Read Online 27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays by Tennessee Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Tennessee Williams
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falling steadily and gently on the roof. )
M OTHER: ( quietly, rising from her knees, facing The Rancher )
Pass him the knife.
R ANCHER:
I thank you, Señora.
This generous offer, however, is unrequired.
( He removes from his belt a silver knife. )
I also came prepared for—purification.
( He turns to the Indian. )
What did you say?—The rain?
As one who has suffered over-long from drought I’d like the cooling taste of rain on my lips.
( He bows. )
Señoras—Señores . . .
Follow me if you will—I go outside.
( He moves to the door. )
L UISA: Stop him!
( She faces the chorus pleadingly but all are motionless. With a sob, she tries to rush outside with The Rancher. Indians at either side of the door clutch her arms and hold her pinioned in the archway. She writhes between them. The Guitar Player strikes a somber chord. )
T HE J UDGE:
It needs no witness.
( He crosses in front of the table. )
Here on this plain, between these mountain ranges, we seem to have bred some feeling of honor amongst us, deeper than law.
That is good.
It is good that we keep it bright against the time
when lesser breeds than we,
invaders!—honorless thieves and killers without any conscience,
come—as they someday will to try that honor.
If men keep honor, the rest can be arranged.
The rest will arrange itself—in the course of time.
( Outside an alarum of trumpets. Luisa screams. The Guitar Player tosses his hat in the middle of the floor. )
T HE J UDGE: ( turning and bowing to the audience ) Mañana es otro dio.
The play is done!
( The Guitar Player sweeps his strings as the curtain falls slowly. )
CURTAIN
The Lady of Larkspur Lotion *
* Larkspur Lotion is a common treatment for body vermin.
CHARACTERS
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE.
M RS. W IRE.
T HE W RITER.
The Lady of Larkspur Lotion
S CENE: A wretchedly furnished room in the French Quarter of New Orleans. There are no windows, the room being a cubicle partitioned off from several others by imitation walls. A small slanting skylight admits the late and unencouraging day. There is a tall, black armoire, whose doors contain cracked mirrors, a swinging electric bulb, a black and graceless dresser, an awful picture of a Roman Saint and over the bed a coat-of-arms in a frame.
Mrs. Hardwicke-Moore, a dyed-blonde woman of forty, is seated passively on the edge of the bed as though she could think of nothing better to do.
There is a rap at the door.
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE: ( in a sharp, affected tone )Who is at the door, please?
M RS. W IRE: ( from outside, bluntly ) Me! ( Her face expressing a momentary panic, Mrs. Hardwicke-Moore rises stiffly. )
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE: Oh. . . . Mrs. Wire. Come in. ( The landlady enters, a heavy, slovenly woman of fifty. )I was just going to drop in your room to speak to you about something.
M RS. W IRE: Yeah? What about?
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE: ( humorously, but rather painfully smiling )Mrs. Wire, I’m sorry to say that I just don’t consider these cockroaches to be the most desirable kind of roommates—do you?
M RS. W IRE: Cockroaches, huh?
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE: Yes. Precisely. Now I have hadvery little experience with cockroaches in my life but the few that I’ve seen before have been the pedestrian kind, the kind that walk. These, Mrs. Wire, appear to be flying cockroaches! I was shocked, in fact I was literally stunned, when one of them took off the floor and started to whiz through the air, around and around in a circle, just missing my face by barely a couple of inches. Mrs. Wire, I sat down on the edge of this bed and wept, I was just so shocked and disgusted! Imagine! Flying cockroaches, something I never dreamed to be in existence, whizzing around and around and around in front of my face! Why, Mrs. Wire, I want you to know—
M RS. W IRE: ( interrupting )Flying cockroaches are nothing to be surprised at. They have them all over, even uptown they have them. But that ain’t what I wanted
M OTHER: ( quietly, rising from her knees, facing The Rancher )
Pass him the knife.
R ANCHER:
I thank you, Señora.
This generous offer, however, is unrequired.
( He removes from his belt a silver knife. )
I also came prepared for—purification.
( He turns to the Indian. )
What did you say?—The rain?
As one who has suffered over-long from drought I’d like the cooling taste of rain on my lips.
( He bows. )
Señoras—Señores . . .
Follow me if you will—I go outside.
( He moves to the door. )
L UISA: Stop him!
( She faces the chorus pleadingly but all are motionless. With a sob, she tries to rush outside with The Rancher. Indians at either side of the door clutch her arms and hold her pinioned in the archway. She writhes between them. The Guitar Player strikes a somber chord. )
T HE J UDGE:
It needs no witness.
( He crosses in front of the table. )
Here on this plain, between these mountain ranges, we seem to have bred some feeling of honor amongst us, deeper than law.
That is good.
It is good that we keep it bright against the time
when lesser breeds than we,
invaders!—honorless thieves and killers without any conscience,
come—as they someday will to try that honor.
If men keep honor, the rest can be arranged.
The rest will arrange itself—in the course of time.
( Outside an alarum of trumpets. Luisa screams. The Guitar Player tosses his hat in the middle of the floor. )
T HE J UDGE: ( turning and bowing to the audience ) Mañana es otro dio.
The play is done!
( The Guitar Player sweeps his strings as the curtain falls slowly. )
CURTAIN
The Lady of Larkspur Lotion *
* Larkspur Lotion is a common treatment for body vermin.
CHARACTERS
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE.
M RS. W IRE.
T HE W RITER.
The Lady of Larkspur Lotion
S CENE: A wretchedly furnished room in the French Quarter of New Orleans. There are no windows, the room being a cubicle partitioned off from several others by imitation walls. A small slanting skylight admits the late and unencouraging day. There is a tall, black armoire, whose doors contain cracked mirrors, a swinging electric bulb, a black and graceless dresser, an awful picture of a Roman Saint and over the bed a coat-of-arms in a frame.
Mrs. Hardwicke-Moore, a dyed-blonde woman of forty, is seated passively on the edge of the bed as though she could think of nothing better to do.
There is a rap at the door.
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE: ( in a sharp, affected tone )Who is at the door, please?
M RS. W IRE: ( from outside, bluntly ) Me! ( Her face expressing a momentary panic, Mrs. Hardwicke-Moore rises stiffly. )
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE: Oh. . . . Mrs. Wire. Come in. ( The landlady enters, a heavy, slovenly woman of fifty. )I was just going to drop in your room to speak to you about something.
M RS. W IRE: Yeah? What about?
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE: ( humorously, but rather painfully smiling )Mrs. Wire, I’m sorry to say that I just don’t consider these cockroaches to be the most desirable kind of roommates—do you?
M RS. W IRE: Cockroaches, huh?
M RS. H ARDWICKE -M OORE: Yes. Precisely. Now I have hadvery little experience with cockroaches in my life but the few that I’ve seen before have been the pedestrian kind, the kind that walk. These, Mrs. Wire, appear to be flying cockroaches! I was shocked, in fact I was literally stunned, when one of them took off the floor and started to whiz through the air, around and around in a circle, just missing my face by barely a couple of inches. Mrs. Wire, I sat down on the edge of this bed and wept, I was just so shocked and disgusted! Imagine! Flying cockroaches, something I never dreamed to be in existence, whizzing around and around and around in front of my face! Why, Mrs. Wire, I want you to know—
M RS. W IRE: ( interrupting )Flying cockroaches are nothing to be surprised at. They have them all over, even uptown they have them. But that ain’t what I wanted
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