Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 1

by Bertolt Brecht

  SHLINK: Something wet is running down your face. What kind of a whore is that?

  MARY: Don’t make fun of me, just give me the money. Don’t look at me. It’s not tears that make my face wet, it’s the fog. Shlink gives her paper money. I won’t thank you, Mr Shlink from Yokohama. It’s a straight business deal, no need for thanks.

  SHLINK: You’d better be going. You won’t make money here. Goes out.

  7

  The Garga Family’s Living-room

  29 September 1912

  The room is full of new furniture. John Garga, Mae, George, Jane, Manky, all dressed in new clothes for the wedding dinner.

  JOHN: Ever since that man we don’t like to speak of, who has a different skin but who goes down to the coal yards to work night and day for a family he knows; ever since the man in the coal yards with the different skin has been watching over us, things have been getting better for us every day, in every way. Today, without knowing of the wedding, he’s made it possible for our son George to have a wedding worthy of the director of a big business. New ties, black suits, the breath of whisky on our lips – amid new furniture.

  MAE: Isn’t it strange that the man in the coal yards should make so much hauling coal?

  GARGA: I make the money.

  MAE: From one day to the next you decided to get married. Wasn’t it a little sudden, Jane?

  JANE: The snow melts, and where is it then? And you can pick the wrong man, it often happens.

  MAE: Right man, wrong man, that’s not the question. The question is whether you stick to him.

  JOHN: Nonsense! Eat your steak and give the bride your hand.

  GARGA takes Jane by the wrist: It’s a good hand. I’m all right here. Let the wallpaper peel, I’ve got new clothes, I eat steak, I can taste the plaster, I’ve got half an inch of mortar all over me, I see a piano. Hang a wreath on the picture of our dear sister, Mary Garga, born twenty years ago on the prairies. Put everlastings under glass. It’s good to sit here, good to lie here, the black wind doesn’t come in here.

  JANE stands up: What’s the matter, George? Have you a fever?

  GARGA: I feel fine in my fever, Jane.

  JANE: I keep wondering what your plans are for me, George.

  GARGA: Why are you so pale, mother? Isn’t your prodigal son back again under your roof? Why are you all standing against the wall like plaster statues?

  MAE: Perhaps because of the fight you keep talking about.

  GARGA: It’s only flies in my brain. I can shoo them away. Shlink enters. Mother, get a steak and a glass of whisky for our welcome guest. I was married this morning. My dear wife, tell him!

  JANE: Fresh out of bed this morning, my husband and I went to the sheriff and said: Can we be married here? He said: I know you, Jane – will you always stay with your husband? But I saw that he was a good man with a beard, he had nothing against me, so I said: Life isn’t exactly the way you think.

  SHLINK: Congratulations, Garga. You’re a vindictive man.

  GARGA: There’s a hideous fear in your smile! For good reason. Don’t eat too fast. You have plenty of time. Where’s Mary? I hope she’s being taken care of. Your satisfaction must be complete. Unfortunately there’s no chair for you at the moment, Shlink. We’re one chair short. Otherwise our furnishings are new and complete. Look at the piano. A delightful place. I mean to spend my evenings here with my family. I’ve started a new life. Tomorrow I’m going back to C. Maynes’s lending library.

  MAE: Oh, George, aren’t you talking too much?

  GARGA: Do you hear that? My family doesn’t want me to have anything more to do with you. Our acquaintance is at an end, Mr Shlink. It has been most profitable. The furniture speaks for itself. My family’s wardrobe speaks loud and clear. There’s plenty of cash. I thank you.

  Silence.

  SHLINK: May I ask just one favour of you? A personal matter. I have a letter here from the firm of Broost & Co. It bears the seal of the Attorney-General of the State of Virginia. I haven’t opened it yet. You would oblige me by doing so. Any news, even the worst, would be more acceptable to me from your lips. Garga reads the letter. Of course this is my own private affair, but a hint from you would make things much easier for me.

  MAE: Why don’t you say something, George? What are you planning to do, George? You look as if you were planning something. There’s nothing that frightens me more. You men hide behind your unknown thoughts as if they were smoke. And we wait like cattle before slaughter. You say: wait a while, you go away, you come back, and you’re unrecognizable. And we don’t know what you’ve done to yourselves. Tell me your plan, and if you don’t know what it is, admit it, so I’ll know what to do. I’ve got to plan my life too. Four years in this city of steel and dirt! Oh, George!

  GARGA: You see, the bad years were the best, and now they’re over. Don’t say anything to me. You, my parents, and you, Jane, my wife, I’ve decided to go to jail.

  JOHN: What are you saying? Is that where your money comes from? It was written on your face when you were five years old that you’d end up in jail. I never asked what went on between the two of you, I knew it was rotten. You’ve both lost the ground from under your feet. Buying pianos and going to jail, dragging in whole armloads of steak and robbing a family of its livelihood is all the same to you. Where’s Mary, your sister? He tears off his jacket and throws it on the floor. There’s my jacket, I never wanted to put it on. But I’m used to the kind of humiliations this city still has in store for me.

  JANE: How long will it be, George?

  SHLINK to John: Some lumber was sold twice. Naturally that means jail, because the sheriff isn’t interested in the circumstances. I, your friend, could explain certain things to the sheriff as neatly and simply as Standard Oil explains its tax returns. I am prepared to listen to your son, Mrs Garga.

  JANE: Don’t let them talk you into anything, George, do what you see fit, regardless. I, your wife, will keep the house running while you’re gone.

  JOHN laughing loudly: She’s going to keep the house running! A girl who was picked off the streets only yesterday. We’re to be fed by the wages of sin!

  SHLINK to George: You’ve given me to understand that your family means a great deal to you. You’d like to spend your evenings among this furniture. You’ll have a thought or two for me, your friend, who is busy making things easier for you all. I am prepared to save you for your family’s sake.

  MAE: You can’t go to jail, George.

  GARGA: I know you don’t understand, Mother. It’s so hard to harm a man, to destroy him is utterly impossible. The world is too poor. We wear ourselves out cluttering it with things to fight about.

  JANE to Garga: There you go philosophizing with the roof rotting over our heads.

  GARGA to Shlink: Search the whole world, you’ll find ten evil men and not one evil action. Only trifles can destroy a man. No, I’m through. I’ll draw a line under the account, and then I’ll go.

  SHLINK: Your family would like to know if they mean anything to you. If you won’t hold them up, they’ll fall. One little word, Garga!

  GARGA: I give you all your freedom.

  SHLINK: They’ll rot, and you’ll be to blame. There aren’t many of them left. They might take a notion, just like you, to make a clean sweep, to cut up the dirty tablecloth and shake the cigar butts out of their clothes. The whole lot of them might decide to imitate you, to be free and indecent, with slobber on their shirts.

  MAE: Be still, George, everything he says is true.

  GARGA: Now at last, if I half close my eyes, I see certain things in a cold light. Not your face, Mr Shlink, maybe you haven’t got one.

  SHLINK: Forty years have been written off as so much dirt, and now there will be a great freedom.

  GARGA: That’s how it is. The snow tried to fall, but it was too cold. My family will eat left-overs again, and again they’ll be hungry. But I, I will strike down my enemy.

  JOHN: All I see is weakness, nothing else. Since the d
ay I first laid eyes on you. Go ahead and leave us. Why shouldn’t they take the furniture away?

  GARGA: I’ve read that feeble waters erode whole mountains. And I still want to see your face, Shlink, your damned invisible, frosted-glass face.

  SHLINK: I have no desire to talk with you any further. Three years. For a young man that’s no more than a swing of the door. But for me! I’ve drawn no profit from you if that’s any comfort to you. But you’re not leaving a trace of sadness in me, now that I’m going back into the noisy city to carry on my business as I did before we met. Exit.

  GARGA: All that remains for me to do now is phone the police. Exit.

  JANE: I’m going to the Chinese bar. I can do without the police. Exit.

  MAE: Sometimes I think Mary will never come back either.

  JOHN: She has only herself to blame. Can we be expected to help them when they live in vice?

  MAE: Is there any better time to help them?

  JOHN: Don’t talk so much.

  MAE sits down next to him: I wanted to ask you: what are you going to do now?

  JOHN: Me? Nothing. This part of our life is over.

  MAE: You understand, don’t you, what George is going to do to himself?

  JOHN: Yes. More or less. It won’t help us any.

  MAE: And what are you going to live on?

  JOHN: On the money that’s still left. And we’ll sell the piano.

  MAE: They’ll take it away, it was come by dishonestly.

  JOHN: Maybe we’ll go back to Ohio. We’ll do something.

  MAE stands up: There’s something else I wanted to tell you, John, but I can’t. I’ve never believed that a man could suddenly be damned. It’s decided in heaven. This is a day like any other, and nothing has changed, but from this day on you’re damned.

  JOHN: What are you going to do?

  MAE: I’m going to do a certain thing, John, something I want very much to do. Don’t imagine I have any special reason. But first I’ll put some coal on the fire, you’ll find your supper in the kitchen. Goes out.

  JOHN: Take care that the ghost of a shark doesn’t eat you on the stairs.

  WAITER enters: Mrs Garga has ordered you a grog. Do you wish to drink it in the dark, or should I put the light on?

  JOHN: What do you think? Give us some light. The waiter goes out.

  MARY enters: Don’t make any speeches. I’ve brought money.

  JOHN: You dare to set foot here? A fine family. And look at you!

  MARY: I look fine. But where did you get all this new furniture? Have you taken in some money? I’ve taken in some money too.

  JOHN: Where did you get the money?

  MARY: Do you really want to know?

  JOHN: Give it here. You people have brought me to this with hunger.

  MARY: So you’re taking my money? In spite of your new furniture? Where’s Mother?

  JOHN: Deserters are stood up against the wall.

  MARY: Did you send her out on the streets?

  JOHN: Be cynical, wallow in the gutter, drink grog. But I’m your father, you can’t let me starve.

  MARY: Where has she gone?

  JOHN: You can go, too. I’m used to being left.

  MARY: When did she leave here?

  JOHN: At the end of my life I’m condemned to being poor and licking my children’s spittle, but I won’t have any truck with vice. I have no hesitation about throwing you out.

  MARY: Give me back my money. It wasn’t meant for you.

  JOHN: Not a chance. You can sew me up in a shroud, I’ll still beg for a pound of tobacco.

  MARY: So long. Goes out.

  JOHN: They’ve no more to say to a man than can be said in five minutes. Then they run out of lies. Pause. Actually everything there is to say could be covered in two minutes of silence.

  GARGA comes back: Where’s mother? Gone? Did she think I wasn’t coming back up again? He runs out and comes back. She won’t be back, she’s taken her other dress. He sits down at the table and writes a letter: ‘To The Examiner. I wish to call your attention to C. Shlink, the Malay lumber dealer. This man molested my wife, Jane Garga, and raped my sister, Mary Garga, who was in his employ. George Garga.’ I won’t say anything about my mother.

  JOHN: That wipes out our family.

  GARGA: I’ve written this letter. I’ll put it in my pocket and forget the whole business. And in three years – that’s how long they’ll hold me – a week before I’m discharged, I’ll send my letter to the newspaper. This man will be exterminated from this city, and when I come back he’ll have vanished from my sight. But for him the day of my release will be marked by the howling of the lynch mobs.

  8

  C. Shlink’s Private Office

  20 October 1915, 1 p.m.

  Shlink and a young clerk.

  SHLINK dictating: Write to Miss Mary Garga, who has applied for a position as secretary, that I will never again have anything to do with either her or her family. To Standard Real Estate. Dear Sirs: As of today not a single share of our stock is in the hands of any outside firm and our business situation is secure. Consequently, there is nothing to prevent us from accepting your offer of a five-year contract.

  AN EMPLOYEE brings a man in: This is Mr Shlink.

  THE MAN: I’ve got three minutes to give you some information. You’ve got two minutes to understand your situation. Half an hour ago The Examiner received a letter from one of the state penitentiaries, signed by one Garga, showing you’ve committed a number of crimes. In five minutes the reporters will be here. You owe me a thousand dollars. Shlink gives him the money. The man goes out.

  SHLINK carefully packing his suitcase: Carry on the business as long as you can. Mail these letters. I’ll be back. Goes out quickly.

  9

  Bar Across the Street from the Prison

  28 October 1915

  Worm, Baboon, the Pugnosed Man, the Salvation Army Preacher, Jane, Mary Garga. Noise from outside.

  BABOON: Do you hear the howling of the lynch mob? These are dangerous days for Chinatown. A week ago the crimes of a Malayan lumber dealer came to light. Three years ago he sent a man to prison, for three years the man kept quiet, but a week before his release he wrote a letter to The Examiner, telling the whole story.

  THE PUGNOSED MAN: The human heart!

  BABOON: The Malay himself, naturally, has skipped town. But he’s done for.

  WORM: You can’t say that about anybody. Consider the conditions on this planet. A man never gets finished off all at once, but at least a hundred times. A man has too many possibilities. For instance, let me tell you the story of G. Wishu, the bulldog man. But I’ll need the nickelodeon. The nickelodeon is played. This is the story of the dog, George Wishu. George Wishu was born on the Emerald Isle. When he was eighteen months old a fat man took him to the great city of London. His own country let him go like a stranger. In London he soon fell into the hands of a cruel woman, who subjected him to gruesome tortures. After much suffering he ran away to the country, where he was hunted down between green hedges. Men shot at him with big dangerous guns, and strange dogs chased him. He lost a leg and from then on he limped. After several of his undertakings had failed, weary of life and half starved, he found refuge with an old man who shared his bread with him. Here, after a life full of disappointments and adventures, he died at the age of seven and a half with great serenity and composure. He lies buried in Wales. – Now tell me, sir, how are you going to fit all that under one roof?

  THE PUGNOSED MAN: Who is this man that’s wanted?

  WORM: It’s the Malay they’re looking for. He went bankrupt once before, but in three years he managed by all sorts of dodges to recover his lumber business, and that made him a lot of enemies in his neighbourhood. But no court could have touched him if a man in jail hadn’t brought his sex crimes to light. To Jane: Exactly when is your husband getting out?

  JANE: Yes, that’s it: I knew it a while ago. Gentlemen, don’t go thinking that I don’t know. It’s on the twen
ty-eighth, yesterday or today.

  BABOON: Cut the comedy, Jane.

  THE PUGNOSED MAN: And who’s that woman in the indecent dress?

  BABOON: That’s the victim, the sister of the man in jail.

  JANE: Yes, that’s my sister-in-law. She pretends not to know me, but when I was married she never came home a single night.

  BABOON: The Malay ruined her.

  THE PUGNOSED MAN: What’s she dropping into the sink behind the bar?

  WORM: I can’t see. She’s saying something, too. Keep still, Jane.

  MARY lets a banknote flutter into the sink: When I held the bills in my hand that day, I saw God’s eye watching me. I said: I’ve done everything for him. God turned away, there was a sound like tobacco fields rustling in the wind. I kept them, though. One bill! Another! Pieces of myself! I’m giving my purity away. Now the money’s gone! I don’t feel any better…

  GARGA enters with C. Maynes and three other men: I’ve asked you to come with me so you could see with your own eyes that I’ve been done an injustice. I’ve brought you with me, Mr Maynes, to witness the kind of place I find my wife in after three years of absence. He leads the men to the table where Jane is sitting. Hello, Jane. How are you?

  JANE: George! Is this the twenty-eighth? I didn’t know. I’d have been home. Did you notice how cold it is there? Did you guess I’d be sitting here just to get warm?

  GARGA: This is Mr Maynes. You know him. I’m going back to work in his store. And these are neighbours who take an interest in my situation.

  JANE: How do you do, gentlemen. Oh, George, it’s awful for me that I missed your day. What will you gentlemen think of me? Ken Si, wait on the gentlemen.

  BARMAN to the Pugnosed Man: That’s the fellow from the pen who informed on him.

  GARGA: Hello, Mary. Have you been waiting for me? My sister’s here too, as you can see.

  MARY: Hello, George. Are you all right?

  GARGA: Let’s go home, Jane.

  JANE: Oh, George, you’re just saying that. But if I go with you, you’ll scold me when we get home. I’d better tell you right away that the housework hasn’t been done.