The winter was short.
The people mustn’t know.
The rats mustn’t bite
The spring mustn’t come.
Grusha sits bent at the weaving loom in the scullery. She and the child, who squats on the floor, are wrapped in blankets.
GRUSHA sings while weaving:
Then the lover started to leave
Then his girl ran pleading after him
Pleading and crying, crying and pleading:
Dearest mine, dearest mine
As you now go into battle
As you now have to fight the enemy
Don’t throw yourself into the front line
And don’t push with the rear line.
In front is red fire
In the rear is red smoke.
Stay wisely in between
Keep near the standard bearer.
The first ones always die
The last ones are also hit
Those in the centre come home.
Michael, we must be clever. If we make ourselves really small, like cockroaches, our sister-in-law will forget we’re in the house. Then we can stay here till the snow melts. And don’t cry because of the cold. Being poor and cold as well puts people off.
Enter Lavrenti. He sits down beside Grusha.
LAVRENTI: Why are you two sitting there muffled up like coachmen? Perhaps it’s too cold in the room?
GRUSHA hastily removing her shawl: It’s not too cold, Lavrenti.
LAVRENTI: If it’s too cold, you oughtn’t to sit here with the child. Aniko would blame herself. Pause. I hope the priest didn’t question you about the child.
GRUSHA: He did, but I didn’t tell him anything.
LAVRENTI: That’s good. I wanted to talk to you about Aniko. She has a good heart—but she’s very, very sensitive. People only have to mention our farm and she’s worried. She takes everything to heart, you know. Our milkmaid once went to church with a hole in her stocking. Ever since then my dear Aniko has always worn two pairs of stockings to church. It’s hard to believe, but it’s the old family in her. He listens. Are you sure there are no rats here? If so, you couldn’t stay here. Sounds of drops from the roof. What’s that dripping?
GRUSHA: Must be a barrel leaking.
LAVRENTI: Yes, it must be a barrel. Now you’ve already been here six months, haven’t you? Was I talking about Aniko? Of course I didn’t mention the Ironshirt. She has a weak heart. That’s why she doesn’t know you can’t look for work. And that’s why she made those remarks yesterday. They listen again to the melting snow. Can you believe it? She’s worrying about your soldier. ‘Suppose he comes back and doesn’t find her!’ she says, and lies awake. ‘He can’t come before the spring,’ I tell her. The dear woman! The drops begin to fall faster. When d’you think he’ll come? What’s your idea? Grusha is silent. Not before the spring. That’s what you think, too? Grusha is silent. I see you no longer believe he’ll come back. Grusha does not answer. But when spring comes and the snow is melting on the passes you must leave here. Because then they can come and look for you. People are already talking about a child with an unmarried mother.
The beat of the falling drops has grown faster and steadier.
Grusha, the snow is melting on the roof and spring is here.
GRUSHA: Yes.
LAVRENTI eagerly: Let me tell you what we’ll do. You need a place to go to. And because of the child—he sighs—you must have a husband, to stop people talking. I’ve made cautious inquiries about how we can get a husband for you, Grusha, and I’ve found one. I talked to a woman who has a son, just over the mountain, a little farm. She’s willing.
GRUSHA: But I can’t marry another man! I must wait for Simon Chachava.
LAVRENTI: Of course. That’s all been considered. You don’t need a man in bed, but a man on paper. And that’s the very man I’ve found. The son of the woman I spoke to is dying. Isn’t that wonderful? He’s just at his last gasp. And everything’s as we have said: A man just over the mountain! And when you reached him he died, and so you’re a widow. What do you say?
GRUSHA: I could do with a document with seals for Michael.
LAVRENTI: A seal makes all the difference. Without a seal even the Shah of Persia couldn’t prove he is the Shah. And you’ll have a roof over your head.
GRUSHA: How much does she want for it?
LAVRENTI: 400 piastres.
GRUSHA: Where will you find the money?
LAVRENTI guiltily: Aniko’s milk money.
GRUSHA: No-one will know us over there. I’ll do it.
LAVRENTI gets up: I’ll tell the woman at once. Exit quickly.
GRUSHA: Michael, you cause a lot of trouble. I came by you as the pear tree comes by the sparrows. And because a Christian bends down and picks up a crust of bread so it won’t go to waste. Michael, I ought to have walked away quickly on that Easter Sunday in Nukha. Now I’m the fool.
THE SINGER
The bridegroom was lying on his deathbed, when the bride arrived.
The bridegroom’s mother was waiting at the door, bidding them hurry.
The bride brought along a child, the witness hid it during the wedding.
A space divided by a partition. On one side a bed. Under the mosquito net lies a very sick man. On the other side the mother-in-law rushes in pulling Grusha after her. They are followed by Lavrenti and the child.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: Quick! Quick! Or he’ll die on us before the wedding. To Lavrenti: But I was never told she already had a child.
LAVRENTI: What’s it matter? Pointing towards the dying man: It’s all the same to him in his condition.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: Him? But I won’t survive the shame. We’re honest people. She begins to weep. My Yussup doesn’t have to marry someone who already has a child.
LAVRENTI: All right, I’ll add another 200 piastres. You have it in writing that the farm will go to you; but she has the right to live here for two years.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW drying her tears: It will hardly cover the funeral expenses. I hope she will really lend me a hand with the work. And now what’s happened to the monk? He must have slipped out by the kitchen window. When they get wind in the village that Yussup’s end is near, they’ll all be round our necks. Oh dear! I’ll go and get the monk. But he mustn’t see the child.
LAVRENTI: I’ll take care he doesn’t see it. But why a monk? Why not a priest?
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: Oh, he’s just as good. I made one mistake: I paid him half his fee in advance. Now he’ll have gone to the tavern. I hope … She runs off.
LAVRENTI: She saved on the priest, the wretch! She’s hired a cheap monk.
GRUSHA: Send Simon Chachava to me if he turns up.
LAVRENTI: Yes. Glancing at the sick man: Won’t you have a look at him?
Grusha, taking Michael to her, shakes her head.
He’s not moving an eyelid. I hope we aren’t too late.
They listen. On the opposite side enter neighbours, who look round and take up positions against the walls. They start muttering prayers. Enter the mother-in-law with the monk.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW surprised and angry, to the monk: Now we’re for it! She bows to the guests. I must ask you to wait a few moments. My son’s bride has just arrived from town and we’ve got to have an emergency wedding. She goes with the monk into the bedchamber. I knew you’d spread it about. To Grusha: The wedding can start at once. Here’s the licence. I and the bride’s brother—Lavrenti tries to hide in the background, after having quickly taken Michael away from Grusha. The mother-in law beckons him away from the child—the bride’s brother and I are the witnesses.
Grusha has bowed to the monk. They approach the bed: the mother-in-law lifts the mosquito-net: the monk begins babbling the marriage service in Latin. Meanwhile the mother-in-law beckons to Lavrenti to get rid of the child, but Lavrenti, fearing that the child will cry, draws its attention to the ceremony. Grusha glances once at the child, and Lavrenti makes the child wave to her.
THE MONK: Are you prepared to be a faithful, obedient and good wife to this man? And to cleave to him until death you do part?
GRUSHA looking at the child: Yes.
THE MONK to the dying man: And are you prepared to be a good and loving husband to your wife until death you do part?
As the dying man does not answer, the monk repeats the question, then looks round.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: Of course he is! Didn’t you hear him say yes?
THE MONK: All right. We declare this marriage contracted. Now what about Extreme Unction?
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: Nothing doing! The wedding was quite expensive enough. I must now take care of the mourners. To Lavrenti: Did we say 700?
LAVRENTI: 600. He pays. Now I don’t want to sit and get acquainted with the guests. So farewell, Grusha. And if my widowed sister comes to visit me one day, she’ll get a ‘welcome’ from my wife. Or I’ll get disagreeable.
He leaves. The mourners glance after him without interest.
THE MONK: And may one ask whose this child is?
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: Is there a child? I don’t see any child. And you don’t see one either—understand? Or else I’ve seen all kinds of things happening behind the tavern! Come along now.
They move back to the room. After Grusha has put down the child and told it to be quiet, she is introduced to the neighbours.
This is my daughter-in-law. She arrived just in time to find dear Yussup still alive.
ONE OF THE WOMEN: He’s been ill now a whole year, hasn’t he? When my Vassili was called up he was there to say goodbye.
ANOTHER WOMAN: Such things are terrible for a farm. With the corn ripe on the stalk and the farmer in bed! It will be a blessing for him if he doesn’t suffer much longer, I say.
FIRST WOMAN confidentially: At first we thought he took to his bed because of military service, you know. And now his end is coming.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: Please sit down and have some cakes.
She beckons to Grusha and both women go into the bedroom, where they pick up trays of cakes from the floor. The guests, among them the monk, sit on the floor and begin conversing in subdued voices.
A VERY OLD PEASANT to whom the monk has slipped the bottle he has taken from his cassock: There’s a little one, you say! How can Yussup have managed that?
THIRD WOMAN: Anyway, she was lucky to have brought it off in time, with him so sick.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: They are gossiping already. And stuffing themselves with the funeral cakes at the same time. And if he doesn’t die today, I’ll have to bake fresh ones tomorrow.
GRUSHA: I’ll bake them.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: When some riders passed by last night, and I went out to see who they were, he was lying there like a corpse! That’s why I sent for you. It can’t take much longer. She listens.
THE MONK: Dear wedding guests and mourners! We stand deeply moved in front of a bed of death and marriage, because the bride gets into bed and the groom into the grave. The groom is already washed, and the bride is already hot. For in the marriage-bed lies the last Will, and that makes people randy. Oh, my children, how varied is the fate of man! The one dies to get a roof over his head, and the other marries so that flesh may be turned to dust, from which it was made. Amen.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW who had listened: He’s got his own back. I shouldn’t have hired such a cheap one. That’s what you’d expect. An expensive one knows how to behave. In Sura there’s one who is even in the odour of sanctity; but of course he charges a fortune. A fifty-piastre priest like this one here has no dignity. And as for piety, he has precisely fifty piastres’ worth, and no more. And when I fetched him from the tavern he was just finishing a speech and shouting: ‘The war is over, beware of the peace!’ We must go in.
GRUSHA giving Michael a cake: Eat this cake and be a good boy, Michael. We are respectable now.
The two women carry the trays of cakes to the guests. The dying man is sitting up in bed; he puts his head out from under the mosquito-net and watches the two women. Then he sinks back again. The monk takes two bottles from his cassock and offers them to the peasant beside him. Enter three musicians, to whom the monk waves with a grin.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW to the musicians: What have you got your instruments for?
A MUSICIAN: Brother Anastasius here—pointing at the monk— told us there was a wedding going on.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: What! You brought them? Three more on my neck! Don’t you know there’s a dying man next door?
THE MONK: That’s a tempting task for an artist. They could play a hushed Wedding March or a gay Funeral Dance.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: Well, you might as well play. I can’t stop you eating, in any case.
The musicians play a musical medley. The women offer cakes.
THE MONK: The trumpet sounds like a whining baby. And you, little drum, what gossip are you spreading abroad?
A PEASANT beside the monk: What about the bride shaking a leg?
THE MONK: Shake the legs or rattle the bones?
THE PEASANT beside the monk, singing:
When pretty Miss Plushbottom wed
A rich man with no teeth in his head
They enquired, ‘Is it fun?’
She replied, ‘No, it’s none.
Still, there’re candles and soon he’ll be dead.’
The mother-in-law throws the drunken man out. The music stops. The guests are embarrassed. Pause.
THE GUESTS loudly: Have you heard the latest? The Grand Duke’s back!—But the Princes are against him.—Oh, the Shah of Persia, they say, has lent him a great army, to restore order in Grusinia.—How is this possible? After all, the Shah of Persia is against the Grand Duke!—But against disorder, too.—In any case, the war’s over. Our soldiers are already coming back.
Grusha drops the tray of cakes.
AN OLD WOMAN to Grusha: Are you feeling ill? That’s just excitement about dear Yussup. Sit down and rest awhile, my dear.
Grusha stands, swaying.
THE GUESTS: Now everything will be as it was. Only the taxes will go up because we’ll have to pay for the war.
GRUSHA weakly: Did someone say the soldiers are back?
A MAN: I did.
GRUSHA: That can’t be true.
THE MAN to a woman: Show her the shawl. We bought it from a soldier. It’s from Persia.
GRUSHA looking at the shawl: They are here.
A long pause. Grusha kneels as if to pick up the cakes. As she does so she takes the silver cross and chain out of her blouse, kisses it, and starts praying.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW while the guests silently watch Grusha: What’s the matter with you? Won’t you look after our guests? What’s all this nonsense from the city got to do with us?
THE GUESTS resuming their conversation while Grusha remains with her forehead bent to the ground: Persian saddles can be bought from soldiers, but some exchange them for crutches.—Wars are won on one side only by the bigwigs, the soldiers on both sides are the losers.—At least the war’s over now. It’s something that they can’t call you up any more.—The dying man sits bolt upright in bed. He listens.—What we need most are two weeks of good weather.—There’s hardly a pear on our trees this year.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW offering the cakes: Have some more cake. And enjoy it. There’s more to come.
The mother-in-law goes to the bedroom with empty trays. Unaware of the dying man, she bends down to pick up some more cakes, when he begins to talk in a hoarse voice.
YUSSUP: How many more cakes are you going to stuff down their throats? D’you think I can shit money? The mother-in-law starts, and stares at him aghast, while he puts his head out from behind the mosquito-net. Did they say the war was over?
FIRST WOMAN talking kindly to Grusha in the next room: Has the young woman someone in the war?
THE MAN: That’s good news that they’re on their way home, eh?
YUSSUP: Don’t stare so! Where’s the wife you’ve foisted on me?
Receiving no answe
r, he climbs out of bed and in his nightshirt staggers past his mother into the other room. Trembling, she follows him with the cake tray.
THE GUESTS seeing him and shrieking: Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Yussup!
Everyone leaps up in alarm. The women rush to the door. Grusha, still on her knees, turns round and stares at the man.
YUSSUP: The funeral supper! That’s what you’d like! Get out before I kick you out!
The guests stampede from the house.
YUSSUP grumpily to Grusha: That puts a spoke in your wheel, eh?
Receiving no answer, he turns round and takes a cake from the tray which his mother holds.
THE SINGER
Oh, confusion! The wife discovers that she has a husband!
By day there’s the child, by night there’s the man.
The lover is on his way day and night.
The married couple are looking at each other. The chamber is narrow.
Yussup sits naked in a high wooden bathtub. His mother pours water from a jug. Next door in the bedroom Grusha squats with Michael, who is playing at mending a straw mat.
YUSSUP: That’s her business, not yours. Where’s she hiding now?
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW calling: Grusha! The peasant wants you!
GRUSHA to Michael: There are still two holes to mend.
YUSSUP as Grusha enters: Scrub my back!
GRUSHA: Can’t the peasant do that himself?
YUSSUP: ‘Can’t the peasant do that himself?’ Get the brush! To hell with you! Are you the wife or are you a stranger?
To the mother-in-law: Too cold!
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: I’ll run and get some more hot water.
GRUSHA: Let me do it.
YUSSUP: You stay here. The mother-in-law goes out. Rub harder. And don’t make such a fuss. You’ve seen a naked man before. That child of yours can’t have come out of thin air.
GRUSHA: The child was not conceived in joy, if that’s what the peasant means.
YUSSUP turning and grinning: You don’t look like that. Grusha stops scrubbing him and starts back. Enter the mother-in-law. This is a nice thing you’ve saddled me with here! A mule for a wife!
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW: She isn’t willing.
YUSSUP: Pour—but go easy! Ow! Go easy, I said. To Grusha. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t been up to something in the city. What else would you be here for? But I won’t say anything about that. I also haven’t said anything about the bastard you brought into my house. But my patience with you is coming to an end. That’s against nature. To the mother-in-law: More! To Grusha: And even if your soldier does return, you’re married.
Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 7 Page 22
