by David Mamet
DALE: It's not so bad, really. I have my days free, I get some sun.
JOE: Yeah, but it's not the same thing, it's like having a job, for crissakes. I mean, it's okay if you like it.
DALE: It's alright.
JOE: I been working on the Lakes off and on for twenty-three years. It don't seem like such a long time. How old are you, Dale, if you don't mind my asking?
DALE: No, I'm eighteen. Be nineteen in October.
JOE: Yeah? You're a young guy for such a . . . I mean, you're not that young but you seem . . . older, you know? You seem like you wouldn't of been that young. Of course, that's not that young. I was working on the boats before I was your age. I'm going to get some more pie. . . . You can see the bridge. You can just make it out. Like a landmark out there. You know, that is one pretty bridge. We been going under that bridge for once or twice a week since I was your age off and on, but that sure is a pretty bridge.
DALE: Yeah, I like it.
JOE: But, I mean, what the fuck? It's a bridge, right? It's something that you use and takes cars from over there over to the island. They don't let no cars drive on that island, did you know that? It's a law. But what I mean, you usually do not think about things that way. From that standpoint. But when you look at it . . . it's just a bridge to get people from the island over to there on the beach . . . you know what I mean.
DALE: Yeah.
JOE: And . . . you go underneath of it and look up and all the same it's pretty. And you forget that it does something. But this beauty of it makes what it does all the more . . . nice. Do you know what I'm talking about?
DALE: Yeah, Joe.
JOE: Sometimes I get . . . well, I don't express myself too well, I guess.
DALE: No, I know what you mean.
JOE: You know, you got it made, Dale. You know that? You really got it made.
DALE: What do you mean?
JOE: You got your whole life ahead of you. I mean, you're not a kid or anything . . . you're a man. You're a young man. But you got it made.
DALE: What are you talking about, Joe?
JOE: Ah, you know what I'm saying.
DALE: You're not an old man, Joe. What are you talking about?
JOE: Ah, you know what I'm saying to you. I just wanted to tell you, Dale. I just wanted to let you know. So you'll understand. I mean. I've lived longer than you have. And at this stage one can see a lot of things in their proper light. And . . . you're a bright kid.
DALE: Well, sometimes I don't think so.
JOE: Well, what do you know? You know? I mean I've lived a hell of a lot longer than you have and I want to tell you, you're going to be Okay. You're a fine, good-looking kid and you know what's happening. You're okay and you're a good worker. . . . I don't mean that disrespectfully.
DALE: . . . I know.
JOE: And I just want to tell you, sincerely, you have got it made.
DALE: Well.
JOE: No, it's the truth. Christ it's going to be hot today. Going to be a hell of a hot fucking day. Did you make up the First's cabin today?
DALE: Before you came in.
JOE: You don't have to take no shit from him, you know.
DALE: I know that.
JOE: He give you any trouble?
DALE: No, not at all.
JOE: Well, you don't have to take nothing from him. You just do your job. And if he gives you any trouble you talk to the Union Rep when we hit the beach. You know? You just do a good job . . . because that's what he's there for.
DALE: Okay.
JOE: I mean it. If he gives you shit, just let me know.
DALE: Okay, Joe. I'll do that.
JOE: Seriously. We should raise Mackinaw in a couple of minutes. You going up on deck?
DALE: No, I gotta finish up here.
JOE: Yeah, well, I'll see you later. Let me know if you're going up the street, huh?
DALE: I will, Joe.
JOE: We'll hit the bars.
DALE: I will.
JOE: You drink?
(Pause.)
DALE: Yeah.
JOE: Well, I'm going up on the boatdeck. You get off soon, huh?
DALE: In about a half-hour.
JOE: Well, take it easy, Dale. Get some rest. Can you sleep in this heat?
DALE: Easy. I got a scoop out the porthole.
JOE: Oh. Well, it's just that I have trouble sometimes. Well, take it easy, kid.
DALE: Don't work too hard.
JOE: Fuck no. I wouldn't.
Scene 22
Fast Examined
STAN, on the main deck, buttonholes COLLINS.
STAN: . . . at least eight. But he doesn't ever draw his gun. He's giving ‘em one of these (whack) and a couple of these, and some of these, twisting and like a ballet. Till there's one left. Behind the bar. And all you see: Jonnie's got his back to the bar. We think he thinks this guy is dead. And you see the guy take this cleaver off the bar and heft it over his head and just as he starts to let go, Fast whips around and fires. (Carries this belly pistol. Black as night. In his sleeve, in his fucking sleeve.) He goes whomp, like that, and the fucking thing slides down his sleeve and into his hand. And you see the guy's still got his hand up to throw but all you see is this little bit of bloody handle. Fast shot the cleaver out of the guy's fucking hand. BEHIND HIS BACK. Twenty, thirty feet with a two-inch belly pistol. Now, how stark is that?
Scene 23
The.38
In the engine room.
FIREMAN: . . . a big black Colt's revolver. A .38 or a .44. Pure blue-black with a black checker grip and an eyelet on the butt for a lanyard—it was an old gun, but in good shape. No scratches. Purest black as a good pair of boots. Must've been re-blued. Or maybe he never used it. You don't know. Used big shells, powerful. You could tell from how big they were. That's a good way to tell. I was in the Army. Overseas. Hawaii. But it wasn't a state. The officers had pistols. They were automatic. .45s. Big heavy things. But his was a revolver. I've seen it. Shit, he used to take it down here to clean it. He worked down here a while. Don't know how they ever took him. A big guy as quick as he was. I don't see how. Unless they drugged him—or took him from behind.
FRED: I heard they might have drugged him.
FIREMAN: Bastards.
FRED: Or he was drunk.
FIREMAN: Possible. Possible. Very possible. That boy drank. Used to drink on the ship.
FRED: Whodoesn't?
FIREMAN: Not him, not him, for sure. No sir, stagger around like an Indian when he had a few. Like a goddamn Winnebago Indian he would.
FRED: That's probably what happened. Did he have his gun with him?
FIREMAN: What'd you hear?
FRED: Didn't hear one way or the other.
FIREMAN: The way I hear it . . . he took it. He took the gun to the bar . . . but when they found him. HE DIDN''T HAVE IT ON HIM.
FRED: Huh?
FIREMAN: He was a mysterious fellow.
FRED: Huh?
FIREMAN: But he had a lot of gumption.
FRED: I heard that, I didn't know him.
FIREMAN: Yup, a lot of gall.
FRED: Oh yeah.
FIREMAN: I hated that . . . young fellow, what does he know? Blind balls is all. Damn fool like to get killed. Crazy. Crazy, is all. With a big gun like that.
FRED: Maybe he didn't have it on him.
FIREMAN: He had it. I think he had it, by God. I saw him going off and I said to myself, “He looks like trouble.
He just is dripping trouble today. I hope he's got his piece. I just hope, for his own sake that he's got it.”
FRED: The cops would know if he had it.
FIREMAN: Or someone could have looked in his stuff.
FRED: They cleaned it out, huh?
FIREMAN: Yeah, been cleaned out. I'd say, for sure. The Mate's responsible.
FRED: Well, whether he took it or not, they got him.
FIREMAN: Fucking cops.
FRED: Yeah . . . why do you say “cops"?
F
IREMAN: You kidding? It was the cops got him. Or Uncle Sam.
FRED: The G? What'd the G want with Guiglialli?
FIREMAN: You kidding? With what that kid knew?
FRED: What'd he know?
FIREMAN: Things. He knew things.
FRED: Yeah?
FIREMAN: Surer'n hell, that kid. He'd let on like he didn't know, but he knew. I know when they know. I can see it. And that kid's been around. The cops, they don't like that they find out, they don't sit still. They know. That kid was no cherry, either. He was no dumb kid. I think he was on the run. I think they wanted him.
FRED: The Coast Guard wouldn't let him on the boats if he was wanted. They print you. You know that.
FIREMAN: Still . . .
FRED: How could he get on?
FIREMAN: He had friends. That kid had friends, I tell you. Politics. Strings. You don't know one-half of what he knew. He was no cheap talker, that kid. Talk is cheap.
FRED: You think it was the G, huh?
FIREMAN: I think what I think. That's all I know.
Scene 24
Subterfuge
DALE is at work in the galley. JOE comes in.
JOE: Hey, Dale. I heard the Steward's in charge of First Aid.
DALE: What's the matter?
JOE: It's just that I heard that. Is it the truth?
DALE: Yup.
JOE: Good. Good. I heard that. What I wanted to know and was wondering, out of curiosity, is: What happens if a guy gets his leg chopped off and they have to give him something? What do they give him?
DALE: Morphine, I guess.
JOE: They keep that stuff on the ship here?
DALE: Not as far as I know. You'd have to ask the Steward.
JOE: Oh, I wouldn't want to have to do that, because I'm just curious. I didn't really want to know or anything, you know?
DALE: I understand.
JOE: The Steward's the only one's got keys to First Aid, huh?
DALE: Right.
JOE: Well, alright. Thanks, you know.
(Pause.)
But would you do me a favor?
DALE: Sure.
JOE: Would you get me a couple of aspirins and a glass of water?
DALE: Sure, Joe. You got a headache?
JOE: Yeah. I ‘m not feeling so good the last couple of days.
DALE: What is it?
JOE: I don't know. My back down near my kidneys. It hurts. My head hurts all the time, you know?
DALE: You think it's serious?
JOE: I don't know. It just hurts. It makes you feel old, you know? Sometimes you just get so sick of everything, nothing seems any good, you know? It's all you—don't care . . . Ahhh, it's just me being sick, is all.
DALE: I thought you didn't look right today.
JOE: My hair hurts.
DALE: Mmmmm.
JOE: And my kidney hurts when I walk—I think I'm dying.
DALE: You don't look like you're dying, Joe.
JOE: I sure as hell feel like I am. Sheeeeit.
DALE: Just try to think it won't always be like this, Joe. It's just a temporary illness, in a day or two or a week it'll be all over.
JOE: That's easy for you to say. You don't know what I got.
DALE: What have you got?
JOE: I don't know.
DALE: Well. You can see a doctor the next time we tie up.
JOE: Yeah. It kinda frightens me.
DALE: It does?
JOE: I don't wanna almost find out what I got.
DALE: It's probably nothing serious, Joe. A virus, a little flu or some inflammation, you know?
JOE: Or infection.
DALE: A little infection isn't going to hurt you, Joe. It might only be a touch of stomach flu, something that's going to be over in a day or two. Have you had fever?
JOE: Yeah. At night I been sweating out the sheets terrible. It's inhuman to sleep in them, you know? And I get cold, I don't know. I'm so fucking sick of being sick.
DALE: How long has it been? Four or five days?
JOE: Off and on, yeah, and longer than that.
DALE: You should see a doctor, Joe.
Scene 25
Fingers
JOE wanders off. DALE goes on deck for a cigarette and encounters FRED at work.
FRED: Collucci lost two fingers in the winch.
DALE: Which winch?
FRED: Forward main.
DALE: Who's Collucci?
FRED: Used to ship deck.
DALE: When did he lose them?
FRED: This was a couple, four—five years.
DALE: Yeah.
FRED: He got thirty-six hundred bucks.
DALE: The Company paid him?
FRED: Not counting Workman's Comp and Social Security.
DALE: Do you get Social Security for fingers?
FRED: I don't know. But not counting it he got thirty-six hundred bucks. Eighteen hundred bucks a finger.
DALE: The main winch? Which fingers?
FRED: Right hand. These two.
DALE: That's a bitch. He's crippled.
FRED: Two fingers?
DALE: But the thumb.
FRED: What about it, for thirty-six hundred?
DALE: How could he pick anything up?
FRED: Used the other fucking hand. If they paid him five bucks every time he wanted to pick something up just to use his left hand he'd get . . . thirty-six hundred bucks. . . . For 720 times . . . That's not so much.
DALE: I wouldn't do it.
FRED: He didn't do it on purpose.
DALE: I wouldn't do it at all. Even by accident. No amount of money.
FRED: I think.
DALE: You can't buy a finger, man. It's gone and that's it. Not for all the money in the world.
FRED: Yeah, neither would I.
(SKIPPY and COLLINS, on the bridge, are overheard.)
SKIPPY: . . . explain it when we don't make schedule on this watch, you.
COLLINS: I called ahead. They'll have the mail right at the lock.
Scene 26
Joe's Suicide
DALE, off watch, is sharing a beer with JOE on the boatdeck.
JOE: You get paid for doing a job. You trade the work for money, am I right? Why is it any fucking less good than being a doctor, for example? That's one thing I never wanted to be, a doctor. I used to want to be lots of things when I was little. You know, like a kid. I wanted to be a ballplayer like everyone. And I wanted to be a cop, what does a kid know, right? And can I tell you something that I wanted to be? I know this is going to sound peculiar, but it was a pure desire on my part. One thing I wanted to be when I was little (I don't mean to be bragging now, or just saying it). If you were there you would have known, it was a pure desire on my part. I wanted to be a dancer. That's one thing I guard. Like you might guard the first time you got laid, or being in love with a girl. Or winning a bike at the movies . . . well, maybe not that. More like getting married, or winning a medal in the war. I wanted to be a dancer. Not tap, I mean a real ballet dancer. I know they're all fags, but I didn't think about it. I didn't not think about it. That is, I didn't say, “I want to be a dancer but I do not want to be a fag.” It just wasn't important. I saw myself arriving at the theater late doing Swan Lake at the Lyric Opera. With a coat with one of those old-time collars. (It was winter.) And on stage with a purple shirt and white tights catching these girls . . . beautiful light girls. Sweating. All my muscles are covered in sweat, you know? But it's clean. And my muscles all feel tight. Every fucking muscle in my body. Hundreds of them. Tight and working. And I'm standing up straight on stage with this kind of expression on my face waiting to catch this girl. I was about fifteen. It takes a hell of a lot of work to be a dancer. But a dancer doesn't even fucking care if he is somebody. He is somebody so much so it's not important. You know what I mean? Like these passengers we get. Guests of the Company. Always being important. If they're so fucking important, who gives a fuck? If they're really important why the fuck do they got to tell you
about it?
DALE: I remember in a journalism class in high school the teacher used to say, never use the word famous in a story. Like “Mr. X, famous young doctor . . .”
JOE: Right, because if they're fucking famous, why do you have to say it?
DALE: And he said if they're not . . .
JOE: Then what the fuck are you saying it for, right?
DALE: Right.
JOE: It's so fucking obvious you could puke. No class cocksuckers. You ever try to . . . I don't want to get you offended by this, you don't have to answer it if you don't want to.
DALE: No, go ahead.
JOE: I mean, what the fuck? If you're going to talk to somebody, why fuck around the bush, right? Did you ever try to kill yourself?
DALE: No.
JOE: I did one time. I should say that perhaps I shouldn't say I “tried” to kill myself, meaning the gun didn't work. But I wanted to.
DALE: Yeah.
JOE: I had this gun when I lived over on the south side. I won it in a poker game.
DALE: Yeah.
JOE: Aaaaaaah, I fucking bought it off the bumboat in Duluth. Why lie? Forty bucks. A revolver. .32 revolver. Six shots, you know?
DALE: How big a barrel?
JOE: A couple of inches. Like this. I never fired it. One time, coming back, I loaded it and fired one shot off the fantail into the water. I didn't hit anything. I used to clean it. Got this kit in the mail. Patches and oil and gunslick and powder solvent and this brush.
DALE: I've seen them.
JOE: I kept it in my suitcase. One night in Gary, I had this apartment. I was cleaning my gun and, you know how you do, pretending the cops were after me and doing fast draws in the mirror.
DALE: Yeah.
JOE: And I said, “What am I doing? A grown man playing bang bang with a gun in some fucking dive in Gary Indiana at ten o'clock at night?” And I lay down in front of the TV and loaded the gun. Five chambers. You shouldn't load the sixth in case you jiggle on your horse and blow your foot off.
DALE: Yeah.
JOE: And I put the end in my mouth, and I couldn't swallow and I could feel my pulse start to beat and my balls contract and draw up. You ever feel that?