Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 4

by Bertolt Brecht

  THE WORKER: The Italians.

  ‘Hold the Fort’.

  THE WORKER: Americans.

  ‘Los cuatro generales’.

  THE WORKER: And that’s our men.

  The noise of trucks and singing fades away. The worker and José return to the table.

  THE WORKER: Everything depends on tonight! – I really ought to be going. That was the last hand, José.

  THE MOTHER approaching the table: Who won?

  JOSÉ proudly: He did.

  THE MOTHER: Shouldn’t I make up a bed for you?

  THE WORKER: No, I’ve got to be going. But he remains seated.

  THE MOTHER: Give Rosa my regards. And tell her to let bygones be bygones. None of us knows what’s going to happen.

  JOSÉ: I’ll go a bit of the way with you.

  THE WORKER: No need.

  The mother, standing up, looks out of the window.

  THE MOTHER: I suppose you’d have liked to see Juan?

  THE WORKER: Yes, I’d have liked to. But he won’t be back all that soon, will he?

  THE MOTHER: He’s gone pretty far out. Must be close to the Cape. Talking back into the room. We could go and get him. A young girl appears in the doorway.

  JOSÉ: Hello, Manuela. Under his breath to the worker: It’s Juan’s girl, Manuela. To the young girl: This is Uncle Pedro.

  THE YOUNG GIRL: Where’s Juan?

  THE MOTHER: Juan’s at work.

  THE YOUNG GIRL: We thought you’d bundled him off to kindergarten to play ball.

  THE MOTHER: No, he went fishing. Juan’s a fisherman.

  THE YOUNG GIRL: Why didn’t he come to the meeting at the schoolhouse? Some of the fishermen were there.

  THE MOTHER: He had no business there.

  JOSÉ: What was the meeting about?

  THE YOUNG GIRL: They decided whoever can be spared must go to the front this very night. You people knew what the meeting was about. We sent Juan a message.

  JOSÉ: That’s not possible. Juan wouldn’t have gone fishing in that case. Or did they tell you, Mother?

  The mother is silent. She has crawled all the way into the oven.

  JOSÉ: She didn’t give him the message! To the mother: So that’s why you sent him out fishing!

  THE WORKER: You shouldn’t have done that, Teresa!

  THE MOTHER straightening up: God gave people trades. My son is a fisherman.

  THE YOUNG GIRL: Do you want to make us the laughing stock of the whole village? Wherever I go people point at me. Just hearing Juan’s name makes me sick. What kind of people are you anyway?

  THE MOTHER: We’re poor people.

  THE YOUNG GIRL: The government has called on all able-bodied men to take up arms. Don’t tell me you didn’t read that.

  THE MOTHER: I’ve read it. Government this, government that. I know they want us to end up in the boneyard. But I’m not volunteering to wheel my children there.

  THE YOUNG GIRL: No. Sooner wait till they’re lined up against the wall, wouldn’t you? I’ve never seen anything so stupid. It’s because of your sort that things are how they are and a swine like Queipo dares talk to us the way he does.

  THE MOTHER weakly: I’m not having such things said in my house.

  THE YOUNG GIRL beside herself: She’s all for the generals now, I suppose.

  JOSÉ somewhat impatiently: No! But she doesn’t want us to fight.

  THE WORKER: Neutrality: that it?

  THE MOTHER: I know you people want to turn my house into a den of conspirators. And you won’t lay off till you see Juan stood up against a wall.

  THE YOUNG GIRL: And they said you helped your husband when he went off to Oviedo.

  THE MOTHER softly: Hold your tongue! I did not help my husband. Not for a thing like that. I know I’m being blamed for it, but it’s a lie. All dirty lies! Anybody’ll tell you.

  THE YOUNG GIRL: Nobody’s blaming you, Mrs Carrar. They said that with the deepest respect. All of us in the village knew that Carlos Carrar was a hero. But now we know that he probably had to sneak out of the house in the dead of night.

  JOSÉ: My father did not sneak out of the house in the dead of night, Manuela.

  THE MOTHER: Shut up, José!

  THE YOUNG GIRL: Tell your son I’m through with him. And there’ll be no more need for him to keep out of sight for fear I’ll ask why he isn’t where he should be. She leaves.

  THE WORKER: You oughtn’t to have let the girl go like that, Teresa. In the old days you wouldn’t have.

  THE MOTHER: I’m the same as I’ve always been. They probably made bets to see who could get Juan off to the front. – Anyway, I’ll go and get him. Or you go, José. No, wait, better go myself. I’ll be right back. Goes out.

  THE WORKER: Look, José, you’re not stupid, there’s no need to tell you a story you know already. All right, where are they?

  JOSÉ: What?

  THE WORKER: The rifles.

  JOSÉ: Father’s?

  THE WORKER: They must be around somewhere. He couldn’t have taken them on the train when he went off.

  JOSÉ: That what you came for?

  THE WORKER: What else?

  JOSÉ: She’ll never let them go. She’s hidden them.

  THE WORKER: Where?

  José indicates a corner. The worker gets up and is starting in that direction when they hear footsteps.

  THE WORKER sits down quickly: Quiet now!

  The mother comes in with the local priest. He is a tall, strong man in a worn-out cassock.

  THE PRIEST: Good evening, José. To the worker: Good evening.

  THE MOTHER: Father, this is my brother from Motril.

  THE PRIEST: I’m glad to make your acquaintance. To the mother: I really must apologise for coming with yet another request. Could you stop in at the Turillos’ at noon tomorrow? Mrs Turillo has joined her husband at the front and now the children are alone.

  THE MOTHER: I’ll be glad to.

  THE PRIEST to the worker: What brings you to our village? I’m told it’s not so easy to get here from Motril.

  THE WORKER: Still pretty quiet around here, ain’t it?

  THE PRIEST: Beg your pardon? – Yes.

  THE MOTHER: Pedro, I believe the Father asked you something. What brings you here?

  THE WORKER: I figured it was time to see how my sister was getting along.

  THE PRIEST with an encouraging glance at the mother: It’s very kind of you to take an interest in your sister. As you probably know, she’s been having a hard time of it.

  THE WORKER: I hope you find her a good parishioner.

  THE MOTHER: You must take a sip of wine. – The Father keeps an eye on children whose parents have gone to the front. You’ve been running around all day again, haven’t you? She puts down a jug of wine for the priest.

  THE PRIEST sits down, takes the jug: If only I knew who was going to get me a new pair of shoes.

  At this moment the Pérezes’ radio starts up again. The mother is about to close the window.

  THE PRIEST: You can have the window open, Mrs Carrar. They saw me come in. They resent my not mounting the barricades, so they treat me to one of those speeches now and then.

  THE WORKER: Does it bother you much?

  THE PRIEST: As a matter of fact, it does. But never mind, leave the window open.

  THE GENERAL’S VOICE: … but we know the dastardly lies with which they try to besmirch the national cause. We may not pay the Archbishop of Canterbury as much as the Reds do, but to make up for that we could give him the names of ten thousand dead priests, whose throats have been cut by his honourable friends. Even if there’s no cheque with the message, there is one thing his Grace ought to know: in the course of its victorious advance, the Nationalist army has found plenty of hidden bombs and arms, but not one surviving priest.

  The worker offers the priest his pack of cigarettes. The priest takes one with a smile, though he is no smoker.

  THE GENERAL’S VOICE: Fortunately, the right cause can win without
depending on Archbishops so long as it has decent planes. And men like General Franco, General Mola … The broadcast is abruptly cut off.

  THE PRIEST good-humouredly: Thank God, even the Pérezes can’t stand more than three sentences of that stuff! I can’t believe speeches like that make a good impression.

  THE WORKER: They say even the Vatican is putting out the same kind of lies.

  THE PRIEST: I don’t know. Miserably. In my opinion it’s not the Church’s job to turn black into white and vice versa.

  THE WORKER looking at José: Certainly not.

  THE MOTHER hastily: My brother’s with the militia, Father.

  THE PRIEST: In which sector?

  THE WORKER: Málaga.

  THE PRIEST: It must be horrible.

  The worker smokes in silence.

  THE MOTHER: My brother thinks I’m not a good Spaniard. He says I ought to let Juan go to the front.

  JOSÉ: And me too. That’s where we belong.

  THE PRIEST: You know, of course, Señora Carrar, that in my heart and conscience I consider your attitude justified. In many places the lower clergy are supporting the legal government. Out of eighteen parishes in Bilbao seventeen have declared for the government. Quite a few of my fellow priests are doing service at the front. Some have been killed. But I myself am not a fighter. God has not given me the gift of marshalling my parishioners in a loud clear voice to fight for – groping for a word – anything. I stand by the Lord’s commandment: ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ I am not a rich man. I don’t own a monastery and what little I have I share with my flock. Maybe that is what gives my words a certain weight in times like these.

  THE WORKER: True. But maybe you’re more of a fighter than you think. Please don’t misunderstand me. But suppose a man is about to be killed and wants to defend himself; then you tie his hands with your ‘Thou shalt not kill’, so he lets himself be slaughtered like an ox; in that case, perhaps, you’d be participating in the fight – in your own way of course? If you’ll forgive me for saying so.

  THE PRIEST: For the time being I’m participating in hunger.

  THE WORKER: And how do you think we’ll get back the daily bread you ask for in the Lord’s Prayer?

  THE PRIEST: I don’t know. I can only pray.

  THE WORKER: Then you might be interested to know that God made the supply ships turn back last night.

  JOSÉ: Is that true? – Mother, the ships have turned back.

  THE WORKER: Yes, that’s neutrality. Suddenly: You’re neutral too, aren’t you?

  THE PRIEST: What do you mean by that?

  THE WORKER: Let’s say, in favour of non-intervention. And by being for non-intervention you objectively approve every bloodbath the generals inflict on the Spanish people.

  THE PRIEST raising his hands level with his head in protest: I don’t approve at all.

  THE WORKER looks at him with half-closed eyes: Keep your hands like that for a moment. With that gesture, I’ve heard, five thousand of our people stepped out of their besieged houses in Badajoz. With that gesture they were gunned down.

  THE MOTHER: Pedro, how can you say such a thing!

  THE WORKER: It only struck me, Teresa, that the gesture of disapproval is horribly like the gesture of capitulation. I’ve often read that people who wash their hands in innocence do so in blood-stained basins. And their hands bear the traces.

  THE MOTHER: Pedro!

  THE PRIEST: Never mind, Mrs Carrar. Tempers are heated at a time like this. We shall take a calmer attitude when it’s all over.

  THE WORKER: I thought we were to be wiped off the face of the earth because we are a perverted people.

  THE PRIEST: Who says such things?

  THE WORKER: The radio general. Didn’t you hear him just now? You don’t listen to the radio enough.

  THE PRIEST disgustedly: Oh, that general …

  THE WORKER: Don’t say ‘Oh, that general’! That general has hired all the scum of Spain to wipe us off the face of the earth, not to mention the Moors, Italians and Germans.

  THE MOTHER: Yes, they shouldn’t have brought in all those people who just do it for money.

  THE PRIEST: Don’t you think there might be some sincere people on the other side too?

  THE WORKER: I don’t see what they could be sincere about.

  Pause.

  THE PRIEST takes out his watch: I’ve still got to call on the Turillos.

  THE WORKER: The government had a clear majority in the Chamber of Deputies. Don’t you believe the election was honest and above-board?

  THE PRIEST: Yes, I do.

  THE WORKER: When I spoke about tying the hands of a man who wants to defend himself, I meant it literally, because we haven’t got all that much apart from our bare hands and …

  THE MOTHER interrupting him: Please, don’t start in again, it’s no use.

  THE PRIEST: Man is born with bare hands, as we all know. The Creator does not bring him forth from the womb with a weapon in his hand. I know the theory that all the misery in the world comes from the fact that the fisherman and the worker – you are a worker, I believe – have only their bare hands to fight for their livelihood with. But nowhere does Scripture say that this is a perfect world. On the contrary, it is full of misery, sin and oppression. Blessed the man who perchance may suffer from being sent into this world unarmed, but can at least leave it without a weapon in his hand.

  THE WORKER: You said that beautifully. I won’t contradict anything that sounds so beautiful. I only wish it impressed General Franco. The trouble is that General Franco is armed to the teeth and hasn’t shown the slightest inclination to depart from this world. We’d gladly throw all the weapons in Spain after him if only he’d leave this world. Here’s a leaflet his pilots have thrown down to us. I picked it up on the street in Motril. He takes a leaflet from his pocket. The padre, the mother and José look at it.

  JOSÉ to the mother: You see? It’s always the same, they’re going to destroy everything.

  THE MOTHER while reading: They can’t do that.

  THE WORKER: Oh yes, they can. What do you think, Father?

  JOSÉ: Yes!

  THE PRIEST not sure: Well, technically, I think, they might be able to. But if I understand Mrs Carrar correctly, she means that it’s not just a question of aeroplanes. They may be making these threats in their leaflets in order to convince the population of the seriousness of the situation; but to carry out such threats for military reasons would be a very different matter.

  THE WORKER: I don’t quite follow you.

  JOSÉ: Neither do I.

  THE PRIEST even less sure: I thought I was being very clear.

  THE WORKER: Your sentences are clear, but your opinion is not clear to me or José. You mean they’re not going to drop bombs?

  A short pause.

  THE PRIEST: I believe it’s a threat.

  THE WORKER: Which won’t be carried out?

  THE PRIEST: No.

  THE MOTHER: The way I see it, they’re trying to avoid bloodshed by warning us not to resist them.

  JOSÉ: Generals avoiding bloodshed?

  THE MOTHER showing him the leaflet: Here it says: All who lay down their arms will be spared.

  THE WORKER: In that case, I have another question for you, Father: Do you believe the people who lay down their arms will be spared?

  THE PRIEST looking around helplessly: They say General Franco himself always makes it very clear that he is a Christian.

  THE WORKER: Meaning he’ll keep his promise?

  THE PRIEST vehemently: He must keep it, Mr Jaqueras!

  THE MOTHER: They can’t do anything to the people who don’t bear arms.

  THE WORKER: Look, Father – apologetic – I don’t know your name …

  THE PRIEST: Francisco.

  THE WORKER continuing:…Francisco, I didn’t mean to ask you what in your opinion General Franco must do but what in your opinion he will do. You understand my question?

  THE PRIEST: Yes.

  T
HE WORKER: You understand that I’m asking you as a Christian, or maybe we should say, as a man who doesn’t own a monastery, to use your own words, and who will tell the truth when it’s a matter of life and death. Because it is, don’t you agree?

  THE PRIEST very upset: I understand.

  THE WORKER: It might make it easier for you to answer if I remind you of what happened in Málaga.

  THE PRIEST: I know what you mean. But are you sure there was no resistance in Málaga?

  THE WORKER: You know that fifty thousand men, women and children were mowed down by shelling from Franco’s ships and by bombs and machine-gun fire from his planes, while trying to escape to Almería on a highway that’s a hundred and forty miles long.

  THE PRIEST: That might be an atrocity story.

  THE WORKER: Like the one about the executed priests?

  THE PRIEST: Like the one about the executed priests.

  THE WORKER: In other words they weren’t mowed down?

  The priest is silent.

  THE WORKER: Mrs Carrar and her sons are not taking up arms against General Franco. Does that mean Mrs Carrar and her sons are safe?

  THE PRIEST: To the best of my knowledge …

  THE WORKER: Really? To the best of your knowledge?

  THE PRIEST in agitation: Surely you don’t want me to give you a guarantee?

  THE WORKER: No. I only want you to give me your true opinion. Are Mrs Carrar and her sons safe?

  The priest is silent.

  THE WORKER: I think we understand your answer. You’re an honest man.

  THE PRIEST getting up, confused: Well, Mrs Carrar, then I can count on you to look after the Turillo children?

  THE MOTHER also quite disconcerted: I’ll take them something to eat. And thank you for your visit.

  The priest nods to the worker and José as he leaves. The mother accompanies him.

  JOSÉ: Now you’ve heard the kind of stuff they’re drumming into her. But don’t leave without the rifles.

  THE WORKER: Where are they? Quick!

  They go to the rear, remove a chest and rip the floor open.

  JOSÉ: She’ll be back in a second.

  THE WORKER: We’ll put the rifles outside the window. I can pick them up later.

  Hurriedly they take the rifles from a wooden box. A small tattered flag in which they were wrapped falls to the floor.

  JOSÉ: And there’s the little flag from the old days. How could you sit still so long when it’s so urgent?