[She catches sight of him in the mirror, gasps slightly, wheels about to face him. Count ten.]
Why are you looking at me like that?
BRICK [whistling softly, now]: Like what, Maggie?
MARGARET [intensely, fearfully]: The way y' were lookin' at me just now, befo' I caught your eye in the mirror and you started t' whistle! I don't know how t' describe it but it froze my blood!—I've caught you lookin' at me like that so often lately. What are you thinkin' of when you look at me like that?
BRICK: I wasn't conscious of lookin' at you, Maggie.
MARGARET: Well, I was conscious of it! What were you thinkin'?
BRICK: I don't remember thinking of anything, Maggie.
MARGARET: Don't you think I know that—? Don't you—?—Think I know that—?
BRICK [coolly]: Know what, Maggie?
MARGARET [struggling for expression]: That I've gone through this—hideous!—transformation, become—hard! Frantic!
[Then she adds, almost tenderly:]
—cruel!!
That's what you've been observing in me lately. How could y' help but observe it? That's all right. I'm not—thin-skinned any more, can't afford t' be thin-skinned any more.
[She is now recovering her power.]
—But Brick? Brick?
BRICK: Did you say something?
MARGARET: I was goin' t' say something—that I get—lonely. Very!
BRICK: Ev'rybody gets that...
MARGARET: Living with someone you love can be lonelier—than living entirely alone!—if the one that y' love doesn't love you....
[There is a pause. Brick hobbles downstage and asks, without looking at her:]
BRICK: Would you like to live alone, Maggie?
[Another pause: then—after she has caught a quick, hurt breath:]
MARGARET: No!—God!—I wouldn't!
[Another gasping breath. She forcibly controls what must have been an impulse to cry out. We see her deliberately, very forcibly going all the way back to the world in which you can talk about ordinary matters.]
Did you have a nice shower?
BRICK: Uh-huh.
MARGARET: Was the water cool?
BRICK: No.
MARGARET: But it made y' feel fresh, huh?
BRICK: Fresher....
MARGARET: I know something would make y' feel much fresher!
BRICK: What?
MARGARET: An alcohol rub. Or cologne, a rub with cologne!
BRICK: That's good after a workout but I haven't been workin' out, Maggie.
MARGARET: You've kept in good shape, though.
BRICK [indifferently]: You think so, Maggie?
MARGARET: I always thought drinkin' men lost their looks, but I was plainly mistaken.
BRICK [wryly]: Why, thanks, Maggie.
MARGARET: You're the only drinkin' man I know that it never seems t' put fat on.
BRICK: I'm gettin' softer, Maggie.
MARGARET: Well, sooner or later it's bound to soften you up. It was just beginning to soften up Skipper when—
[She stops short.]
I'm sorry. I never could keep my fingers off a sore—I wish you would lose your looks. If you did it would make the martyrdom of Saint Maggie a little more bearable. But no such goddam luck. I actually believe you've gotten better looking since you've gone on the bottle. Yeah, a person who didn't know you would think you'd never had a tense nerve in your body or a strained muscle.
[There are sounds of croquet on the lawn below | the click of mallets, light voices, near and distant.]
Of course, you always had that detached quality as if you were playing a game without much concern over whether you won or lost, and now that you've lost the game, not lost but just quit playing, you have that rare sort of charm that usually only happens in very old or hopelessly sick people, the charm of the defeated.—You look so cool, so cool, so enviably cool.
[Music is heard.]
They're playing croquet. The moon has appeared and it's white, just beginning to turn a little bit yellow.... You were a wonderful lover.... Such a wonderful person to go to bed with, and I think mostly because you were really indifferent to it. Isn't that right? Never had any anxiety about it, did it naturally, easily, slowly, with absolute confidence and perfect calm, more like opening a door for a lady or seating her at a table than giving expression to any longing for her. Your indifference made you wonderful at lovemaking—strange?—but true.... You know, if I thought you would never, never, never make love to me again—I would go downstairs to the kitchen and pick out the longest and sharpest knife I could find and stick it straight into my heart, I swear that I would!
But one thing I don't have is the charm of the defeated, my hat is still in the ring, and I am determined to win!
[There is the sound of croquet mallets hitting croquet balls.]
—What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof?—I wish I knew....
Just staying on it, I guess, as long as she can....
[More croquet sounds.]
Later tonight I'm going to tell you I love you an' maybe by that time you'll be drunk enough to believe me. Yes, they're playing croquet.... Big Daddy is dying of cancer....
What were you thinking of when I caught you looking at me like that? Were you thinking of Skipper?
[Brick takes up his crutch, rises.]
Oh, excuse me, forgive me, but laws of silence don't work! No, laws of silence don't work....
[Brick crosses to the bar, takes a quick drink, and rubs his head with a towel.]
Laws of silence don't work.... When something is festering in your memory or your imagination, laws of silence don't work, it's just like shutting a door and locking it on a house on fire in hope of forgetting that the house is burning. But not facing a fire doesn't put it out. Silence about a thing just magnifies it. It grows and festers in silence, becomes malignant.... Get dressed, Brick.
[He drops his crutch.]
BRICK: I've dropped my crutch.
[He has stopped rubbing his hair dry but still stands hanging on to the towel rack in a white towel-cloth robe.]
MARGARET: Lean on me.
BRICK: No, just give me my crutch.
MARGARET: Lean on my shoulder.
BRICK: I don't want to lean on your shoulder, I want my crutch! [This is spoken like sudden lightning.]
Are you going to give me my crutch or do I have to get down on my knees on the floor and—
MARGARET: Here, here, take it, take it!
[She has thrust the crutch at him.]
BRICK [hobbling out]: Thanks...
MARGARET: We mustn't scream at each other, the walls in this house have ears....
[He hobbles directly to liquor cabinet to get a new drink.]
—but that's the first time I've heard you raise your voice in a long time, Brick. A crack in the wall?—Of composure?—I think that's a good sign.... A sign of nerves in a player on the defensive!
[Brick turns and smiles at her coolly over his fresh drink.]
BRICK: It just hasn't happened yet, Maggie.
MARGARET: What?
BRICK: The click I get in my head when I've had enough of this stuff to make me peaceful.... Will you do me a favor?
MARGARET: Maybe I will. What favor?
BRICK: Just, just keep your voice down!
MARGARET [in a hoarse whisper]: I'll do you that favor, I'll speak in a whisper, if not shut up completely, if you will do me a favor and make that drink your last one till after the party.
BRICK: What party?
MARGARET: Big Daddy's birthday party.
BRICK: Is this Big Daddy's birthday?
MARGARET: You know this is Big Daddy's birthday!
BRICK: No, I don't, I forgot it.
MARGARET: Well, I remembered it for you....
[They are both speaking as breathlessly as a pair of kids after a fight, drawing deep exhausted breaths and looking at each other with faraway eyes, shaking and panting together as if they had bro
ken apart from a violent struggle.]
BRICK: Good for you, Maggie.
MARGARET: You just have to scribble a few lines on this card.
BRICK: You scribble something, Maggie.
MARGARET: It's got to be your handwriting; it's your present, I've given him my present; it's got to be your handwriting!
[The tension between them is building again, the voices becoming shrill once more.]
BRICK: I didn't get him a present.
MARGARET: I got one for you.
BRICK: All right. You write the card, then.
MARGARET: And have him know you didn't remember his birthday?
BRICK: I didn't remember his birthday.
MARGARET: You don't have to prove you didn't!
BRICK: I don't want to fool him about it.
MARGARET: Just write 'Love, Brick!' for God's—
BRICK: No.
MARGARET: You've got to!
BRICK: I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. You keep forgetting the conditions on which I agreed to stay on living with you.
MARGARET [out before she knows it]: I'm not living with you. We occupy the same cage.
BRICK: You've got to remember the conditions agreed on.
MARGARET: They're impossible conditions!
BRICK: Then why don't you—?
MARGARET: HUSH! Who is out there? Is somebody at the door?
[There are footsteps in hall.]
MAE [outside]: May I enter a moment?
MARGARET: Oh, you! Sure. Come in, Mae.
[Mae enters bearing aloft the bow of a young lady's archery set.]
MAE: Brick, is this thing yours?
MARGARET: Why, Sister Woman—that's my Diana Trophy. Won it at the intercollegiate archery contest on the Ole Miss campus.
MAE: It's a mighty dangerous thing to leave exposed round a house full of nawmal rid-blooded children attracted t'weapons.
MARGARET: 'Nawmal rid-blooded children attracted t'weapons' ought t'be taught to keep their hands off things that don't belong to them.
MAE: Maggie, honey, if you had children of your own you'd know how funny that is. Will you please lock this up and put the key out of reach?
MARGARET: Sister Woman, nobody is plotting the destruction of your kiddies.—Brick and I still have our special archers' license. We're goin' deer-huntin' on Moon Lake as soon as the season starts. I love to run with dogs through chilly woods, run, run, leap over obstructions—
[She goes into the closet carrying the bow.]
MAE: How's the injured ankle, Brick?
BRICK: Doesn't hurt. Just itches.
MAE: Oh, my! Brick—Brick, you should've been downstairs after supper! Kiddies put on a show. Polly played the piano, Buster an' Sonny drums, an' then they turned out the lights an' Dixie an' Trixie puhfawmed a toe dance in fairy costume with spahkluhs! Big Daddy just beamed! He just beamed!
MARGARET [from the closet with a sharp laugh]: Oh, I bet. It breaks my heart that we missed it!
[She re-enters.]
But Mae? Why did y'give dawgs' names to all your kiddies?
MAE: Dogs' names?
[Margaret has made this observation as she goes to raise the bamboo blinds, since the sunset glare has diminished. In crossing she winks at Brick.]
MARGARET [sweetly]: Dixie, Trixie, Buster, Sonny, Polly!—Sounds like four dogs and a parrot—animal act in a circus!
MAE: Maggie?
[Margaret turns with a smile.]
Why are you so catty?
MARGARET: 'Cause I'm a cat! But why can't you take a joke, Sister Woman?
MAE: Nothin' pleases me more than a joke that's funny. You know the real names of our kiddies. Buster's real name is Robert. Sonny's real name is Saunders. Trixie's real name is Marlene and Dixie's—
[Someone downstairs calls for her. 'Hey, Mae!'—She rushes to door, saying:]
Intermission is over!
MARGARET [as Mae closes door]: I wonder what Dixie's real name is?
BRICK: Maggie, being catty doesn't help things any....
MARGARET: I know! WHY!—am I so catty?—'Cause I'm consumed with envy an' eaten up with longing?—Brick, I've laid out your beautiful Shantung silk suit from Rome and one of your monogrammed silk shirts. I'll put your cuff-links in it, those lovely star sapphires I get you to wear so rarely....
BRICK: I can't get trousers on over this plaster cast.
MARGARET: Yes, you can, I'll help you.
BRICK: I'm not going to get dressed, Maggie.
MARGARET: Will you just put on a pair of white silk pyjamas?
BRICK: Yes, I'll do that, Maggie.
MARGARET: Thank you, thank you so much.
BRICK: Don't mention it.
MARGARET: Oh, Brick! How long does it have t' go on? This punishment? Haven't I done time enough, haven't I served my term, can't I apply for a—pardon?
BRICK: Maggie, you're spoiling my liquor. Lately your voice always sounds like you'd been running upstairs to warn somebody that the house was on fire!
MARGARET: Well, no wonder, no wonder. Y'know what I feel like, Brick?
[Children's and grownups' voices are blended, below, in a loud but uncertain rendition of 'My Wild Irish Rose'.]
I feel all the time like a cat on a hot tin roof.
BRICK: Then jump off the roof, jump off it, cats can jump off roofs and land on their four feet uninjured!
MARGARET: Oh, yes!
BRICK: Do it!—fo' God's sake, do it...
MARGARET: Do what?
BRICK: Take a lover!
MARGARET: I can't see a man but you! Even with my eyes closed, I just see you! Why don't you get ugly, Brick, why don't you please get fat or ugly or something so I could stand it?
[She rushes to hall door, opens it, listens.]
The concert is still going on! Bravo, no-necks, bravo!
[She slams and locks door fiercely.]
BRICK: What did you lock the door for?
MARGARET: To give us a little privacy for a while.
BRICK: You know better, Maggie.
MARGARET: No, I don't know better....
[She rushes to gallery doors, draws the rose-silk drapes across them.]
BRICK: Don't make a fool of yourself.
MARGARET: I don't mind makin' a fool of myself over you!
BRICK: I mind, Maggie. I feel embarrassed for you.
MARGARET: Feel embarrassed! But don't continue my torture. I can't live on and on under these circumstances.
BRICK: You agreed to—
MARGARET: I know but—
BRICK: —accept that condition!
MARGARET: I CAN'T! CAN'T! CAN'T!
[She seizes his shoulder.]
BRICK: Let go!
[He breaks away from her and seizes the small boudoir chair and raises it like a lion-tamer facing a big circus cat. | Count five. She stares at him with her fist pressed to her mouth, then bursts into shrill, almost hysterical laughter. | He remains grave for a moment, then grins and puts the chair down. Big Mama calls through closed door:]
BIG MAMA: Son? Son? Son?
BRICK: What is it, Big Mama?
BIG MAMA [outside]: Oh, son! We got the most wonderful news about Big Daddy. I just had t' run up an' tell you right this—
[She rattles the knob.]
—What's this door doin', locked, faw? You all think there's robbers in the house?
MARGARET: Big Mama, Brick is dressin', he's not dressed yet.
BIG MAMA: That's all right, it won't be the first time I've seen Brick not dressed. Come on, open this door!
[Margaret, with a grimace, goes to unlock and open the hall door, as Brick hobbles rapidly to the bathroom and kicks the door shut. Big Mama has disappeared from the hall.]
MARGARET: Big Mama?
[Big Mama appears through the opposite gallery doors behind Margaret, huffing and puffing like an old bulldog. She is a short, stout woman; her sixty years and 170 pounds have left her somewhat breathless most of the time; she's always t
ensed like a boxer, or rather, a Japanese wrestler. Her 'family' was maybe a little superior to Big Daddy's, but not much. She wears a black or silver lace dress and at least half a million in flashy gems. She is very sincere.]
BIG MAMA [loudly, startling Margaret]: Here—I come through Gooper's and Mae's gall'ry door. Where's Brick? Brick—Hurry on out of there, son. I just have a second and want to give you the news about Big Daddy.—I hate locked doors in a house....