Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 2

by Bertolt Brecht

  JIP inside: Hey, who’s that? What is that voice that sounds like a fat rat talking?

  WANG: That moderately fat rat, colonel, is your friend Wang from Tientsin.

  JIP inside: What town am I in now?

  WANG: A wretched town, exalted patron, a hole known as Kilkoa.

  JIP inside: Let me out!

  WANG to the rear: When you have finished rolling the camel dung into balls, lay them out on a dish, beat the drum and light them. To Jip: At once, honourable soldier, if only you promise not to run away.

  JIP inside: Open up, you voice of a muskrat, open up, do you hear!

  WANG: Wait, wait, ye faithful! Stay where you are for just one instant. The god will speak to you in three thunderclaps. Count them carefully. Four, no, five. Too bad: he only wishes you to sacrifice five taels. Taps on the prayerbox; in a friendly tone: Honourable soldier, here is a beefsteak for your mouth.

  JIP inside: Oh, now I feel it, my insides are utterly corroded. I must have rinsed them in pure alcohol. Oh, it may be that I have had too much to drink and now I am having to eat the same amount.

  WANG: You may eat a whole cow, honourable soldier, and a beefsteak already awaits you. But I fear you will run away, honourable soldier. Do you promise me that you will not run away?

  JIP inside: Let’s have a look at it first. Wang lets him out. How did I get here?

  WANG: Through the air, honourable general. You came through the air.

  JIP: Where was I when you found me?

  WANG: Deigning to rest in an old palanquin, Exalted One.

  JIP: And where are my comrades? Where is the Eighth Regiment? Where is our machine-gun section? Where are those twelve troop trains and four elephant parks? Where is the whole British Army? Where have they all gone, you grinning yellow spittoon?

  WANG: Somewhere beyond the Punjab Mountains a month ago. But here is a beefsteak.

  JIP: What? And me? Where was I? What was I doing when they were moving off?

  WANG: Beer, much beer, one thousand bottles, and making money too.

  JIP: Didn’t people come asking for me?

  WANG: Unfortunately not.

  JIP: That is disagreeable.

  WANG: But if they should come now, looking for a man in the uniform of a white soldier, should I bring them to you, honourable Minister of War?

  JIP: That is not necessary.

  WANG: If you don’t want to be disturbed, Johnny, just step into this box, Johnny, in case anyone comes who offends your eye.

  JIP: Where’s that beefsteak? Sits down and eats. It’s far too small. What is that ghastly noise?

  To the sound of drumming the smoke from the camel-dung balls rises to the ceiling.

  WANG: That is the prayers of the faithful who are down on their knees back there.

  JIP: It’s from a tough part of the cow. Who are they praying to?

  WANG: That is their secret.

  JIP eating more quickly: This is a good beefsteak, but it is wrong that I should be sitting here. Polly and Jesse are sure to have waited for me. They may still be waiting. It’s as soft as butter. It is bad of me to be eating. I can hear Polly telling Jesse: Jip will definitely be back. As soon as he’s sobered up, Jip will be back. Uriah may not exactly burst himself waiting, because Uriah is a bad man, but Jesse and Polly will say: Jip will be back. No question but this is an appropriate meal for me after all that liquor. If only Jesse didn’t have such blind faith in his old friend Jip; but as it is he’s saying: Jip won’t let us down, and of course that’s hard for me to bear. It’s all wrong that I should be sitting here, but this is good meat.

  8

  The Canteen

  Early morning. Galy Gay is still asleep in his chair. The three are eating breakfast.

  POLLY: Jip will be back.

  JESSE: Jip won’t let us down.

  POLLY: As soon as he’s sobered up, Jip will be back.

  URIAH: You never can tell. Anyway we won’t let this porter out of our hands so long as Jip is still out on the tiles.

  JESSE: He never left.

  POLLY: He must be frozen stiff. He spent the whole night on that wooden chair.

  URIAH: But we had a good night’s sleep and are in fine shape again.

  POLLY: And Jip will be back. That much is clear to my sound, well-rested military mind. As soon as Jip wakes up he’ll want his beer, and then Jip will be back.

  Enter Wang. He goes to the bar and rings. Enter Widow Begbick.

  BEGBICK: I’m not serving native undesirables, nor yellow ones neither.

  WANG: For a white man: ten bottles of good light beer.

  BEGBICK: For a white man ten bottles of light beer. She gives him the ten bottles.

  WANG: Yes, for a white man. Exit Wang, bowing to all. Jesse, Polly and Uriah exchange looks.

  URIAH: Jip won’t be back now. We must take some beer on board. Widow Begbick, in future you will keep twenty beers and ten whiskies permanently at action stations. Begbick pours beer and goes out. The three drink and observe the sleeping Galy Gay.

  POLLY: But how do we manage it, Uriah? All we have is Jip’s paybook.

  URIAH: That’s enough. That’ll give us a new Jip. People are taken much too seriously. One equals no one. Anything less than two hundred at a time is not worth mentioning. Of course anybody can be of a different opinion. An opinion is of no consequence whatever. Any level-headed man can level-headedly adopt two or three different opinions.

  JESSE: They can stuff their ‘personalities’.

  POLLY: But what’s he going to say if we turn him into Private Jeraiah Jip?

  URIAH: His kind change of their own accord, you know. Throw him into a pond, and two days later he’ll have webs growing between his fingers. That’s because he’s got nothing to lose.

  JESSE: Never mind what he says, we’ve got to have a tourth man. Wake him up.

  POLLY wakes Galy Gay: Dear sir, what a piece of luck that you didn’t leave. Circumstances have arisen which prevented our friend Jeraiah Jip from reporting here on time.

  URIAH: Are you of Irish extraction?

  GALY GAY: I think so.

  URIAH: That is a help. I trust you are not over forty, Mr Galy Gay?

  GALY GAY: I am not as old as that.

  URIAH: Brilliant. Have you by any chance got flat feet?

  GALY GAY: Somewhat.

  URIAH: That settles it. Your fortune is made. For the time being you can remain here.

  GALY GAY: Unhappily my wife is expecting me in connection with a fish.

  POLLY: We understand your hesitations: they are honourable and worthy of an Irishman. But we like your appearance.

  JESSE: And what’s more, it fits the bill. There may perhaps be an opening for you to become a soldier.

  Galy Gay is silent.

  URIAH: The soldier’s life is extremely pleasant. Every week they give us a handful of money and all we have to do in return is to foot it round India gazing at these highways and pagodas. Kindly take a look at the comfortable leather sleeping bags that are issued to a soldier free of charge. Cast your eye on this rifle bearing the trademark of the firm of Everett and Co. Mostly we amuse ourselves fishing, with tackle bought for us by Mum, as we laughingly call the army, while a number of military bands take it in turn to provide music. For the remainder of the day you smoke in your bungalow or idly observe the golden palaces of one of those Rajahs, whom you may also shoot if you feel so inclined. The ladies expect a great deal from us soldiers, but never money, and that, you must admit, is yet another attraction. Galy Gay is silent.

  POLLY: The soldier’s life in wartime is particularly pleasant. Only in battle does a man attain his full stature. Do you realise that you are living in momentous times? Before each infantry attack the soldier is given a large glass of spirits free of charge, after which his courage is boundless, positively boundless.

  GALY GAY: I realise that the soldier’s life is a pleasant one.

  URIAH: Definitely. So this means you can keep your military uniform with i
ts pretty brass buttons and have a right to be called Mr at any moment: Mr Jip.

  GALY GAY: You cannot wish to cause unhappiness to a poor porter.

  JESSE: Why not?

  URIAH: You mean you want to leave?

  GALY GAY: Yes, I am leaving now.

  JESSE: Polly, go and get his clothes.

  POLLY with the clothes: What’s the reason for your not wanting to be Jip, then?

  Fairchild appears at the window.

  GALY GAY: The fact that I am Galy Gay. He goes to the door. The three look at one another.

  URIAH: Just wait a minute longer.

  POLLY: Have you ever heard the saying: More haste, less speed?

  URIAH: You are up against the sort of men who don’t like accepting free gifts from strangers.

  JESSE: Whatever your name is, you should get something for having been so obliging.

  URIAH: It all boils down – all right, keep your hand on the doorknob – to a bit of business.

  Galy Gay stops short.

  JESSE: This bit of business is as good as anything Kilkoa has to offer, aren’t I right, Polly? You know, if we could manage to get our hands on that …

  URIAH: It is our duty to offer you a chance to get in on this stupendous bit of business.

  GALY GAY: Business? Did I hear you say business?

  URIAH: Possibly. But you’ve no time for that, have you?

  GALY GAY: There’s having time and having time.

  POLLY: Oh, you’d have time all right. If you knew what this bit of business was you’d have time all right. After all, Lord Kitchener had time to conquer Egypt.

  GALY GAY: I should think so. You mean it’s a big bit of business?

  POLLY: For the Maharajah of Peshawar it might be. But it might not be all that big perhaps for a big man like you.

  GALY GAY: What would I have to contribute in this bit of business?

  JESSE: Nothing.

  POLLY: At the most you might have to sacrifice your moustache, which could possibly provoke undesirable notoriety.

  GALY GAY: I see. He takes his things and starts for the door.

  POLLY: What an utter elephant!

  GALY GAY: Elephant? Elephants are a goldmine of course. If you’ve got an elephant you’ll never end up in the workhouse. Excitedly takes a chair and sits down in the centre of the group.

  URIAH: Elephant? You bet we’ve got an elephant.

  GALY GAY: Would your elephant be such as to be instantly available?

  POLLY: An elephant! That’s something he seems extremely keen on.

  GALY GAY: So you have an elephant available?

  POLLY: Who ever heard of a bit of business involving an unavailable elephant?

  GALY GAY: Well, in that case, Mr Polly, I too would be glad to get my cut of this.

  URIAH hesitantly: The only trouble is the Devil of Kilkoa.

  GALY GAY: The devil of Kilkoa, what’s that?

  POLLY: Speak quieter. You’re speaking the name of the Human Typhoon, Bloody Five, our sergeant.

  GALY GAY: What does he do to get such names?

  POLLY: Oh, nothing. Occasionally when a man gives the wrong name at roll call he bundles him up in six feet of canvas and dumps him in among the elephants.

  GALY GAY: So you need a man with a head on his shoulders.

  URIAH: You have that head, Mr Galy Gay.

  POLLY: A head like that has something in it.

  GALY GAY: Nothing to speak of. But I do know a riddle that might be of interest to educated persons like yourselves.

  JESSE: You are in fact surrounded by expert riddle-guessers.

  GALY GAY: It goes like this: what’s white, is a mammal, and can see as well behind as in front?

  JESSE: That’s a hard one.

  GALY GAY: You’ll never guess this riddle. I couldn’t guess it myself. A mammal. White. Sees as well behind as in front.

  A blind white horse.

  URIAH: It’s a prodigious riddle.

  POLLY: And you just keep all that in your head?

  GALY GAY: As a rule, because I’m no good at writing. But I fancy I’m the right man for any bit of business.

  The three go to the bar. Galy Gay takes a box of his cigars and hands it round.

  URIAH: Matches!

  GALY GAY while lighting their cigars: Gentlemen, permit me to prove to you that you have selected no bad associate for your bit of business. Do you happen to have some heavy objects handy?

  JESSE points to some weights and clubs lying along the wall by the door: There you are.

  GALY GAY taking the heaviest weight and lifting it: I’m a member of the Kilkoa Wrestling Club, you see.

  URIAH handing him a bottle of beer: Anyone can tell that from the way you behave.

  GALY GAY drinking: Yes, we wrestlers have our own way of behaving. There are certain rules. For instance, when a wrestler comes into a room full of people, he hoists his shoulders on entering, raises his arms to shoulder height, then lets them dangle and saunters into the room. He drinks. Join up with me and you can rob a bank.

  FAIRCHILD enters: There’s a woman out here who is looking for an individual called Galy Gray.

  GALY GAY: Galy Gay! Galy Gay’s the name of the individual she’s looking for.

  Fairchild looks at him for a moment, then fetches Mrs Galy Gay.

  GALY GAY to the three: Don’t worry, she’s a gentle soul, being as how she’s from a province where nearly everyone is friendly. You can rely on me. Galy Gay has tasted blood.

  FAIRCHILD: Come in, Mrs Gray. There’s a man here who knows your husband. He comes back with Galy Gay’s wife.

  MRS GALY GAY: Excuse a humble woman, gentlemen, and pardon the way I am dressed, I was in such a hurry. Ah, there you are, Galy Gay. But are you really you in that army uniform?

  GALY GAY: No.

  MRS GALY GAY: I can’t make you out. How do you come to be in uniform? It doesn’t suit you a bit, ask anybody. You’re a strange man, Galy Gay.

  URIAH: She isn’t right in the head.

  MRS GALY GAY: It’s not easy being married to someone who cannot say no.

  GALY GAY: I wonder who she’s talking to.

  URIAH: Sounds like insults to me.

  FAIRCHILD: In my opinion Mrs Gray is extremely lucid in the head. Please go on talking, Mrs Gray. Your voice is more grateful to my ears than a coloratura soprano.

  MRS GALY GAY: I don’t know what you’re up to this time with your big ideas, but you’ll come to no good end. Come along now. Why don’t you say something? Have you got a sore throat?

  GALY GAY: I do believe you are addressing all that to me. You’ve mistaken me for someone else, let me tell you, and what you’re saying about him is stupid and tactless.

  MRS GALY GAY: What’s that? Mistaken you? Have you been drinking? He can’t stand drink, you see.

  GALY GAY: I’m no more your Galy Gay than I’m the Army Commander.

  MRS GALY GAY: I put the water on around this time yesterday, but you never brought the fish.

  GALY GAY: What’s this about a fish? You are talking as if you had lost your wits, and in front of all these gentlemen tool

  FAIRCHILD: This is a most remarkable case. It conjures up such frightful thoughts that cold shivers go running down my spine. Does any of you know this woman? The three shake their heads. How about you?

  GALY GAY: I’ve seen many things in my life, from Ireland to Kilkoa, but I never before set eyes on this woman.

  FAIRCHILD: Tell the woman your name.

  GALY GAY: Jeraiah Jip.

  MRS GALY GAY: This is the limit! All the same, sergeant, now I come to look at him I almost get the feeling that he is somehow different from my husband Galy Gay the porter, somehow different though I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  FAIRCHILD: We’ll soon put our finger on it, never you mind. He goes out with Mrs Galy Gay.

  GALY GAY dances to the centre of the stage, singing:

  O moon of Alabama

  You must go under soon!

  Our
dear old good old mamma

  Would like a brand-new moon.

  He goes up to Jesse beaming. All over Ireland the Galy Gays are famous for banging the nail home in any situation.

  URIAH to Polly: Before the sun has set seven times this man must be another man.

  POLLY: Can it really be done, Uriah? Changing one man into another?

  URIAH: Yes, one man is like the other. Man equals man.

  POLLY: But Uriah, the army can move off any minute, you know.

  URIAH: Of course the army can move off any minute. But you can see this canteen is still here, can’t you? Don’t you realise that the gunners are still holding race meetings? Let me tell you that God would never agree to ruin our sort by getting the army on the move this very day. He’d certainly think twice about that.

  POLLY: Listen.

  Drums and bugles give the signal for departure. The three fall in and stand to attention.

  FAIRCHILD offstage, shouting: The Army will move to the northern frontiers! Starting time zero two one zero hours tonight!

  Interlude

  Spoken by the Widow Leokadja Begbick.

  Herr Bertolt Brecht maintains man equals man

  – A view that has been around since time began.

  But then Herr Brecht points out how far one can

  Manoeuvre and manipulate that man.

  Tonight you are going to see a man reassembled like a car

  Leaving all his individual components just as they are.

  He has some kind friends by whom he is pressed

  Entirely in his own interest

  To conform with this world and its twists and turns

  And give up pursuing his own fishy concerns.

  So whatever the purpose of his various transformations

  He always lives up to his friends’ expectations.

  Indeed if we people were to let him out of our sight

  They could easily make a butcher of him overnight.

  Herr Bertolt Brecht hopes you’ll feel the ground on which you stand

  Slither between your toes like shifting sand

  So that the case of Galy Gay the porter makes you aware

  Life on this earth is a hazardous affair.

  9

  The Canteen

  The sounds of an army breaking camp. A loud voice is heard from backstage.