! +<BR> +A pen! +<BR> +A sty! +<BR> +A kennel! [<I>Hard laughter—a pause.</I>] +<BR> +Say, guy! Who are you? No, never mind lying. What are you? +<BR> +Yes, tell us your sad story. What's your game? +<BR> +What did they jug yuh for? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Dully.</I>] I was a fireman—stokin' on de liners. [<I>Then with +sudden rage, rattling his cell bars.</I>] I'm a hairy ape, get me? And +I'll bust youse all in de jaw if yuh don't lay off kiddin' me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Huh! You're a hard boiled duck ain't you! +<BR> +When you spit, it bounces! [<I>Laughter.</I>] +<BR> +Aw, can it. He's a regular guy. Ain't you? +<BR> +What did he say he was—a ape? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Defiantly.</I>] Sure ting! Ain't dat what youse all are—apes? [<I>A +silence. Then a furious rattling of bars from down the corridor.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +A VOICE—[<I>Thick with rage.</I>] I'll show yuh who's a ape, yuh bum! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Ssshh! Nix! +<BR> +Can de noise! +<BR> +Piano! +<BR> +You'll have the guard down on us! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Scornfully.</I>] De guard? Yuh mean de keeper, don't yuh? [<I>Angry +exclamations from all the cells.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—[<I>Placatingly.</I>] 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'? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! [<I>After a pause.</I>] I was tryin' to git even +wit someone, see?—someone dat done me doit. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—[<I>Cynically.</I>] De old stuff, I bet. Your goil, huh? +<BR> +Give yuh the double-cross, huh? +<BR> +That's them every time! +<BR> +Did yuh beat up de odder guy? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Disgustedly</I>] 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. [<I>A pause.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—[<I>Whispering.</I>] Gee, he's still nutty. +<BR> +Let him rave. It's fun listenin'. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Unheeding—groping in his thoughts.</I>] 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! [<I>He breaks out angrily.</I>] 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! [<I>He rattles the bars of his cell furiously.</I>] 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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—[<I>Serious and joking.</I>] Dat's de talkin'! +<BR> +Take her for all she's got! +<BR> +What was this dame, anyway? Who was she, eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—I dunno. First cabin stiff. Her old man's a millionaire, dey +says—name of Douglas. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—Douglas? That's the president of the Steel Trust, I bet. +<BR> +Sure. I seen his mug in de papers. +<BR> +He's filthy with dough. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Wobblies? What de hell's dat? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—Ain't you ever heard of the I. W. W.? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Naw. What is it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. [<I>He is in the cell next to YANK's. There is a rustling of +paper.</I>] Wait'll I see if I got light enough and I'll read you. Listen. +[<I>He reads:</I>] "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!" +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE [<I>Disgustedly.</I>] Aw hell! Tell him to salt de tail of dat eagle! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—[<I>Reading:</I>] "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!" +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With vengeful satisfaction.</I>] Wreckers, dat's de right dope! +Dat belongs! Me for dem! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—Ssshh! [<I>Reading.</I>] "This fiendish organization is a foul ulcer +on the fair body of our Democracy—" +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—Democracy, hell! Give him the boid, fellers—the raspberry! +[<I>They do.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—Ssshh! [<I>Reading:</I>] "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!" [<I>A perfect storm of hisses, catcalls, boos, and hard +laughter.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICES—[<I>Scornfully.</I>] Hurrah for de Fort' of July! +<BR> +Pass de hat! +<BR> +Liberty! +<BR> +Justice! +<BR> +Honor! +<BR> +Opportunity! +<BR> +Brotherhood! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +ALL—[<I>With abysmal scorn.</I>] Aw, hell! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—Give that Queen Senator guy the bark! All togedder +now—one—two—tree—[<I>A terrific chorus of barking and yapping.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +GUARD—[<I>From a distance.</I>] Quiet there, youse—or I'll git the hose. +[<I>The noise subsides.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With growling rage.</I>] I'd like to catch dat senator guy alone +for a second. I'd loin him some trute! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—Ssshh! Here's where he gits down to cases on the Wobblies. +[<I>Reads:</I>] "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!" +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—[<I>To YANK.</I>] Hey, you guy. There's your ape stuff again. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With a growl of fury.</I>] I got him. So dey blow up tings, do +dey? Dey turn tings round, do dey? Hey, lend me dat paper, will yuh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—Sure. Give it to him. On'y keep it to yourself, see. We don't +wanter listen to no more of that slop. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +VOICE—Here you are. Hide it under your mattress. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Reaching out.</I>] Tanks. I can't read much but I kin manage. [<I>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.</I>] 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 [<I>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.</I>] 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—[<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +GUARD—[<I>Angrily.</I>] I'll loin youse bums to wake me up! [<I>Sees YANK.</I>] +Hello, it's you, huh? Got the D.T.s, hey? Well, I'll cure 'em. I'll +drown your snakes for yuh! [<I>Noticing the bar.</I>] Hell, look at dat bar +bended! On'y a bug is strong enough for dat! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Glaring at him.</I>] Or a hairy ape, yuh big yellow bum! Look out! +Here I come! [<I>He grabs another bar.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +GUARD—[<I>Scared now—yelling off left.</I>] Toin de hoose on, Ben!—full +pressure! And call de others—and a strait jacket! [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>Curtain</I>] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE VII +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCENE—<I>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."</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Turning around on his stool.</I>] What the devil is +that—someone knocking? [<I>Shouts:</I>] Come in, why don't you? [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Blurts out.</I>] Hello. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MEN—[<I>Reservedly.</I>] Hello. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>More easily.</I>] I tought I'd bumped into de wrong dump. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Scrutinizing him carefully.</I>] Maybe you have. Are you a +member? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Naw, not yet. Dat's what I come for—to join. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—That's easy. What's your job—longshore? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Naw. Fireman—stoker on de liners. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>With satisfaction.</I>] Welcome to our city. Glad to know you +people are waking up at last. We haven't got many members in your line. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Naw. Dey're all dead to de woild. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—Well, you can help to wake 'em. What's your name? I'll make +out your card. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Confused.</I>] Name? Lemme tink. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Sharply.</I>] Don't you know your own name? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Sure; but I been just Yank for so long—Bob, dat's it—Bob Smith. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Writing.</I>] Robert Smith. [<I>Fills out the rest of card.</I>] +Here you are. Cost you half a dollar. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Is dat all—four bits? Dat's easy. [<I>Gives the SECRETARY the +money.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Throwing it in drawer.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Sure. [<I>But he still stands, embarrassed and uneasy.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Looking at him—curiously.</I>] What did you knock for? Think +we had a coon in uniform to open doors? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Alert and suspicious but with an easy laugh.</I>] Think we +were running a crap game? That door is never locked. What put that in +your nut? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With a knowing grin, convinced that this is all camouflage, a +part of the secrecy.</I>] Dis burg is full of bulls, ain't it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Sharply.</I>] What have the cops got to do with us? We're +breaking no laws. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With a knowing wink.</I>] Sure. Youse wouldn't for woilds. Sure. +I'm wise to dat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—You seem to be wise to a lot of stuff none of us knows about. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With another wink.</I>] Aw, dat's aw right, see. [<I>Then made a bit +resentful by the suspicious glances from all sides.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Breezily, feeling him out.</I>] 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. [<I>Sharply.</I>] +What's your notion of the purpose of the I. W. W.? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Aw, I know all about it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Sarcastically.</I>] Well, give us some of your valuable +information. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Cunningly.</I>] I know enough not to speak outa my toin. [<I>Then +resentfully again.</I>] 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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—Who said you didn't? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—After I'm 'nitiated, I'll show yuh. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Astounded.</I>] Initiated? There's no initiation. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Disappointed.</I>] Ain't there no password—no grip nor nothin'? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—What'd you think this is—the Elks—or the Black Hand? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—You said it! That's why we stand on our two feet in the +open. We got no secrets. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Surprised but admiringly.</I>] Yuh mean to say yuh always run wide +open—like dis? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—Exactly. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—Den yuh sure got your noive wit youse! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Sharply.</I>] Just what was it made you want to join us? Come +out with that straight. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>With pretended carelessness.</I>] You mean change the unequal +conditions of society by legitimate direct action—or with dynamite? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—So—that's your idea, eh? And did you have any special job +in that line you wanted to propose to us. [<I>He makes a sign to the men, +who get up cautiously one by one and group behind YANK.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Boldly.</I>] Sure, I'll come out wit it. I'll show youse I'm one +of de gang. Dere's dat millionaire guy, Douglas— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—President of the Steel Trust, you mean? Do you want to +assassinate him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +[<I>Eagerly, with a touch of bravado.</I>] 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! [<I>Half to himself.</I>] And +I'll write her a letter and tell her de hairy ape done it. Dat'll +square tings. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—[<I>Stepping away from YANK.</I>] Very interesting. [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MAN—No gat, no knife. Shall we give him what's what and put the boots +to him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—No. He isn't worth the trouble we'd get into. He's too +stupid. [<I>He comes closer and laughs mockingly in YANK'S face.</I>] 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—[<I>He glares scornfully at YANK, who is sunk in +an oblivious stupor.</I>] Oh, hell, what's the use of talking? You're a +brainless ape. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Aroused by the word to fierce but futile struggles.</I>] What's +dat, yuh Sheeny bum, yuh! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +SECRETARY—Throw him out, boys. [<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Bitterly.</I>] 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! [<I>He turns a bitter +mocking face up like an ape gibbering at the moon.</I>] 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? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +A POLICEMAN—[<I>Who has come up the street in time to hear this +last—with grim humor.</I>] You'll get off at the station, you boob, if +you don't get up out of that and keep movin'. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>Looking up at him—with a hard, bitter laugh.</I>] Sure! Lock me +up! Put me in a cage! Dat's de on'y answer yuh know. G'wan, lock me up! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +POLICEMAN—What you been doin'? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +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! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +POLICEMAN—[<I>Jocosely.</I>] God pity your old woman! [<I>Then +matter-of-fact.</I>] 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! [<I>He hauls YANK to his +feet.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>In a vague mocking tone.</I>] Say, where do I go from here? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +POLICEMAN—[<I>Giving him a push—with a grin, indifferently.</I>] Go to +hell. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>Curtain</I>] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE VIII +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +SCENE—<I>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.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +YANK—[<I>With a hard, bitter laugh.</I>] Welcome to your city, huh? Hail, +hail, de gang's all here! [<I>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.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] +Sure, I get yuh. Yuh challenge de whole woild, huh? Yuh got what I was +sayin' even if yuh muffed de woids. [<I>Then bitterness creeping in.</I>] +And why wouldn't yuh get me? Ain't we both members of de same club—de +Hairy Apes? [<I>They stare at each other—a pause—then YANK goes on +slowly and bitterly.</I>] 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—[<I>He grows +confused.</I>] Aw, hell! It's all wrong, ain't it? [<I>A pause.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] 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—[<I>He passes one +hand across his forehead with a painful gesture. The gorilla growls +impatiently. YANK goes on gropingly.</I>] 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. [<I>He laughs.</I>] 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! [<I>The +gorilla growls proudly.</I>] And dat's why dey gotter put yuh in a cage, +see? [<I>The gorilla roars angrily.</I>] 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! [<I>He laughs—then in a +savage tone.</I>] 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? [<I>The gorilla roars an emphatic +affirmative. YANK goes on with a sort of furious exaltation.</I>] 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! [<I>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.</I>] 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. [<I>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.</I>] Shake—de secret grip of our order. +[<I>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.</I>] Hey, I didn't say, kiss me. [<I>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.</I>] Say—dey oughter match him—wit Zybszko. He got +me, aw right. I'm trou. Even him didn't tink I belonged. [<I>Then, with +sudden passionate despair.</I>] Christ, where do I get off at? Where do I +fit in? [<I>Checking himself as suddenly.</I>] Aw, what de hell! No +squakin', see! No quittin', get me! Croak wit your boots on! [<I>He grabs +hold of the bars of the cage and hauls himself painfully to his +feet—looks around him bewilderedly—forces a mocking laugh.</I>] In de +cage, huh? [<I>In the strident tones of a circus barker.</I>] Ladies and +gents, step forward and take a slant at de one and only—[<I>His voice +weakening</I>]—one and original—Hairy Ape from de wilds of—[<I>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.</I>] +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[<I>Curtain</I>] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hairy Ape, by Eugene O'Neill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAIRY APE *** + +***** This file should be named 4015-h.htm or 4015-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/1/4015/ + +Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Rowe and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Hairy Ape + +Author: Eugene O'Neill + +Posting Date: June 4, 2009 [EBook #4015] +Release Date: May, 2003 +First Posted: October 10, 2001 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAIRY APE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Rowe and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + +"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, file 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_] + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hairy Ape, by Eugene O'Neill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAIRY APE *** + +***** This file should be named 4015.txt or 4015.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/1/4015/ + +Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Rowe and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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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 rehabilitatating 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] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of The Hairy Ape, by Eugene O'Neill + diff --git a/old/hryap10.zip b/old/hryap10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..915204b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hryap10.zip |