Therefore
I would gladly have looked into this chest
As the heart clings to its parents.
Given a forest, which would still be there
If no one walked through it, and the very man
Who walked through where a forest once was:
How do they recognise one another?
When he sees his own footprints among the reeds
With water spurting into them, does that puddle mean anything to him?
What is your opinion?
By what sign does Galy Gay know himself
To be Galy Gay?
Suppose his arm was cut off
And he found it in the chink of a wall
Would Galy Gay’s eye know Galy Gay’s arm
And Galy Gay’s foot cry out: This is the one!?
Therefore I am not looking into this chest.
Moreover in my opinion the difference
Between yes and no is not all that great.
And if Galy Gay were not Galy Gay
Then he would be the drinking son of some mother who
Would be some other man’s mother if she
Were not his, and thus would anyway drink.
And would have been produced in March, not in September
Unless instead of March he had
Been produced only in September of this year, or already
In September the year before
Which represents that one small year’s difference
That turns one man into another man.
And I, the one I and the other I
Are used and accordingly usable.
And since I never gazed at that elephant
I shall close an eye to what concerns myself
And shed what is not likeable about me and thereby
Be pleasant.
Noise of moving trains.
GALY GAY: And what trains are those? Where are they off to?
BEGBICK: This army is heading straight into the fire-belching cannon of the battles that have been planned for the north. Tonight a hundred thousand will march in a single direction. That direction is from south to north. When a man gets caught up in such a stream he seeks out two to march beside him, one right and one left. He looks for a rifle and a haversack and an identity disc to go round his neck and a number on that identity disc so that when they find him they can tell what unit he belonged to, so he can be given his place in a mass grave. Have you got an identity disc?
GALY GAY: Yes.
BEGBICK: What’s on it?
GALY GAY: Jeraiah Jip.
BEGBICK: Well, Jeraiah Jip, better have a wash, for you look like a rubbish heap. Make yourself ready. The army is leaving for the northern frontier. The fire-belching cannon of the northern battlefields are awaiting it. The army is thirsting to restore order in the populous cities of the north.
GALY GAY washing: Who is the enemy?
BEGBICK: Up to now it has not been announced which country we are making war on. But it begins to look more and more like Tibet.
GALY GAY: You know something, Widow Begbick: One man equals no man, until some one calls him.
The soldiers march in with their packs.
SOLDIERS: Everyone on board! – Get entrained! – Are you all present and correct?
URIAH: In one moment. Your funeral oration, Comrade Jip, your funeral oration!
GALY GAY goes to the coffin: Therefore raise up Widow Begbick’s crate which contains this mysterious corpse, lifting it two feet high and plunging it six feet deep in the Kilkoa soil here, and listen to his funeral oration rendered by Jeraiah Jip from Tipperary, a very difficult job as I am unprepared. But never mind: here lies Galy Gay, a man who was shot. He set out to buy a small fish one morning, had acquired a large elephant by that evening and was shot in the course of the same night. Do not imagine, dearly beloved brethren, that he was of no consequence during his lifetime. Indeed he owned a straw hut on the fringes of the town as well as various other things which had best be passed over in silence. It was no great crime that he committed, good man that he was. And they can say what they like, and it was really an oversight, and I was much too drunk, gentlemen, but Man equals Man and that is why they had to shoot him. And now the wind is perceptibly cooler as it always is before dawn, and I think we should get away from here, it’s an uneasy place in other ways too. He steps away from the coffin; But why have you people got all your kit?
POLLY: You see, this morning we are to board the waggons going to the northern frontier.
GALY GAY: Well, why haven’t I got all my kit?
JESSE: Well, why hasn’t he got all his kit?
Soldiers bring his equipment.
JESSE: Here’s your stuff, captain.
Some soldiers carry a large bundle wrapped in straw mats to the train.
URIAH: He took his time, the swine. But we’ll get him yet. Pointing to the bundle: That was the Human Typhoon. All go off.
10
In the Moving Train
Just before dawn. The company are asleep in their hammocks. Jesse, Uriah and Polly are sitting up on guard. Galy Gay is sleeping.
JESSE: The world is dreadful. Men cannot be relied on.
POLLY: The vilest and weakest thing alive is man.
JESSE: Through dust and water we have footed it down every road in this oversized country from the mountains of the Hindu Kush to the great plains of the southern Punjab; yet from Benares to Calcutta, by sun and moon, we have seen nothing but treachery. This man whom we took under our wing and who has swiped our blankets and ruined our night’s sleep is like a leaky oil can. Yes and no are the same to him, he says one thing today another tomorrow. Ah, Uriah, we have tried and failed. Let us go to Leokadja Begbick, who is sitting up with the sergeant to save him from falling off his bunk, and ask her to lie down with this man so that he feels good and asks no questions. Old as she is there is still warmth in her, and once a man is lying with a woman he knows all the answers. Get up, Polly.
They go over to Widow Begbick.
JESSE: Come in, Widow Begbick, we are at a loss what to do, and are frightened of falling asleep, and here we are with this man who is ill. So you lie down with him, pretend he’s spent the night with you, and make him feel good.
BEGBICK enters half asleep: I’ll do it for seven weeks’ pay.
URIAH: You shall have all we earn for seven weeks. Begbick lies down with Galy Gay. Jesse covers them with papers.
GALY GAY waking up: What is it that’s shaking so?
URIAH to the others: That is the elephant nibbling at your hut, you sniveller.
GALY GAY: What is it that’s hissing so?
URIAH to the others: That is the fish boiling in the water, you pleasant man.
GALY GAY gets up with difficulty and looks out of the window: A woman, sleeping bags. Telegraph poles. It’s a train.
JESSE: Pretend you are all asleep.
The three pretend to be asleep.
GALY GAY goes up to a sleeping bag: Hey, you.
SOLDIER: What do you want?
GALY GAY: Where are you people going?
SOLDIER opening one eye: To the front. Goes back to sleep.
GALY GAY: These are soldiers. Looks out of the window again, then wakes another. Mr Soldier, what is the time? No answer. Almost morning. What day of the week is it?
SOLDIER: Between Thursday and Friday.
GALY GAY: I must get off. Hey, you, the train must be stopped.
SOLDIER: This train doesn’t stop.
GALY GAY: If this train doesn’t stop and everyone’s sleeping I’d better lie down too and sleep till it does stop. Sees Widow Begbick. There’s a woman lying beside me. Who is this woman who lay beside me in the night?
JESSE: Hullo, mate, good morning.
GALY GAY: Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Mr Jesse.
JESSE: Aren’t you living it up? Lying there with a woman beside you and letting everybody see.
GALY GAY: Isn’t it remarkable? Positively indecent, e
h? But a man is a man, you know. He is not always master of himself. For instance, here am I waking up, and there’s a woman lying beside me.
JESSE: Why, so there is.
GALY GAY: And would you believe that there are times when I don’t know a woman who is lying beside me like this in the morning? To be perfectly frank and speaking as man to man, I don’t know this woman. And, Mr Jesse, as one man to another, would you be able to tell me who she is?
JESSE: Oh you line-shooter! This time of course it’s Widow Leokadja Begbick. Duck your head in a pail of water and you’ll know your lady friend all right. I don’t suppose you know your own name, then, either?
GALY GAY: I do.
JESSE: All right, what is your name?
GALY GAY is silent.
JESSE: So you know your name?
GALY GAY: Yes.
JESSE: That’s good. A man needs to know who he is when he is off to the war.
GALY GAY: Is there a war?
JESSE: Yes, the Tibetan War.
GALY GAY: The Tibetan. But suppose just for the moment a man didn’t know who he is, that would be funny when he is off to the war, wouldn’t it? Now you mentioned Tibet, sir, that’s a place I always wanted to see. I used to know a man had a wife came from the province of Sikkim, which is on the Tibetan frontier. They are good people there, she used to say.
BEGBICK: Jippie, where are you?
GALY GAY: Who is she talking to?
JESSE: I think she is talking to you.
GALY GAY: Here.
BEGBICK: Come and give us a kiss, Jippie.
GALY GAY: I don’t mind if I do, but I think you have got me a bit muddled with someone else.
BEGBICK: Jippie!
JESSE: This gentleman claims his head is not quite clear; he says he doesn’t know you.
BEGBICK: Oh, how can you humiliate me so in front of this gentleman?
GALY GAY: If I duck my head in this pail of water I’ll know you right away. He sticks his head into the pail of water.
BEGBICK: Do you know me now?
GALY GAY lying: Yes.
POLLY: Then you also know who you yourself are?
GALY GAY slyly: Didn’t I know that?
POLLY: No, because you were out of your mind and claimed to be someone else.
GALY GAY: Who was I, then?
JESSE: You’re not getting much better, I see. What’s more I still think you are a public menace, because last night when we called you by your right name you turned as dangerous as any murderer.
GALY GAY: All I know is that my name is Galy Gay.
JESSE: Listen to that, you people, he’s starting all over again. You’d better call him Galy Gay like he says, or he’ll throw another fit.
URIAH: Oh bollocks. Mr Jip from Ireland, consider yourself free to play the wild man right up to the point where you get tied to a post outside the canteen and the night rain comes down. We who have been your mates since the battle of the River Chadze would sell our shirts to make things easier for you.
GALY GAY: No need for that about the shirts.
URIAH: Call him anything he wants.
JESSE: Shut up, Uriah. Would you care for a glass of water, Galy Gay?
GALY GAY: Yes, that is my name.
JESSE: Of course, Galy Gay. How could you be called anything else? Just take it easy, lie down. Tomorrow they will put you in hospital, in a nice comfortable bed with plenty of castor oil, and that will relieve you, Galy Gay. Tread delicately, all of you, our friend Jip, I mean Galy Gay, is unwell.
GALY GAY: Let me tell you, gentlemen, the situation is beyond me. But when it is a matter of carrying a cabin trunk, never mind how heavy it is, they say every cabin trunk is supposed to have its soft spot.
POLLY ostensibly aside to Jesse: Just keep him away from that pouch around his neck, or he’ll read his real name in his paybook and throw another fit.
JESSE: Oh, how good a paybook is! How easily one forgets things! Therefore we soldiers, being unable to carry everything at once in our heads, have a pouch on a cord round each man’s neck containing a paybook with his name in it. Because if a man spends too much time thinking about his name it is not good.
GALY GAY goes to the rear, looks gloomily at his paybook and returns to his corner. In future I shall give up thinking. I shall just sit on my bottom and count the telegraph poles.
THE VOICE OF SERGEANT FAIRCHILD: O misery, o awakening! Where is my name that was famous from Calcutta to Couch Behar? Even the uniform I wore is gone. They bundled me into a train like a calf going to the slaughterhouse. They stopped my mouth with a civilitic hat and the whole train knows that I am no longer Bloody Five. I will go and fix this train so that it can be tossed on to a rubbish dump like a twisted stovepipe. That is plain as a pikestaff.
JESSE: Bloody Five! Wake up, Widow Begbick!
Fairchild enters in soiled civilian clothes.
GALY GAY: Have you been having trouble with your name?
FAIRCHILD: You are the most melancholy specimen of them all, and I shall start by crushing you. Tonight I am going to chop you all up ready for the cannery. He sees the Widow Begbick sitting there; she smiles. I’ll be damned! There you are still, you Gomorrah! What have you done to me that I am no longer Bloody Five? Get away from me! Begbick laughs. What are these clothes I’m wearing? Do you call them suitable? And what is this head I’ve got? Do you suppose that’s pleasant? Am I to lie down with you again, you Sodom?
BEGBICK: If you want to, do.
FAIRCHILD: I do not want to! Get away from me! The eyes of this country are upon me. I used to be a big gun. My name is Bloody Five. The pages of the history books are criss-crossed with that name, in triplicate.
BEGBICK: Then don’t if you don’t want to.
FAIRCHILD: Don’t you realise that my manhood makes me weak when you sit there like that?
BEGBICK: Then pluck out your manhood, my boy.
FAIRCHILD: No need to tell me twice. He goes out.
GALY GAY cries out after him: Stop! Don’t take any steps on account of your name! A name is an uncertain thing, you can’t build on it.
FAIRCHILD: That is plain as a pikestaff. That is the answer. There we have a rope. There we have a service pistol. That’s where we draw the line. Mutineers will be shot. That is plain as a pikestaff. ‘Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit.’ No girl in this world will ever cost me a penny again. That is plain as a pikestaff. And I shall remain cool as a cucumber. I accept full responsibility. I have to do it if I am to go on being Bloody Five.
A shot is heard.
GALY GAY who has been standing in the doorway for some time laughs. Fire!
SOLDIERS in the waggons on either side: Did you hear that scream? – Who was screaming? – Somebody must have got hurt. They’ve all stopped singing, even up at the front of the train. – Listen.
GALY GAY: I know who screamed and I know why. On account of his name this gentleman has done something extremely bloody to himself. He has shot off his manhood. Witnessing that was a great stroke of luck for me. Now I realise where such stubbornness gets you and what a bloody thing it is when a man is never satisfied with himself and makes so much fuss about his name. He runs over to Widow Begbick. Don’t get the idea that I don’t know you. I know you very well indeed. And anyway it doesn’t matter. But tell me quickly, how far away is the town where we met?
BEGBICK: Many days’ march, and it gets further every minute.
GALY GAY: How many days’ march?
BEGBICK: At the instant when you asked it was at least a hundred days’ march.
GALY GAY: And how many men are there here travelling to Tibet?
BEGBICK: A hundred thousand. One equals no one.
GALY GAY: Of course. A hundred thousand. And what do they eat?
BEGBICK: Dried fish and rice.
GALY GAY: Everybody the same?
BEGBICK: Everybody the same.
GALY GAY: Of course. Everybody the same.
BEGBICK: They all have hammocks to sleep in, each
man his own, and denims for summer.
GALY GAY: And in the winter?
BEGBICK: Khaki in winter.
GALY GAY: And women?
BEGBICK: The same.
GALY GAY: Women the same.
BEGBICK: And now, do you also know who you are?
GALY GAY: Jeraiah Jip, that’s my name. He runs over to the three others and shows them his name in his paybook.
JESSE and the others smile: Right. You know how to keep putting your name across, don’t you, comrade Jip?
GALY GAY: How about food?
Polly brings him a dish of rice.
GALY GAY: Yes, it is most important that I eat. Eats. How many days’ march did you say this train covers in one minute?
BEGBICK: Ten.
POLLY: Just look how he’s making himself at home. How he stares at everything and counts the telegraph poles and gloats at the speed we are going.
JESSE: I cannot bear the sight of him. It is truly loathsome when a mammoth, just because a couple of rifles are shoved under his nose, chooses to turn into a louse rather than be decently gathered to the bosom of his forebears.
URIAH: On the contrary, it’s a sign of vitality. So long as Jip doesn’t come after us now singing ‘For man equals man, since time began’ I think we will be over the hump.
A SOLDIER: What’s that noise in the air?
URIAH with a nasty smile: That is the roaring of the artillery, for we are nearing the hills of Tibet.
GALY GAY: Isn’t there some more rice?
11
Deep in Remote Tibet Lies the Mountain Fortress of Sir El-Djowr
And on a hilltop Jeraiah Jip sits waiting amid the thunder of guns
VOICES FROM BELOW: This is as far as we can go. – This is the fortress of Sir El-Djowr which blocks the pass into Tibet.
GALY GAY’S VOICE behind the hill: At the double! Or we’ll be too late. He appears, carrying a gun tripod on his shoulder. Out of the train and straight into battle. That’s what I like. A gun takes some living up to.
JIP: Haven’t you seen a machine-gun section with only three men in it?
GALY GAY charging on irresistibly like a war elephant: There’s no such thing, soldier. Our section consists of four men, for instance. One man to the right of you, one to the left and one behind you, after which it’s proper for it to get through any pass.
Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 2 Page 11