He carries the usual little package of cream for his friend the cat. Again he follows his nightly routine of lowering the shade on the glare of the plant, pouring the cream in the blue saucer, and the sighing relaxation on the bed.
LITTLE MAN: Nitchevo—don’t worry—don’t be nervous! (A needless admonition for Nitchevo doesn’t have a care in the world. The Little Man, smiling, watches her as he half-reclines on the bed.) As long as we stick together there’s nothing to fear. There’s only danger when two who belong to each other get separated. We won’t get separated—never!
Will we? (There is a rap at the door.) Bella? (The door is pushed open and the Old Man steps inside.)
OLD MLAN: May I come in? (The Little Man nods.) Don’t mention this visit to my daughter-in-law. She doesn’t approve of my having social relations with her roomers. Where is a chair?
LITTLE MAN: (shoving one toward him) Here.
OLD MLAN: Thank you. I won’t stay long.
LITTLE MAN: You may stay as long as you wish.
OLD MLAN: That’s very generous of you. But I won’t do it. I know how tiresome I am, a tiresome old man who makes his need of companionship a nuisance. I don’t suppose you—have a little tobacco?
LITTLE MAN: (producing some) Yes—here. Shall I roll it for you?
OLD MLAN: Oh, no, no, no. I have a wonderful lightness in my fingers!
LITTLE MAN: Mine shake, they’re always clumsy.
OLD MLAN: Yes. I understand that. So I—dropped in. I thought we would have a talk.
LITTLE MAN: (embarrassed) I don’t—talk much.
OLD MLAN: Fools hate silence. I like it. I see you have books. From the public library?
LITTLE MAN: One or two. I own them.
OLD MLAN: As I was passing outside, I heard some clinking.
LITTLE MAN: Clinking?
OLD MLAN: Yes—like bottles. I collect empty bottles which I exchange at the Bright Spot Delicatessen.
LITTLE MAN: The bottle you heard was only a little cream bottle. It’s under the bed.
OLD MLAN: Oh. That wouldn’t do any good. You drink cream?
LITTLE MAN: The cat.
OLD MLAN: (nodding) Ohhh, so the cat is present! That’s what made the air in the room so soft and full of sweetness! Nitchevo—where are you?
LITTLE MAN: She’s having her supper.
OLD MLAN: Well, I won’t disturb her until she’s finished. You are devoted to animals?
LITTLE MAN: To Nitchevo.
OLD MLAN: Be careful.
LITTLE MAN: Of what?
OLD MLAN: You may lose her. That’s the trouble with love, the chance of loss.
LITTLE MAN: Nitchevo wouldn’t leave me.
OLD MLAN: Not on purpose, maybe. But life is full of accidents, chances, possibilities—not all of which are always very good ones. Do you know that?
LITTLE MAN: Yes.
OLD MLAN: A truck might run her down.
LITTLE MAN: Nitchevo was brought up on the street.
OLD MLAN: The luxuries of her present existence may have dulled her faculties a little.
LITTLE MAN: You don’t understand Nitchevo. She hasn’t forgotten how dangerous life can be for a lonely person.
OLD MLAN: But she hasn’t control of the universe in her hands!
LITTLE MAN: No. Why should she?
OLD MLAN: Other things might happen. You work at the plant?
LITTLE MAN: Yes.
OLD MLAN: (a fanatical light coming into his clouded eyes) Uh-huh! I know those fellows that operate the plant, I know the bosses. They know I know them, too. They know I know their tricks. That’s why they hate me. Look. Suppose the demand for what they make slacked off. There’s two things they could do. They could cut down on the price and so put the product within the purchasing power of more consumers. Listen! I’ve read books on the subject! But, no! There’s another thing they could do. They could cut down on the number of things they make—create a scarcity! See? And boost the price still higher! And so maintain the rich man’s margin of profit! Which do you think they’d do? Why, God Almighty—Nitchevo knows the answer! They’d do what they’ve always done. (He chuckles and rises and begins to sing in a hoarse cracked voice.)
Hold up, hold up the Profit,
Ye Minions of the Boss!
Lift high the Royal Profit,
It must not suffer loss!
(There is a pounding on the wall and vocal objection outside.)
LITTLE MAN: Mrs. O’Fallon—disturbed.
OLD MLAN: Yes, yes! What they’ll cut down is production. Less and less men will be needed to run the machines. Fewer and fewer will stand at the belt conveyor. More and more workers will fall into the hands of the social agencies. Independence goes—then pride—then hope. Finally even the ability of the heart to feel shame or despair or anything at all—goes, too. What’s left? A creature like me. Whose need of companionship has become a nuisance to people. Well, somewhere along the line of misadventures—is the cat!
LITTLE MAN: Nitchevo?
OLD MLAN: (nodding sagaciously) You are not able to buy the cream any more.
LITTLE MAN: Well?
OLD MLAN: Well, cats are capricious!
LITTLE MAN: She isn’t a fair-weather friend.
OLD MLAN: You think she’d be faithful to you? In adversity, even?
LITTLE MAN: She’d be faithful to me.
OLD MLAN: (beaming slowly) Good! Good! (He touches his eyelids.) A beautiful trust. A rare and beautiful trust. It makes me cry a little. That’s all that life has to give in the way of perfection.
LITTLE MAN: What?
OLD MLAN: The warm and complete understanding of two or three in a close-walled room with the windows blind to the world.
LITTLE MAN: (nodding) Yes.
OLD MLAN: (alternatingly tender and vociferous) The roof is thin. Above it, the huge and glittering wheel of heaven which spells a mystery to us. Fine—invisible—cords of wonder—attach us to it. And so we are saved and purified and exalted. We three! You and me and—Nitchevo, the cat! (He lifts her against his ear.) Listen! She purrs! Mmm, such a soft and sweet and powerful sound it is. It’s the soul of the universe—throbbing in her! (He hands her back to the Little Man.) Take her and hold her close! Close! Never let her be separated from you. For while you’re together—none of the evil powers on earth can destroy you. Not even the imbecile child which is chance—nor the mad, insatiable wolves in the hearts of men! (The sound of exterior protest gathers volume. A window bangs open and a woman shouts for an officer. The Old Man crosses to the window that faces the plant. He raises the blind and the flickering red glare of the pulsing forges shines on his bearded face.) There she is!
LITTLE MAN: The plant?
OLD MLAN: Uh-huh. (in a quiet, conversational tone) The day before yesterday I went down to the plant. I asked the Superintendent about a job. “Oliver Woodson,” I said, “this corporation’s too big for me to fight with. I’ve come with the olive branch. I want a job.” “You’re too old,” he told me. “Never mind,” I said, “take down my name!” “But, Pop,” he said to me, “you’re nearly blind!” “Never mind,” I said, “take down my name!” “Okay, Pop,” said Mr. Oliver Woodson. “What’s your name?” “My name is Man,” I said. “My name is Man. Man is my name,” I said, “spelt M-A-N.” “Okay,” said Oliver Woodson. “Where do you live?” “I live on a cross,” I said. “On what?” “On a cross! I live on a cross, on a cross! (His voice rising louder and louder.) Cupidity and Stupidity, that is the two-armed cross on which you have nailed me! Stupidity and cupidity, that is the two-armed cross on which you have nailed me!”
LITTLE MAN: What did he say, then? The Superintendent?
OLD MLAN: The Superintendent? Said, “Hush up, be still! I’ll send for the wagon!”
WOMAN ROOMER: (shouting in the hall outside) I ain’t gonna live in no house with a lunatic! I called the police, he’s gonna send for th’ wagon!
LITTLE MAN: (sadly) She’s going to send for the wagon.
br /> OLD MLAN: There! You see? I speak for the people. For me, they send for the wagon! Never mind. Take down my name. It’s Man! (He leans out the window and shakes his fist at the plant. The forges blaze higher and their steady pulse seems to quicken with the Old Man’s frenzy.) I see you and I hear you! Boom-boom-boom! The pulse of a diseased heart!
LANDLADY: (in the hall) Be still, you drunken old fool, you’ve woke up the house!
WOMAN ROOMER: (outside) Terrible, terrible, terrible! Lunatics in the house!
OLD MLAN: A fire-breathing monster you are! But listen to me! Because I’m going to speak The Malediction! Go on, go on, you niggardly pimps of the world! You entrepreneurs of deception, you traders of lies! We stand at bay but we are not defeated. The passion of our resistance is gathering force. We can Boom-Boom, too, we’re going to Boom! It’s only a little while we give you license! We say, Feed on, Feed on! You race of gluttons! Devour the flesh of thy brother, drink his blood! Glut your monstrous bellies on corruption! And when you’re too fat to move—that fist will clench, which is the fist of God—to strike! Strike! STRIKE! (He smashes a pane of the window. At this moment the door is burst open. Light spills in from the hall.)
WOMAN ROOMER: (outside the dorway) Watch out! He’ll kill somebody!
LANDLADY: Mrs. O’Fallon, be still, get out of the way! Officer, go on in! (A police officer enters, followed by the Landlady in a wrapper. A group of frightened roomers, gray and bloodless-looking, huddle behind her in the doorway. The Little Man stands clutching the cat against his chest. The Old Man’s rage is spent. He stands with head hanging in the banal glow of the electric bulb which the Landlady switches on.)
LANDLADY: (to the Old Man) Ahh, you drunken old fool, my patience is gone. Officer, take him away. Lock him up till he comes to his senses. (The officer grasps the Old Man’s arm.)
OFFICER: Come along, old man.
WOMAN ROOMER: (in the crowd at the door) A dangerous, criminal character!
LANDLADY: (to the group) Go on, go on back to your beds. The excitement is over. (The Old Man seems barely conscious as he is pushed out the door. The others retreat behind him. The Little Man makes a dumb, protesting gesture, still clutching Nitchevo against his chest with one arm. The Landlady slams the door on the others. She turns angrily to face the Little Man.) You! You’re responsible for it! Haven’t I told you not to encourage him in his drunken ravings? Well! . . . Why don’t you say something? (She jerks the window down.) Christ. You’re not a man at all, you’re a poor excuse. Put down that cat! Throw that animal down! (She snatches Nitchevo from him and casts her to the floor.) She hates me.
LITTLE MAN: She doesn’t like unkindness. (He stares at her.)
LANDLADY: (uneasily) Why that-look? What’s the meaning of it?
LITTLE MAN: I’m not looking at you. I’m looking at all the evil in the world. Turn out the light. I’ve lived too long in a room that was nothing but windows and always at noon and with no curtains to draw. Turn out the light. (She reaches slowly above her and switches it off. He suddenly goes to her and plunges his head against her chest.) O beautiful, cruel Zigeuner! Sing to me, sing to me! Comfort me in the dark! (At first she stands stiff and hostile. Then she relents and embraces his crouching body, and begins to sing, softly.)
CURTAIN
SCENE IV
A morning in spring. The branches outside the windows of the furnished room bear delicate new leaves which cast their trembling shadows through the panes. On the white iron bed is seated the Boxer in his undershirt paring his corns with a pen-knife. With a faint creaking, the door is pushed open. The Little Man comes in. His manner is dazed, he looks as though he had had a long illness.
LITTLE MAN: (faintly) Ni-tchevo?
BOXER: (grinning) Sorry, you’ve got the wrong party—my name is Bill! (He points to a space on the wall where his signature is scrawled in great letters. A great X mark has been drawn through the portraits of the Russian, the Cat, and the Little Man.)
LITTLE MAN: This was—my old room.
BOXER: Well, it ain’t any more. Unless the landlady rooked me.
LITTLE MAN: You’ve—moved in here?
BOXER: Yep. I’ve hung my boxing gloves on the wall. And there’s my silver trophies. (He points to gloves suspended from a nail and several silver cups on the bureau.)
LITTLE MAN: There was—a cat.
BOXER: A cat?
LITTLE MAN: Yes.
BOXER: Yours?
LITTLE MAN: Yes. She was mine—by adoption. I thought I might—hoped—find her here.
BOXER: (looking at him with humorous curiosity) I can’t help you out.
LITTLE MAN: You haven’t seen one? A gray one? (He touches his chest.) White-spotted?
BOXER: Why, I’ve seen dozens of cats of every description—(Away in the house somewhere the Landlady commences to sing one of her haunting Zigeuner songs. As he speaks the Boxer returns to paring his corns with an amiable expression.)—I’ve seen gray ones, black ones, white ones, spitted, spotted, and sputted! My relations with cats is strictly—laissez faire! Know what that means, buddy? Live and let live—a motto. I’ve never gone out of my way—(looking up reflectively)—to injure a cat. But when one gets in my way, I usually kick it! (The Little Man stares at him speechlessly.) Any more information I can give you?
LITTLE MAN: You see, I worked at the plant.
BOXER: So?
LITTLE MAN: I was fired, I—couldn’t handle the work! My—fingers—froze up on me! On the way home, I—something happened. They took me to the Catholic Sisters of Mercy! (The Boxer grunts.) I had no idea how many weeks I was there. Observation—mental. When I got out—I wondered about my cat, and that was only this morning. I’ve—come to get her.
BOXER: I haven’t seen her, buddy.
LITTLE MAN: (desperately) She hasn’t—climbed in the window?
BOXER: No. If she did she wouldn’t have got a very cordial reception.
LITTLE MAN: She hasn’t—been around, then? (His voice breaks, his lips tremble. The Boxer stares at him incredulously. Suddenly he begins to laugh. Helplessly the Little Man laughs with him, breathlessly and uncontrollably. For several moments they laugh together, then all at once the Little Man’s face puckers up. He covers his face and sobs. The Boxer grunts with amazement. This is entirely too much. He strides to the door.)
BOXER: (shouting) Bella! Bella! Hey, Bella! (The Landlady answers. After a moment or two she appears in the door. Her large simplicity is gone. She has frizzed her hair and has on a tight-fitting dress and flashy jewelry. In her now is a sinister, gleaming richness.)
LANDLADY: Aw. YOU. They tole me you got laid off at th’ plant. I’m sorry. The room ‘as been taken. It’s now occupied by this young gentleman here. Your stuff, your few belongings, are packed in the downstairs closet. On your way out you may as well pick them up. (The Little Man claws in his pockets and pulls out a large dirty rag. He blows his nose on it.) I can’t afford to let my rooms stay vacant. I got to be practical, don’t I? I didn’t take you under false pretenses. You must remember the first conversation we had, before you even decided you’d take the room. I told you there wasn’t nothing soft in my nature. That I was a character perfectly fair and decent—but not sentimental. It’s luck in this world, plain luck—and you’ve got to buck it!
LITTLE MAN: You—came in, nights and—sang.
BOXER: Huh!
LITTLE MAN: (wonderingly) Sang. . . .
LANDLADY: What of it? I gave you free entertainment. But that don’t mean I was sentimental about you. (The Little Man shakes his head.)
LITTLE MAN: Nothing?
LANDLADY: What?
LITTLE MAN: Nothing?
BOXER: (annoyed) What is this? What’s this going on here? Is this my room or is it somebody else’s? (He grabs his gloves from the wall.) Return me the fin I paid you and I’ll move out!
LANDLADY: Just hold your horses a minute!
BOXER: Mine or his?
LANDLADY: Yours, horse-mouth! Take it eas
y!
BOXER: Naw, I won’t. I don’t like this kind of business! I rent a room, I want no crack-pot visitors coming an’ cryin’ over some—cat’s disappearance!
LANDLADY: Easy, for God’s sake! Is this a national crisis? Mr.—Chile con carne! Whatever it is! Please go.
LITTLE MAN: (recovering his dignity) I’m going. I only wanted to ask you. Where is the cat?
LANDLADY: (grandly) That question I cannot answer. I turned her out.
LITTLE MAN: When?
LANDLADY: I don’t remember. Two or three weeks ago, maybe.
LITTLE MAN: (despairingly) No!
BOXER: Christ.
LITTLE MAN: NO, no, no!
LANDLADY: (angrily, to them both) Be still! What do you think I am? The nerve a some people . . . Expeck me to play nurse-maid to a sick alley-cat? (There is a pause.)
LITTLE MAN: Sick?
LANDLADY: Yes! Whining! Terrific!
LITTLE MAN: What was—the matter with her?
LANDLADY: How should I know? Am I a—vettinerry? She cried all night and made an awful disturbance. Yes, like you’re making now! I turned her out. And when she come slinking back here, I thrown cold water on her three or four times! Finally, finally, she took no for an answer! That is all I have to say on the subjeck.
LITTLE MAN: (staring at her) Mean—ugly—fat! (He repeats it faster.) Mean, ugly, fat, mean, ugly, fat! (She slaps him furiously in the face. The Boxer grabs his shoulders and shoves him out the door with a kick.)
BOXER: Now, God damn it! A mad-house!
LANDLADY: Ahhh! Th’—
LITTLE MAN: (screaming through the door) Where is she? Nitchevo, Nitchevo! Where is she? Where did she go? Nitchevo, Nitchevo! Where!
LANDLADY: (screaming back at him) Holy God, what do I care where that dirty cat went! She might’ve gone to the devil for all I care! Get out of the house and stop screaming! I’ll call the police! (The Little Man does not answer and turns away from the door where the Boxer is blocking him.)
BOXER: Huh! Yes—a mad-house.
LANDLADY: Out of his mind. Completely. (She wipes her face on her sleeve and adjusts her clothes.) Going? Can you hear?