MITCH: What do you teach? What subject?
BLANCHE: Guess!
MITCH: I bet you teach art or music?
[Blanche laughs delicately]
Of course I could be wrong. You might teach arithmetic.
BLANCHE: Never arithmetic, sir, never arithmetic!
[with a laugh]
I don't even know my multiplication tables! No, I have the misfortune of being an English instructor. I attempt to instill a bunch of bobby-soxers and drug-store Romeos with reverence for Hawthorne and Whitman and Poe!
MITCH: I guess that some of them are more interested in other things.
BLANCHE: How very right you are! Their literary heritage is not what most of them treasure above all else! But they're sweet things! And in the spring, it's touching to notice them making their first discovery of love! As if nobody had ever known it before!
[The bathroom door opens and Stella comes out. Blanche continues talking to Mitch.]
Oh! Have you finished? Wait—I'll turn on the radio.
[She turns the knobs on the radio and it begins to play "Wien, Wien, nur du allein." Blanche waltzes to the music with romantic gestures. Mitch is delighted and moves in awkward imitation like a dancing bear.
Stanley stalks fiercely through the portieres into the bedroom. He crosses to the small white radio and snatches it off the table. With a shouted oath, he tosses the instrument out the window.]
STELLA: Drunk—drunk—animal thing, you!
[She rushes through to the poker table]
All of you—please go home! If any of you have one spark of decency in you—
BLANCHE [wildly]: Stella, watch out, he's—
[Stanley charges after Stella.]
MEN [feebly]: Take it easy, Stanley. Easy, fellow.—Let's all—
STELLA: You lay your hands on me and I'll—
[She backs out of sight. He advances and disappears. There is the sound of a blow. Stella cries out. Blanche screams and runs into the kitchen. The men rush forward and there is grappling and cursing. Something is overturned with a crash.]
BLANCHE [shrilly]: My sister is going to have a baby!
MITCH: This is terrible.
BLANCHE: Lunacy, absolute lunacy!
MITCH: Get him in here, men.
[Stanley is forced, pinioned by the two men, into the bedroom. He nearly throws them off. Then all at once he subsides and is limp in their grasp. They speak quietly and lovingly to him and he leans his face on one of their shoulders.]
STELLA [in a high, unnatural voice, out of sight]: I want to go away, I want to go away!
MITCH: Poker shouldn't be played in a house with women.
[Blanche rushes into the bedroom.]
BLANCHE: I want my sister's clothes! We'll go to that woman's upstairs!
MITCH: Where is the clothes?
BLANCHE [opening the closet]: I've got them!
[She rushes through to Stella]
Stella, Stella, precious! Dear, dear little sister, don't be afraid!
[With her arms around Stella, Blanche guides her to the outside door and upstairs.]
STANLEY [dully]: What's the matter; what's happened?
MITCH: You just blew your top, Stan.
PABLO: He's okay, now.
STEVE: Sure, my boy's okay!
MITCH: Put him on the bed and get a wet towel.
PABLO: I think coffee would do him a world of good, now.
STANLEY [thickly]: I want water.
MITCH: Put him under the shower!
[The men talk quietly as they lead him to the bathroom.]
STANLEY: Let go of me, you sons of bitches!
[Sounds of blows are heard. The water goes on full tilt.]
STEVE: Let's get quick out of here!
[They rush to the poker table and sweep up their winnings on their way out.]
MITCH [sadly but firmly]: Poker should not be played in a house with women.
[The door closes on them and the place is still. The Negro entertainers in the bar around the corner play "Paper Doll" slow and blue. After a moment Stanley comes out of the bathroom dripping water and still in his clinging wet polka dot drawers.]
STANLEY: Stella!
[There is a pause]
My baby doll's left me!
[He breaks into sobs. Then he goes to the phone and dials, still shuddering with sobs.]
Eunice? I want my baby.
[He waits a moment; then he hangs up and dials again]
Eunice! I'll keep on ringin' until I talk with my baby!
[An indistinguishable shrill voice is heard. He hurls phone to floor. Dissonant brass and piano sounds as the rooms dim out to darkness and the outer walls appear in the night light. The "blue piano" plays for a brief interval.
Finally, Stanley stumbles half dressed out to the porch and down the wooden steps to the pavement before the building. There he throws back his head like a baying hound and bellows his wife's name: "Stella! Stella, sweetheart! Stella!"]
STANLEY: Stell-ahhhhh!
EUNICE [calling down from the door of her upper apartment]: Quit that howling out there an' go back to bed!
STANLEY: I want my baby down here. Stella, Stella!
EUNICE: She ain't comin' down so you quit! Or you'll git th' law on you!
STANLEY: Stella!
EUNICE: You can't beat on a woman an' then call 'er back! She won't come! And her goin' t' have a baby!... You stinker! You whelp of a Polack, you! I hope they do haul you in and turn the fire hose on you, same as the last time!
STANLEY [humbly]: Eunice, I want my girl to come down with me!
EUNICE: Hah!
[She slams her door.]
STANLEY [with heaven-splitting violence]: STELLL-AHHHHH!
[The low-tone clarinet moans. The door upstairs opens again. Stella slips down the rickety stairs in her robe. Her eyes are glistening with tears and her hair loose about her throat and shoulders. They stare at each other. Then they come together with low, animal moans. He falls to his knees on the steps and presses his face to her belly, curving a little with maternity. Her eyes go blind with tenderness as she catches his head and raises him level with her. He snatches the screen door open and lifts her off her feet and bears her into the dark flat.]
[Blanche comes out on the upper landing in her robe and slips fearfully down the steps.]
BLANCHE: Where is my little sister? Stella? Stella?
[She stops before the dark entrance of her sister's flat. Then catches her breath as if struck. She rushes down to the walk before the house. She looks right and left as if for a sanctuary.
The music fades away. Mitch appears from around the corner.]
MITCH: Miss DuBois?
BLANCHE: Oh!
MITCH: All quiet on the Potomac now?
BLANCHE: She ran downstairs and went back in there with him.
MITCH: Sure she did.
BLANCHE: I'm terrified!
MITCH: Ho-ho! There's nothing to be scared of. They're crazy about each other.
BLANCHE: I'm not used to such—
MITCH: Naw, it's a shame this had to happen when you just got here. But don't take it serious.
BLANCHE: Violence! Is so—
MITCH: Set down on the steps and have a cigarette with me.
BLANCHE: I'm not properly dressed.
MITCH: That don't make no difference in the Quarter.
BLANCHE: Such a pretty silver case.
MITCH: I showed you the inscription, didn't I?
BLANCHE: Yes.
[During the pause, she looks up at the sky]
There's so much—so much confusion in the world....
[He coughs diffidently]
Thank you for being so kind! I need kindness now.
SCENE FOUR
It is early the following morning. There is a confusion of street cries like a choral chant. Stella is lying down in the bedroom. Her face is serene in the early morning sunlight. One hand rests on her belly, rounding slightly with new maternity. From
the other dangles a book of colored comics. Her eyes and lips have that almost narcotized tranquility that is the faces of Eastern idols. The table is sloppy with remains of breakfast and the debris of the preceding night, and Stanley's gaudy pajamas lie across the threshold of the bathroom. The outside door is slightly ajar on a sky of summer brilliance. Blanche appears at this door. She has spent a sleepless night and her appearance entirely contrasts with Stella's. She presses her knuckles nervously to her lips as she looks through the door, before entering.
BLANCHE: Stella?
STELLA [stirring lazily]: Hmmh?
[Blanche utters a moaning cry and runs into the bedroom, throwing herself down beside Stella in a rush of hysterical tenderness.]
BLANCHE: Baby, my baby sister!
STELLA [drawing away from her]: Blanche, what is the matter with you?
[Blanche straightens up slowly and stands beside the bed looking down at her sister with knuckles pressed to her lips.]
BLANCHE: He's left?
STELLA: Stan? Yes.
BLANCHE: Will he be back?
STELLA: He's gone to get the car greased. Why?
BLANCHE: Why! I've been half crazy, Stella! When I found out you'd been insane enough to come back in here after what happened—I started to rush in after you!
STELLA: I'm glad you didn't.
BLANCHE: What were you thinking of?
[Stella makes an indefinite gesture]
Answer me! What? What?
STELLA: Please, Blanche! Sit down and stop yelling.
BLANCHE: All right, Stella. I will repeat the question quietly now. How could you come back in this place last night? Why, you must have slept with him!
[Stella gets up in a calm and leisurely way.]
STELLA: Blanche, I'd forgotten how excitable you are. You're making much too much fuss about this.
BLANCHE: Am I?
STELLA: Yes, you are, Blanche. I know how it must have seemed to you and I'm awful sorry it had to happen, but it wasn't anything as serious as you seem to take it. In the first place, when men are drinking and playing poker anything can happen. It's always a powder-keg. He didn't know what he was doing.... He was as good as a lamb when I came back and he's really very, very ashamed of himself.
BLANCHE: And that—that makes it all right?
STELLA: No, it isn't all right for anybody to make such a terrible row, but—people do sometimes. Stanley's always smashed things. Why, on our wedding night—soon as we came in here—he snatched off one of my slippers and rushed about the place smashing the light bulbs with it.
BLANCHE: He did—what?
STELLA: He smashed all the light bulbs with the heel of my slipper!
[She laughs.]
BLANCHE: And you—you let him? Didn't run, didn't scream?
STELLA: I was—sort of—thrilled by it.
[She waits for a moment.]
Eunice and you had breakfast?
BLANCHE: Do you suppose I wanted my breakfast?
STELLA: There's some coffee left on the stove.
BLANCHE: You're so—matter of fact about it, Stella.
STELLA: What other can I be? He's taken the radio to get it fixed. It didn't land on the pavement so only one tube was smashed.
BLANCHE: And you are standing there smiling!
STELLA: What do you want me to do?
BLANCHE: Pull yourself together and face the facts.
STELLA: What are they, in your opinion?
BLANCHE: In my opinion? You're married to a madman!
STELLA: No!
BLANCHE: Yes, you are, your fix is worse than mine is! Only you're not being sensible about it. I'm going to do something. Get hold of myself and make myself a new life!
STELLA: Yes?
BLANCHE: But you've given in. And that isn't right, you're not old! You can get out.
STELLA [slowly and emphatically]: I'm not in anything I want to get out of.
BLANCHE [incredulously]: What—Stella?
STELLA: I said I am not in anything that I have a desire to get out of. Look at the mess in this room! And those empty bottles! They went through two cases last night! He promised this morning that he was going to quit having these poker parties, but you know how long such a promise is going to keep. Oh, well, it's his pleasure, like mine is movies and bridge. People have got to tolerate each other's habits, I guess.
BLANCHE: I don't understand you.
[Stella turns toward her]
I don't understand your indifference. Is this a Chinese philosophy you've—cultivated?
STELLA: Is what—what?
BLANCHE: This—shuffling about and mumbling—"One tube smashed—beer bottles—mess in the kitchen."—as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened!
[Stella laughs uncertainly and picking up the broom, twirls it in her hands.]
BLANCHE: Are you deliberately shaking that thing in my face?
STELLA: No.
BLANCHE: Stop it. Let go of that broom. I won't have you cleaning up for him!
STELLA: Then who's going to do it? Are you?
BLANCHE: I? I!
STELLA: No, I didn't think so.
BLANCHE: Oh, let me think, if only my mind would function! We've got to get hold of some money, that's the way out!
STELLA: I guess that money is always nice to get hold of.
BLANCHE: Listen to me. I have an idea of some kind.
[Shakily she twists a cigarette into her holder]
Do you remember Shep Huntleigh?
[Stella shakes her head.]
Of course you remember Shep Huntleigh. I went out with him at college and wore his pin for a while. Well—
STELLA.: Well?
BLANCHE: I ran into him last winter. You know I went to Miami during the Christmas holidays?
STELLA: No.
BLANCHE: Well, I did. I took the trip as an investment, thinking I'd meet someone with a million dollars.
STELLA: Did you?
BLANCHE: Yes. I ran into Shep Huntleigh—I ran into him on Biscayne Boulevard, on Christmas Eve, about dusk... getting into his car—Cadillac convertible; must have been a block long!
STELLA: I should think it would have been—inconvenient in traffic!
BLANCHE: You've heard of oil-wells?
STELLA: Yes—remotely.
BLANCHE: He has them, all over Texas. Texas is literally spouting gold in his pockets.
STELLA: My, my.
BLANCHE: Y'know how indifferent I am to money. I think of money in terms of what it does for you. But he could do it, he could certainly do it!
STELLA: Do what, Blanche?
BLANCHE: Why—set us up in a—shop!
STELLA: What kind of a shop?
BLANCHE: Oh, a—shop of some kind! He could do it with half what his wife throws away at the races.
STELLA: He's married?
BLANCHE: Honey, would I be here if the man weren't married?
[Stella laughs a little. Blanche suddenly springs up and crosses to phone. She speaks shrilly]
How do I get Western Union?—Operator! Western Union!
STELLA: That's a dial phone, honey.
BLANCHE: I can't dial, I'm too—
STELLA: Just dial 0.
BLANCHE: 0?
STELLA: Yes, "0" for Operator!
[Blanche considers a moment; then she puts the phone down.]
BLANCHE: Give me a pencil. Where is a slip of paper? I've got to write it down first—the message, I mean...
[She goes to the dressing table, and grabs up a sheet of Kleenex and an eyebrow pencil for writing equipment.]
Let me see now...
[She bites the pencil]
"Darling Shep. Sister and I in desperate situation."
STELLA: I beg your pardon!
BLANCHE: "Sister and I in desperate situation. Will explain details later. Would you be interested in—?"
[She bites the pencil again]
"Would you be—interested—in..."
[She smashes the pen
cil on the table and springs up]
You never get anywhere with direct appeals!
STELLA [with a laugh]: Don't be so ridiculous, darling!
BLANCHE: But I'll think of something, I've got to think of—something! Don't, don't laugh at me, Stella! Please, please don't—I—I want you to look at the contents of my purse! Here's what's in it!
Three Plays of Tennessee Williams Page 26