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