Read The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays Online
Authors: Tennessee Williams
The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays (17 page)
LAURA
: Most of the
time—You’d
hold it the same as I do!
JIM
: The record’s stopped. I’d better change the record.
LAURA
: Play “Dardanella.” That’s my favorite record.
JIM
: Okay.
Let’s—Let’s dance!
LAURA
: I’ve never danced. I wish that I knew how.
JIM
: Would
you—like
to try?
LAURA
: Why,
I—yes
, I’d love to! [
They bend simultaneously to change the record. They bump their heads together and both draw back with a slight laugh
.]
LAURA
: You—
you
do it.
JIM
[
staring at her
]:
Sure—I
better do it. [
He bows over the little machine and puts on “Dardanella.”
]
LAURA
[
faintly
]: Your hair
is—pretty
!
JIM
: Don’t say “pretty.” That’s more for
a—girl
.
Your
hair is
pretty
.
LAURA
: Oh, mine’s so fine, there’s nothing I can do with it
but—let
it go!
JIM
: It’
s—
[
Touches it gently
.] awfully pretty.
LAURA
: Well I still think
yours
is. Now shall
we—start
dancing?
JIM
: Yes.
LAURA
[
laughs uncertainly and shyly
]: How do
I—
?
JIM
: Just leave all that to me. Don’t tighten up, just be relaxed and let me move you around.
LAURA
:
—Can
you?
JIM
: Sure
I
can!
LAURA
: Why, yes,
you—can
!
[
They start to move about the room in a dance that is a little constrained at first but rapidly takes on freedom and grace: Laura laughs breathlessly as he moves her faster about the little candle-lit room
.]
JIM
: Just,
just—let
yourself go!
LAURA
: I’m stepping on you!
JIM
: Don’t mind that!
LAURA
: Don’t
you?
JIM
:
I’m
not made of glass!
LAURA
: It feels so funny.
JIM
: Is that why you’re laughing?
LAURA
: No,
I’m—out
of breath! Please, let’s—stop for a minute! I—feel so—
funny!
[
She laughs breathlessly and can’t stop, like water gone down the wrong way
.
He gradually lets her go. She retreats a step from him, still struggling to catch her breath
.
His arms extend uncertainly
.]
JIM
: You’re a awf’ly
pretty—little—Girl!
LAURA
:
—What?
JIM
:
—Little—little—girl!
Made out of
glass!
When
it’s—sunny—living in a—
[
Takes her hands and draws her towards him
.]
—Rainbow!
[
He kisses her full and hungrily on the lips
.]
[
After a couple of moments in which the embrace endures with a curious, hesitant intensity only possible between two people who have never really kissed before—Amanda opens the portieres. She has a pitcher of lemonade in one hand. But she draws discreetly back and closes the curtains again
.]
JIM
:
—Was that—?
LAURA
[
faintly
]: Mother.
JIM
: Gosh,
I—
[
He crosses to portieres
.]
JIM
: Mrs. Wingfield?
AMANDA
[
delicately
]:
—Yes—Jim?
JIM
: Laura and I would like to go out for a walk, if you don’t mind.
AMANDA
: I? Mind? [
She laughs delicately
.] On such a lovely spring evening? What could be nicer! You children do just as you please. I want so much to see young
people—happy!
JIM
[
still a little bewildered by what has occurred
]: Well,
I—would
you like to? [
Turning shyly to Laura
.]
LAURA
:
Oh!—Why
—what
could be nicer?
AMANDA
[
appearing in the portieres, wisely and benevolently smiling and smiling
]: The park is only a couple of blocks from here. Don’t go in far, but the moon will make it lovely!
JIM
: Let’s do that then, why that’s
a—swell
idea! [
He starts to the door. Returns to snatch up his coat
.]
AMANDA
: Oh, yes, your coat
and—
Don’t you think that Laura needs a wrap?
JIM
: I don’t think so.
LAURA
[
still looking at Jim with wonder
]: No, no! I won’t need any!
AMANDA
[
slyly, the eternal procuress emerging
]: That light thin dress? That summer dress she’s wearing?
LAURA
: I won’t need any! Honest, mother, I won’t!
JIM
: She won’t need any! Honest Mrs. Wingfield! Let’s go, Laura.
AMANDA
: All right, then. You children run along. I’ll leave the door open for you,
but—don’t
be later
than—midnight!
[
They are into the outside hall
.
Amanda crosses softly to the door and closes it noiselessly behind them. She catches her breath and crosses to the window. Raises the blind and separates the curtains. Tom comes in
.]
TOM
: Where are they now?
AMANDA
[
her voice low and musical
]: Gone for a walk.
TOM
: Yeah?
AMANDA
: The young
man’s—already
kissed
her!
TOM
:
—Huh?
AMANDA
: Yes! [
Amanda breaks into delicate girlish laughter. It ends on a high, triumphant note
.]
TOM
: I
declare—you’re
a witch!
AMANDA
: But I
was
a girl. [
Crossing slowly to the portieres
.] Girls are a pretty trap! That’s what they’ve always been, and will always
be
, even when
dreams
plus
action
—take over the world! Now—now, dreamy
type—
Let’s finish the dishes!
THE CURTAIN FALLS. THE END.
(A ONE-ACT PLAY)
Interior: Panic
was first performed at the Tennesssee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival on March 18, 2005, with four other Williams one-acts under the collective title
Tennessee in the Quarter
. It was directed by Perry Martin; set design was by Chad Talkington; the lighting design was by David Guidry; the costume design was by Trish McLain; and Elizabeth Barron was the Executive Producer. The cast, in order of appearance, was as follows:
| BLANCHE SHANNON | Susan Deily-Swearingen |
| GRACE KIEFABER | Veronica Russell |
| JACK KIEFABER | Dane Rhodes |
| BILL COLLECTOR | Tony Molina |
| GEORGE | Jonathan Padgett |
The set is in the interior of a shotgun cottage in a poor section of New Orleans
.
We are seeing it through the eyes of a person in a state of panic
.
Two rooms are exposed, upstage and down, divided by portieres. It is somewhat the way it might have been painted by Van Gogh in his feverish interiors, with an abnormal emphasis of strident colors. Distortions and irregularities of design may be added to bring out the hysteria in this view. The white plaster walls of the interior are stained with lurid projections
.
Sounds, too, are exaggerated. The cottage is near the railroad tracks and as the curtain rises a train is approaching and going by as loudly as if it were on the stage
.
Blanche Shannon is seated at a dresser. She is a young woman, twenty-nine, a vividly dark southern type. It is through her senses that the play is projected
.
In the upstage room, which serves as kitchen and dining room, Grace Kiefaber, Blanche’s married sister, is pouring red juice into a series of little jars set on an ironing board
.
As the locomotive, still distant, approaches, its steady sound produces a mysterious voice
.
VOICE
:
Unfit—for
her position!
Unfit—for
her position!
Unfit—for
her position!
[
Blanche has been brushing her hair. She drops the brush and rises, pressing fists to her temples
.]
Morally unfit—for her position!
[
Now the locomotive thunder drowns out the voice. Blanche backs in panic away from the lowered window shade through which the sound bellows
.
The outside door opens in the upstage room and Jack Kiefaber enters with a bloodstained package from the butcher. He smiles and speaks to Grace
.
Passes her the package. She kisses him and crosses to the ice-box. Their voices are drowned by the passing locomotive
.
The noise is now receding
.
Blanche steadies herself and returns to the dresser and picks up the brush
.
Grace
’s
voice becomes audible through the fading roar
.]
GRACE
: I thought you were going bowling this afternoon.
JACK
: I am. Came home to change. Blanche in the bathtub?
GRACE
: I think she’s out. Are you, Blanche?
BLANCHE
: What?
GRACE
: Yes, she’s out of the bathtub. Jack wants to bathe.
JACK
: I’m not going to bathe, I just want to make pee-pee.
[
Blanche slams the brush down
.]
GRACE
: Jack!
JACK
: Apologies, ladies. I mean I wish to relieve my kidneys.
BLANCHE
[
loudly
]: I can’t stand anymore of it! We weren’t brought up like this and I can’t stand anymore of it!
[
Through the portieres Jack makes a wide gesture of good-humored despair
.]
It isn’t funny, nothing that goes on here is funny at all! [
She crosses to bathroom and closes door. The light is normal
.]
JACK
: What is she talking about?
GRACE
: Oh, Jack, I don’t know, I don’t know! She’s worried me so, I hate to be in the house with her, on account of the baby. She seemed strange when she got here, not like herself, but then she improved so much while she was going out with
George—I
was so relieved, I thought she was going to be all right! But he hasn’t called or come around in two weeks and she’s gotten steadily worse. You’ve been on the road so much you haven’t noticed but it’s been like living in
a—I
hate to say
it!—in
a cell
with—
[
The bathroom door is flung open. The lurid stains reappear on the walls
.]
BLANCHE
[
Screaming
]: Oh, you hate to say it! Yes, you hate to say it! What a soft heart you have, my sweet little sister! [
She turns on Jack
.] And you! And
you
!
JACK
: All present and accounted for! What have I done, baby?
BLANCHE
: You think that I don’t know?
JACK
: Don’t know what?
BLANCHE
: Well, I do! I’m not so insane I can’t figure out who
told
him!
JACK
: Who is him, and told what?!
GRACE
[
despairingly
]: I think she imagines that someone
has—
[
Blanche runs with a sobbing laugh back into the bathroom
.]
You see? That’s how it’s been here while you were out on the road!
JACK
: Jesus.
GRACE
: I always adored her so.
JACK
: Well, she’s your sister, baby, but
personally—
Where’s my bowling shirt?
GRACE
: She ironed it for you and hung it up in there.
JACK
:
She
did?
GRACE
: She still does nice little things like that now and then when you don’t expect it. That’s what makes it so hard to understand.
JACK
: You know what I think but I’m not going to say it. [
Crosses into downstage room and removes vivid green silk bowling shirt from hanger. On its back is emblem of firm he works for. He starts removing blue work shirt he has on
.]
GRACE
: No, don’t say it! And with my baby coming I don’t feel safe.
JACK
: Well—
GRACE
: Oh, honey. [
She comes up and embraces him
.] You’ve been sweet and patient
and—
Gosh! You need to shave.
JACK
: I don’t want you to worry about anything. Blanche, can I get in the bathroom? It’s urgent!
[
Blanche comes out, holding a towel
.]
BLANCHE
: I—I am sorry I—didn’t sleep well last night and—
JACK
: Oh, that’s all right, Blanche. [
He goes into bathroom and shuts door
.]
BLANCHE
[
to Grace
]: I know how awful I look, you don’t have to tell me.
GRACE
: Why, I was just thinking how pretty you look today, Blanche.
BLANCHE
: A likely story! Are you two going out?
GRACE
: Jack’s going to bowl.
BLANCHE
: And you’re going to stay here pouring that sickening blood red goo into jars all night, are you? The odor of it is suffocating, Grace! That’s why my nerves
are—God!
Is the window open?
GRACE
: I didn’t know you minded it. Why didn’t you say so?
BLANCHE
: It isn’t my place, it’s yours and Mr. Kiefaber’s! I’m just
a—visiting
relation! Whose welcome has been out-worn!
GRACE
: You know that’s not true.
BLANCHE
: Go on with your jelly
making—if
that’s what it is!
GRACE
: Oh, Blanche, you make me feel dizzy. [
She crosses tiredly back upstage: leans thoughtfully on the ironing board. Starts putting the filled jars away
.
Through the closed door of the bathroom comes a voice
.]
THE VOICE
: Let’s have—intimate—relations! Let’s have—intimate—relations!
[
Blanche faces it and advances a few steps with clenched hands
.]
THE VOICE
: Let’s
have—intimate—relations!
[
The door opens and Jack comes out drying face with towel
.
Blanche stares at him with a fixity, which he ignores. He turns his back on her
.]
GRACE [
from kitchen
]: Is this game part of the tournament?
JACK
: Semi-finals.
GRACE
: Who are you bowling with?
JACK
: Crescent City Grain Packers.
GRACE
: Are they good?
JACK
: Champions last season. [
He bends over to change shoes
.]
THE VOICE
: Let’s
have—intimate—relations
. Let’s
have—
GRACE
: Think you’ll beat them?
JACK
: Well, there’s two possibilities, honey. They’ll beat us or we’ll beat them! Damn!
GRACE
: What’s the trouble?
JACK
: Broke a shoelace.
GRACE
:
—Oh.
JACK
: What’s that sweet smell in here?
BLANCHE
[
suddenly
]:
Death!
JACK
[
looking up, startled
]: Huh?
BLANCHE
: I said, Death! Didn’t you know death smelled like sugar-candy?
JACK
: Huh! That’s a pleasant little thought!
GRACE
: Blanche doesn’t like the odor of my jelly.
JACK
: Jelly, huh? Crab apple?
BLANCHE
:
—There
was a body found on our plantation that had been lying out dead for a few days in summer. Yes, at Belle Reve, when Grace and I were children,
before—Belle
Reve was lost. And we noticed a smell that was sweet like that in back of the house toward the Bayou and somebody
said—I
think it was our old
nurse—Ozzie—said—
“That’s something dead back there that isn’t buried!” [
She laughs
.] Something dead back there that isn’t buried. And sure enough. They looked around and they found an old colored man’s body. . .
[
Jack is repairing his shoe-lace: he looks up with a shrug
.]
GRACE
: I had forgotten that, Blanche.
BLANCHE
: You forget everything about Belle Reve so that you can fully appreciate the refinements of your present ménage!
JACK
: At least we don’t have dead bodies lying around anywhere. Do we, Grace?
BLANCHE
: Have you looked closely?
GRACE
: Blanche, I’ve had about enough morbid talk for one hot afternoon’s entertainment! Please stop! Read a book! Get busy at something! Or go out and see a good movie!
JACK
: You want me to drop you off at a picture-show, Blanche?
BLANCHE
: Thank you, no! [
She returns to the dresser
.] Come here, Jack.
[
Jack has started for the door
.]
JACK
: Huh?
BLANCHE
: Come here for a minute.
JACK
: What for?
BLANCHE
: I want to kiss you.
[
He looks at Grace
.]
GRACE
: Well, well.
BLANCHE
: You, too, Grace, I want to kiss you both. Please, please! [
She is suddenly very sweet and charming
.
They stand off looking at her. Her expression changes
.] What is the matter? Am I disgusting to you? Have I grown so old and hideous that neither of you can bear any contact with me? [
Then she turns mockingly to Jack
.] That’s not what you were saying a moment ago when you were pretending to be so busy with your shoes!
[
He glances again, helplessly, at Grace
.
Then he walks quickly to the outside door
.]
JACK
: Bye, Grace! [
He goes out
.]
[
Blanche laughs sadly and mockingly and picks up her hair brush again
.
Grace stares at her a moment longer: then goes back to the upstage room. She sinks into a chair, in view through the portieres. She rubs her temples with the palms of her hands, a slow rotation as if to ease a headache
.
Blanche stops brushing her hair and lights a cigarette with trembling fingers. The phone rings. Blanche springs up. Grace rises to answer it. Blanche leans forward tensely
.]
GRACE
: Oh!
—Just
a moment.
BLANCHE
[
in a whisper that doesn’t reach Grace
]: George? George?
[
Grace returns to the phone
.]
GRACE
: Yes, he took it, Harry. At least it isn’t parked in front of the house. All right. Good luck! [
Hangs up
.
A look of desolation settles again on Blanche’s face
.
Grace, in the other room, turns on the radio. Then she comes through portieres. Doorbell rings
.] My goodness, the phone and the doorbell, the doorbell and the phone! Will you answer it, Blanche?
BLANCHE
: I’m not dressed.
GRACE
: You have enough on.
BLANCHE
: Some women go to the door in a negligee but those women are more likely to be Kiefabers than
Shannons—if
you will excuse me for drawing so fine a distinction!
GRACE
: Ha-ha!
—That’s
almost funny! [
Crosses over
.] Dame Blanche! [
She opens the door for a tradesman or bill collector
.
The following dialogue is part real and part imagined by Blanche
.
Only the allusions to the bill and the money are actual, the rest is auditory hallucination
.]
BILL COLLECTOR
: Morning, Mrs. Kiefaber. How’s things going?
GRACE
: So-so.
BILL COLLECTOR
: Only so-so, huh?
