No
SCENE EIGHT
stanley:
Twenty-seven?
blanche [quickly]:
What is it? Is it for me?
[He is holding a little envelope toward her.]
stanley:
Yes, I hope you like it!
blanche:
Why, why--Why, it's a--
stanley:
Ticket! Back to Laurel! On the Greyhound! Tuesday! [The Varsouviana music steals in softly and continues playing.
Stella rises abruptly and turns her back. Blanche tries
to smile. Then she tries to laugh. Then she gives both up and
springs from the table and runs into the next room. She
clutches her throat and then runs into the bathroom. Coughing,
gagging sounds are heard.]
Well!
stella:
You didn't need to do that.
stanley:
Don't forget all that I took off her.
stella:
You needn't have been so cruel to someone alone as she is.
stanley:
Delicate piece she is.
stella:
She is. She was. You didn't know Blanche as a girl. Nobody,
nobody, was tender and trusting as she was. But
people like you abused her, and forced her to change.
[He crosses into the bedroom, ripping off his shirt, and
changes into a brilliant silk bowling shirt. She follows him.] Do you think you're going bowling now?
stanley:
Sure.
stella:
You're not going bowling. [She catches hold of his shirt] Why did you do this to her?
ill
T
SCENE EIGHT
stanley:
I done nothing to no one. Let go of my shirt. You*ve torn it
stella:
I want to know why. Tell me why.
stanley:
When we first met, me and you, you thought I was common.
How right you was, baby. I was common as dirt. You
showed me the snapshot of the place with the columns. I
pulled you down off them columns and how you loved it, having them colored lights going! And wasn't we happy
together, wasn't it all okay till she showed here?
[Stella makes a slight movement. Her look goes suddenly
inward as if some interior voice had called her name. She
begins a slow, shuffling progress from the bedroom to the
kitchen, leaning and resting on the back of the chair and
then on the edge of a table with a blind look and listening
expression. Stanley, finishing with his shirt, is unaware of
her reaction.}
And wasn't we happy together? Wasn't it all okay? Till she
showed here. Hoity-toity, describing me as an ape. [He
suddenly notices the change in Stella] Hey, what is it, Stella?
[He crosses to her.}
stella [quietly]:
Take me to the hospital.
[He is with her now, supporting her with his arm, murmuring indistinguishably as they go outside.}
112
SCENE NINE A
while later that evening- Blanche is seated in a tense
hunched position in a bedroom chair that she has recovered with diagonal green-and-white stripes. She has on her scarlet
satin robe. On the table beside chair is a bottle of liquor and
a glass. The rapid, feverish- polka tune, the "Varsouviana,"
is heard. The music is in her mind; she is drinking to escape
it and the sense of disaster closing in on her, and she seems
to whisper the -words of the song. An electric fan is turning
back and forth across her.
Mitch comes around the corner in work clothes: blue denim
shirt and pants. He is unshffven. He climbs the steps to the
door and rings. Blanche is startled.
blanche:
Who is it, please?
mitch [hoarsely]:
Me. Mitch. [The polka tune stops.]
blanche:
Mitch!--just a minute.
[She rushes about frantically, hiding the bottle in a closet,
crouching at the mirror and dabbing her face with cologne
and powder. She is so excited her breath is audible as
she dashes about. At last she rushes to the door in the
kitchen and lets him In.]
Mitch!--Vknow, I really shouldn't let you in after the
treatment I have received from you this evening! So utterly
uncavalieri But hello, beautiful!
[She offers him her lips. He ignores it and pushes past her
info the flat. She looks fearfully after him as he stalks into
the bedroom.]
My, my, what a cold shoulderi And such uncouth apparel!
Why, you haven't even shaved! The unforgivable insult to
a lady! But I forgive you. I forgive you because it's such a
relief to see you. You've stopped that polka tune that I had
caught in my head. Have you ever had anything caught in
your head? No, of course you haven't, you dumb angel-puss,
you'd never get anything awful caught in your headi
~113
gOENIB! MIMES
[Be stares at her while she follows him while she talks. It
is obvious that he has had a few drinks on the way over.}
mitch:
Do we have to have that fan on?
blanche:
Nol
MrrcH:
I don't like fans.
blanche:
Then let's turn it off, honey. I'm not partial to them! [She presses the switch and the fan nods slowly off. She
clears her throat uneasily as Much plumps himself down on
the bed in the bedroom and lights a cigarette.}
I don't know what there is to drink. I--haven't investigated.
MrrcH:
I don't want Stan's liquor.
blanche:
It isn't Stan's. Everything here isn't Stan's. Some things on
the premises are actually mine! How is your mother? Isn't
your mother well?
mitch:
Why?
blanche:
Something's the matter tonight, but never mind. I won't
cross-examine the witness. I'll just--[She touches her forehead
vaguely. The polka tune starts up again.}--pretend
I don't notice anything different about youl That--anisic
again...
mitch:
What music?
blanche:
The "Varaouviana"l The polka tune they were playing
when Allan--Waiti
[A distant revolver shot is heard. Blanche seems relieved.}
There now, the shoti It always stops after that.
[The polka music dies out again.]
Yes, now it's stopped.
114
J*
SCENE M'IWE
mitch:
Are you boxed out of your mind?
blanche:
111 go and see what I can find in the way of--[She crosses
into the closet, pretending to search for the bottle.] Oh, by
the way, excuse me for not being dressed. But I'd practically
given you up! Had you forgotten your invitation to
supper?
mttch:
I wasn't going to see you any more.
blanche:
Wait a minute. I can't hear what you're saying and you
talk so little that when you do say something, I don't want
to miss a single syllable of it. ... What am I looking
around here for? Oh, yes--liquor! We've had so much excitement
around here this evening that I am boxed out of
my mind! [She pret
ends suddenly to find the bottle. He
draws his foot up on the bed and stares at her contemptuously^. Here's something. Southern Comfort! What is
that, I wonder?
mitch:
If you don't know, it must belong to Stan.
blanche:
Take your foot off the bed. It has a light cover on it. Of
course you boys dont notice things like that I've done so much with this place since I've been here.
mitch:
I bet you have.
blanche:
You saw it before I came. Well, look at it now! This room
is almost--dainty! I want to keep it that way. I wonder if
this stuff ought to be mixed with something? Ummm, it's
sweet, so sweet! It's terribly, terribly sweet! Why, it's a liqueur, 1 believe! Yes, that's what it is, a liqueur! [Mitch
grunts.] Tm afraid you won't like it, but try it, and maybe
youwffl.
mitch:
I told you already I don't want none of his liquor and I
mean it. You ought to lay off his liquor. He says you been
lapping ft up all summer like a wildcat!
- 11B
SCENE NINE
blanche:
What a fantastic statement! Fantastic of him to say it,
fantastic of you to repeat it! I won't descend to the level
of such cheap accusations to answer them, even!
MrrcH:
Huh.
blanche:
What's in your mind? I see something in your eyes!
mitch [getting up]:
It's dark in here.
blanche:
I like it dark. The dark is comforting to me.
mitch:
I don't think I ever seen you in the light. [Blanche laughs
breathlessly] That's a fact!
blanche:
Is it?
mitch:
I've never seen you in the afternoon.
blanche:
Whose fault is that?
mitch:
You never want to go out in the afternoon.
blanche:
Why, Mitch, you're at the plant in the afternoon!
mitch:
Not Sunday afternoon. I've asked you to go out with me
sometimes on Sundays but you always make an excuse.
You never want to out till after six and then it's always
some place that's not lighted much.
blanche:
There is some obscure meaning in this but I fail to catch it.
mitch:
What it means is I've never had a real good look at you,
Blanche. Let's turn the light on here.
blanche {fearfully}:
Light? Which light? What for?
116
SCENE NINE
mitch:
This one with the paper thing on it. [He tears the paper
lantern off the light bulb. She utters a frightened gasp.} blanche:
What did you do that foi?
mitch:
So I can take a look at you good and plain!
blanche:
Of course you don't really mean to be insulting!
mttch:
No, just realistic.
blanche:
I don't want realism. I want magic! [Mitch laughs] Yes,
yes, magic! I try to give that to people. I misrepresent
things to them. I don't tell truth, I tell what ought to be
truth. And if that is sinful, then let me be damned for iti
--Don't turn the light onl
[Milch crosses to the switch. He turns the light on and
stares at her. She cries out and covers her face. He turns
the light off again.]
mitch [slowly and bitterly]:
I dont mind you being older than what I thought. But
all the rest of it--Christ! That pitch about your ideals being so old-fashioned and all the malarkey that you've
dished out all summer. Oh, I knew you weren't sixteen
any more. But I was a fool enough to believe you was straight.
blanche:
Who told you I wasn't--'straight'? My loving brother-inlaw.
And you believed him.
mttch:
I called him a liar at first And then I checked on the story. First I asked our supply-man who travels through
LaureL And then I talked directly over long-distance to
this merchant
blanche:
Who is this merchant?
mitch:
Kiefaber.
117
T" j j I
3 tb--i .- .a
SCENE WINE
blanche:
The merchant Kiefaber of Laurel! I know the man. He
whistled at me. I put him in his place. So now for revenge
he makes up stories about me.
mitch:
Three people, Kiefaber, Stanley and Shaw, swore to them!
blanche:
Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub! And such a filthy tubl
mitch:
Didn't you stay at a hotel called the Flamingo?
blanche:
Flamingo? No! Tarantula was the name of it! I stayed at a
hotel called the Tarantula Arms!
mitch [stupidly}:
Tarantula?
blanche:
Yes, a big spider! That's where I brought my victims. [She
pours herself another drink] Yes, I had many intimacies
with strangers. After the death of Allan--intimacies with
strangers was all I seemed able to fill my empty heart with.
... I think it was panic, just panic, that drove me from
one to another, hunting for some protection--here and
there, in the most--unlikely places--even, at last, in a
seventeen-year-old boy but--somebody wrote the superintendent
about it--"This woman is morally unfit for her
position!"
[She throws back her head with convulsive, sobbing laughter. Then she repeats the statement, gasps, and drinks.]
True? Yes, I suppose--unfit somehow--anyway. ... So I
came here. There was nowhere else I could go. I was played
out. You know what played out is? My youth was suddenly
gone up the water-spout, and--I met you. You said you
needed somebody. Well, I needed somebody, too. I thanked
God for you, because you seemed to be gentle--a cleft in
the rock of the world that I could hide in! But I guess I was
asking, hoping--too much! Kiefaber, Stanley and Shaw
have tied an old tin can to the tail of the kite.
[There is a pause. Mitch stares at her dumbly.] 118
SCENE ITINE
mitch:
You lied to me, Blanche.
blanche:
Don't say I lied to you.
mitch:
Lies, lies, inside and out, all lies.
blanche:
Never inside, I didn't lie in my heart...
[A Vendor comes around the corner. She is a blind Mexican
woman in a dark shawl, carrying bunches of those gaudy tin
flowers that lower class Mexicans display at funerals and
other festive occasions. She is calling barely audibly. Her
figure is only faintly visible outside the building.}
mexican woman:
Flores. Flores. Flores para los muertos. Flores. Flores.
blanche:
What? Oh! Somebody outside . . . [She goes to the door.
opens it and stares at the Mexican Woman.}
mexican woman [she is at the door and offers Blanche
some of her flowers}:
Flores? Flores para los muertos?
blanche frightened'.
No, nol Not now! Not nowl
[She darts back into the apartment, sl
amming the door.}
mexican woman [she turns away and starts to move down
the street}:
Plores para los muertos.
[The polka tune fades in.}
blanche [as if to herselfl:
Crumble and fade and--regrets--recriminations . . . "H
you'd done this, it wouldn't've cost me that!"
mexican woman:
Corones para los muertos. Corones...
blanche:
Legacies! Huh . . . And other things such as bloodstained
pillow-slips--"Her linen needs changing"--"Yes Mother.
119
.1 1
SCENE NINE
blanche:
The merchant Kiefaber of Laurel! I know the man. He
whistled at me. I put him in his place. So now for revenge
he makes up stories about me.
mitch:
Three people, Kiefaber, Stanley and Shaw, swore to them!
blanche:
Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub! And such a filthy tub!
mitch:
Didn't you stay at a hotel called the Flamingo?
blanche:
Flamingo? No! Tarantula was the name of it! I stayed at a
hotel called the Tarantula Arms!
mitch [stupidly]'. Tarantula?
blanche:
Yes, a big spider! That's where I brought my victims. [She
pours herself another drink} Yes, I had many intimacies
with strangers. After the death of Allan--intimacies with
strangers was all I seemed able to fill my empty heart with.
... I think it was panic, just panic, that drove me from
one to another, hunting for some protection--here and
there, in the most--unlikely places--even, at last, in a seventeen-year-old boy but--somebody wrote the superintendent
about it--"This woman is morally unfit for her
position!"
[She throws back her head with convulsive, sobbing laughter.
Then she repeats the statement, gasps, and drinks.}
True? Yes, I suppose--unfit somehow--anyway. ... So I
came here. There was nowhere else I could go. I was played
out. You know what played out is? My youth was suddenly
gone up the water-spout, and--I met you. You said you
needed somebody. Well, I needed somebody, too. I thanked
God for you, because you seemed to be gentle--a cleft in
the rock of the world that I could hide in! But I guess I was
asking, hoping--too much! Kiefaber, Stanley and Shaw
have tied an old tin can to the tail of the kite.
[There is a pause. Mitch stares at her dumbly.} 118
Ill II
SOBNE NINE
mitch;
You lied to me, Blanche.
blanche:
Don't say I lied to you.
mitch:
Lies, lies, inside and out, all lies.
blanche:
Never inside, I didn't lie in my heart...
[A Vendor comes around the corner. She is a blind Mexican
woman in a dark shawl, carrying bunches of those gaudy tin
flowers that lower class Mexicans display at funerals and
other festive occasions. She is calling barely audibly. Her
figure is only faintly visible outside the building.}
mexican woman:
Flores. Floras. Floras para los muertos. Plores. Floras.
blanche:
What? Oh! Somebody outside . . . [She goes to the door,
opens it and stares at the Mexican Woman.]
mexican woman [she is at the door and offers Blanche
some of her flowers]:
Floras? Floras para los muertos?
blanche ^frightened]:
No, no! Not now! Not now!
[She darts back into the apartment, slamming the door.}
mexican woman [she turns away and starts to move down
the street]'. Plores para los muertos.
[The polka tune fades in.]
blanche [as if to herself]:
Crumble and fade and--regrets--recriminations . . . "If you'd done (his, it wouldn't've cost me that!"
mexican woman:
Corones para los muertos. Corones...
blanche:
Legacies! Huh . . . And other things such as bloodstained
pillow-slips--"Her linen needs changing"--"Yes Mother.
119
-I I
SCENE NINE
But couldn't we get a colored girl to do it?" No, we couldn't
of course. Everything gone but the--
mexican woman:
Flores,
blanche:
Death--I used to sit here and she used to sit over there and
death was as close as you are.. .. We didn't dare even admit
we had ever heard of it!
mexican woman:
Flores para los muertos, flores--flores...
blanche:
The opposite is desire. So do you wonder? How could you
possibly wonder! Not far from Belle Reve, before we had
lost Belle Reve, was a camp where they trained young
soldiers. On Saturday nights they would go in town to get
drunk--
mexican woman [softly]:
Corones...
blanche:
--and on the way back they would stagger onto my lawn
and call--"Blanche! Blanche!"--The deaf old lady remaining
suspected nothing. But sometimes I slipped outside to
answer their calls. . . . Later the paddy-wagon would
gather them up like daisies . . . the long way home . . .
[The Mexican Woman turns slowly and drifts back off with
her soft mournful cries. Blanche goes to the dresser and
leans forward on it. After a moment, Mitch rises and follows
her purposefully. The polka music fades away. Be
places his hands on her waist and tries to turn her about.}
blanche:
What do you want?
mitch '[fumbling to embrace her}:
What I been missing all summer.
blanche:
Then marry me, Mitch!
mitch:
I don't think I want to marry you any more.
SCENE NINE
blanche:
No?
mitch [dropping his hands from her waist]:
You're not clean enough to bring in the house with my
Streetcar Named Desire Page 9
