JIM: Ha-ha! Where is the fuse-box?
AMANDA: Right here next to the stove. Can you see anything?
JIM: Just a minute.
AMANDA: Isn't electricity a mysterious thing? Wasn't it Benjamin Franklin who tied a key to a kite?
We live in such a mysterious universe, don't we? Some people say that science clears up all the mysteries for us. In my opinion it only creates more!
Have you found it yet?
JIM: No, Ma'am. All these fuses look okay to me.
AMANDA: Tom!
TOM: Yes, Mother?
AMANDA: That light bill I gave you several days ago. The one I told you we got the notices about?
TOM: Oh.—Yeah.
AMANDA: You didn't neglect to pay it by any chance?
TOM: Why, I—
AMANDA: Didn't! I might have known it!
JIM: Shakespeare probably wrote a poem on that light bill, Mrs. Wingfield.
AMANDA: I might have known better than to trust him with it! There's such a high price for negligence in this world!
JIM: Maybe the poem will win a ten-dollar prize.
AMANDA: We'll just have to spend the remainder of the evening in the nineteenth century, before Mr. Edison made the Mazda lamp!
JIM: Candlelight is my favourite kind of light.
AMANDA: That shows you're romantic! But that's no excuse for Tom.
Well, we got through dinner. Very considerate of them to let us get through dinner before they plunged us into ever-lasting darkness, wasn't it, Mr. O'Connor?
JIM: Ha-ha!
AMANDA: Tom, as a penalty for your carelessness you can help me with the dishes.
JIM: Let me give you a hand.
AMANDA: Indeed you will not!
JIM: I ought to be good for something.
AMANDA: Good for something? [Her tone is rhapsodic.] You? Why, Mr. O'Connor, nobody, nobody's given me this much entertainment in years—as you have!
JIM: Aw, now, Mrs. Wingfield!
AMANDA: I'm not exaggerating, not one bit! But Sister is all by her lonesome. You go keep her company in the parlour! I'll give you this lovely old candelabrum that used to be on the altar at the church of the Heavenly Rest. It was melted a little out of shape when the church burnt down. Lightning struck it one spring. Gypsy Jones was holding a revival at the time and he intimated that the church was destroyed because the Episcopalians gave card parties.
JIM: Ha-ha.
AMANDA: And how about you coaxing Sister to drink a little wine? I think it would be good for her! Can you carry both at once?
JIM: Sure. I'm Superman!
AMANDA: Now, Thomas, get into this apron!
[Jim comes into the dining room, carrying the candelabrum, its candles lighted, in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. The door of the kitchenette swings closed on Amanda's gay laughter; the flickering light approaches the portières. Laura sits up nervously as Jim enters. She can hardly speak from the almost intolerable strain of being alone with a stranger.
At first, Jim's warmth overcomes her paralyzing shyness. Laura's voice is thin and breathless as though she has just run up a steep flight of stairs. Jim's attitude is gently humorous. In playing this scene it should be stressed that while the incident is apparently unimportant, it is to Laura the climax of her secret life.]
JIM: Hello, there, Laura.
LAURA [faintly]: Hello.
[She clears her throat.]
JIM: How are you feeling now? Better?
LAURA: Yes. Yes, thank you.
JIM: This is for you. A little dandelion wine. [He extends the glass toward her with extravagant gallantry.]
LAURA: Thank you.
JIM: Drink it—but don't get drunk!
[He laughs heartily. Laura takes the glass uncertainly; she laughs shyly.]
Where shall I set the candles?
LAURA: Oh—oh, anywhere...
JIM: How about here on the floor? Any objections?
LAURA: No.
JIM: I'll spread a newspaper under to catch the drippings. I like to sit on the floor. Mind if I do?
LAURA: Oh, no.
JIM: Give me a pillow?
LAURA: What?
JIM: A pillow!
LAURA: Oh... [She hands him one quickly.]
JIM: How about you? Don't you like to sit on the floor?
LAURA: Oh—yes.
JIM: Why don't you, then?
LAURA: I—will.
JIM: Take a pillow! [Laura does. Sits on the other side of the candelabrum. Jim crosses his legs and smiles engagingly as her.] I can't hardly see you sitting way over there.
LAURA: I can—see you.
JIM: I know, but that's not fair, I'm in the limelight. [Laura moves her pillow closer.] Good! Now I can see you! Comfortable?
LAURA: Yes.
JIM: So am I. Comfortable as a cow! Will you have some gum?
LAURA: No, thank you.
JIM: I think that I will indulge, with your permission. [Musingly unwraps it and holds it up.] Think of the fortune made by the guy that invented the first piece of chewing gum. Amazing, huh? The Wrigley Building is one of the sights of Chicago—I saw it summer before last when I went up to the Century of Progress. Did you take in the Century of Progress?
LAURA: No, I didn't.
JIM: Well, it was quite a wonderful exposition. What impressed me most was the Hall of Science. Gives you an idea of what the future will be in America, even more wonderful than the present time is! [Pause. Smiling at her.] Your brother tells me you're shy. Is that right, Laura?
LAURA: I—don't know.
JIM: I judge you to be an old-fashioned type of girl. Well, I think that's a pretty good type to be. Hope you don't think I'm being too personal—do you?
LAURA [hastily, out of embarrassment]: I believe I will take a piece of gum, if you—don't mind. [clearing her throat.] Mr. O'Connor, have you—kept up with your singing?
JIM: Singing? Me?
LAURA: Yes. I remember what a beautiful voice you had.
JIM: When did you hear me sing?
[Laura does not answer, and in the long pause which follows a man’s voice is heard singing off-stage]
VOICE:
O blow, ye winds, heigh-ho,
A-roving I will go!
I'm off to my love
With a boxing glove—
Ten thousand miles away!
JIM: You say you've heard me sing?
LAURA: Oh, yes! Yes, very often… I—don't suppose—you remember me—at all?
JIM [smiling doubtfully]: You know I have an idea I've seen you before. I had that idea soon as you opened the door. It seemed almost like I was about to remember your name. But the name that I started to call you - wasn't a' name! And so I stopped myself before I said it.
LAURA: Wasn't it—Blue Roses?
JIM: [springs up, grinning]: Blue Roses! My gosh, yes—Blue Roses! That's what I had on my tongue when you opened the door! Isn't it funny what tricks your memory plays? I didn't connect you with high school somehow or other. But that's where it was; it was high school. I didn't even know you were Shakespeare's sister! Gosh, I'm sorry.
LAURA: I didn't expect you to. You—barely knew me!
JIM: But we did have a speaking acquaintance, huh?
LAURA: Yes, we—spoke to each other.
JIM: When did you recognize me?
LAURA: Oh, right away!
JIM: Soon as I came in the door?
LAURA: When I heard your name I thought it was probably you. I knew that Tom used to know you a little in high school. So when you came in the door—Well, then I was—sure.
JIM: Why didn't you say something, then?
LAURA [breathlessly]: I didn't know what to say, I was—too surprised!
JIM: For goodness' sakes—I—You know, this sure is funny!
LAURA: Yes—I—Yes, isn't it, though...
JIM: Didn't we have a class in something together?
LAURA: Yes, we did.
JIM: What class
was that?
LAURA: It was—singing—Chorus!
JIM: Aw!
LAURA: I sat across the aisle from you in the Aud.
JIM: Aw!
LAURA: Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays.
JIM: Now I remember—you always came in late.
LAURA: Yes, it was so hard for me, getting upstairs. I had that brace on my leg—it clumped so loud—I—
JIM: I never heard any clumping.
LAURA [wincing at the recollection]: To me it sounded like thunder!
JIM: Well, well, well, I never even noticed.
LAURA: And everybody was seated before I came in. I had to walk in front of all those people. My seat was in the back row. I had to go clumping all the way up the aisle with everyone watching—
JIM: You shouldn't have been self-conscious.
LAURA: I know, but I was. It was always such a relief when the singing started.
JIM: Aw, yes, I've placed you now—I—I used to call you Blue Roses. How was it that I got started calling you that?
LAURA: I was out of school a little while with pleurosis. When I came back you asked me what was the matter. I said I had pleurosis—you thought I said Blue Roses—That's what you always called me after that…
JIM: I hope you didn't mind.
LAURA: Oh, no—I liked it. You see, I wasn't acquainted with many—people....
JIM: As I remember you sort of stuck by yourself.
LAURA: I—I—never have had much luck at—making friends.
JIM: I don't see why you wouldn't.
LAURA: Well, I—started out badly.
JIM: You mean being—
LAURA: Yes, it sort of—stood between me—
JIM: You shouldn't have let it!
LAURA: I know, but it did, and—
JIM: You were shy with people!
LAURA: I tried not to be but never could—
JIM: Overcome it?
LAURA: No, I—I never could!
JIM: I guess being shy is something you have to work out of kind of gradually.
LAURA [sorrowfully]: Yes—I guess it—
JIM: Takes time!
LAURA: Yes—
JIM: People are not so dreadful when you know them. That's what you have to remember! And everybody has problems, not just you, but practically everybody has got some problems. You think of yourself as having the only problems, as being the only one who is disappointed. But just look around you and you will see lots of people as disappointed as you are. For instance, I hoped when I was going to high-school that I would be further along at this time, six years later, than I am now—You remember that wonderful write-up I had in The Torch?
LAURA: Yes! [She rises and crosses to the table.]
JIM: It said I was bound to succeed in anything I went into!
[Laura returns with the high school yearbook.]
Holy Jeez! The Torch!
[He accepts it reverently. They smile across it with mutual wonder. Laura crouches beside him and they begin to turn through it. Laura's shyness is dissolving in his warmth.]
LAURA: Here you are in The Pirates of Penzance!
JIM [wistfully]: I sang the baritone lead in that operetta.
LAURA [raptly]: So—beautifully!
JIM [protesting]: Aw—
LAURA: Yes, yes—beautifully—beautifully!
JIM: You heard me?
LAURA: All three times!
JIM: No!
LAURA: Yes!
JIM: All three performances?
LAURA [looking down]: Yes.
JIM: Why?
LAURA: I—wanted to ask you to—autograph my program.
[She takes the program from the back of the yearbook and shows it to him.]
JIM: Why didn't you ask me to?
LAURA: You were always surrounded by your own friends so much that I never had a chance to.
JIM: You should have just—
LAURA: Well, I—thought you might think I was—
JIM: Thought I might think you was—what?
LAURA: Oh—
JIM [with reflective relish]: I was beleaguered by females—In those days.
LAURA: You were terribly popular!
JIM: Yeah.
LAURA: You had such a—friendly way
JIM: I was spoiled in high school.
LAURA: Everybody—liked you!
JIM: Including you?
LAURA: I—yes, I—I did, too—[She gently closes the book in her lap.]
JIM: Well, well, well!—Give me that program, Laura. [She hands it to him. He signs it with a flourish.] There you are—better late than never!
LAURA: Oh, I—what a—surprise!
JIM: My signature isn't worth very much tight now. But some day—maybe—it will increase in value! Being disappointed is one thing and being discouraged is something else. I am disappointed but I am not discouraged. I'm twenty-three years old. How old are you?
LAURA: I'll be twenty-four in June.
JIM: That's not old age!
LAURA: No, but—
JIM: You finished high school?
LAURA [with difficulty]: I didn't go back.
JIM: You mean you dropped out?
LAURA: I made bad grades in my final examinations. [She rises and replaces the book and the program. Her voice strained.] How is—Emily Meisenbach getting along?
JIM: Oh, that kraut-head!
LAURA: Why do you call her that?
JIM: That's what she was.
LAURA: You're not still—going with her?
JIM: I never see her.
LAURA: It said in the Personal Section that you were engaged!
JIM: I know, but I wasn't impressed by that—propaganda!
LAURA: It wasn't—the truth?
JIM: Only in Emily's optimistic opinion!
LAURA: Oh—
[Jim lights a cigarette and leans indolently back on his elbows smiling at Laura with a warmth and charm which lights her inwardly. She remains by the table and turns in her hands a piece of glass to cover her tumult.]
JIM: [after several reflective puffs on a cigarette]: What have you done since high school? [She seems not to hear him.] Huh? [Laura looks up.] I said what have you done since high school, Laura?
LAURA: Nothing much.
JIM: You must have been doing something these six long years.
LAURA: Yes.
JIM: Well, then, such as what?
LAURA: I took a business course at business college—
JIM: How did that work out?
LAURA: Well, not very—well—I had to drop out, it gave me—indigestion—
JIM [laughs gently]: What are you doing now?
LAURA: I don't do anything—much. Oh, please don't think I sit around doing nothing! My glass collection takes up a good deal of time. Glass is something you have to take good care of.
JIM: What did you say—about glass?
LAURA: Collection I said—I have one—[she clears her throat and turns away, acutely shy.]
JIM [abruptly]: You know what I judge to be the trouble with you? Inferiority complex! Know what that is? That's what they call it when someone low-rates himself! I understand it because I had it, too. Although my case was not so aggravated as yours seems to be. I had it until I took up public speaking, developed my voice, and learned that I had an aptitude for science. Before that time I never thought of myself as being outstanding in any way whatsoever!
Now I've never made a regular study of it, but I have a friend who says I can analyze people better than doctors that make a profession of it. I don't claim that to be necessarily true, but I can sure guess a person's psychology, Laura… [Takes out his gum] Excuse me, Laura. I always take it out when the flavour is gone. I'll use this scrap of paper to wrap it in. I know how it is to get it stuck on a shoe.
Three Plays Page 20
