Les Blancs

by Lorraine Hansberry

  Les Blancs

  “If there is no struggle there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation, are men who want crops without plowing up the ground, they want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters.

  “This struggle may be a moral one, or it may be a physical one, and it may be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will. Find out just what any people will quietly submit to and you have found out the exact measure of injustice and wrong which will be imposed upon them, and these will continue till they are resisted with either words or blows, or with both … Men may not get all they pay for in this world, but they must certainly pay for all they get. If we ever get free from the oppressions and wrongs heaped upon us, we must pay for their removal. We must do that by labor, by suffering, by sacrifice, and if needs be, by our lives and the lives of others.”

  —Frederick Douglass

  “But what exactly is a black?

  First of all, what’s his color?”

  —Jean Genet

  LES BLANCS was first presented by Konrad Matthaei at the Longacre Theatre, New York City, on November 15, 1970, with the following cast:

  THE WOMAN Joan Derby

  AFRICAN VILLAGERS (AND WARRIORS) Dennis Tate

  George Fairley

  Bill Ware

  Joan Derby

  Charles Moore

  DR. MARTA GOTTERLING Marie Andrews

  AFRICAN CHILD Gregory Beyer

  PETER Clebert Ford

  CHARLIE MORRIS Cameron Mitchell

  NGAGO George Fairley

  DR. WILLY DEKOVEN Humbert Allen Astredo

  MAJOR GEORGE RICE Ralph Purdum

  SOLDIERS Garry Mitchell

  Gwyllum Evans

  PRISONER Bill Ware

  MADAME NEILSEN Lili Darvas

  ERIC Harold Scott

  TSHEMBE MATOSEH James Earl Jones

  ABIOSEH MATOSEH Earle Hyman

  Final Text Adapted by Robert Nemiroff

  Directed by John Berry

  Scenery Designed by Peter Larkin

  Costumes Designed by Jane Greenwood

  Lighting Designed by Neil Peter Jampolis

  Ritual Dances Created by Louis Johnson

  Sound Created by Jack Shearing

  Script Associate Charlotte Zaltzberg

  Drummers Ladji Camara, Charles Payne

  Production Stage Manager Martin Gold

  General Manager Paul B. Berkowsky

  ACT ONE

  PROLOGUE

  Five minutes before curtain time the sounds of the African bush are heard stereophonically around the audience from the sides and rear. They begin quite softly: sounds of crickets, frogs and “bush-babies,” the occasional cry of a bird and “laughter” of a hyena. The stage is open, the outlines of the Mission can be seen in silhouette, and from a cyclorama, enveloping the stage, emanates the gray-green glow of African twilight. During the next five minutes the cyc will gradually change to deep blue-black with an occasional star.

  The sounds of the bush grow louder and, after about three minutes, we hear drums, at first sporadic, from speakers on the sides being answered by drums on the other sides. These are not at all the traditional “movie drums” but distinct, erratic and varied statements of mood and intent. They get louder and just before curtain, as the houselights go to black, they reach a crescendo which moves up through the audience with a rush to the speakers on stage.

  Suddenly there is silence. A WOMAN, majestic and motionless, appears. Black-skinned and imposing, cheeks painted for war, about her waist a girdle of hammered silver, she does not wear a “sarong.” From her wrists and ankles hang bangles of feathers and silver which provide their own staccato accompaniment as she begins to dance. The unearthly “laughter” of a hyena is heard. She advances slowly, majestically, to mounting drumbeats, in an unmistakable dance of the warriors.

  Downstage, planted in the earth, is a spear. At the climax, she pulls it from the earth with great strength and raises it high.

  Blackout

  ACT ONE

  SCENE I

  In the darkness the sound of a riverboat whistle is heard several times in the distance and—abruptly—brilliant, almost blinding sunlight envelops the stage, and the sky turns intense blue.

  It is mid-afternoon at a Mission compound in Africa.

  On the veranda downstage, DR. MARTA GOTTERLING is examining a small black BOY. She is a handsome, blond, self-assured woman in her mid-thirties, in surgical gown, white headcloth and stethoscope. Several AFRICAN VILLAGERS squat in the dust awaiting their turn.

  PETER enters from over a rise upstage, followed by CHARLIE MORRIS. PETER, an African porter in shorts and undershirt, is a man of late middle years, with graying hair and a profoundly subservient manner. He is barefoot, bareheaded and carries two heavy valises. CHARLIE is an American in his late forties. He wears a pith helmet and carries a battered portable typewriter and attaché case.

  As they come on, CHARLIE hangs back the least bit, as if to fix the scene in memory. PETER goes directly up the Mission steps and sets the valises down with relief.

  PETER (Singsongy) You wait here, Bwana. You sit, make self cool. Doctor be with you soon.

  (CHARLIE notes the man’s excessive subservience with disapproval and hauls out a couple of coins)

  CHARLIE All right, thanks … er—?

  PETER Peter, Bwana.

  CHARLIE Thanks, Peter.

  MARTA (Calling out—she is listening to the African child’s chest) Hello there. I shall be with you in a moment.

  PETER You sit, be cool. (CHARLIE pays him and he backs away, out the door and down the steps) Thank you, thank you, Bwana! Doctor be with you soon. Soon, Bwana. Thank you.

  CHARLIE Yes, I’m sure. Thank you. Thank you. (As the man disappears) Peter, old man, you have seen one “Bwana movie” too many.

  (He pushes his hat back and stands with his fists on his hips looking about in the usual manner of a stranger in a new place, then crosses onto the veranda)

  MARTA (Looking up) Mr. Morris? We’ve been expecting you. I’m Doctor Gotterling. Marta Gotterling. Welcome to the Mission. (To the BOY—examining his eyes, ears, throat during the following) Open up.

  CHARLIE All the comforts of the Mayo Clinic.

  MARTA (Smiling) We manage.

  CHARLIE What’s wrong with the boy?

  MARTA Just a little tonsillitis.

  CHARLIE That all? I was rather expecting a rare tropical disease!

  MARTA (Smiling) Rare tropical diseases are also rare in the tropics! I’m sorry Reverend Neilsen isn’t here to greet you. He had to go cross river.

  (She gives the boy an injection and a comforting pat)

  CHARLIE Oh? Well, it’s just as well I get the feel of the place first. What’s happening cross river?

  MARTA Among other things, a wedding, a funeral, twelve baptisms …

  CHARLIE Twelve—that’s rather a handful even for the Reverend, isn’t it?

  MARTA They are done one at a time, Mr. Morris! (Leads the BOY across to his FATHER, one of the Africans, and holds up a vial of pills) Give him this—let him chew one—three times a day. Understand? Chew—

  FATHER Chew.

  MARTA (Indicating with fingers) One—three times a day. Any first impressions, Mr. Morris?

  (She motions to the next patient, a young WOMAN, to follow her, as FATHER leads the BOY off)

  CHARLIE Well, yes. I was a little curious … Isn’t the—(He hesitates)—lack of sanitation here somewhat of a problem?

  MARTA (Amused) “Sanitation,” Mr. Morris? You mean the dung—goat dung? (She takes the patient’s pulse) Actually it’s less of a problem than too much sanitation. Here we have to give up some things for others. The African feels much more at home with goats and chickens wandering about the wards. The wards are huts. Their own families cook the meals. It’s the only way
they’d come. (To the patient) Breathe in. Out. (She demonstrates and the WOMAN follows suit with great seriousness) In. Out. Please help yourself to a drink. (She hands him her key ring and indicates cabinet)

  CHARLIE Thanks, I can use it.

  MARTA Yes, I’m sure. (Continuing the examination) Sorry, no ice.

  CHARLIE (At cabinet) At this moment it would be beautiful even right out of the bottle! (He pours and drinks, closing his eyes to savor) After a day and a half on that mailboat, Doctor, there is nothing as good as scotch—without ice! (Opening eyes) But tell me, how do you manage without refrigeration? I thought that most drugs—

  MARTA We improvise. You’ll see. (With curious pride) No refrigeration, no electricity, no phones, television, cinema …

  (NGAGO, an African, enters swiftly, whispers to the WOMAN, and both suddenly run off, followed by the others)

  Wait!

  CHARLIE What was that?

  MARTA (Shrugs) Mr. Morris, I’ve been here five years and I’m afraid I still have a great deal to learn.

  CHARLIE Well, you’ve got the best possible teacher. It’s been my impression—in fact, the world’s impression—that Reverend Neilsen is practically one of the natives himself by now.

  MARTA Not really one of them. More like their father. Like our father, too. We are all his children.

  CHARLIE What’s he like, Doctor?

  MARTA What’s he like? He’s everything you’ve heard. When Reverend Neilsen came here forty years ago, he came with a particular great idea—

  CHARLIE (Finishing it for her)—and it is the idea which remains important?

  MARTA (Nodding) Here the native should feel that the hospital and the church are a part of the jungle, an extension of his own villages. (Looking at him intently) I hope you will stay long enough to fully understand what he has done here.

  CHARLIE (With his own meaning) I would like to stay a long—long time, Doctor. (A beat. Returning the keys) Your keys. How come all the locks?

  MARTA Now why would you suppose, Mr. Morris? (A little laugh) You know, the most difficult thing for Americans is apparently the discovery that the whole world doesn’t share the West’s particular moral concepts—private property, for one. If you have any valuables, you must keep them with you or under lock and key. (CHARLIE looks at her oddly. She responds with disarming directness) Oh, I know what you are thinking, but we have had to get rid of prior notions. We cannot romanticize the African. There is too much work for that.

  CHARLIE Well, I do have a lot to learn, don’t I?

  MARTA If you are open-minded, you will learn it and be deeply rewarded. I can promise you that. I know, because—

  CHARLIE (Finishing it for her)—because you have been. Doctor, you give me the extraordinary impression of being a happy woman.

  MARTA (Lightly) Yes. Something went “wrong” in my life, Mr. Morris: it has been unutterably satisfying!

  (DR. WILLY DEKOVEN enters, a slight, deeply browned man in surgical dress, without pith helmet)

  DEKOVEN Marta—

  MARTA Oh, Willy, good. (She pronounces the “W” in middle-European fashion—with a “V” sound) This is Mr. Morris from the United States. Dr. DeKoven.

  DEKOVEN How do you do? Would you have a look at Keito, Marta? I would like your opinion.

  MARTA (Starting out quickly) Of course. (To CHARLIE, charmingly: a hostess as much as a surgeon) Excuse me. I know you don’t believe it, but we really will send someone sooner or later to show you to your room.

  (Without warning there are several loud rifle shots offstage. They spin around)

  RICE (Offstage) I think the other one went through the trees!

  CHARLIE What the hell was that?

  (MARTA stiffens and closes her eyes and as promptly regains composure)

  MARTA I’ll see to Keito.

  (She exits. MAJOR RICE enters hurriedly—a Colonial Reserve Officer in his fifties)

  DEKOVEN What were those shots, Major?

  RICE (To CHARLIE) Who are you?

  DEKOVEN Major Rice of the Colonial Reserve. Mr. Morris, from the United States.

  RICE Oh, Mr. Morris. I have been looking forward to this. How do you do, sir?

  (Extending his hand)

  CHARLIE How do you do? What’s going on, Major?

  RICE (Ignoring the question) Come to do a piece on our “New World,” eh? No place on earth like it.

  CHARLIE What’s happening?

  RICE (To DEKOVEN) Is the Reverend about?

  DEKOVEN No, he went cross river. What were those shots, Major?

  RICE We flushed out a couple of terrorists in the bush. I think one used to work around here.

  CHARLIE (Incredulous) Terrorists—here? We’ve had no news—

  DEKOVEN (Dryly) The authorities think it helps for some reason if the world doesn’t hear about it.

  CHARLIE It’s not just—well—an outbreak of banditry or something?

  RICE (Cutting it short) One tends to think not, Mr. Morris, if nothing is stolen. And nothing is. Except guns. (SOLDIERS enter with a prisoner, hands tied behind him, face bloodied, whom they prod to his knees. He is the FATHER seen earlier) I’d appreciate your help in this, Doctor.

  DEKOVEN (With sudden sharpness) Yes, I’m sure you would!

  RICE This one—(Jerking the prisoner’s head around)—I believe he’s worked here, isn’t that right?

  DEKOVEN I really couldn’t say.

  RICE Or wouldn’t?

  DEKOVEN (Evenly) I don’t know the man, Major.

  RICE (Eyeing him) I hope that we don’t all have the enormously illuminating experience of being butchered in our beds thanks to your selective memory, DeKoven! (He motions to the SOLDIERS to take the man off. They exit) As you can see, Mr. Morris, we’ve got a bit of an emergency going here. May I ask that you let me have a look at any dispatches you send out? You understand, I’m sure. (He turns to follow)

  CHARLIE No, I’m afraid I don’t.

  RICE (Turning back) All the same, would you mind?

  CHARLIE Yes, I would mind.

  RICE (A beat) Well—I hope you enjoy your visit.

  (He exits)

  CHARLIE What will they do to him?

  DEKOVEN (A meaningful shrug: the implication is not pretty. CHARLIE stares at him) Mr. Morris, there is a war going on here. Everyone else that you talk to will call it a bit of an emergency, pacification, police action—I’m sure your country is familiar with such phrases? But I assure you that what we have here is a war.

  CHARLIE And what about—Kumalo?

  DEKOVEN What about him?

  (Offstage MAJOR RICE’s jeep starts up and roars off)

  CHARLIE Well, it’s been my impression that the West was using its head for a change—here. I mean Amos Kumalo is still in Europe? They are talking?

  DEKOVEN Oh, yes. They are talking.

  CHARLIE Then why—just when some hopes for progress—

  DEKOVEN Progress, Mr. Morris? For whom? The settlers are outraged because the Foreign Office is talking at all—and the blacks, because talk is no longer enough. Kumalo—

  (They are interrupted as an old woman in antiquated European dress, leaning heavily on a cane and supported by MARTA, is ushered on from behind the Mission. She is fragile in appearance, genteel in manner; underneath there is sharp intelligence)

  MADAME NEILSEN Willy? Where are you? (DEKOVEN rises and holds out an arm which she leans upon in the manner of the badly sighted) Ah, yes, it is you. Who do you suppose has been butchered today, Willy?

  MARTA We have a guest, Madame.

  MADAME (Her face lighting) Oh, so? Where indeed is the guest?

  DEKOVEN (Gestures for CHARLIE to come nearer) Mr. Morris is going to visit with us for a while.

  CHARLIE It’s a great honor, Madame Neilsen.

  MADAME Mr. Morris—Mr. Charles Morris. You have come to write about us. How nice. How very nice. I know your work well. Now I shall come to know you. Marta, darling, I must sit.

  (DEKOVEN and MARTA help
her to the couch. Congo drums of basso intensity start up offstage)

  CHARLIE What’s that—?

  DEVOKEN (Smiling) All drums are not war drums … Not yet.

  MADAME (To herself) No, not war drums at all … Marta, you and Willy can get back to your work. Mr. Morris and I will be able to entertain each other nicely, I am sure.

  MARTA Very well. (To CHARLIE, looking about) Sooner or later Eric will finally be here to see you.

  (MARTA and DEKOVEN start out)

  MADAME Yes, first will come the liquor fumes and then will come Eric.

  DEKOVAN (At the door) The boy can’t help it! Why must you pick after him about it!

  MADAME No, he can’t help it any more than you can help giving it to him, can he—my dear, tortured Dr. DeKoven!

  MARTA (Plaintively) Madame!

  DEKOVEN I’m sorry.

  (He turns and exits abruptly and MARTA follows)

  MADAME It is wrong of me to taunt Willy. He is a good man. Willy DeKoven is among the best of men, Mr. Morris.

  CHARLIE But, I take it, he has a weakness for slipping a little liquor to the natives.

  MADAME Well—he doesn’t give it to the natives—he gives it to Eric, which is something of a different matter. (CHARLIE is, of course, confused by this) Well, Mr. Morris, I am so sorry that you had to come at such an unhappy time. And now, the drums announce a funeral. Someone important has died.

  CHARLIE Oh, you can read the drums?

  MADAME Oh, mercy yes! In the old days, I used to spend most of my hours with the women of this village. With Aquah in particular. Yes, Aquah. She was the dearest friend that I have had in Africa. It was she who taught me the drums and to speak the language of the Kwi people. I taught her a little English in return and a smattering of French. We were just getting on to German when she died. Dear Aquah! (She saddens and then lightens again) We used to go for long walks in the woods.

  CHARLIE (Smiling incredulously) You went strolling in that jungle out there with only a native woman?

  MADAME Heavens yes. We used to pick herbs and berries—Aquah taught me how to make quinine. Do you know how to make quinine, Mr. Morris? It is a wonderful thing to be able to know how to do. Of course, I taught her a few things too. (Leaning over and whispering a little devilishly) Certain matters concerning feminine hygiene, you know … And then the change came.