Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 4
Page 12
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY: And why not? Why does Mr Callas have no claim?
PARR: Because the horses weren’t a gift to him either.
CALLAS: You don’t know that! How can you say that?
PARR: De Guzman would have to have an awful lot of horses if he were to give away two for every girl he’s had.
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY: Your Honour! In his simple manner Farmer Parr has expounded the view which the tenant farmers themselves hold in this question, namely whether gifts of such considerable size are customary in a case like that of Nanna Callas. Your Honour, I should like now to call a witness whose testimony will surprise you. This witness will testify as to Mr Callas’s own opinion about whether landlords part readily with their horses.
NANNA: Who have they drummed up now? You talked a lot of rubbish in the coffeehouse, you know.
CALLAS: It’s all wrong! And it’s that idiot Parr to blame. He’s ruined it for me.
Enter Señor Callamassi.
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY: Please, could you repeat what Callas said to you in the coffeehouse?
NANNA: You’d better object now, straight away.
CALLAS: This witness doesn’t count, Your Honour! What I may have said then was private.
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY: And what did Callas say?
CALLAMASSI in one breath: Mr Callas said: And – between you and me – there was never really any talk of giving me the horses in exchange for the girl. It’s a joke! Señor de Guzman just turned a blind eye when I used them. Who’d trade two horses like that for a girl? You should take a look at the horses, really.
JUDGE to Callas: Did you say that?
NANNA: No
CALLAS: Yes, I mean no, I was drunk, Your Honour, everyone was buying me drinks because of winning the case against my landlord, and all the time nobody gave me anything to eat.
JUDGE: That doesn’t sound good at all, Mr Callas. Perhaps, in view of this testimony, you should think about renouncing your claim to the horses of your own free will?
NANNA: Don’t do that, whatever you do!
CALLAS: Never, Your Honour, I’m not in a position to do that. Loudly: I request that the Governor himself pass judgement, as it’s not a matter of any ordinary horses, they’re Zikkish horses. Yes, that’s it, it’s a matter of Zikkish horses!
Projection: ‘Latest Reports: Governor receives favourable despatches from the Front.’ Iberin comes out of the Palace.
JUDGE: Our Governor, good sir, Farmer Callas demands your judgement in the case of the San Barabas convent horses.
IBERIN steps forward just a little way:
What more d’you want, man? Have I not granted
Everything you could desire? Restored
Your honour? Condemned to death the man who dared
Offend you? Disregarding all his wealth
And all your poverty! I raised you up
To such great heights. And how do you respond?
I know your misdemeanours, man: be warned!
CALLAS: I’d like to point out that the horses in question, which I need for my plough, were in Zikkish hands.
MOTHER SUPERIOR: And I should like to point out that they are now in Zakkish hands. Good sir:
The horses here at issue are now ours.
And we’re of Zakkish stock. But even if
They had been Zikkish horses, property
Is property, and needs must be respected!
You see two horses: check them over, check
Their mouths and count their teeth – there’s nothing here
That’s Zikkish, sir. For what, sir, is a horse?
A Zikkish or a Zakkish thing? Of course
It’s neither! A horse is just a thing, a trifle
That’s worth one hundred pesos, give or take.
It might as well be cheese or boots or bread!
In short, those things, those creatures over there
That paw the dust, are just one hundred pesos!
One hundred convent pesos! It so happens
These cash bags wear a horse’s hide;
And as a hide befits a horse, ’tis fitting
They should have a rightful owner too:
These, sir, are convent horses.
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY: Because by deed of gift one half of all the livestock, goods and chattels of the de Guzman estate, from which these horses come, has passed to the convent.
CALLAS: When I took the horses they didn’t belong to any convent.
ISABELLA suddenly enraged: But they didn’t belong to you either, you pig! And take your cap off when you talk to us!
NANNA: You keep out of it.
CALLAS: There’s not one of the clan even knows how to saddle up a horse.
ISABELLA: Take off your cap! Those are our horses! Off with the cap!
CALLAS: I refer to the Governor’s own statement: It’s not a question here of rich or poor!
ISABELLA: Well, so do we! Take off your cap!
IBERIN:
Yes, take it off!
Callas takes off his cap.
It’s time to close this case!
I’ve heard there’s talk in Luma that, because
I once condemned a Zikkish landlord, I
Must be the landlords’ enemy. Not true.
My judgement wasn’t aimed at property
But just at its abuse. And you, farmer,
You’ve only understood the meanest part
Of what inspires and swells a Zakkish chest!
Would you exchange your honour for a horse?
As if it were a decent trade. For shame!
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY sharply: Governor! Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen! My client, the Convent of San Barabas, can offer proof that this Callas is a subversive.
ZIKKISH ATTORNEY: A moment ago Mr Callas vigorously condemned the horse thievery committed by his friend Parr. To the witness Callamassi: In the coffeehouse I understand that Mr Callas sang a certain song, which caused some excitement amongst his audience?
CALLAMASSI: Yes sir. It was the outlawed ‘What-You-Have-You-Hold Song’.
NANNA to her father: Now you’re done for.
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY: I move that the defendant Callas repeat his song for the benefit of the court.
IBERIN to Callas: Did you sing this song?
CALLAS: No, I mean yes. I was drunk, Your Honour, everyone was buying me drinks and all the time nobody gave me anything to eat.
IBERIN: Repeat the song!
CALLAS: It’s not really a song at all, it’s just a couple of verses.
IBERIN: Sing them!
CALLAS: Yes sir. He is silent.
IBERIN: You’re to sing!
CALLAS sullenly: I’m hoarse.
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY: We’re not expecting an aria.
IBERIN: Sing!
CALLAS: I only heard it once, I’m not sure I can remember it. It went something like this. He repeats the song, emphasising only the words ‘Hail Iberin!’.
THE WHAT-YOU-HAVE-YOU-HOLD SONG
1
There was a man of old
His life was hard and cold.
They said: Just keep on waiting!
He did as he was told.
It was debilitating.
Hail Iberin! You say
But
What you have you hold!
2
The man had had enough
He started acting tough.
Before long they were quaking:
They promised loads of stuff
Like measures they’d be taking.
Hail Iberin! You say
But
What you have you hold!
3
There was a man of old
He reckoned he’d been sold.
He grabbed what took his fancy.
He’s getting bloody bold
He’s got the upper hand, see.
Hail Iberin! You say
But
What you have you hold!
MOTHER SUPERIOR loudly: That’s open rebellion!
JUDGE: One could say this song represents a blatant affront to the Government.
IBERIN: The horses are to be taken away from him.
JUDGE: The horses are to be taken away from you. He leaves.
CALLAS: Sir, does that mean I don’t get the horses?
IBERIN: That’s right. The law is the law. For you and everyone else.
CALLAS: Then let me tell you something: I spit on your law, if I can’t get the horses I need for ploughing! That’s no law! That’s no justice for me, if I don’t get the horses I need! That’s the justice of the landowners! I’m going to join the Sickle! They’ll get me my horses!
Suddenly the bells begin to toll. From afar the noise of an enormous crowd.
VOICE BACKSTAGE: The Sickle has been smashed!
ZAKKISH ATTORNEY: We’ve won!
Enter Missena with a microphone.
MISSENA:
Señor Iberin, the peasants’ revolt has been
With God’s assistance bloodily put down!
MOTHER SUPERIOR clapping quietly: Bravo!
IBERIN takes the microphone:
The peasants’ Sickle has been smashed! Rejoice!
We’ve smitten off the greedy hand that robbed
And desecrated! For that is Zakkish law
And ancient custom: property is sacred.
A Zak would rather starve in poverty
Than steal his meat from someone else’s table.
The mob that sponges on the state with pleas
Of ‘God have mercy’ and ‘We’re not to blame’,
‘There’s no work to be had, don’t let us starve’,
We’ll let them have their crust, but mark my words,
For me a leeching Zak’s no Zak at all:
Let him be fed, and let him be despised.
And should he dare demand what’s not his right,
Or lay claim to the land just ’cause he ploughs it,
Take horses, tools or stock, because he needs them –
In short, should he commit a crime of any sort
’Gainst property: let him be ripped apart!
For such a man can only bring us strife!
The sin of greed has forced a fearful wedge,
A rift between the healthy parts of our
Dear island race! Our land was riven by mistrust
Until this Sickle flag was trodden in the dust.
At this moment the lights of the chandelier come on.
VOICE BACKSTAGE: Mirasonnore has been relieved! Government troops have recaptured the power station! Hooray for Iberin!
IBERIN: And there was light! To Callas, covering the microphone with his hand:
As for you, farmer, go home to your plough
And leave affairs of state to those who know
What’s what! When sometimes ends won’t meet, remember:
It’s you who’re insufficient, only you!
We need your honest work, not idle plaints!
You think your land is lacking? – You’re the lack!
And when your harvest fails, then you have failed!
Go home to sweat and toil, not to shirk,
And we shall honour you for all your honest work!
He turns away and strides back into the palace, followed by Missena. Exeunt, except Callas and Nanna. Projection: ‘Sickle in complete disarray. Peasants abandon occupied farms.’
CALLAS: Did you hear that, the bastard has sentenced me to death.
NANNA: That I didn’t hear. But he has taken your horses away.
CALLAS: It’s the same thing.
The bells go on tolling.
8
A BACKSTREET IN THE OLD TOWN
The bells are still tolling. The tobacconist stands at his shop door. The door of the grocer’s on the right opens and the fat woman appears loaded down with boxes and suitcases.
FAT WOMAN: Why are the bells ringing, Mr Palmosa?
TOBACCONIST PALMOSA: They’re ringing for victory, Mrs Tomaso! The peasants from the Sickle have been bloodily put down, with God’s assistance. It’s a great victory!
FAT WOMAN: Whatever you say. Unfortunately I have to move out, I can’t pay the rent.
PALMOSA: Couldn’t you just hold on until the great projects of this new government have been realised?
FAT WOMAN: No. She sits down for a moment on her suitcases. Thirty-five years, that’s how long I’ve lived here!
PALMOSA: I expect I’ll have to move out soon too. Thank heaven at least my son’s with the Zakkish legion, he’ll get properly paid now.
FAT WOMAN: This Señor Iberin has been a great disappointment. He seemed so energetic at first.
PALMOSA: Reconstruction is a slow and painful business! Perhaps your little sacrifice was necessary, Mrs Tomaso, to nurture those delicate green shoots of recovery in Yahoo.
FAT WOMAN: The only thing he’s done is get that Zik opposite put away!
A man with a very timid manner and wearing a big hat has come down the street. He opens up the shop door of the grocer’s on the left. It’s the Zikkish shopkeeper.
FAT WOMAN exits with her suitcases: Well I never! I don’t understand the world any more!
More bells. The Zikkish shopkeeper comes out of the grocer’s on the left. He was only fetching his suitcase, now he exits too: he too has had to close down. Landlord Callamassi comes down the street.
CALLAMASSI: I’ve just come from the trial. Hot news: Callas has had the horses taken away from him.
PALMOSA: You don’t say! And the landlord?
CALLAMASSI: The landlord wasn’t mentioned.
PALMOSA: Do you think he’ll get off? That would be a thing.
CALLAMASSI: Is that some sort of criticism of the government, Mr Palmosa?
PALMOSA: Señor Callamassi, it’s my job to sell cigars, not to criticise the government.
CALLAMASSI going into the house: Just watch what you say, Mr Palmosa! The Governor has had some serious things to say about malcontents. Besides, I still haven’t had your rent.
The tobacconist runs over to the coffeehouse and rings until Madame Cornamontis appears.
PALMOSA looking at Madame Cornamontis meaningfully: Madame Cornamontis, Callas has had the horses taken away from him.
MADAME CORNAMONTIS: So I’ll be expecting visitors soon.
She goes back inside.
PALMOSA goes back into his shop: How times change.
Down the street come Farmer Callas and his daughter, she is carrying a suitcase.
NANNA: Back where we started. This is the house. This where the people stood and said, what’s a nice Zakkish girl like you doing in a house like this! It’s shameful, they cried. But you can’t eat fancy words. Now I’d be thankful if they’d take me back.
CALLAS: They’ll be happy enough to have you back.
NANNA: I’m not so sure about that.
CALLAS: I hope none of those Iberin people sees us. Otherwise they’ll lock me up for not behaving proper, like a real people’s hero.
They ring.
Why does nobody answer?
NANNA: Perhaps they shut the place down after all.
CALLAS: Now we’ve had it! If I have to feed you all through the winter!
CORNAMONTIS comes to the door: Oh, Nanna.
NANNA: Good morning, Madame Cornamontis!
CALLAS: Good morning, Madame Cornamontis!
NANNA: Madame Cornamontis, the great expectations which my father had with regard to my future have not quite worked out, unfortunately. I could have told him right away. But some rather unusual legal proceedings, which we were at the centre of, got his hopes up, you know. Anyway, my father requests that you take me back into your house.
CORNAMONTIS: I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.
NANNA: Ah, Madame Cornamontis, the ways of the world are strange. Two days ago the people carried me on their shoulders out of the courtroom – and ruined a brand-new pair of silk stockings while they were at it. But I can still count myself lucky, these things normally turn ou
t even worse. All the little people who’ve been making such a todo in recent days, they’ll soon come to their senses again. They earn eight pesos, and they make enough racket for eighty, it won’t end well.
CORNAMONTIS: Someone has to come out on top. She looks Nanna up and down. Only been gone a few days, and you’re in a state! I’ll have to start your education all over again. Why do I waste all that good money on make-up, if it only takes three days and all your sophistication’s down the drain? Your stockings are a mess! And what have you been eating! That complexion is not a pretty sight! Pity you can’t simply wipe away that new grin you’ve found. This girl used to have a smile like Aphrodite, and now she just grins. And the way you waggle your hips, like a common prostitute! I’ll have to think about it. The only thing in your favour is that the gentlemen always go for a girl who, oh so recently, seemed quite unattainable. Perhaps I’ll try it one more time. She goes inside.
CALLAS: So Nanna my dear, it’s time for us to part again. I’m pleased we met up. I was able to see for myself that things aren’t going all that badly for you, better than for your poor parents anyway! If you happen to have something to spare these next months, we’d be grateful. At least your dear mother and I gave you the wherewithal to make your living here. Let’s not forget that.
NANNA: Goodbye, Father dear. We’ve had a nice few days together anyway. But don’t get up to anything stupid now, you just go straight home. She goes inside.
PALMOSA comes out of the shop, where he’s been listening:
Aren’t you that ‘Callas of the horses’?
CALLAS: ‘Callas of the horses’, yes, that’s what they used to call me. But the horses were a three-day dream. In those days the Sickle was still on the way up. Then everything started to go wrong.
PALMOSA: But you had quite a coup in your trial with de Guzman, didn’t you, you know, when you moved that the rents should be abolished.
CALLAS startled: The rents? That’s right! In all the fuss and bother nobody mentioned them again. I’ve got to find out. Right away! Heavens!
PALMOSA: But how? Where can you find out?
CALLAS: Where?
PALMOSA: You’d best to go straight to Señor Iberin.
CALLAS: Iberin? I’m not going to him again, my friend. But I must find out somehow. He walks off, his walk turning to a run.
PALMOSA: Where are you running to?
He goes back into his shop, shaking his head. Isabella de Guzman, the Abbess of San Barabas and the attorneys are on their way back from the trial.