STANLEY:
Huh.
BLANCHE:
And the only way to hush the parrot up was to put the cover back on its cage so it would think it was night and go back to sleep. Well, one morning the old maid had just uncovered the parrot for the day--when who should she see coming up the front walk but the preacher! Well, she rushed back to the parrot and slipped the cover back on the cage and then she let in the preacher. And the parrot was perfectly still, just as quiet as a mouse, but just as she was asking the preacher how much sugar he wanted in his coffee--the parrot broke the silence with a loud--[She whistles]--and said--"God damn, but that was a short day!"
[She throws back her head and laughs. Stella also makes an ineffectual effort to seem amused. Stanley pays no attention to the story but reaches way aver the table to spear his fork into the remaining chop which he eats with his fingers.]
BLANCHE:
Apparently Mr. Kowalski was not amused.
STELLA:
Mr. Kowalski is too busy making a pig of himself to think of anything else!
STANLEY:
That's right, baby.
STELLA:
Your face and your fingers are disgustingly greasy. Go and wash up and then help me clear the table.
[He hurls a plate to the floor.]
STANLEY:
That's how I'll clear the table!
[He seizes her arm]
Don't ever talk that way to me! "Pig--Polack--disgusting--vulgar--greasy!"--them kind of words have been on your tongue and your sister's too much around here! What do you two think you are? A pair of queens? Remember what Huey Long said--"Every Man is a King!" And I am the king around here, so don't forget it!
[He hurls a cup and saucer to the floor]
My place is cleared! You want me to clear your places?
[Stella begins to cry weakly. Stanley stalks out on the porch and lights a cigarette.
[The Negro entertainers around the corner are heard.]
BLANCHE:
What happened while I was bathing? What did he tell you, Stella?
STELLA:
Nothing, nothing, nothing!
BLANCHE:
I think he told you something about Mitch and me! You know why Mitch didn't come but you won't tell me!
[Stella shakes her head helplessly]
I'm going to call him!
STELLA:
I wouldn't call him, Blanche.
BLANCHE:
I am, I'm going to call him on the phone.
STELLA [miserably]:
I wish you wouldn't
BLANCHE:
I intend to be given some explanation from someone!
[She rushes to the phone in the bedroom. Stella goes out on the porch and stares reproachfully at her husband. He grunts and turns away from her.]
STELLA:
I hope you're pleased with your doings. I never had so much trouble swallowing food in my life, looking at that girl's face and the empty chair!
[She cries quietly.]
BLANCHE [at the phone]:
Hello. Mr. Mitchell, please.... Oh.... I would like to leave a number if I may. Magnolia 9047. And say it's important to call.... Yes, very important.... Thank you.
[She remains by the phone with a lost, frightened look.]
[Stanley turns slowly back toward his wife and takes her clumsily in his arms.]
STANLEY:
Stell, it's gonna be all right after she goes and after you've had the baby. It's gonna be all right again between you and me the way that it was. You remember that way that it was? Them nights we had together? God, honey, it's gonna be sweet when we can make noise in the night the way that we used to and get the colored lights going with nobody's sister behind the curtains to hear us!
[Their upstairs neighbors are heard in bellowing laughter at something. Stanley chuckles.] Steve an' Eunice...
STELLA:
Come on back in.
[She returns to the kitchen and starts lighting the candles on the white cake.]
Blanche?
BLANCHE:
Yes.
[She returns from the bedroom to the table in the kitchen.]
Oh, those pretty little candles! Oh, don't burn them, Stella.
STELLA:
I certainly will.
[Stanley comes back in.]
BLANCHE:
You ought to save them for baby's birthdays. Oh, I hope candles are going to glow in his life and I hope that his eyes are going to be like candles, like two blue candles lighted in a white cake!
STANLEY [sitting down]:
What poetry!
BLANCHE [she pauses reflectively for a moment]:
I shouldn't have called him.
STELLA:
There's lots of things could have happened.
BLANCHE:
There's no excuse for it, Stella. I don't have to put up with insults. I won't be taken for granted.
STANLEY:
Goddam, it's hot in here with the steam from the bathroom.
BLANCHE:
I've said I was sorry three times.
[The piano fades out.]
I take hot baths for my nerves. Hydro-therapy, they call it. You healthy Polack, without a nerve in your body, of course you don't know what anxiety feels like!
STANLEY:
I am not a Polack. People from Poland are Poles, not Polacks. But what I am is a one hundred percent American, born and raised in the greatest country on earth and proud as hell of it, so don't ever call me a Polack.
[The phone rings. Blanche rises expectantly.]
BLANCHE:
Oh, that's for me, I'm sure.
STANLEY:
I'm not sure. Keep your seat
[He crosses leisurely to phone.]
H'lo. Aw, yeh, hello, Mac.
[He leans against wall, staring insultingly in at Blanche. She sinks back in her chair with a frightened look. Stella leans over and touches her shoulder.]
BLANCHE:
Oh, keep your hands on me, Stella. What is the matter with you? Why do you look at me with that pitying look?
STANLEY [bawling]:
QUIET IN THERE!--We've got a noisy woman on the place.--Go on, Mac. At Riley's? No, I don't wanta bowl at Riley's. I had a little trouble with Riley last week. I'm the team-captain, ain't I? All right, then, we're not gonna bowl at Riley's, we're gonna bowl at the West Side or the Gala! All right, Mac. See you!
[He hangs up and returns to the table. Blanche fiercely controls herself, drinking quickly from her tumbler of water. He doesn't look at her but reaches in a pocket. Then he speaks slowly and with false amiability.] Sister Blanche, I've got a little birthday remembrance for you.
BLANCHE:
Oh, have you, Stanley? I wasn't expecting any, I--I don't know why Stella wants to observe my birthday! I'd much rather forget it--when you--reach twenty-seven! Well--age is a subject that you'd prefer to--ignore!
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?
STANLEY:
I done nothing to no one. Let go of my shirt. You've torn it