Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 4

by Bertolt Brecht

  It gets dark. Only the reddish horizon remains visible. Slowly a sign with the words ‘Dansen’s Dream’ on it comes down from the flies.

  A rosy light fills the stage. Dansen and the stranger stand facing each other. Dansen is leading his pig on a rope and shouldering his contract. The stranger, still in civilian clothes, is armed to the teeth. He is wearing a steel helmet; he has hand-grenades in his belt, and a tommy-gun under his arm.

  THE STRANGER: I’ve been attacked. I was paying an innocent little visit to a certain Pollack, I’d arranged to meet a friend of mine at his place. While I was in the house, the neighbours surrounded me and attacked me. You’ve got to help me.

  DANSEN: But …

  THE STRANGER: Don’t talk so much. I haven’t a moment to lose. There’s not enough iron in my house. I need the key to my friend Svendson’s warehouse right away.

  DANSEN: But I can’t let it out of my hands.

  THE STRANGER: You can give it to me. The warehouse definitely needs protection, it’s full of iron and you’re in no position to defend it. Give me the key! Quick!

  DANSEN: But the key was given to me for safekeeping. I’ll at least have to phone my friend Svendson first …

  THE STRANGER: Your safekeeping is my safekeeping. This is no time to quibble. Hands up! He threatens him with his tommy-gun.

  Dansen suddenly aims his contract at the stranger and stands motionless in this menacing position.

  THE STRANGER not believing his eyes: Are you out of your mind? What’s that you’ve got there?

  DANSEN: My contract!

  THE STRANGER contemptuously: Contracts! Who says I have to respect contracts?

  DANSEN: Maybe you don’t have to respect the others. But you’ve got to respect this one with me!

  THE STRANGER letting his gun drop: This is terrible! I need that iron. Everybody’s against me.

  DANSEN: I’m sorry.

  THE STRANGER: But I’m lost without it. I’ll be trampled to a pulp, do you hear me, a pulp!

  DANSEN: You should have thought of that before, my friend.

  THE STRANGER: My whole livelihood is at stake! I’ve got to get in there! I’ve got to, I’ve got to!

  DANSEN holds up the paper: I’m sorry, it can’t be done.

  THE STRANGER: I’ll buy all your pigs, Dansen, if you’ll cooperate!

  DANSEN: I can’t do it, friend.

  Dansen’s pig squeals. A gong sounds in the distance.

  DANSEN: Shut up! When freedom is at stake. To the stranger: We’re sorry.

  THE STRANGER going down on his knees, sobbing: Please, I beg you, the key! Don’t be heartless! My family, my wife, my children, my mother, my grandmother! My aunts!

  DANSEN: It can’t be done. I deeply sympathise, but it can’t be done. A contract’s a contract.

  THE STRANGER broken, stands up with difficulty: There’s only one thing left for me to do: hang myself. This contract is costing me, one of your best customers, my life. Crushed, he turns to go.

  The pig squeals a second time. Again the distant gong.

  DANSEN: Shut up. You make me sick. You haven’t got a pennyworth of morality. To the stranger: And you, don’t come to me any more with your immoral demands, understand! They won’t wash with me, the next time I might lost my patience! As the stranger staggers away, Dansen, clutching the contract in his fist, sings the third stanza of ‘King Christian Stood by the Tall Mast’.

  Niels Juel he shouted to the gale

  ‘The time has come!’

  Hoisted the red flag like a sail

  And bade the enemy turn tail.

  Aloud he shouted in the gale

  ‘The time has come!’

  ‘Vile knaves,’ he shouted, ‘leave the stage!

  For who will not to Dansen’s rage

  Succumb!’

  But when he comes to the last line, he is horrified to hear the pig squeal a third time. The stranger suddenly turns around looking triumphant. Darkness. Another sign is lowered. On it is written ‘And Dansen’s Awakening’.

  The light goes on. The pig has gone on squealing. Beside Dansen, who is still leaning against the warehouse door asleep, stands the stranger, armed to the teeth. He gives Dansen a kick. Dansen wakes up with a start.

  THE STRANGER: Give me that key!

  DANSEN: I can’t let anyone have it!

  THE STRANGER: Then you’re breaking the contract, you swine. You think you can make a friendship pact with me and then refuse me your friendship? Kicks him. You think you can cheat me out of the key I need to get at the iron? Now you’ve proved you’re my enemy, one of the worst. He grabs the contract out of his hands and tears it up. And now for the last time: give me that key!

  Dansen reaches for the key and, staring at the stranger, takes it out. The stranger grabs it and opens the door.

  DANSEN amazed: Goodness, I’ve honoured the contract by giving him Svendson’s key!

  THE STRANGER in the doorway, turns around to Dansen, takes the pig’s rope out of his hands and says menacingly: I expect you to hand over the rest of the pigs without being asked, and I don’t expect to see any bills! He goes into Svendson’s warehouse with Dansen’s pig.

  How Much Is Your Iron?

  Translators: ROSE and MARTIN KASTNER

  Characters:

  SVENDSON

  THE CUSTOMER

  MR AUSTRIAN, a tobacconist

  MRS CZECH, owner of a shoe shop

  THE GENTLEMAN

  THE LADY

  PROLOGUE

  An Englishman, dear friends, not long ago

  Spun a story which we’d like to show.

  With two young Swedes he’d met near the Old Vic

  He downed a few, and talked of politics;

  But though they quaffed much brandy, ale, and rye

  He and the Swedes could not see eye to eye.

  Next day, the Englishman took pen in hand

  And wrote a parable that all could understand.

  This fable made his point both sharp and clear –

  For your diversion, now, we’ll show it here.

  The scene: a shop with iron bars for sale.

  You’ll recognise the merchant without fail.

  The shoe-shop lady and tobacconist

  Are figures that can’t easily be missed.

  And by our playlet’s end – if not before –

  You’ll know which fellow’s grabbing all the ore.

  Even a simpleton, we dare to say

  Will get the point: so now let’s start the play!

  An iron dealer’s shop. A wooden door and a wooden table.

  1

  On the table lie iron bars. The shopkeeper is polishing them with a cloth. On an easel an enormous calendar showing the date: 1938. A tobacconist comes in with cigar boxes under his arm.

  MR AUSTRIAN: Good morning, Mr Svendson. How are you for smokes? I’ve got some fine cigars here, thirty cents apiece, genuine Austrillos.

  SVENDSON: Good morning, Mr Austrian. Let’s have a look! What an aroma. You know how crazy I am about your cigars. Unfortunately my business hasn’t been doing very well. I’ll have to cut down on my smoking. No, I can’t take any today. I can’t see my way clear. No hard feelings, Mr Austrian. Maybe next time.

  MR AUSTRIAN: This is a bit of a disappointment. But of course I understand. He packs up his wares.

  SVENDSON: Been having a pleasant round, Mr Austrian?

  MR AUSTRIAN: Not very pleasant, Mr Svendson. I’m afraid your store is rather out of the way.

  SVENDSON: Out of the way? Nobody ever told me that before.

  MR AUSTRIAN: I’d never thought of it before myself. The fact is, we all live pretty far from each other. But today I met a man on the way here and I’ve had a funny feeling ever since.

  SVENDSON: How come? Was he rude to you?

  MR AUSTRIAN: Far from it. He spoke to me like an old friend. He called me by my first name and said we were related. News to me, I told him. What, he says, you didn’t know? And he glares
at me like I was a bad penny. And then he starts explaining exactly how we’re related and the longer he talks the more related we are.

  SVENDSON: Is that so bad?

  MR AUSTRIAN: No, but he said he’d be coming to see me soon.

  SVENDSON: You make it sound like a threat.

  MR AUSTRIAN: There was nothing unusual about his words. He said that maybe he had one weakness, an over-developed family sense. When he discovers he’s even remotely related to someone he just can’t live without them.

  SVENDSON: That’s not such a bad thing to say.

  MR AUSTRIAN: No, but he shouted so when he said it.

  SVENDSON: And that frightened you?

  MR AUSTRIAN: To tell you the truth, it did.

  SVENDSON: Good Lord, you’re shaking. Like a leaf.

  MR AUSTRIAN: Because I can’t get him out of my head.

  SVENDSON: Nerves. You ought to live up here, in this pure air.

  MR AUSTRIAN: Maybe. The one good thing is that he didn’t seem to be armed. If he were, I might be really worried. Oh, well, we all have our headaches, and no one can have them for us.

  SVENDSON: No.

  MR AUSTRIAN: Another thing that struck me as odd was that before he let me go he suggested we sign an agreement never to say anything detrimental about each other.

  SVENDSON: That sounds fair enough. A mutual agreement.

  MR AUSTRIAN: Think so?

  Pause.

  MR AUSTRIAN: Maybe I ought to have some kind of weapon.

  SVENDSON: Yes. It might come in handy.

  MR AUSTRIAN: Unfortunately weapons are expensive.

  SVENDSON: That’s a fact.

  MR AUSTRIAN: Well, goodbye, Mr Svendson.

  SVENDSON: Goodbye, Mr Austrian.

  Mr Austrian goes out. Svendson stands up and does Swedish exercises with his iron bars, in time to monotonous music. A customer in an ill-fitting suit enters.

  THE CUSTOMER in a hoarse voice: How much is your iron?

  SVENDSON: A crown a bar.

  THE CUSTOMER: Expensive.

  SVENDSON: I’ve got to earn my living.

  THE CUSTOMER: I see.

  SVENDSON: Your face looks familiar.

  THE CUSTOMER: You knew my brother. He often came here.

  SVENDSON: How’s he getting along?

  THE CUSTOMER: Dead. He left me the business.

  SVENDSON: I’m sorry to hear it.

  THE CUSTOMER menacingly: Really?

  SVENDSON: I didn’t mean about your having the business, I meant about his being dead.

  THE CUSTOMER: You seem to have been very close friends with him.

  SVENDSON: Not really. But he was a good customer.

  THE CUSTOMER: And now I’m your customer.

  SVENDSON: At your service. I suppose you want two bars, same as your brother?

  THE CUSTOMER: Four.

  SVENDSON: That will be four crowns.

  THE CUSTOMER pulls some notes out of his pocket. Hesitantly: They’ve got a few spots on them. Coffee stains. Do you mind?

  SVENDSON examining the notes: This isn’t coffee.

  THE CUSTOMER: What is it then?

  SVENDSON: It’s reddish.

  THE CUSTOMER: Then it must be blood. Pause. I cut my finger. Pause. Do you want the money or not?

  SVENDSON: I don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting rid of it.

  THE CUSTOMER: No. I’m sure you won’t.

  SVENDSON: Very well. He puts the notes in the cash drawer while the customer takes his bars under his arm. Casually: Oh, by the way. My old friend the tobacconist dropped in a little while ago. He complained of being stopped and molested by a stranger on the way here. Has anybody molested you?

  THE CUSTOMER: No. No one has molested me. No one even spoke to me, which rather surprised me, I must say. Your friend seems to be a liar of the worst kind.

  SVENDSON taking offence: You have no right to say that.

  THE CUSTOMER: The world is full of liars, thieves, and murderers.

  SVENDSON: I don’t subscribe to that. My friend seemed really worried. I was even thinking of giving him one of my iron bars to defend himself with if necessary.

  THE CUSTOMER: I wouldn’t advise you to do that. It would make for bad blood in the neighbourhood if you started arming everybody free of charge. Take it from me, they’re all a lot of thieves and murderers. And liars. Your best bet is to keep your nose clean and peacefully attend to your iron business. I’m speaking as a peace-loving individual. Just don’t put any weapons into those people’s hands! They don’t know where the next meal is coming from. You put weapons into the hands of a hungry man and …

  SVENDSON: I see what you mean.

  THE CUSTOMER: Say, aren’t we related?

  SVENDSON surprised: What makes you think that?

  THE CUSTOMER: I’m pretty sure. Through our great-grandfathers or something.

  SVENDSON: I believe you’re mistaken.

  THE CUSTOMER: Really? Well, I’ll be going now. Good iron you’ve got here. It’s expensive, but I need it. What can I do if I need it? You think the price will come down?

  SVENDSON: I doubt it.

  The customer turns towards the door. A rumbling sound is heard.

  SVENDSON: Did you say something?

  THE CUSTOMER: Me? No, that’s my stomach. I’d been eating too much fatty food for a while. Now I’m fasting.

  SVENDSON laughs: Oh! Well, good day.

  The customer goes out.

  SVENDSON picks up the phone: Is that you, Dansen? Listen, that new man has just been here. – Oh, he’s been at your place too? He bought some of my merchandise. – Oh, he’s bought from you too? Well, as long as he pays he’s good enough for me. – Of course he’s good enough for you too as long as he pays.

  The stage grows dark.

  2

  The calendar in the iron shop reads 1939. Mrs Czech comes in with some shoe-boxes under her arm.

  MRS CZECH: Good morning, Mr Svendson. Can I interest you in some shoes? She takes out a pair of large yellow shoes. Good sturdy shoes, eleven crowns a pair, genuine Czech workmanship.

  SVENDSON: Good morning, Mrs Czech. I’m always glad to see you. My business hasn’t been doing very well lately, so I’m afraid I can’t afford new shoes at the moment, but rest assured, I won’t buy from anyone else. But you look rather upset, Mrs Czech.

  MRS CZECH looking around fearfully from time to time: Does that surprise you? Haven’t you heard the terrible news about the tobacconist?

  SVENDSON: What about him?

  MRS CZECH: This tobacconist, a Mr Austrian, was attacked on the street. Robbed and murdered.

  SVENDSON: You don’t say so! Why, that’s terrible.

  MRS CZECH: The whole neighbourhood’s talking about it. They want to organise a police force. We must all join up. You too, Mr Svendson.

  SVENDSON dismayed: Me? No, that’s impossible. I’m not cut out for police work, Mrs Czech, not in the least. I’m a peace-loving man. Besides, my iron business takes up all my time. I want to sell my iron in peace, that’s enough for me.

  MRS CZECH: The man who attacked the tobacconist must have been well armed. I want a weapon too, I’m frightened. Send me one of your iron bars, Mr Svendson.

  SVENDSON: Glad to. With the greatest pleasure, Mrs Czech. One iron bar, that will be one crown.

  MRS CZECH fumbling in her purse: There must be a crown in here somewhere.

  SVENDSON: Why, your hands are trembling, Mrs Czech.

  MRS CZECH: Here it is. She has brought out the crown. On my way here a man spoke to me. He offered me his protection. It scared me out of my wits.

  SVENDSON: Why?

  MRS CZECH: Well, you see, I haven’t any enemies among the people I know. But this was somebody I didn’t know. He wanted to come home with me to protect me, so he said. Isn’t that creepy? Tell me: don’t you feel threatened?

  SVENDSON: Me? No. They all have to keep on good terms with me, because they all need my iron in these uncertain times. Even
when they’re at each other’s throats, they’ve got to treat me with respect. Because they need my iron.

  MRS CZECH: Yes, you’re a lucky man. Good day, Mr Svendson. She goes out.

  SVENDSON calls after her: Good day, Mrs Czech. I’ll have your bar delivered. He stands up and does Swedish gymnastics in time to the monotonous music. The customer comes in. He has something hidden under his coat.

  THE CUSTOMER: How much is your iron?

  SVENDSON: A crown a bar.

  THE CUSTOMER: Price hasn’t come down yet? Let’s have it.

  SVENDSON: Four bars again?

  THE CUSTOMER: No, eight.

  SVENDSON: That will be eight crowns.

  THE CUSTOMER slowly: I’d like to make you a proposition, in view of the fact that after all we’re slightly related.

  SVENDSON: Not that I know of, Mr …

  THE CUSTOMER: You may not know it yet, but never mind. I’d like to suggest a new way of doing business: barter. I bet you smoke cigars. Well, I’ve got cigars. He takes a box full of big cigars from under his coat. I can let you have them cheap, because I got them for nothing. I inherited them from a relative. And I don’t smoke.

  SVENDSON: You don’t smoke. You don’t eat. You don’t smoke. And these are Austrillos.