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Anna Christie, a play by Eugene O'Neill |
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Act 1 |
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_ ACT I SCENE--"Johnny-The-Priest's" saloon near South Street, New York City. The stage is divided into two sections, showing a small back room on the right. On the left, forward, of the barroom, a large window looking out on the street. Beyond it, the main entrance--a double swinging door. Farther back, another window. The bar runs from left to right nearly the whole length of the rear wall. In back of the bar, a small showcase displaying a few bottles of case goods, for which there is evidently little call. The remainder of the rear space in front of the large mirrors is occupied by half-barrels of cheap whiskey of the "nickel-a-shot" variety, from which the liquor is drawn by means of spigots. On the right is an open doorway leading to the back room. In the back room are four round wooden tables with five chairs grouped about each. In the rear, a family entrance opening on a side street. It is late afternoon of a day in fall. As the curtain rises, Johnny is discovered. "Johnny-The-Priest" deserves his nickname. With his pale, thin, clean-shaven face, mild blue eyes and white hair, a cassock would seem more suited to him than the apron he wears. Neither his voice nor his general manner dispel this illusion which has made him a personage of the water front. They are soft and bland. But beneath all his mildness one senses the man behind the mask--cynical, callous, hard as nails. He is lounging at ease behind the bar, a pair of spectacles on his nose, reading an evening paper. Two longshoremen enter from the street, wearing their working aprons, the button of the union pinned conspicuously on the caps pulled sideways on their heads at an aggressive angle.
Gimme a shock. Number Two. [He tosses a coin on the bar.] SECOND LONGSHOREMAN. [Johnny sets two glasses of barrel whiskey before them.] FIRST LONGSHOREMAN. SECOND LONGSHOREMAN Give us another. FIRST LONGSHOREMAN. SECOND LONGSHOREMAN [Johnny draws the lager and porter and sets the big, foaming schooners before them. They drink down half the contents and start to talk together hurriedly in low tones. The door on the left is swung open and Larry enters. He is a boyish, red-cheeked, rather good-looking young fellow of twenty or so.] LARRY Hello, boss. JOHNNY. [With a glance at his watch.] [LARRY goes to the right behind the bar, FIRST LONGSHOREMAN Let's drink up and get back to it. [They finish their drinks and go out left. The POSTMAN THE POSTMAN. JOHNNY Christopher Christopherson. THE POSTMAN Square-head name. LARRY. JOHNNY. THE POSTMAN. JOHNNY. THE POSTMAN Sailor, eh? JOHNNY Captain of a coal barge. THE POSTMAN Some job! Well, s'long. JOHNNY. [The POSTMAN goes out. JOHNNY scrutinizes the letter.] LARRY St. Paul. That'll be in Minnesota, I'm thinkin'. Looks like a woman's writing, too, the old divil! JOHNNY He's got a daughter somewheres out West, I think he told me once. [He puts the letter on the cash register.] [Putting his overcoat on, he comes around the end of the bar.] LARRY. [As JOHNNY goes toward the street door, it is pushed open and CHRISTOPHER CHRISTOPHERSON enters. He is a short, squat, broad-shouldered man of about fifty, with a round, weather-beaten, red face from which his light blue eyes peer short-sightedly, twinkling with a simple good humor. His large mouth, overhung by a thick, drooping, yellow mustache, is childishly self-willed and weak, of an obstinate kindliness. A thick neck is jammed like a post into the heavy trunk of his body. His arms with their big, hairy, freckled hands, and his stumpy legs terminating in large flat feet, are awkwardly short and muscular. He walks with a clumsy, rolling gait. His voice, when not raised in a hollow boom, is toned down to a sly, confidential half-whisper with something vaguely plaintive in its quality. He is dressed in a wrinkled, ill-fitting dark suit of shore clothes, and wears a faded cap of gray cloth over his mop of grizzled, blond hair. Just now his face beams with a too-blissful happiness, and he has evidently been drinking. He reaches his hand out to JOHNNY.] CHRIS. [Putting his hand in his pocket.] JOHNNY Speak of the devil. We was just talkin' about you. LARRY Hello, Chris. Put it there. [They shake hands.] CHRIS Give us drink. JOHNNY You got a half-snootful now. Where'd you get it? CHRIS Oder fallar on oder barge--Irish fallar--he gat bottle vhiskey and we drank it, yust us two. Dot vhiskey gat kick, by yingo! Ay yust come ashore. Give us drink, Larry. Ay vas little drunk, not much. Yust feel good. [He laughs and commences to sing in a nasal, high-pitched quaver.]
JOHNNY Same old Yosie, eh, Chris? CHRIS. [He throws change on the bar.] LARRY What's your pleasure, gentlemen? JOHNNY. CHRIS. LARRY I'll take a cigar on you. CHRIS Skoal! [He drinks.] JOHNNY. CHRIS Have oder drink. JOHNNY. CHRIS. [There is an insistent ring from the doorbell at the Ay go open, Larry. Ay forgat. It vas Marthy. She come with me. [He goes into the back room.] LARRY He's still got that same cow livin' with him, the old fool! JOHNNY A sport, Chris is. Well, I'll beat it home. S'long. [He goes to the street door.] LARRY. JOHNNY. LARRY. [JOHNNY goes out. In the meantime, CHRIS has opened the family entrance door, admitting MARTHY. She might be forty or fifty. Her jowly, mottled face, with its thick red nose, is streaked with interlacing purple veins. Her thick, gray hair is piled anyhow in a greasy mop on top of her round head. Her figure is flabby and fat; her breath comes in wheezy gasps; she speaks in a loud, mannish voice, punctuated by explosions of hoarse laughter. But there still twinkles in her blood-shot blue eyes a youthful lust for life which hard usage has failed to stifle, a sense of humor mocking, but good-tempered. She wears a man's cap, double-breasted man's jacket, and a grimy, calico skirt. Her bare feet are encased in a man's brogans several sizes too large for her, which gives her a shuffling, wobbly gait.] MARTHY What yuh tryin' to do, Dutchy--keep me standin' out there all day? [She comes forward and sits at the table in the right corner, front.] CHRIS Ay'm sorry, Marthy. Ay talk to Yohnny. MARTHY Gimme a scoop of lager an' ale. CHRIS. [He returns to the bar.] [He throws change on the bar.] LARRY. [Then remembering, he takes the letter from in back of the bar.] [He grins.] CHRIS Oh, den it come from my daughter, Anna. She live dere. [He turns the letter over in his hands uncertainly.] LARRY That's a fine fairy tale to be tellin'--your daughter! CHRIS No. Dis come from Anna. [Engrossed by the letter in his hand--uncertainly.] By golly, Ay tank Ay'm too drunk for read dis letter from Anna. [He goes into the room on right.] MARTHY Where's my lager an' ale, yuh big stiff? CHRIS Larry bring him. [He sits down opposite her. LARRY brings in the drinks and sets them on the table. He and MARTHY exchange nods of recognition. LARRY stands looking at CHRIS curiously. MARTHY takes a long draught of her schooner and heaves a huge sigh of satisfaction, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. CHRIS stares at the letter for a moment--slowly opens it, and, squinting his eyes, commences to read laboriously, his lips moving as he spells out the words. As he reads his face lights up with an expression of mingled joy and bewilderment.] LARRY. MARTHY What's that yuh got--a letter, fur Gawd's sake? CHRIS Py yiminy! Yust tank, Anna say she's comin' here right avay! [Beaming.] [Then turning to MARTHY, rather shamefacedly.] MARTHY. CHRIS. LARRY You've not seen her in fifteen years? CHRIS No. Ven she vas little gel, Ay vas bo'sun on vindjammer. Ay never gat home only few time dem year. Ay'm fool sailor fallar. My voman--Anna's mother--she gat tired vait all time Sveden for me ven Ay don't never come. She come dis country, bring Anna, dey go out Minnesota, live with her cousins on farm. Den ven her mo'der die ven Ay vas on voyage, Ay tank it's better dem cousins keep Anna. Ay tank it's better Anna live on farm, den she don't know dat ole davil, sea, she don't know fader like me. LARRY This girl, now, 'll be marryin' a sailor herself, likely. It's in the blood. CHRIS No, py God! She don't do dat! MARTHY Hey, look out, yuh nut! Wanta spill my suds for me? LARRY Oho, what's up with you? Ain't you a sailor yourself now, and always been? CHRIS Dat's yust vhy Ay say it. [Forcing a smile.] LARRY When is your daughter comin'? Soon? CHRIS Py yiminy, Ay forgat. [Reads through the letter hurriedly.] LARRY. [He returns to the bar, whistling. Left alone with MARTHY, who stares at him with a twinkle of malicious humor in her eyes, CHRIS suddenly becomes desperately ill-at-ease. He fidgets, then gets up hurriedly.] CHRIS. [Mollifyingly.] MARTHY Sure. That's me. [As he retreats with the glass she guffaws after him derisively.] CHRIS Py yingo, Ay gat gat Marthy shore off barge before Anna come! LARRY Serve ye right, ye old divil--havin' a woman at your age! CHRIS You tal me lie for tal Marthy, Larry, so's she gat off barge quick. LARRY. CHRIS. LARRY. [Curiously.] CHRIS. [Then shaking his head resolutely.] LARRY On a coal barge! She'll not like that, I'm thinkin'. MARTHY Don't I get that bucket o' suds, Dutchy? CHRIS Yes, Ay come, Marthy. LARRY Now you're in for it! You'd better tell her straight to get out! CHRIS [He takes her drink in to MARTHY and sits down at the table. She sips it in silence. LARRY moves quietly close to the partition to listen, grinning with expectation. CHRIS seems on the verge of speaking, hesitates, gulps down his whiskey desperately as if seeking for courage. He attempts to whistle a few bars of "Yosephine" with careless bravado, but the whistle peters out futilely. MARTHY stares at him keenly, taking in his embarrassment with a malicious twinkle of amusement in her eye. CHRIS clears his throat.] Marthy-- MARTHY Wha's that? [Then, pretending to fly into a rage, her eyes enjoying CHRIS' misery.] I'm wise to what's in back of your nut, Dutchy. Yuh want to git rid o' me, huh?--now she's comin'. Gimme the bum's rush ashore, huh? Lemme tell yuh, Dutchy, there ain't a square-head workin' on a boat man enough to git away with that. Don't start nothin' yuh can't finish! CHRIS Ay don't start nutting, Marthy. MARTHY Ho-ho! Yuh're a scream, Square-head--an honest-ter-Gawd knockout! Ho-ho! [She wheezes, panting for breath.] CHRIS Ay don't see nutting for laugh at. MARTHY. [Recovering from her mirth--chuckling, scornfully.] A square-head tryin' to kid Marthy Owen at this late day!--after me campin' with barge men the last twenty years. I'm wise to the game, up, down, and sideways. I ain't been born and dragged up on the water front for nothin'. Think I'd make trouble, huh? Not me! I'll pack up me duds an' beat it. I'm quittin' yuh, get me? I'm tellin' yuh I'm sick of stickin' with yuh, and I'm leavin' yuh flat, see? There's plenty of other guys on other barges waitin' for me. Always was, I always found. [She claps the astonished CHRIS on the back.] CHRIS Ay don' tank dat. You vas good gel, Marthy. MARTHY Good girl? Aw, can the bull! Well, yuh treated me square, yuhself. [LARRY returns to bar.] CHRIS Yes, py golly. MARTHY. [Scornfully.] [Then with a grin, after emptying her glass.] CHRIS Sure tang. Ay go gat him. [He takes the two glasses into the bar.] LARRY She's not such a bad lot, that one. CHRIS She's good gel, Ay tal you! Py golly, Ay calabrate now! [He puts down money. LARRY serves him.] LARRY You know I never touch it. CHRIS. [He drinks--then begins to sing loudly.]
Gawd! CHRIS Ay'm good singer, yes? Ve drink, eh? Skoal! Ay calabrate! [He drinks.] [His face beaming.] [Bursting with joy.] [Shouts.] [He smashes his fist on the table with a bang.] LARRY Easy there! Don't be breakin' the table, you old goat! CHRIS "My Yosephine comes board de ship--" MARTHY You're soused to the ears, Dutchy. [Then as CHRIS shakes his head obstinately.] CHRIS Py golly, yes. LARRY. CHRIS. [CHRIS goes through the bar and out the street door.] LARRY. MARTHY. [LARRY goes back to the bar and resumes his newspaper. MARTHY sips what is left of her schooner reflectively. There is the ring of the family entrance bell. LARRY comes to the door and opens it a trifle--then, with a puzzled expression, pulls it wide. ANNA CHRISTOPHERSON enters. She is a tall, blond, fully-developed girl of twenty, handsome after a large, Viking-daughter fashion but now run down in health and plainly showing all the outward evidences of belonging to the world's oldest profession. Her youthful face is already hard and cynical beneath its layer of make-up. Her clothes are the tawdry finery of peasant stock turned prostitute. She comes and sinks wearily in a chair by the table, left front.] ANNA. [Then, as LARRY turns to go, forcing a winning smile at him.] LARRY Shall I serve it in a pail? ANNA That suits me down to the ground. [LARRY goes into the bar. The two women size each other up with frank stares. LARRY comes back with the drink which he sets before ANNA and returns to the bar again. ANNA downs her drink at a gulp. Then, after a moment, as the alcohol begins to rouse her, she turns to MARTHY with a friendly smile.] Gee, I needed that bad, all right, all right! MARTHY ANNA. MARTHY Where'd yuh come from, huh? ANNA MARTHY --[She suddenly bursts out into hoarse, ironical laughter.] ANNA. [Flaring up.] MARTHY No, honest, kid. I was thinkin' of somethin' else. ANNA Well, I wouldn't blame you, at that. Guess I do look rotten--yust out of the hospital two weeks. I'm going to have another 'ski. What d'you say? Have something on me? MARTHY. [She calls.] [He comes in.] ANNA. MARTHY. [LARRY takes their glasses and goes out.] ANNA. MARTHY. [She shuffles over to ANNA'S table and sits down opposite her. ANNA. [She drinks.] MARTHY. [She takes a gulp from her schooner.] ANNA Let you smoke in here, won't they? MARTHY Sure. [Then with evident anxiety.] ANNA Gee, they're fussy in this dump, ain't they? [She puffs, staring at the table top. MARTHY looks her over with a new penetrating interest, taking in every detail of her face. ANNA suddenly becomes conscious of this appraising stare--resentfully.] Ain't nothing wrong with me, is there? You're looking hard enough. MARTHY Ain't got to look much. I got your number the minute you stepped in the door. ANNA Ain't you smart! Well, I got yours, too, without no trouble. [She gives a hard little laugh.] MARTHY Is that so? Well, I'll tell you straight, kiddo, that Marthy Owen never --[She catches herself up short--with a grin.] [Extending her hand.] ANNA Only too glad to. I ain't looking for trouble. MARTHY Not for mine. I'm full up. And you-- Had anythin' to eat lately? ANNA. MARTHY. ANNA Guess you're right. I got to meet someone, too. MARTHY. ANNA. [Leaning over to MARTHY confidentially.] MARTHY Did yuh say yuh got to meet someone here? ANNA. MARTHY Janitor! ANNA. [Wearily.] [Then resignedly.] [With sudden passion.] [Then with sudden interest.] MARTHY. ANNA. MARTHY. ANNA. MARTHY. ANNA Yes, that's him! Anna Christopherson--that's my real name MARTHY Seen him about for years. ANNA. MARTHY. ANNA I don't care what he looks like. What kind is he? MARTHY Well, yuh can bet your life, kid, he's as good ANNA I'm glad to hear it. Then you think's MARTHY Surest thing you know. [Disgustedly.] ANNA. MARTHY. ANNA A barge? What kind of a barge? MARTHY. ANNA. [With a harsh laugh.] MARTHY. ANNA. MARTHY. ANNA Me? On a dirty coal barge! What d'you think I am? MARTHY What d'yuh know about barges, huh? Bet yuh ain't never seen one. That's what comes of his bringing yuh up inland--away from the old devil sea--where yuh'd be safe--Gawd! [The irony of it strikes her sense of humor and she laughs hoarsely.] ANNA His bringing me up! Is that what he tells people! I like his nerve! He let them cousins of my Old Woman's keep me on their farm and work me to death like a dog. MARTHY. ANNA. MARTHY. [Casually.] ANNA. [After a moment's hesitation--somberly.] It was one of the sons--the youngest--started me--when I was sixteen. After that, I hated 'em so I'd killed 'em all if I'd stayed. So I run away--to St. Paul. MARTHY I've heard Old Chris talkin' about your bein' a nurse ANNA. [Defiantly.] [After a pause--with bitter hatred.] [She gives a hard laugh.] MARTHY. ANNA He'll have to show me. MARTHY. ANNA. [Cynically.] MARTHY. ANNA. MARTHY. --[She is interrupted by the opening and shutting of Ssshh! ANNA. CHRIS Py golly, Larry, dat grub taste good. Marthy in back? LARRY. [CHRIS starts for the entrance to the back room.] MARTHY That's him now. He's comin' in here. Brace up! ANNA. [Chris opens the door.] MARTHY Why hello, Old Chris. [Then before he can speak, she shuffles hurriedly Come here. I wanta tell yuh somethin'. [He goes out to her. She speaks hurriedly in a low voice.] [She goes into the back room--to ANNA.] ANNA So long. LARRY CHRIS Nutting--nutting. [He stands before the door to the back room in an agony of embarrassed emotion--then he forces himself to a bold decision, pushes open the door and walks in. He stands there, casts a shy glance at ANNA, whose brilliant clothes, and, to him, high-toned appearance awe him terribly. He looks about him with pitiful nervousness as if to avoid the appraising look with which she takes in his face, his clothes, etc--his voice seeming to plead for her forbearance.] Anna! ANNA Hello--father. She told me it was you. I yust got here a little while ago. CHRIS It's good--for see you--after all dem years, Anna. [He bends down over her. After an embarrassed ANNA It's good to see you, too. CHRIS Anna lilla! Anna lilla! [Takes her in his arms.] ANNA What's that--Swedish? I don't know it. [Then as if seeking relief from Gee, I had an awful trip coming here. I'm all in. I had to sit up in the dirty coach all night--couldn't get no sleep, hardly--and then I had a hard job finding this place. I never been in New York before, you know, and-- CHRIS You know you vas awful pooty gel, Anna? ANNA Cut it! You talk same as they all do. CHRIS Ain't no harm for your fader talk dat vay, Anna. ANNA No--course not. Only--it's funny to see you and not CHRIS Ay s'pose. Ay never come home only few times ven you ANNA [Resentfully.] CHRIS Ay tank, after your mo'der die, ven Ay vas avay [He sinks down in the chair opposite Ay don't know, Anna, vhy Ay never come home Sveden in ole year. Ay vant come home end of every voyage. Ay vant see your mo'der, your two bro'der before dey vas drowned, you ven you vas born--but--Ay--don't go. Ay sign on oder ships--go South America, go Australia, go China, go every port all over world many times--but Ay never go aboard ship sail for Sveden. Ven Ay gat money for pay passage home as passenger den --[He bows his head guiltily.] ANNA Then you think the sea's to blame for everything, eh? Well, you're still workin' on it, ain't you, spite of all you used to write me about hating it. That dame was here told me you was captain of a coal barge--and you wrote me you was yanitor of a building! CHRIS Oh, Ay work on land long time as yanitor. Yust short ANNA Sick? You? You'd never think it. CHRIS. ANNA Well, I can't see no difference. [Dismissing the subject.] CHRIS You, Anna? Py golly! [Anxiously.] ANNA I am. Tired to death. I need a long rest and CHRIS. ANNA. CHRIS But Ay gat place, Anna--nice place. You rest all you want, py yiminy! You don't never have to vork as nurse gel no more. You stay with me, py golly! ANNA Then you're really glad to see me--honest? CHRIS Anna, Ay like see you like hell, Ay tal you! And don't you talk no more about gatting yob. You stay with me. Ay don't see you for long time, you don't forgat dat. [His voice trembles.] ANNA Thanks. It sounds good to hear someone--talk to me CHRIS Ay love your mo'der too much for ever do dat, Anna. ANNA I don't remember nothing about her. What was she like? Tell me. CHRIS. [He gets to his feet quickly and picks up her bag.] ANNA Where're you going? CHRIS. ANNA On board your barge, you mean? [Dryly.] [Then seeing his crestfallen look--forcing a smile.] CHRIS Yes, Ay tank. [He hesitates--then continues more and more pleadingly.] ANNA It sounds good to hear you tell it. I'd sure like a trip on the water, all right. It's the barge idea has me stopped. Well, I'll go down with you and have a look--and maybe I'll take a chance. Gee, I'd do anything once. CHRIS Ye go, eh? ANNA. [Forgetting the situation for a moment, she relapses Gee, I'm thirsty. CHRIS Ay'm sorry, Anna. What you tank you like for drink, eh? ANNA I'll take a I don't know. What'a they got here? CHRIS Ay don't tank dey got much fancy drink for young ANNA CHRIS Ay tal you, Anna, we calabrate, [In a half whisper, embarrassedly.] ANNA All right! I'll take port. CHRIS. [He goes out to the bar. ANNA Gawd, I can't stand this! I better beat it. [Then she lets her bag drop, stumbles over to her chair LARRY ell, who's the blond? CHRIS Dat vas Anna, Larry. LARRY Your daughter, Anna? [CHRIS nods. LARRY lets a long, low whistle CHRIS. LARRY Sure! A peach! CHRIS. LARRY Small beer for you, eh? She's reformin' you already. CHRIS You bet! [He takes the drinks. As she hears him coming, ANNA hastily dries her eyes, tries to smile. CHRIS comes in and sets the drinks down on the table--stares at her for a second anxiously--patting her hand.] You look tired, Anna. Veil, Ay make you take good long rest now. [Picking up his beer.] [She lifts her glass--he grins.] ANNA. [Downing her port at a gulp like a drink of whiskey--her lips trembling.] Skoal? Guess I know that word, all right, all right!
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