A few men helped us, but I must say that most men blocked our way at every step: they said we were unfeminine.
I only bring up these unpleasant memories, because I see some signs of backsliding from that great victory.
Oh, my fellow mammals, keep hold of that.
My husband says that the watchword for the year is Enjoy Yourselves. I think that’s very open to misunderstanding. My watchword for the year is: Save the Family. It’s held together for over five thousand years: Save it! Thank you.
ANNOUNCER:
Thank you, Mrs. Antrobus.
The transparency disappears.
We had hoped to show you the Beauty Contest that took place here today.
President Antrobus, an experienced judge of pretty girls, gave the title of Miss Atlantic City 1942, to Miss Lily-Sabina Fairweather, charming hostess of our Boardwalk Bingo Parlor.
Unfortunately, however, our time is up, and I must take you to some views of the Convention City and conveeners,—enjoying themselves.
A burst of music; the curtain rises.
The Boardwalk. The audience is sitting in the ocean. A handrail of scarlet cord stretches across the front of the stage. A ramp—also with scarlet handrail—descends to the right corner of the orchestra pit where a great scarlet beach umbrella or a cabana stands. Front and right stage left are benches facing the sea; attached to each bench is a street-lamp.
The only scenery is two cardboard cut-outs six feet high, representing shops at the back of the stage. Reading from left to right they are: SALT WATER TAFFY; FORTUNE TELLER; then the blank space; BINGO PARLOR; TURKISH BATH. They have practical doors, that of the Fortune Teller’s being hung with bright gypsy curtains.
By the left proscenium and rising from the orchestra pit is the weather signal; it is like the mast of a ship with cross bars. From time to time black discs are hung on it to indicate the storm and hurricane warnings. Three roller chairs, pushed by melancholy NEGROES file by empty. Throughout the act they traverse the stage in both directions.
From time to time, CONVEENERS, dressed like MR. ANTROBUS, cross the stage. Some walk sedately by; others engage in inane horseplay. The old gypsy FORTUNE TELLER is seated at the door of her shop, smoking a corncob pipe.
From the Bingo Parlor comes the voice of the CALLER.
BINGO CALLER:
A-Nine; A-Nine. C-Twenty-six; C-Twenty-six.
A-Four; A-Four. B-Twelve.
CHORUS:
Back-stage.
Bingo!!!
The front of the Bingo Parlor shudders, rises a few feet in the air and returns to the ground trembling.
FORTUNE TELLER:
Mechanically, to the unconscious back of a passerby, pointing with her pipe.
Bright’s disease! Your partner’s deceiving you in that Kansas City deal. You’ll have six grandchildren. Avoid high places.
She rises and shouts after another:
Cirrhosis of the liver!
SABINA appears at the door of the Bingo Parlor. She hugs about her a blue raincoat that almost conceals her red bathing suit. She tries to catch the FORTUNE TELLER’S attention.
SABINA:
Ssssst! Esmeralda! Ssssst!
FORTUNE TELLER:
Keck!
SABINA:
Has President Antrobus come along yet?
FORTUNE TELLER:
No, no, no. Get back there. Hide yourself.
SABINA:
I’m afraid I’ll miss him. Oh, Esmeralda, if I fail in this, I’ll die; I know I’ll die. President Antrobus!!! And I’ll be his wife! If it’s the last thing I’ll do, I’ll be Mrs. George Antrobus.—Esmeralda, tell me my future.
FORTUNE TELLER:
Keck!
SABINA:
All right, I’ll tell you my future.
Laughing dreamily and tracing it out with one finger on the palm of her hand.
I’ve won the Beauty Contest in Atlantic City,—well, I’ll win the Beauty Contest of the whole world. I’ll take President Antrobus away from that wife of his. Then I’ll take every man away from his wife. I’ll turn the whole earth upside down.
FORTUNE TELLER:
Keck!
SABINA:
When all those husbands just think about me they’ll get dizzy. They’ll faint in the streets. They’ll have to lean against lampposts.—Esmeralda, who was Helen of Troy?
FORTUNE TELLER:
Furiously.
Shut your foolish mouth. When Mr. Antrobus comes along you can see what you can do. Until then,—go away.
SABINA laughs. As she returns to the door of her Bingo Parlor a group of CONVEENERS rush over and smother her with attentions: “Oh, Miss Lily, you know me. You’ve known me for years.”
SABINA:
Go away, boys, go away. I’m after bigger fry than you are.—Why, Mr. Simpson!! How dare you!! I expect that even you nobodies must have girls to amuse you; but where you find them and what you do with them, is of absolutely no interest to me.
Exit. The CONVEENERS squeal with pleasure and stumble in after her.
The FORTUNE TELLER rises, puts her pipe down on the stool, unfurls her voluminous skirts, gives a sharp wrench to her bodice and strolls toward the audience, swinging her hips like a young woman.
FORTUNE TELLER:
I tell the future. Keck. Nothing easier. Everybody’s future is in their face. Nothing easier.
But who can tell your past,—eh? Nobody!
Your youth,—where did it go? It slipped away while you weren’t looking. While you were asleep. While you were drunk? Puh! You’re like our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus; you lie awake nights trying to know your past. What did it mean? What was it trying to say to you?
Think! Think! Split your heads. I can’t tell the past and neither can you. If anybody tries to tell you the past, take my word for it, they’re charlatans! Charlatans! But I can tell the future.
She suddenly barks at a passing chair-pusher.
Apoplexy!
She returns to the audience.
Nobody listens.—Keck! I see a face among you now—I won’t embarrass him by pointing him out, but, listen, it may be you: Next year the watchsprings inside you will crumple up. Death by regret,—Type Y. It’s in the corners of your mouth. You’ll decide that you should have lived for pleasure, but that you missed it. Death by regret,—Type Y. . . . Avoid mirrors. You’ll try to be angry,—but no!—no anger.
Far forward, confidentially.
And now what’s the immediate future of our friends, the Antrobuses? Oh, you’ve seen it as well as I have, keck,—that dizziness of the head; that Great Man dizziness? The inventor of beer and gunpowder. The sudden fits of temper and then the long stretches of inertia? “I’m a sultan; let my slavegirls fan me?”
You know as well as I what’s coming. Rain. Rain. Rain in floods. The deluge. But first you’ll see shameful things—shameful things. Some of you will be saying: “Let him drown. He’s not worth saving. Give the whole thing up.” I can see it in your faces. But you’re wrong. Keep your doubts and despairs to yourselves.
Again there’ll be the narrow escape. The survival of a handful. From destruction,—total destruction.
She points sweeping with her hand to the stage.
Even of the animals, a few will be saved: two of a kind, male and female, two of a kind.
The heads of CONVEENERS appear about the stage and in the orchestra pit, jeering at her.
CONVEENERS:
Charlatan! Madam Kill-joy! Mrs. Jeremiah! Charlatan!
FORTUNE TELLER:
And you! Mark my words before it’s too late. Where’ll you be?
CONVEENERS:
The croaking raven. Old dust and ashes. Rags, bottles, sacks.
FORTUNE TELLER:
Yes, stick out your tongues. You can’t stick your tongues out far enough to lick the death-sweat from your foreheads. It’s too late to work now—bail out the flood with your soup spoons. You’ve had your chance and you’ve lost.
&n
bsp; CONVEENERS:
Enjoy yourselves!!!
They disappear. The FORTUNE TELLER looks off left and puts her finger on her lip.
FORTUNE TELLER:
They’re coming—the Antrobuses. Keck. Your hope. Your despair. Your selves.
Enter from the left, MR. and MRS. ANTROBUS and GLADYS.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Gladys Antrobus, stick your stummick in.
GLADYS:
But it’s easier this way.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Well, it’s too bad the new president has such a clumsy daughter, that’s all I can say. Try and be a lady.
FORTUNE TELLER:
Aijah! That’s been said a hundred billion times.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Goodness! Where’s Henry? He was here just a minute ago. Henry!
Sudden violent stir. A roller-chair appears from the left. About it are dancing in great excitement HENRY and a NEGRO CHAIR-PUSHER.
HENRY:
Slingshot in hand.
I’ll put your eye out. I’ll make you yell, like you never yelled before.
NEGRO:
At the same time.
Now, I warns you. I warns you. If you make me mad, you’ll get hurt.
ANTROBUS:
Henry! What is this? Put down that slingshot.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
At the same time.
Henry! HENRY! Behave yourself.
FORTUNE TELLER:
That’s right, young man. There are too many people in the world as it is. Everybody’s in the way, except one’s self.
HENRY:
All I wanted to do was—have some fun.
NEGRO:
Nobody can’t touch my chair, nobody, without I allow ’em to. You get clean away from me and you get away fast.
He pushes his chair off, muttering.
ANTROBUS:
What were you doing, Henry?
HENRY:
Everybody’s always getting mad. Everybody’s always trying to push you around. I’ll make him sorry for this; I’ll make him sorry.
ANTROBUS:
Give me that slingshot.
HENRY:
I won’t. I’m sorry I came to this place. I wish I weren’t here. I wish I weren’t anywhere.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Now, Henry, don’t get so excited about nothing. I declare I don’t know what we’re going to do with you. Put your slingshot in your pocket, and don’t try to take hold of things that don’t belong to you.
ANTROBUS:
After this you can stay home. I wash my hands of you.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Come now, let’s forget all about it. Everybody take a good breath of that sea air and calm down.
A passing CONVEENER bows to ANTROBUS who nods to him.
Who was that you spoke to, George?
ANTROBUS:
Nobody, Maggie. Just the candidate who ran against me in the election.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
The man who ran against you in the election!!
She turns and waves her umbrella after the disappearing CONVEENER.
My husband didn’t speak to you and he never will speak to you.
ANTROBUS:
Now, Maggie.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
After those lies you told about him in your speeches! Lies, that’s what they were.
GLADYS AND HENRY:
Mama, everybody’s looking at you. Everybody’s laughing at you.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
If you must know, my husband’s a SAINT, a downright SAINT, and you’re not fit to speak to him on the street.
ANTROBUS:
Now, Maggie, now, Maggie, that’s enough of that.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
George Antrobus, you’re a perfect worm. If you won’t stand up for yourself, I will.
GLADYS:
Mama, you just act awful in public.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Laughing.
Well, I must say I enjoyed it. I feel better. Wish his wife had been there to hear it. Children, what do you want to do?
GLADYS:
Papa, can we ride in one of those chairs? Mama, I want to ride in one of those chairs.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
No, sir. If you’re tired you just sit where you are. We have no money to spend on foolishness.
ANTROBUS:
I guess we have money enough for a thing like that. It’s one of the things you do at Atlantic City.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Oh, we have? I tell you it’s a miracle my children have shoes to stand up in. I didn’t think I’d ever live to see them pushed around in chairs.
ANTROBUS:
We’re on a vacation, aren’t we? We have a right to some treats, I guess. Maggie, someday you’re going to drive me crazy.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
All right, go. I’ll just sit here and laugh at you. And you can give me my dollar right in my hand. Mark my words, a rainy day is coming. There’s a rainy day ahead of us. I feel it in my bones. Go on, throw your money around. I can starve. I’ve starved before. I know how.
A CONVEENER puts his head through Turkish Bath window, and says with raised eyebrows:
CONVEENER:
Hello, George. How are ya? I see where you brought the Whole family along.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
And what do you mean by that?
CONVEENER withdraws head and closes window.
ANTROBUS:
Maggie, I tell you there’s a limit to what I can stand. God’s Heaven, haven’t I worked enough? Don’t I get any vacation? Can’t I even give my children so much as a ride in a roller-chair?
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Putting out her hand for raindrops.
Anyway, it’s going to rain very soon and you have your broadcast to make.
ANTROBUS:
Now, Maggie, I warn you. A man can stand a family only just so long. I’m warning you.
Enter SABINA from the Bingo Parlor. She wears a flounced red silk bathing suit, 1905. Red stockings, shoes, parasol. She bows demurely to ANTROBUS and starts down the ramp. ANTROBUS and the CHILDREN stare at her. ANTROBUS bows gallantly.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Why, George Antrobus, how can you say such a thing! You have the best family in the world.
ANTROBUS:
Good morning, Miss Fairweather.
SABINA finally disappears behind the beach umbrella or in a cabana in the orchestra pit.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Who on earth was that you spoke to, George?
ANTROBUS:
Complacent; mock-modest.
Hm . . . m . . . just a . . . solambaka keray.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
What? I can’t understand you.
GLADYS:
Mama, wasn’t she beautiful?
HENRY:
Papa, introduce her to me.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Children, will you be quiet while I ask your father a simple question?—Who did you say it was, George?
ANTROBUS:
Why-uh . . . a friend of mine. Very nice refined girl.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
I’m waiting.
ANTROBUS:
Maggie, that’s the girl I gave the prize to in the beauty contest,—that’s Miss Atlantic City 1942.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Hm! She looked like Sabina to me.
HENRY:
At the railing.
Mama, the life-guard knows her, too. Mama, he knows her well.
ANTROBUS:
Henry, come here.—She’s a very nice girl in every way and the sole support of her aged mother.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
So was Sabina, so was Sabina; and it took a wall of ice to open your eyes about Sabina.—Henry, come over and sit down on this bench.
ANTROBUS:
She’s a very different matter from Sabina. Miss Fairweather is a college graduate, Phi Beta Kappa.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Henry, you sit h
ere by mama. Gladys—
ANTROBUS:
Sitting.
Reduced circumstances have required her taking a position as hostess in a Bingo Parlor; but there isn’t a girl with higher principles in the country.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Well, let’s not talk about it.—Henry, I haven’t seen a whale yet.
ANTROBUS:
She speaks seven languages and has more culture in her little finger than you’ve acquired in a lifetime.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Assumed amiability.
All right, all right, George. I’m glad to know there are such superior girls in the Bingo Parlors.—Henry, what’s that?
Pointing at the storm signal, which has one black disk.
HENRY:
What is it, Papa?
ANTROBUS:
What? Oh, that’s the storm signal. One of those black disks means bad weather; two means storm; three means hurricane; and four means the end of the world.
As they watch it a second black disk rolls into place.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Goodness! I’m going this very minute to buy you all some raincoats.
GLADYS:
Putting her cheek against her father’s shoulder.
Mama, don’t go yet. I like sitting this way. And the ocean coming in and coming in. Papa, don’t you like it?
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Well, there’s only one thing I lack to make me a perfectly happy woman: I’d like to see a whale.
HENRY:
Mama, we saw two. Right out there. They’re delegates to the convention. I’ll find you one.
GLADYS:
Papa, ask me something. Ask me a question.
ANTROBUS:
Well . . . how big’s the ocean?
GLADYS:
Papa, you’re teasing me. It’s—three-hundred and sixty million square-miles—and—it—covers—three-fourths—of—the— earth’s—surface—and—its—deepest-place—is—five—and—a—half—miles—deep—and—its—average—depth—is—twelve—thousand—feet. No, Papa, ask me something hard, real hard.
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Rising.
Now I’m going off to buy those raincoats. I think that bad weather’s going to get worse and worse. I hope it doesn’t come before your broadcast. I should think we have about an hour or so.
HENRY:
I hope it comes and zzzzzz everything before it. I hope it—
MRS. ANTROBUS:
Henry!—George, I think . . . maybe, it’s one of those storms that are just as bad on land as on the sea. When you’re just as safe and safer in a good stout boat.
The Skin of Our Teeth Page 5
