Bell rings.
ANNA frightened: That’s him!
BALICKE: Catch him before he comes in, and put him wise.
FRAU BALICKE in the door, with the dirty clothes basket: Haven’t you got anything for the laundry?
ANNA: Yes. No. No, I don’t think I’ve got anything..
FRAU BALICKE: But today’s the eighth.
ANNA: The eighth?
FRAU BALICKE: The eighth, of course.
ANNA: And what if it was the eighteenth?
BALICKE: What’s all that chatter in the doorway? Come inside.
FRAU BALICKE: Well, you’d better see you have got something for the laundry. Exit.
BALICKE sits down, takes Anna on his knee: Now look, a woman without a husband, that’s a blasphemous business. You’ve been missing that fellow they sent to a better world, right. But would you know him now? Not a bit of it, my dear. Death has turned him into something fit for a freak show. Three years he’s been improving his looks; if he weren’t dead as mutton he’d look very different from what you think. Anyway, he’s dead and buried and not very pretty. He’s got no nose now. But you miss him. So get yourself another man. It’s nature, you see. You’ll wake up like a dog with two tails. You’ve got stout limbs and strong appetites, haven’t you? That’s really not blasphemous, that isn’t.
ANNA: But I can’t forget him. Never. You keep on talking at me, but I can’t.
BALICKE: You take Murk, he’ll help you get over him.
ANNA: I do love him all the same, and one day I’ll love him only, but not yet.
BALICKE: He’ll bring you round, girl; all he needs is certain prerogatives, the kind of thing that comes best with marriage. I can’t explain now, I’ll tell you when you’re older. Tickles her. Well: is that settled?
ANNA laughs salaciously: I really don’t know if Friedrich wants to.
BALICKE: Mrs, stick your head in.
FRAU BALICKE: Come into the lounge, won’t you, Herr Murk, it’s an honour.
BALICKE: Evening, Murk. Looking like something out of the morgue, eh?
MURK: Miss Anna!
BALICKE: What’s the matter? Bottom fallen out of the market? You’re white as a sheet, man. Is it the sound of shooting in the evening air? Silence. Come on, Anna, jolly him up.
Exit expansively with his wife.
ANNA: What is it, Friedrich? You really are pale.
MURK nosing around: I suppose the red wine’s for our engagement? Silence. Someone been here? Going up to Anna. Anybody been here? Why have you gone so white now? Who’s been here?
ANNA: Nobody! No one’s been here. What’s wrong with you?
MURK: What’s the hurry about, then? Don’t kid me. Oh, who cares? But I’m not celebrating my engagement in this dump.
ANNA: Who said anything about engagement?
MURK: The old girl. The eye of the Lord maketh the cattle fat. Walking round restlessly. Oh well, what about it?
ANNA: You keep acting as if it mattered to my parents. God knows it doesn’t matter to my parents. Not the least little bit.
MURK: And when did you leave Sunday school?
ANNA: I just mean you’re taking a good deal for granted.
MURK: Really? The other fellow?
ANNA: I wasn’t saying anything about the other fellow.
MURK: But there he is, and there he hangs, and there he walks.
ANNA: That was something absolutely different. That was something you’ll never understand, because it was spiritual.
MURK: And between you and me, that’s carnal?
ANNA: Between you and me, that’s nothing.
MURK: What about now? It’s something now all right.
ANNA: You don’t know anything about it.
MURK: Ha, it’ll be a different tune before long.
ANNA: Think what you like.
MURK: I’m asking for your hand.
ANNA: Is that your way of saying you love me?
MURK: That’ll come presently.
ANNA: After all, it’s a box factory.
MURK: You little tart, you! Didn’t they hear anything last night either?
ANNA: Oh, Friedrich! They sleep like dormice! Snuggles up to him.
MURK: Not like us.
ANNA: Gangster!
MURK pulls her to him but kisses her coolly: Tart!
ANNA: Quiet a moment. That’s a train passing in the night.
Hear it? Sometimes I’m frightened he’s going to turn up. I get shivers all down my back.
MURK: That Egyptian mummy? Leave him to me. Here, let me tell you something: he’s got to get out. No stiffs in bed between you and me. I’m not standing for another man in my bed.
ANNA: Don’t get annoyed. Will you forgive me, Friedrich?
MURK: Saint Andrew Kragler? Imagination! He’ll last as long after our wedding as after his own funeral. Bet on it?
Laughs. I bet – a baby.
ANNA hiding her face against him: Oh, don’t say such things, Friedrich.
MURK stoutly: Trust me! To the door. Come in, Mother. Evening, Father.
FRAU BALICKE immediately behind the door: Oh, children! Bursts into tears. What a wonderful surprise!
BALICKE: Difficult birth, what? Mutual embraces and emotion.
MURK: Triplets! When shall we have the wedding? Time’s money.
BALICKE: Three weeks would suit me. The twin beds are in good shape. Supper, Mother!
FRAU BALICKE: In a moment, in a moment, just let me get my breath. Hurrying out. What a wonderful surprise!
MURK: May I have the pleasure of inviting you to split a bottle with me at the Piccadilly Bar tonight? I’m for celebrating our engagement right away, aren’t you, Anna?
ANNA: If we must.
BALICKE: Here, though. Why the Piccadilly Bar? Are you in your right mind?
MURK uneasily: Not here. Definitely not here.
BALICKE: Well, what next?
ANNA: He’s funny. So come along to the Piccadilly Bar, then.
BALICKE: Tonight of all nights! At the risk of one’s life!
FRAU BALICKE enters with the maid, bringing supper: Here you are, children. Everything comes to him who waits. Take your places, gentlemen.
They stuff.
BALICKE raises his glass: To the happy pair! Clinking glasses.
Times are uncertain. The war’s over. This pork is too fatty, Amalie. Now the demobilization’s washing greed, disorder and swinish inhumanity into the still backwaters of peaceful labour.
MURK: Where we turn out ammunition boxes, cheers! Cheers, Anna!
BALICKE: Doubtful characters appearing on the scene, shady gentlemen. The government’s being far too soft with those scavengers of the revolution. Opens a newspaper. The masses are all worked up and without any ideals. And worst of all – I can say it here – the troops back from the front, shabby, half-savage adventurers who’ve lost the habit of working and hold nothing sacred. Truly a difficult time, Anna, a man’s worth his weight in gold. Hold on to him. It’ll be up to you two to win through, but always as a couple, mind you, always winning through, cheers!
He winds up a gramophone.
MURK wiping away perspiration: Bravo! You’ve got to be a man to come through. You want a pair of elbows and nails in your boots, and the right looks and no backward glances. What’s to stop us, Anna? I’m from the bottom myself. Errand boy, shop floor, a turn of the hand here and there, picked up a thing or two. The whole of Germany’s worked its way up like that. Not with kid gloves on always, but hard work the whole time, God knows! Now on top! Cheers, Anna! The gramophone plays ‘Ich bete an die Macht der Liebe’.
BALICKE: Bravo! Well, what’s wrong, Anna?
ANNA has got up, stands half turned away: I don’t know. It’s all happening so quickly. Perhaps that isn’t a good thing, eh, Mother?
FRAU BALICKE: What’s the matter, child? So silly! Go on, enjoy yourself. Not a good thing, indeed!
BALICKE: Sit! Or wind the gramophone, as you’re up. Anna sits down.
Pause.
MURK: So cheers, then! Clinks glasses with Anna. What’s wrong?
BALICKE: Then about the business, Fritz, ammunition boxes, that’ll soon be a dead duck. A few more weeks of civil war, that’s the best you can hope for, then finish. I know the ideal answer, I’m not joking: children’s prams. The factory’s tip-top all along the line. He takes Murk’s arm and draws him upstage. Pulls back the curtains. New buildings Three and Four. All modern and permanent. Anna, windup the gramophone. I always find that moving. The gramophone plays ‘Deutschland, Deutschland über alles’.
MURK: Hey, there’s a man in the factory yard. What’s going on?
ANNA: Oh, how creepy! I think he’s looking up here.
BALICKE: Probably the night-watchman. Why are you laughing, Fritz! Cough it up. The ladies look quite pale.
MURK: A funny idea came into my head: the Spartacists, don’t you know …
BALICKE: Rubbish. None of that round here. Turns away all the same, disagreeably disturbed. So that’s the factory. Approaches the table. Anna draws the curtain. The war put me in the proverbial clover. The stuff was lying around for anybody to pick up, why not, it would have been too stupid. Someone else would have had it. Can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs. Looked at the right way the war was a godsend to us. We’ve got our pile, round, fat, and snug. We can sit back and make prams. No special hurry. Am I right?
MURK: Absolutely, Dad. Cheers!
BALICKE: The same way you can sit back and make children. Hahahaha.
MAID: Herr Babusch, Herr Balicke.
BABUSCH trots in: Hey, hey, you folks are well dug in against the red terror. Spartacus has mobilized. Negotiations been broken off. Artillery fire over Berlin in another twenty-four hours.
BALICKE has his napkin round his neck: To hell with it, can’t those fellows be satisfied?
FRAU BALICKE: Artillery? O godogodogodogod! What a night! What a night! Balicke, I’m going to the cellar.
BABUSCH: It’s all quiet so far in the central districts.1 But the story is that they want to seize the newspaper offices.
BALICKE: What! We’re celebrating an engagement! And this is the day we choose! Quite mad!
MURK: They should execute the lot.
BALICKE: A firing squad for all grumblers.
BABUSCH: Is it your engagement, Balicke?
MURK: Babusch: my fiancée.
FRAU BALICKE: A wonderful surprise. But when’ll the shooting start?
BABUSCH shakes Anna’s and Murk’s hands: Spartacus have been hoarding weapons for all they’re worth. Lowdown secretive lot. Anna, Anna! Don’t let them put you off. Nothing’ll touch you here. Here’s a peaceful retreat. The family. The German family. My home is my castle.
FRAU BALICKE: What times these are! What times these are! And on your big day! Anna!
BABUSCH: It’s damned interesting all the same, folks.
BALICKE: Not to me it isn’t. Not one little bit. Wipes his mouth with the napkin.
MURK: You know what? Come to the Piccadilly Bar with us. We’re celebrating.
BABUSCH: And Spartacus?
BALICKE: Can wait, Babusch. Shoot some other fellow in the guts, Babusch. Come to the Piccadilly Bar with us. Get your fineries on, girls!
FRAU BALICKE: Piccadilly Bar? Tonight? Sits on a chair.
BALICKE: Piccadilly Bar it used to be called. It’s the Café Vaterland now. Friedrich’s taking us out. What’s wrong with tonight? What are cabs for? Gee up; get your togs on, old girl!
FRAU BALICKE: I’m not moving a foot outside these four walls. What’s got into you, Fritzi?
ANNA: It’s a free country. Friedrich seems to want it. All look at Murk.
MURK: Not here. Definitely not here. Me, I want music, lights. It’s a classy place. Here it’s all dark. I put my decent outfit on on purpose. So how about it, Mother?
FRAU BALICKE: It’s all beyond me. Leaves the room.
ANNA: Wait for me, Friedrich, I’ll be ready in a minute.
BABUSCH: Lots happening, boys. The whole bag of tricks is going up. Babes in arms, get yourselves organized! By the way, apricots, soft as butter, flesh-coloured, juicy, are five marks the pound. Loafers, don’t let them provoke you! Everywhere shady gangs are sticking their fingers in their mouths and whistling into the brightly lit cafés. Their emblem, the idle loaf. And the dance-halls full of the so-called upper crust. Well, here’s to your wedding-day!
MURK: The ladies aren’t changing. We’re all equal now. Too much dazzle only makes you conspicuous.
BALICKE: Hear hear. Critical time like this. Any old outfit’s good enough for this shower. Come down at once, Anna.
MURK: We’re going straight on. Don’t change.
ANNA: Roughneck! Exit.
BALICKE: Gee up … Sound the trumpets, next stop paradise. I must change my shirt.
MURK: You’ll follow on with Mother, eh? And Babusch can come with us, and be our chaperone, eh? Sings. Babusch, Babusch, Babusch, trotting to and fro.
BABUSCH: That miserable third-rate, crazy schoolboy doggerel, can’t you forget it? Exit, taking his arm.
MURK still singing off: Pull your finger out, my lads, and make the party go. Anna!
BALICKE alone, lights a cigar: Thank God for that. All snug as a bug. What a damn grind! You have to drive her to bed. Calf love for that corpse! My clean shirt’s soaked with sweat. Now I can take them all on. Pram’s the word. Exit. Mrs, a shirt!
ANNA off: Friedrich! Friedrich! Enter quickly. Friedrich!
MURK in the doorway: Anna! Dry, uneasy, with hanging arms like an orang-outang. Do you want to come along?
ANNA: What’s the matter? What are you looking like that for?
MURK: Do you want to come? I know what I’m asking. Don’t play-act. Straight answer!
ANNA: I should think I do. Odd, isn’t it?
MURK: Fine, then. I’m not so sure. Twenty years I lodged in attics, frozen to the marrow; now I wear buttoned boots, look for yourself! I sweated in the darkness, by gaslight, it ran into my eyes; now I go to a tailor. But I’m still unsteady, the wind blows down there, there’s an icy draught down there, one’s feet get chilled down there. Goes up to Anna without touching her, stands swaying in front of her. At last the superfluous flesh is increasing. At last the red wine is flowing. At last I’ve got there! Bathed in sweat, eyes shut, fists clenched till the fingernails cut into the flesh. It’s over! Security! Warmth! Off with the overalls! A bed, white, broad, soft! As he passes the window he glances fleetingly out. Come to me: I’ll unclench my fists, I’ll sit in the sun in my shirtsleeves, I’ve got you.
ANNA flies to him: Darling!
MURK: Sex kitten!
ANNA: At last you’ve got me.
MURK: Isn’t she there yet?
BABUSCH off: Come on, come on! I’m the bridesmaid, folks.
MURK winds the gramophone once more. It again starts ‘Ich bete an die Macht der Liebe’: I’m the best possible fellow if only they’ll give me my head. Exeunt both, in close contact with each other.
FRAU BALICKE swishes in, in black, arranges her bonnet in front of the glass: Such a huge moon and so red …And the children, dear God! Yes, yes …we’ve much to be thankful for in our prayers tonight.
At this point a man with a muddy dark blue artillery uniform and a stumpy pipe appears in the door.
THE MAN: The name is Kragler.
FRAU BALICKE supports herself, with trembling knees, against the table the mirror is on: Good heav …
KRAGLER: Well, no need to look so supernatural. Did you chuck away good money on a wreath too? Pity. Beg to report: set up shop as a ghost in Algiers. But now the corpse is most horribly hungry. I could eat worms. What’s the matter, Ma Balicke? Idiotic song! Stops the gramophone. Frau Balicke continues to say nothing and simply stares at him.
KRAGLER: Don’t faint all at once. Here’s a chair. There ought to be a glass of water about. Goes humming to the cupboard. Still know my way around pretty well. Pours wine. Wine!
Nierensteiner! Plenty of life in the old ghost, eh? Sees to Frau Balicke.
BALICKE off: Come along, old girl! On the move! How beautiful you are, my angel! Comes in, stands taken aback. Well?
KRAGLER: Evening, Herr Balicke. Your wife’s not feeling well. Tries to make her drink some wine, but she turns away in horror.
Balicke looks on uncomfortably for a moment.
KRAGLER: Won’t you have some? You won’t? It’ll pass in a moment. No idea I was so fresh in the memory. Just back from Africa, you see. Spain, fiddle with passports, and all the rest of it. But where’s Anna?
BALICKE: Leave my wife alone, for God’s sake. You’re drowning her.
KRAGLER: As you say.
FRAU BALICKE takes refuge with Balicke, who stands upright: Karl!
BALICKE severely: Herr Kragler, if you are the person you claim to be, would you mind telling me what you are doing here?
KRAGLER shocked: You realize I was a prisoner of war in Africa?
BALICKE: Hell! Goes to a small cupboard, drinks a schnaps. That’s fine. You would be. A damned disgusting business! What d’you want? My daughter announced her engagement less than half an hour ago.
KRAGLER staggers, a bit unsure: What do you mean?
BALICKE: You’ve been away four years. She’s waited four years. We’ve waited four years. Now time’s up and you’ve had your chance.
Kragler sits down.
BALICKE not quite firmly, unsure but making an effort to preserve his dignity: Herr Kragler, I have commitments this evening.
KRAGLER looking up: Commitments …? Distractedly. Yes …Slumps back.
FRAU BALICKE: Don’t take it too hard, Herr Kragler. There are lots of other girls. That’s the way it is. You must grin and bear it.
KRAGLER: Anna!
BALICKE curtly: Mrs! She goes hesitantly to him, he suddenly firm: Bah! Sentimental stuff, let’s go. Exit with his wife. The maid appears in the door.
KRAGLER: Hm! …Shakes his head.
MAID: Herr and Frau Balicke have gone out.
Silence.
Herr and Frau Balicke have gone to the Piccadilly Bar for the engagement party.
Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 1 Page 9
