Three Plays of Tennessee Williams

by Tennessee Williams

  Yep—that's what I judge to be your principal trouble. A lack of amount of faith in yourself as a person. You don't have the proper amount of faith in yourself. I'm basing that fact on a number of your remarks and also on certain observations I've made. For instance that clumping you thought was so awful in high school. You say that you even dreaded to walk into class. You see what you did? You dropped out of school, you gave up an education because of a clump, which as far as I know was practically non-existent! A little physical defect is what you have. Hardly noticeable even! Magnified thousands of times by imagination!

  You know what my strong advice to you is? Think of yourself as superior in some way!

  LAURA: In what way would I think?

  JIM: Why, man alive, Laura! Just look about you a little. What do you see? A world full of common people! All of 'em born and all of 'em going to die!

  Which of them has one-tenth of your good points? Or mine! Or anyone else's, as far as that goes—Gosh!

  Everybody excels in some one thing. Some in many!

  [Unconsciously glances at himself in the mirror.]

  All you've got to do is discover in what! Take me, for instance.

  [He adjusts his tie at the mirror.]

  My interest happens to lie in electro-dynamics. I'm taking a course in radio engineering at night school, Laura, on top of a fairly responsible job at the warehouse. I'm taking that course and studying public speaking.

  LAURA: Ohhhh.

  JIM: Because I believe in the future of television!

  [Turning back to her.]

  I wish to be ready to go up right along with it. Therefore I'm planning to get in on the ground floor. In fact I've already made the right connections and all that remains is for the industry itself to get under way! Full steam—[His eyes are starry.] Knowledge—Zzzzzp! Money – Zzzzzzp!—Power! That's the cycle democracy is built on!

  [His attitude is convincingly dynamic. Laura stares at him, even her shyness eclipsed in her absolute wonder. He suddenly grins.]

  I guess you think I think a lot of myself!

  LAURA: No—o-o-o, I—

  JIM: Now how about you? Isn't there something you take more interest in than anything else?

  LAURA: Well, I do—as I said—have my—glass collection—

  [A peal of girlish laughter from the kitchenette.]

  JIM: I'm not right sure I know what you're talking about—What kind of glass is it?

  LAURA: Little articles of it, they're ornaments mostly! Most of them are little animals made out of glass, the tiniest little animals in the world. Mother calls them a glass menagerie! Here's an example of one, if you'd like to see it! This one is one of the oldest. It's nearly thirteen.

  [MUSIC: 'THE GLASS MENAGERIE'

  He stretches out his hand.]

  Oh, be careful—if you breathe, it breaks!

  JIM: I'd better not take it. I'm pretty clumsy with things.

  LAURA: Go on, I trust you with him!

  [She places the piece in his palm.]

  There now—you're holding him gently!

  Hold him over the light, he loves the light! You see how the light shines through him?

  JIM: It sure does shine!

  LAURA: I shouldn't be partial, but he is my favourite one.

  JIM: What kind of a thing is this one supposed to be?

  LAURA: Haven't you noticed the single horn on his forehead head?

  JIM: A unicorn, huh?

  LAURA: Mmmm-hmmm!

  JIM: Unicorns—aren't they extinct in the modern world?

  LAURA: I know!

  JIM: Poor little fellow, he must feel sort of lonesome.

  LAURA [smiling]: Well, if he does he doesn't complain about it. He stays on a shelf with some horses that don't have horns and all of them seem to get along nicely together.

  JIM: How do you know?

  LAURA [lightly]: I haven't heard any arguments among them!

  JIM [grinning]: No arguments, huh? Well, that's a pretty good sign! Where shall I set him?

  LAURA: Put him on the table. They all like a change of scenery once in a while!

  JIM: Well, well, well, well—[He places the glass piece on the table, then raises his arms and stretches.] Look how big my shadow is when I stretch!

  LAURA: Oh, oh, yes—it stretches across the ceiling!

  JIM [crossing to door]: I think it's stopped raining. [He opens the fire-escape door and the background music changes to dance music.] Where does the music come from?

  LAURA: From the Paradise Dance Hall across the alley.

  JIM: How about cutting the rug a little, Miss Wingfield?

  LAURA: Oh, I—

  JIM: Or is your program filled up? Let me have a look at it. [He grasps an imaginary card.] Why, every dance is taken! I'll just have to scratch some out.

  [WALTZ MUSIC: 'LA GOLONDRINA'.]

  Ahhh, a waltz!

  [He executes some sweeping turns by himself then holds his arms toward Laura.]

  LAURA [breathlessly]: I—can't dance!

  JIM: There you go, that inferiority stuff!

  LAURA: I’ve never danced in my life!

  JIM: Come on, try!

  LAURA: Oh, but I'd step on you!

  JIM: I'm not made out of glass.

  LAURA: How—how—how do we start?

  JIM: Just leave it to me. You hold your arms out a little.

  LAURA: Like this?

  JIM [taking her in his arms]: A little bit higher. Right. Now don't tighten up, that's the main thing about it—relax.

  LAURA [laughing breathlessly]: It's hard not to. I'm afraid you can't budge me.

  JIM: What do you bet I can't? [He swings her into motion.]

  LAURA: Goodness, yes, you can!

  JIM: Let yourself go, now, Laura, just let yourself go.

  LAURA: I'm—

  JIM: Come on!

  LAURA: —trying!

  JIM: Not so stiff—Easy does it!

  LAURA: I know but I'm—

  JIM: Loosen th' backbone! There now, that's a lot better.

  LAURA: Am I?

  JIM: Lots, lots better!

  [He moves her about the room in a clumsy waltz.]

  LAURA: Oh, my!

  JIM: Ha-ha!

  LAURA: Oh, my goodness!

  JIM: Ha-ha-ha!

  [They suddenly bump into the table, and the glass piece on it falls to the floor. Jim stops the dance.]

  What did we hit on?

  LAURA: Table.

  JIM: Did something fall off it? I think—

  LAURA: Yes.

  JIM: I hope that it wasn't the little glass horse with the horn!

  LAURA: Yes.

  [She stoops to pick it up.]

  JIM: Aw, aw, aw. Is it broken?

  LAURA: Now it is just like all the other horses.

  JIM: It's lost its—

  LAURA: Horn! It doesn't matter. Maybe it's a blessing in disguise.

  JIM: You'll never forgive me. I bet that that was your favourite piece of glass.

  LAURA: I don't have favourites much. It's no tragedy, Freckles. Glass breaks so easily. No matter how careful you are. The traffic jars the shelves and things fall off them.

  JIM: Still I'm awfully sorry that I was the cause.

  LAURA [smiling]: I'll just imagine he had an operation. The horn was removed to make him feel less—freakish!

  [They both laugh.]

  Now he will feel more at home with the other horses, the ones that don't have horns...

  JIM: Ha-ha, that's very funny!

  [Suddenly serious]

  I'm glad to see that you have a sense of humour. You know—you're—well—very different! Surprisingly different from anyone else I know!

  [His voice becomes soft and hesitant with a genuine feeling.]

  Do you mind me telling you that?

  [Laura is abashed beyond speech]

  I mean it in a nice way—

  [Laura nods shyly, looking away.]

  You make me feel sort of—I don'
t know how to put it! I'm usually pretty good at expressing things, but—This is something that I don't know how to say!

  [Laura touches her throat and clears it—turns the unicorn in her hands. His voice becomes even softer.]

  Has anyone ever told you that you were pretty?

  [There is a pause, and the music rises slightly. Laura looks up slowly with wonder and shakes her head.]

  Well, you are! In a very different way from anyone else. And all the nicer because of the difference, too.

  [His voice becomes low and husky. Laura turns away, nearly faint with the novelty of her emotions.]

  I wish that you were my sister. I'd teach you to have some confidence in yourself. The different people are not like other people, but being different is nothing to be ashamed of. Because other people are not such wonderful people. They're one hundred times one thousand. You're one times one! They walk all over the earth. You just stay here. They're common as—weeds, but—you—well, you're—Blue Roses!

  [MUSIC changes.]

  LAURA: But blue is wrong for—roses...

  JIM: It's right for you! You're—pretty!

  LAURA: In what respect am I pretty?

  JIM: In all respects—believe me! Your eyes—your hair—are pretty! Your hands are pretty!

  [He catches hold of her hand.]

  You think I'm making this up because I'm invited to dinner and have to be nice. Oh, I could do that! I could put on an act for you, Laura, and say lots of things without being very sincere. But this time I am. I'm talking to you sincerely. I happened to notice you had this inferiority complex that keeps you from feeling comfortable with people. Somebody needs to build your confidence up and make you proud instead of shy and turning away and—blushing. Somebody—ought to—kiss you, Laura!

  [His hand slips slowly up her arm to her shoulder as the music swells tumultuously. He suddenly turns her about and kisses her on the lips. When he releases her, Laura sinks on the sofa with a bright, dazed look. Jim backs away and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette.]

  Stumble-john!

  [He lights the cigarette, avoiding her look.

  There is a peal of girlish laughter from Amanda in the kitchen.

  Laura slowly raises and opens her hand. It still contains the little broken glass animal. She looks at it with a tender, bewildered expression.]

  Stumble-john! I shouldn't have done that—That was way off the beam. You don't smoke, do you?

  [She looks up, smiling, not hearing the question.

  He sits beside her a little gingerly. She looks at him speechlessly—waiting.

  He coughs decorously and moves a little farther aside as he considers the situation and senses her feelings, dimly, with perturbation.

  He speaks gently.]

  Would you—care for a—mint?

  [She doesn't seem to hear him but her look grows brighter even.]

  Peppermint—Life-Saver? My pocket's a regular drug store—wherever I go...

  [He pops a mint in his mouth. Then he gulps and decides to make a clean breast of it. He speaks slowly and gingerly.]

  Laura, you know, if I had a sister like you, I'd do the same thing as Tom. I'd bring out fellows and—introduce her to them. The right type of boys of a type to—appreciate her.

  Only—well—he made a mistake about me.

  Maybe I've got no call to be saying this. That may not have been the idea in having me over. But what if it was? There's nothing wrong about that. The only trouble is that in my case—I'm not in a situation to—do the right thing.

  I can't take down your number and say I'll phone. I can't call up next week and—ask for a date.

  I thought I had better explain the situation in case you misunderstand it and—hurt your feelings…

  [There is a pause. Slowly, very slowly, Laura's look changes, her eyes returning slowly from his to the ornament in her palm.

  Amanda utters another gay laugh in the kitchenette.]

  LAURA [faintly]: You—won't—call again?

  JIM: No, Laura, I can't.

  [He rises from the sofa.]

  As I was just explaining, I've—got strings on me. Laura, I've—been going steady!

  I go out all of the time with a girl named Betty. She's a home-girl like you, and Catholic, and Irish, and in a great many ways we—get along fine.

  I met her last summer on a moonlight boat trip up the river to Alton, on the Majestic.

  Well—right away from the start it was—love!

  [Laura sways slightly forward and grips the arm of the sofa. He fails to notice, now enrapt in his own comfortable being.]

  Being in love has made -a new man of me!

  [Leaning stiffly forward, clutching the arm of the sofa Laura struggles visibly with her storm. But Jim is oblivious; she is a long way off.]

  The power of love is really pretty tremendous! Love is something that—changes the whole world, Laura!

  [The storm abates a little and Laura leans back. He notices her again.]

  It happened that Betty's aunt took sick, she got a wire and had to go to Centralia. So Tom—when he asked me to dinner—I naturally just accepted the invitation, not knowing that you—that he—that I— [He stops awkwardly.]

  Huh—I'm a stumble-john!

  [He flops back on the sofa.

  The holy candles in the altar of Laura's face have been snuffed out. There is a look of almost infinite desolation.

  Jim glances at her uneasily.]

  I wish that you would—say something.

  [She bites her lip which was trembling and then bravely smiles. She opens her hand again on the broken glass ornament. Then she gently takes his hand and raises it level with her own. She carefully places the unicorn in the palm of his hand, then pushes his fingers closed upon it.]

  What are you—doing that for? You want me to have him? Laura?

  [She nods.]

  What for?

  LAURA: A—souvenir....

  [She rises unsteadily and crouches beside the victrola to wind it up.

  At this moment Amanda rushes brightly back in the front room. She bears a pitcher of fruit punch in an old-fashioned cut-glass pitcher, and a plate of macaroons. The plate has a gold border and poppies painted on it.]

  AMANDA: Well, well, well! Isn't the air delightful after the shower? I've made you children a little liquid refreshment.

  [Turns gaily to Jim.]

  Jim, do you know that song about lemonade?

  'Lemonade, lemonade

  Made in the shade and stirred with a spade—

  Good enough for any old maid!’

  JIM [uneasily]: Ha-ha! No—I never heard it.

  AMANDA: Why, Laura! You look so serious!

  JIM: We were having a serious conversation.

  AMANDA: Good! Now you're better acquainted!

  JIM [uncertainly]: Ha-ha! Yes.

  AMANDA: You modern young people are much more serious-minded than my generation. I was so gay as a girl!

  JIM: You haven't changed, Mrs. Wingfield—

  AMANDA: Tonight I'm rejuvenated! The gaiety of the occasion, Mr. O'Connor!

  [She tosses her head with a peal of laughter. Spills lemonade.]

  Oooo! I'm baptizing myself!

  JIM: Here—let me—

  AMANDA [Setting the pitcher down]: There now. I discovered we had some maraschino cherries. I dumped them in, juice and all!

  JIM: You shouldn't have gone to that trouble, Mrs. Wingfield.

  AMANDA: Trouble, trouble? Why, it was loads of fun! Didn't you hear me cutting up in the kitchen? I bet your ears were burning! I told Tom how outdone with him I was for keeping you to himself so long a time! He should have brought you over much, much sooner! Well, now that you've found your way, I want you to be a very frequent caller! Not just occasional but all the time. Oh, we're going to have a lot of gay times together! I see them coming!

  Mmm, just breathe that air! So fresh, and the moon's so pretty!

  I'll skip back out—I know where my place i
s when young folks are having a—serious conversation!

  JIM: Oh, don't go out, Mrs. Wingfield. The fact of the matter is I've got to be going.

  AMANDA: Going, now? You're joking! Why, it's only the shank of the evening, Mr. O'Connor!

  JIM: Well, you know how it is.

  AMANDA: You mean you're a young working man and have to keep working men's hours. Well let you off early tonight. But only on the condition that next time you stay later. What's the best night for you? Isn't Saturday night the best night for you working men?

  JIM: I have a couple of time-clocks to punch, Mrs. Wingfield. One at morning, another one at night!

  AMANDA: My, but you are ambitious! You work at night, too?

  JIM: No, Ma'am, not work but—Betty! [He crosses deliberately to pick up his hat. The band at the Paradise Dance Hall goes into a tender waltz.]

  AMANDA: Betty? Betty? Who's—Betty!