[She falls sobbing into the road. Archie Lee appears—flustered, sweating. Something is wrong.]
ARCHIE: What’re you doin’ down there, have you gone crazy?
BABY DOLL: I want to tell you something! You big slob.
[This is more than the desperate, harassed Archie Lee can hear. He smacks her good and hard!]
ARCHIE: I told you never, never, never, to talk to me like that—specially around—
[Rock and a few mill hands come up behind Archie Lee into the scene.]
—our guests.
BABY DOLL [sobbing]: You left me. . . you know what you left me with. . .
[Archie’s eye wanders over to Silva.]
SILVA: How’s progress, Mr. Meighan?
ARCHIE: Fine! Great!
SILVA: Personally, I can’t hear the gin at all.
BABY DOLL [full of disgust]: Big Shot!
[And she pulls away to the old car chassis.]
SILVA: What’s holding up?
ARCHIE: Why, nothing. . .
SILVA: Rock!
ROCK: His saw-cylinder is busted.
SILVA: It figures. I inspected your equipment, Meighan, before I put in my own, and I put up my own cotton gin because your equipment was rotten, and still is rotten. Now it’s almost mid-day and if you can’t move my wagons any faster. . .
ARCHIE: Now don’t go into any hysterics. You Eye-talians are prone to get too excited. . .
SILVA: Nevermind about we Italians! You better get yourself a new saw-cylinder and get your gin running again. And if you can’t get one in Clarksdale, you better go to Tunica, and if you can’t get one in Tunica, you better go on to Memphis, and if you can’t get one in Memphis, keep going to St. Louis. Now get on your horse.
ARCHIE: Now listen to me, Silva—
SILVA [snapping his whip]: One more crack out of you, I’m going to haul across the river. I said get on your horse.
[Meighan hesitates—but there’s nothing else for him to do under the circumstances. He exits and his old Chevy is heard pulling off at breakneck speed.
[Silva continues, laughing.]
SILVA [sotto voce] : I got a saw-cylinder in our commissary. Go get it and bring Hank over to help you put it in. Get that junk heap of his running. He ain’t gonna get one in Clarksdale or Tunica and if he goes on to Memphis—
[Everyone laughs.]
—don’t wait for him.
ROCK: Right, Boss.
[They all exit.
[Silva stands proudly on porch slapping his whip on the palm of his hand.]
BABY DOLL [whimpering]: Archie Lee.
SILVA: You know, Mrs. Meighan, your husband sweats more than any man I know—
[He slaps whip in a constant beat.]
—and now I understand why!!!
[The sound of the whip continues as the curtain falls.]
SLOW CURTAIN
ACT TWO
SCENE ONE
As the intermission and house lights fade, we again hear the snap, snap, snap of Vacarro’s whip. Lights up reveal our two actors in the same places as the close of Act I—Silva on the porch, Baby Doll cowering by the abandoned automobile. For a moment everything is frozen except the ominous whip.
Then Baby Doll desperately runs toward the front door. As she lunges past Silva, he grabs her by the arm, jerks her close, and whispers in her ear. She gasps.
BABY DOLL: What a disgustin’ remark! I did not understand a word of it! I am going into the house and lock the door—after such a remark which I didn’t understand even. . .
[There is a pause. Then with a sudden access of energy she enters the house, slams the screen door in his face and latches it.]
There now! You wait out here! You just wait out here!
SILVA: Yes, ma’am. I’ll wait.
[Baby Doll stumbles into the kitchen. Vacarro jerks out a pocket knife and rips a hole in the screen.]
BABY DOLL: What’s that?!
[Silva whistles loudly as he slips his fingers through the hole and lifts the latch.]
BABY DOLL [noticing kettle of greens on the stove]: Stupid old thing—forgot to light the stove.
[She hears the creaking screen door. . .]
Archie Lee! Is that you?
[She hears a sharp, slapping sound. Whimpering under her breath she moves anxiously into another room, out of sight of the audience. Suddenly, we hear her scream—followed by the equally startled SQUAWK! of Fussy. Silva, chuckling, hides behind the stairs.]
BABY DOLL [creeping into the hallway]: Mr. Vacarro? Have you gone away, Mr. Vacarro?
[She spots the screen door ajar.]
Ohhhh-h-h.
[Vacarro—out of sight—gives a soft wolf-whistle.]
Who’s that? Who’s in here?
[She climbs the stairs into the nursery.]
Hey! What’s goin’ on?
[Whip slap and soft mocking laughter, barely audible.]
Mr. Vacarro! Are you in this house?!
[She moves about the nursery fearfully. Stops. Cocks head and listens. Nothing. She moves into next room. Vacarro slips out of hiding and crosses into the nursery. He sees the hobby horse, lashes its rump with the whip, and slips just outside the nursery door. Baby Doll reappears to see the rocking, swaying hobby horse. She is frightened now.]
BABY DOLL: Now, YOU! Git outta my house! You got no right to come in! Where are you?
[Silva leaps down the stairs and hides in the kitchen. She hears a low moan from the kitchen.]
I know it’s you! You’re making me very nervous! Mr. Vacarro!!! Mr. Vacarro. . . Mr. Vacarro. . .
[With each call she creeps forward a few steps until she is back in the hallway at the foot of the stairs. All of a sudden—]
SILVA [springing from tbe kitchen]: SQUAWK! SQUAWK!
[She screams and runs into locked screen door and back into his arms. He grabs her viciously and rips off her skirt. She retreats as a terrified little animal from a remorselessly advancing predator. He snaps the whip and laughs.]
BABY DOLL: No! No! Go away. Go away. . .
[She rushes into the attic, slams the door, leans against it and listens. She hears the sound of a rusty bolt being shut. She suddenly realizes the full import of her situation, gasps, and pushes at the bolted door. Terrified, she realizes she’s alone with the ghosts.]
I’ve. . . I’ve quit. Do you hear me, Mr. Vacarro? The game is over and I’ve quit.
[Silence.]
Mr. Vacarro, will you please unlock this door and go back downstairs so I can come out. . . it is dark in here! Mr. Vacarro! I have NEVER been up here before! [Whimpering.] Oh, Mr. Vacarro, Pul-lease!
SILVA [from behind the door]: I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in a dark ole attic of a haunted house—no more than you’d dream of eatin’ a nut a man had cracked in his mouth. Don’t you realize that?
BABY DOLL [with sudden gathering panic]: Mr. Vacarro! I got to get out of here. Quick! Open this door!
[Silva makes ghostly moans.]
BABY DOLL: MR. VACARRO!
SILVA: Do I hear a ghost in there?
BABY DOLL [genuinely]: Scared! Unlock the door. You’re scarin’ me!
SILVA: Why you shouldn’t be scared of me, Mrs. Meighan. Do you think I might whip you? Huh? Scared I might whip you—
[He slaps his boots regularly with the riding crop.]
and leave red marks on your—body, on your—creamy white silk-skin? Is that why you’re scared, Mrs. Meighan?
[She whimpers.]
All right. Tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna take my ole whip and leave you now—leave you all alone in that attic—so you won’t have to be scared of me anymore.
BABY DOLL: No-o-o!!! Pullease let me out!
SILVA: But I thought you were scared of me?
BABY DOLL: I am. Let me out.
SILVA: Okay. I’ll let you out. All you have to do is sign this slip of paper with this pencil I’m slipping under the door. All I want is your signature on the paper. . .
B
ABY DOLL: What paper?
SILVA: I guess that you would call it an affadavit, legally stating that Archie Lee Meighan burned down the Syndicate Gin. . .
[Pause.]
Okay?
[Pause.]
What do you say?
BABY DOLL: Just leave the paper, leave it right out there and when I come out I’ll sign it and send it to you, I’ll. . .
SILVA: Mrs. Meighan, I am a Sicilian. We’re an old race of people, an ancient race, and ancient races aren’t trustful races by nature. I want the signed paper now. Otherwise I’ll leave you in the attic of this evil house until your husband comes home. . . if he ever comes home. Do you hear me?
BABY DOLL: Oooh! What am I gonna do? AUNT ROSE!
SILVA: She’s gone. . . she can’t hear you.
[Pause.]
Do what I tell you!
[Silence.]
BABY DOLL [whimpering, sobbing]: O-o-o-o-oh!
SILVA: Good-bye, Mrs. Meighan.
BABY DOLL: All right, all right. . . Hurry! Hurry!
SILVA: Hurry what?
BABY DOLL: I’ll do whatever you want—only hurry!!
SILVA: Here it comes.
[She grabs it as it comes under the door.]
BABY DOLL: I cain’t see.
SILVA: Only ghosts see in the dark.
[She scribbles her name in frantic haste and pushes it back. We hear Vacarro’s sudden, wild laugh.]
SILVA: Thank you.
[We hear the sound of a bolt sliding free.]
You may come out now.
BABY DOLL: Not till I hear you! Going down those stairs. . .
SILVA: Hear me? Hear my descending footsteps on the stairs. . .
[He slides down the banister, waits for Baby Doll’s frightened face to come into view, then salutes—]
You’re “Home free”! And so am I! Bye-bye!
BABY DOLL: Where are you going? Wait, please!—I want to—
[She comes running down the stairs.]
I want to—
[She doesn’t complete her sentence. She looks down.]
Was that all you wanted. . .?
[He looks at her.]
Was me to confess that Archie Lee burnt down your gin?
SILVA: What else did you imagine?
[The windy afternoon has tossed a cloud over the sun, now declining. She isn’t looking into his face. He gives a short quick laugh and kisses her roughly on the lips, holding her head with one hand and slapping her ample rump with the riding crop. She pulls away and gasps.]
BABY DOLL: Why. . . why, Mr. Vacarro!
[He tucks the signed paper in his back pocket for safer keeping. He advances.]
SILVA: No more children’s games, Mrs. Meighan. . .
[She gasps and backs upstairs into the nursery and tries to slam the door.
[Another soft, breathless outcry as he shoves the door open: She backs into the room containing the crib on which light has been building, somewhere between profane and sacred, giving it the aspect of a pagan altar. Silva springs into the room, thrusting the door wide open. No longer capable of an outcry, nor almost of breathing, she backs into the side of the crib. Slow with confidence, Silva advances to her, removing his shirt. The light now concentrates on their faces and the sacramental crib. The girl is paralyzed, rigid. Silva rips open her blouse and grips her hands that clutch the crib, forcing them slowly up to an almost cruciform position, his body pressed to hers. No longer capable of an outcry, she draws quick, panting breaths. All is dimmed out, now, but the altar-place of the crib, a religiously rich light on it. His head sinks between her exposed breasts.]
FADE OUT
SCENE TWO
Ruby Lightfoot’s song can be heard as lights come up to reveal early evening. She sings her song as Two Bits sneaks up to the porch to place Archie Lee’s jug on the steps. Both are aware of what goes on inside.
The interior of the nursery is slowly illuminated to reveal Silva curled up in the crib stroking Baby Doll who sits on the floor beside the crib. Their post-coital love play is underscored by the music.
When sensuality is dramatized it is more effective with less dependence on the spoken word, and this is especially true when both performers are visually exciting.
SILVA [caressing her casually as he would a pet cat]: Baby Doll. . .
[Pause as Ruby sings.]
BABY DOLL: Don’t call me that.
[Pause as Ruby sings.]
SILVA: That’s what your husband calls you.
[Ruby’s song concludes.]
BABY DOLL: That’s mainly why I don’t like it. That ole stinker treats me like a—thing!
SILVA: You don’t like being called by a little name of endearment?
BABY DOLL: Not one that Archie Lee calls me.
SILVA: Well, there’s a good many names I’ve heard used around here.
BABY DOLL: Such as what?
SILVA: Precious, honey-darlin’, sweetie-pie—pussy pie. . .
BABY DOLL: You’re makin’ fun of me, now. I’ve lost your respect, haven’t I?
SILVA [dreamily, with deep satisfaction]: Not a bit, you’ve gained it, in exchange for that slip of paper that will make it plain as day even to blind-folded justice that Archie Lee Meighan burnt down the Syndicate gin.
BABY DOLL: That’s all you wanted from me?
SILVA: It’s certainly not all that I got, eh, Bambina? Bambino mia.
BABY DOLL: Bam what, what’s that you called me?
SILVA: Bambina mia’s Italian for my baby. Do you like it?
BABY DOLL: We-ell, it’s. . . it’s. . .
SILVA: More appropriate, now? In private?
BABY DOLL: —How’m I gonna explain these marks that you’ve put on me?
SILVA: Don’t explain them. Just put some cold cream and some talcum on them before you go down to supper.
[He rises and stretches sensually and crosses to a window. His sculptural torso is framed by moonlight.]
—The cotton-picking moon is out and it’s full. Hound dogs are baying at it. And Archie Lee is somewhere on the road from Memphis.
[He turns toward her.]
—Are you tired, bambina?
BABY DOLL: No, not a bit. I feel real relaxed. . . . Once my daddy, when my daddy was livin’, he took me to this doctor in town and tole the doctor he thought I was sufferin’ from—what was it? Oh, yais, pernicious anemia. . . yeah.
SILVA: A vitality crisis?
BABY DOLL: Hmmm-Mmmm. But the doctor said, “Mr. McCorkle, your daughter is at a stage in her life when she’s just waitin’ for somethin’ to stimulate her nature.”
[Pause.]
Daddy didn’t like that.
[Silva laughs softly.]
SILVA: What do you think you was waiting for, Bambina?
[Pause.]
BABY DOLL: —You. . .
[Juke-box music comes from Ruby Lightfoot’s place in the near distance.]
Are we gonna have more afternoons like this?
SILVA [imitating her drawl]: Wouldn’ surprise me a-tall—
BABY DOLL: You didn’ answer my question.
[She crosses to him. He draws her into his arms, thrusts his pelvis against hers, grinding slowly.]
SILVA: “Time on my hands, you in my arms,
Nothin’ but love in vi-iiew. . . .”
Isn’t that how the song goes?
BABY DOLL: You still haven’t answered my question.
SILVA [standing still]: This is a waiting country, but there’s plenty of time, oh, yes, we’ll have plenty of time, for making lemonade on hot afternoons, for making love and for—
[He laughs into her hair.]
—“Time on our hands—” Oh, I think we’re going to have time, plenty of it. It will take quite a while to construct a new gin at the Syndicate Plantation and till it is constructed and in operation I will still be bringing my wagons of cotton to Archie Lee’s decrepit but still functioning gin.
BABY DOLL: You are awful, I love it. . .
&nbs
p; [They kiss. Archie Lee’s pickup is heard on the road.]
SILVA: Listen. I suggest we prepare ourselves to receive your husband. How do you feel about that?
[We hear Archie’s pickup crash into garbage cans in the backyard.]
BABY DOLL: —Depressed!
SILVA: No need to be.
ARCHIE [offstage]: BABY DOLL! BABY DOLL! Where the hell is ever’body!
SILVA [laughing]: This might turn into a highly inflammable night in our lives! You greet him first.
BABY DOLL: Oh. . .
SILVA: Don’t worry—I’ll accept his invitation to supper!
ARCHIE [coming into view]: BABY DO-OOLL!!!
SILVA [before leaping out bedroom window]: Hey! Your wrapper!
ARCHIE: Hey! Anybody living here? Anybody still living in this house?
[Archie Lee enters the yard; he removes a pair of thick-lensed glasses to swab his face with his shirt tail, then rubs the glasses. Suspicious, angry, something violent and dangerous is growing in his heart. He mutters to himself. He hears the soft chuckle of Ruby Lightfoot.]
ARCHIE [with his glasses off]: Who’s that? [He puts the glasses on.] Aw. Ruby. What you doin’ here?
RUBY: Waitin’ t’ be paid fo’ that gallon of sorghum molasses Two Bits set on your porch las’ night and tonight.
ARCHIE: You know my credit’s good.
RUBY: I seen the fire. Oh, yeah.