Read The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays Online
Authors: Tennessee Williams
The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays (6 page)
LINDA
[
desperately
]: Stop it! Stop it, Babe! I can’t stand any more!
MITCH
: She’s right, Duchess, the Babe is absolutely right!
[
There is a long silence. Linda slowly gets up from the couch. Mitch hands her his handkerchief
.]
LINDA
[
brokenly
]: Maybe she
is—I
don’t know.
MITCH
[
eagerly
]: There now! That’s more like it.
BABE
[
throwing her arms around Linda
]: See! I knew she would come to her senses! It’s just like Bergmann said, she’s too smart . . .
MITCH
: Won’t old Bergmann throw a fit when he sees her down at the station? The old boy’ll break down and cry. . . .
LINDA
[
wringing the handkerchief
]: Wait! Not all at once! I can’t decide right off like this!
BABE
: You’ve got to, Honey! It’s the only way!
LINDA
: What time is it, Mitch?
MITCH
: A quarter to six.
LINDA
: He ought to be back by now.
MITCH
: Don’t wait for him. He’ll talk you out of it!
BABE
: Just do what you know is best for him, Duchess.
LINDA
: What’s best for him.
MITCH
: Pack your things. Be ready in half an hour, Duchess.
BABE
: Swell!
LINDA
: How can I
know—
MITCH
: What?
LINDA
: If Wescott gives Jim a break?
BABE
: You’d stick with him, kid. You’d be all right.
MITCH
: Say, it’s a cinch. We’ll phone the station and reserve your berth. Yeah, a compartment.
BABE
: We’ll have a real celebration tonight. We’ll have a time!
MITCH
: Back on the road with the Duchess!
LINDA
: You go too fast for me.
MITCH
: Yeah! Back on the road.
BABE
: Take it easy, Mitch.
LINDA
: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
MITCH
: Those pictures are no good. They ain’t got anything!
BABE
: Say, kid, how’ll we know about this Wescott
deal—if
it goes through or not? Will you give us a ring?
MITCH
: No time for that. Give us the old Bronx semaphore.
BABE
: What’s that?
MITCH
: Honey, that’s what got me out of many a tight spot before you and me started going steady! Look! It’s like this. The dame goes to the window and if the coast is clear she hoists the shade like
this—that
means she’s going, or I’m coming, as the case may
be—
BABE
: The Voice of Experience!
MITCH
: Get it, Duchess? But if it’s no
go—if
the old man’s on the
spot—pull
the shade all the way down, like this; that means the game is called on account of
rain—or
something. Get the idea?
BABE
: I getcha.
MITCH
: Let’s run through the routine. We don’t want any slip-ups on this.
LINDA
: Up if I’m
going—down
if I’m
not—is
that it?
MITCH
: Smart girl! We’ll be back in half an hour.
BABE
: Keep your chin up, Duchess. So long!
[
Mitch and Babe leave. The stage is darkened for a moment to indicate the passing of about fifteen minutes. Linda is still standing by the window. Footsteps are heard slowly climbing the stairs
.]
LINDA
[
turning from window, her eyes wide with emotion
]: JIM!
[
The door is pushed open and Jim comes in. He stands in the doorway without speaking, a dazed look on his face, the canvases sagging from under his arm
.]
LINDA
: Oh,
JIM—your
pictures—they’re
all wet!
JIM
[
laughing bitterly
]: All wet? Yes! All wet! [
Tosses them roughly to floor
.] That’s what Wescott said about
them—all
wet! [
Tosses soaked hat into corner of the room
.] Only he didn’t put it quite so bluntly. Oh, he was very genteel about it. Used a lot of high-sounding language. Talked about planes of consciousness and aesthetic values. All the usual tripe. Shook his head very sadly and said he feared the world wasn’t ready quite yet for my kind of art. Go back to school, he said, and master your technique. You’re still just a boy. You’ve got years and years, he said. Years and years of what? I asked him. Starvation? He laughed. He said I was taking it much too
hard—
Oh, Linda! [
He throws himself down on the couch
.] I’m so terribly disgusted with things!
[
As he cries her name Linda stretches her arms toward him and a look of tenderness comes over her face. She feels that he needs her now
.]
LINDA
[
lifting her hand slowly to the window shade
]: Jim, when I pull this window shade down, do you know what I’m really doing? I’m shutting out the whole world. Mr. Wescott was right, Jim. We have got years and years.
JIM
[
with choking bitterness
]: Of what?
LINDA
[
pulling the shade slowly down
]: Of each other!
JIM
[
tossing impatiently on the couch
]: Each other! Each other! Do you think we can EAT each other!
LINDA
[
astonished
]: Jim!
JIM
: Come down to earth, woman! You can’t stay up in the clouds all your life. . . .
LINDA
: It’s not the clouds I’m up in,
Jim—it’s
our magic tower!
JIM
[
brutally
]: Magic tower, boloney! It’s Mrs. O’Fallon’s attic that we’re up in, Linda! Mrs. O’Fallon’s lousy, leaking attic! And we’re five weeks behind on the rent! Do you know what’s going to happen to us, Linda? We’re going to get kicked out on our ears, that’s what!
LINDA
: I thought you
said—in
this state of
enchantment—in
which
we
lived—nothing
ever
happened—nothing
ever mattered except our having each other!
JIM
: Those were pretty words!
LINDA
: You didn’t mean them? [
There is a long silence
.] I
see—just
words! [
She goes slowly back to the window, gives the cord a jerk, and the curtain flies up
.]
JIM
: What was that?
LINDA
[
dully
]: Just the shade flying up. [
She turns toward him again. There is a faint, inscrutable smile on her lips
.] How old are you, Jim?
JIM
[
sleepily
]: Twenty-one. Why? [
Crossly
.] What’s that got to do with the situation?
LINDA
[
softly
]: Twenty-
one—how
marvelously young that is! I’m twenty-six, Jim. You didn’t know that?
JIM
: Gosh, Linda! You say such trivial things!
LINDA
: I know. I have a terribly trivial mind . . . poor Jim. You’re all tired out. And soaking wet. That long walk through the rain. All for nothing. Here. I’ll put the screen in front of the bed. You can undress and have a nap. I still have some ironing to do. After a while you can go down and get a bite to eat from Mrs. O’Fallon! I’m sure she’ll be glad to let you have something.
JIM
[
sleepily
]: She always used to be before I got . . .
LINDA
: Yes, I know. Before you got yourself tied up with a dame! Oh, well. . . . [
She laughs softly
.] There’s a price for everything! Nothing comes for nothing, Jim. You’ll learn that some day. [
With the screen drawn in front of Jim’s couch, Linda hastily throws her things into the new traveling bag. She darts about the room with an almost frantic rapidity
.]
JIM
: My God, what a racket you’re making! What are you doing?
LINDA
: Nothing much. Just straightening things up a little. I’m nearly through now.
JIM
: And that light’s in my eyes. I can’t sleep.
LINDA
: Just a moment, darling. I’ll turn it out. [
Goes over to window with traveling bag in her hand. Looks out, shading her eyes with one hand
.] It’s clearing up, Jim. The rain has stopped. It’s going to be a wonderful night. Oh, my! There’s a funny little slice of a moon coming out. Right over the Fixit Garage. It looks like a yellow dancing
slipper—
Jim, tomorrow’s going to be an awfully swell day! Almost like spring, I imagine. Those awful wet spots on the floor will dry
up—when
the sun comes
out—it
will be very nice in here
then—I’m
sure it must be much healthier to live in a dry, bright
attic—than
a magic tower with a leaking roof!
JIM
[
furiously
]: For God’s sake, Linda, I’m trying to sleep!
LINDA
: I’m
sorry—poor
Jim! [
Pulls a ring from her finger and lays it on the bureau
.] I’ll turn the light out now! Jim, are you asleep? [
She looks toward the screen. There is no answer
.
She switches off the light and goes quietly out the door and closes it behind her
.]
CURTAIN
Me, Vashya
was first performed by the Performing Arts Department of Washington University in St. Louis on February 6, 2004. The production was directed by Henry I. Schvey; the set design was by Christopher Pickart; the costume design was by Bonnie Kruger; the lighting design was by David Vogel; and the sound design was by Matt Kitces and Tim Albert. The cast, in order of appearance, was as follows:
| VASHYA SHONTINE | Dan Hirsh |
| PHILLIP , a servant | Tommy Honton |
| DR. FRELICH | Rob McLemore |
| LADY SHONTINE | Tara Neuhoff |
| LADY HUNTINGTON | Laura Harrison * |
*
performing in the role written as
LORD HUNTINGTON
The scene is the study or library in the home of Sir Vashya Shontine, representative and leader of a huge munitions manufacturing corporation whose secret operations virtually control the affairs of all nations participating in the next world war
.
The room is one of consummate luxury and refinement, conceived along modern lines. Shontine’s desk faces the audience and is situated near the center of the stage. On one side of it is a large globe of the world, which, throughout most of the play, he unconsciously, but with obvious satisfaction, twirls or strokes with his fingers. In the back wall are velvet-draped windows, two of them, and between them a pedestal supporting a bust of Julius Caesar, Napoleon, or Mussolini. It is evening and the lighting of the room is indirect and not glaring
.
Sir Vashya Shontine is seated at his desk, meditatively twirling the globe as the play opens. A servant, Phillip, enters, moving in a rigid, militaristic manner, hardly glancing at Shontine
.
PHILLIP
: The Doctor has come.
SHONTINE
: Show him in. [
Pause
.] Good evening, Doctor.
DR. FRELICH
: Good evening.
SHONTINE
: Phillip! [
Phillip frisks the doctor
.]
DR. FRELICH
[
in surprise
]: I beg your pardon?
VASHYA
: I beg yours! This is a little formality that all of our visitors have to submit themselves to. We’ve had some unpleasant incidents lately. Not that I’m nervous, but . . .
DR. FRELICH
: Oh, I see.
VASHYA
: What’s that in the left-hand pocket? No, the
vest
pocket!
PHILLIP
: A fountain pen.
VASHYA
[
with an icy smile
]: A fountain pen? I suppose you think that’s nothing to pay any attention to! I once saw one, Doctor,
that—you
pressed a little trigger on the side of it,
and—Presto
! It became a very efficient little miniature revolver! Quite capable of blasting even such an obdurate soul as mine into the upper or nether regions, as the
case may be! [
Laughs
.] Excuse me. Your hand, Phillip. [
The servant extends his hand. Vashya squirts ink on it, emptying pen
.] Thank you. You may go. This one happens to be harmless.
DR. FRELICH
: Oh, yes!
—Although
they do say that the pen is sometimes mightier than the sword.
VASHYA
[
with a laugh
]: Good! I like to see wit in a man of learning. It isn’t a combination that occurs very often. . . . Have a seat, Doctor. I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.
DR. FRELICH
: Frelich.
VASHYA
: Jew?
DR. FRELICH
: Yes. Partly.
VASHYA
: What are your politics?
DR. FRELICH
: I have none.
VASHYA
: Good! You haven’t removed your gloves, Doctor. I don’t like the feel of kid gloves. My hands have gotten rather more sensitive in the last twenty years since I stopped pitching wheat in the Ukraine.
DR. FRELICH
: Pitching wheat?
VASHYA
: Yes!
DR. FRELICH
: Then it’s true that you
were—?
VASHYA
: A peasant? Yes! Hmmmm. I’ve come a long way since then.
DR. FRELICH
: Obviously you have!
VASHYA
: I’m glad to know you. Sit down, sit down. [
Pause
.] I understand that you’re a very good man to consult about matters concerning the brain. Is that right?
DR. FRELICH
: The brain’s my specialty, Sir Vashya. Are you by any chance the patient?
VASHYA
: Do I look like there was anything wrong with my brain?
DR. FRELICH
[
urbanely smiling
]: No. No, I can’t say that you do.
VASHYA
[
relaxing
]: It’s my wife.
DR. FRELICH
: Ah. Your wife.
VASHYA
: Yes. The former Princess de Montvert. She comes of a very old family, you know.
DR. FRELICH
: Yes? I’ve met her several times at social functions. She’s a charming lady.
VASHYA
: Yes, a lady, every inch of her. Perhaps too much so. These aristocrats, you know, they have bad nerves. Me, I’ve got no nerves. Not a single nerve in my body. You want to know why that is? I’ll tell
you—it’s
because I’m a peasant! Yes, I come of the
slave
class, Doctor! Extraordinary, isn’t it? Me, Vashya, being the husband of an ultra-aristocratic little princess!
—Hmmm
. Sometimes I think I made a mistake in marrying such a finely-bred woman. One of our healthy peasant girls might have been more suitable. You see, this Lillian of
mine—my
wife—she’s
a victim of
nerves
!
DR. FRELICH
: Nerves are bad things.
VASHYA
: Terrible things. Thank God I don’t have them. It’s like this, Doctor. Her country, you know, has been practically wiped out in the war.
DR. FRELICH
: Yes. A terrible thing.
VASHYA
: Practically destroyed, all of it. And her
family—you
see—her
parents, brothers, sisters, all of her relatives, people she knew in her youth and
loved—all
of them GONE! It has had an unfortunate effect on her mind!
DR. FRELICH
: Yes. Quite naturally it would have.
VASHYA
: And now she has hallucinations, Doctor. The war, you understand, and all that she’s been
through—has
upset her imagination. She thinks she sees things, hears
things—that
are entirely fictitious!
DR. FRELICH
: Hmmm. I’m sorry to hear about this. When did it begin?
VASHYA
: It’s been going on for some time. Six or seven months. A friend of hers was killed at the front, and when she received the news . . .
DR. FRELICH
: Yes, that’s how it often begins. There’ve been a great many cases of
it—war
-shock.
VASHYA
: It comes on mostly at night. When we have gone to bed. She thinks she
sees—men
in the room. Hears them sneaking.
DR. FRELICH
: Auditory and visual hallucinations.
VASHYA
: You understand? It’s very painful to
me—embarrassing
. You know what my business is?
DR. FRELICH
: Who doesn’t, Sir Vashya?
VASHYA
: I’m a manufacturer of munitions. I
represent—Well
, you know all about that.
DR. FRELICH
: Everyone knows.
VASHYA
: Yes, Sometimes I wish they didn’t. I’d like to be anonymous again. As I was twenty years ago when I was pitching wheat and dung in my native
country—a
simple peasant that nobody
knew—a
man named
Vashya—otherwise
unknown! But I can’t be that anymore. Fate has made it impossible.
DR. FRELICH
: Fate has selected you, Sir Vashya, as one of her confederates.
VASHYA
[
sharply
]: What do you mean by that?
DR. FRELICH
[
smiling
]: Perhaps I expressed myself a little awkwardly.
VASHYA
: You meant it as a compliment?
DR. FRELICH
: Of course.
VASHYA
: So many people have been paying me left-handed compliments lately that I’ve become a little suspicious. Only the other
day a young man jumped on the running board of my car in front of the palace and shouted something about me, Vashya Shontine, being
the—butcher
of the world!
DR. FRELICH
:
Good—heavens
!
VASHYA
: He spoke my own native language. I think that’s what hurt me most. Being insulted by a man of my own
country—
[
Hastily
.] I mean, you see, a man of my NATIVE country. Of course I consider myself a citizen of THIS country now.
DR. FRELICH
: Yes, of course, and one or our best citizens, Sir Vashya.
VASHYA
: Thank you.
DR. FRELICH
: And what did you say became of the young man?
VASHYA
: What young man?
DR. FRELICH
: The one who insulted you in front of the palace.
VASHYA
: Him? I understand they dealt with him rather harshly. [
He smiles
.] He was executed that very evening in a manner in which I would prefer not to be executed!
DR. FRELICH
[
a slight pause
]: Splendid!
VASHYA
[
bitterly
]: Yes, he had the effrontery to call me a dirty butcher, me, Vashya
Shon—Excuse
me, Doctor, I’ve gotten a little bit off the track of what I wanted to see you about.
DR. FRELICH
: Yes. Your wife.
VASHYA
: My poor wife. Yes.
DR. FRELICH
: Suppose you tell me everything from the beginning. The history of such cases is very important. Your relationship, Sir Vashya, has that been
always—satisfactory
?
VASHYA
: I love my wife, Dr. Frelich.
DR. FRELICH
: Yes.
VASHYA
: Very dearly. Everything I have done, Doctor, was done for
her, that she should admire me. She was like, you see, a young lady that I once knew, a very proud young lady who of course would have nothing to do with me, Vashya, a common peasant who roasted his naked back pitching wheat on her father’s
land—
And I swore to myself that someday I’d have me a woman like that for my
wife!—
You see?
DR. FRELICH
: Yes. I see.
VASHYA
: And I did! I set to work very hard and I worked my way up. From the bottom. Acquired wealth and prestige. Importance. Power. Yes! You see?
—She
married me . . .
DR. FRELICH
: And you were satisfied?
VASHYA
: Never quite satisfied. [
Pause
.] I had to work harder all the time and get more to make her respect me. I think she did respect me, Doctor, but she never saw things in quite my
way—and
when the war started, these strange ideas about me began to take hold of her and she became . . .
DR. FRELICH
: Cold to you?
VASHYA
: Yes, colder and colder! And now to see her completely turned against me like this! You can understand how I feel.
DR. FRELICH
: Yes, I can appreciate your grief, Sir Vashya.
VASHYA
:
My—?
Yes, my grief! [
Almost inaudibly
.] Her little blue violet eyes,
Doctor—Excuse
me!—To
see them looking at me like this!
So—hatefully
! It’s an almost insupportable grief!
DR. FRELICH
: Hmmmm. It’s plain to see you’re a man of genuine sentiment.
VASHYA
[
pleased
]: Sentiment! Yes! I’m really a man
of—
[
A little suspiciously
.] What did you call it?
DR. FRELICH
[
earnestly
]: Genuine sentiment.
VASHYA
: Yes, yes, I am! I wouldn’t admit that to everyone, but nevertheless it’s perfectly true.
DR. FRELICH
: I don’t for one moment doubt it.
VASHYA
: Have a cigar!
DR. FRELICH
: Thanks.
VASHYA
: They’re fine cigars. The best obtainable at any price. Hmmm. You think you can help her, Doctor?
DR. FRELICH
: These things are sometimes quite transitory.
VASHYA
: Yes, I think she cares for me, Doctor. There used to be . . . a great passion between us! [
Pause
.] But
an—an
unfortunate thing happened. . . . There was a young man. . . .
DR. FRELICH
: Yes?
VASHYA
: He was a radical, a pacifist, a young poet and all that stuff!
DR. FRELICH
[
understandingly
]: I see. One of these impractical dreamers that women find so unaccountably interesting at times.
VASHYA
: I won’t say much about him. He was rather well known. His work appeared in magazines, you see, and these ridiculous ART lovers were making quite a fuss over it. Personally I could see nothing in it. A lot of rubbish. It made absolutely no sense. But my wife . . .
DR. FRELICH
: She found
him—different
?
VASHYA
: He became infatuated with her. Sometime last winter, at a party or something. And he started paying her visits. She felt, no doubt, a sort
of—of
casual affection for him, you see? Nothing more than that!
DR. FRELICH
: Yes.
VASHYA
: And he misunderstood. He paid her too much attention. Said
things—
And I was informed. Shortly afterwards the young man was drafted into the army and called to the front and killed in action! They made quite a fuss about it in all the papers. Young genius sacrificed to the bloody monster of
war—and
all of
that—the
usual tripe! It was a very unfortunate business, the boy being killed. And after
that—poor
Lillian, my
wife—she
thought I was somehow responsible. He’s one of
the—the
dead soldiers that she thinks have returned from their
graves to haunt me. Imagine that, Doctor! Me, Vashya Shontine, the man who gave them the guns to fight with, to defend their own lives!