BLANCHE:

Oh, I don't think so; it always makes me warmer. Have you got any cigs?

[She has slipped on the dark red satin wrapper.]

MITCH:

Sure.

BLANCHE:

What kind are they?

MITCH:

Luckies.

BLANCHE:

Oh, good. What a pretty case. Silver?

MITCH:

Yes. Yes; read the inscription.

BLANCHE:

Oh, is there an inscription? I can't make it out.

[He strikes a match and moves closer]

Oh!

[reading with feigned difficulty]:

"And if God choose, I shall but love thee better--after--death!" Why, that's from my favorite sonnet by Mrs. Browning!

MITCH:

You know it?

BLANCHE:

Certainly I do!

MITCH:

There's a story connected with that inscription.

BLANCHE:

It sounds like a romance.

MITCH:

A pretty sad one.

BLANCHE:

Oh?

MITCH:

The girl's dead now.

BLANCHE in a tone of deep sympathy]:

Oh!

MITCH:

She knew she was dying when she give me this. A very strange girl, very sweet--very!

BLANCHE:

She must have been fond of you. Sick people have such deep, sincere attachments.

MITCH:

That's right, they certainly do.

BLANCHE:

Sorrow makes for sincerity, I think.

MITCH:

It sure brings it out in people.

BLANCHE:

The little there is belongs to people who have experienced some sorrow.

MITCH:

I believe you are right about that.

BLANCHE:

I'm positive that I am. Show me a person who hasn't known any sorrow and I'll show you a superficial--Listen to me! My tongue is a little-thick! You boys are responsible for it. The show let out at eleven and we couldn't come home on account of the poker game so we had to go somewhere and drink. I'm not accustomed to having more than one drink. Two is the limit--and three!

[She laughs]

Tonight I had three.

STANLEY:

Mitch!

MITCH:

Deal me out I'm talking to Miss--

BLANCHE:

DuBois.

MITCH:

Miss DuBois?

BLANCHE:

It's a French name. It means woods and Blanche means white, so the two together mean white woods. Like an orchard in spring! You can remember it by that.

MITCH:

You're French?

BLANCHE:

We are French by extraction. Our first American ancestors were French Huguenots.

MITCH:

You are Stella's sister, are you not?

BLANCHE:

Yes, Stella is my precious little sister. I call her little in spite of the fact she's somewhat older than I. Just slightly. Less than a year. Will you do something for me?

MITCH:

Sure. What?

BLANCHE:

I bought this adorable little colored paper lantern at a Chinese shop on Bourbon. Put it over the light bulb! Will you, please?

MITCH:

Be glad to.

BLANCHE:

I can't stand a naked light bulb, any more than I can a rude remark or a vulgar action.

MITCH [adjusting the lantern]:

I guess we strike you as being a pretty rough bunch.

BLANCHE:

I'm very adaptable--to circumstances.

MITCH:

Well, that's a good thing to be. You are visiting Stanley and Stella?

BLANCHE:

Stella hasn't been so well lately, and I came down to help her for a while. She's very run down.

MITCH:

You're not--?

BLANCHE:

Married? No, no. I'm an old maid schoolteacher!

MITCH :

You may teach school but you're certainly not an old maid.

BLANCHE:

Thank you, sir! I appreciate your gallantry!

MITCH:

So you are in the teaching profession?

BLANCHE:

Yes. Ah, yes...

MITCH:

Grade school or high school or--

STANLEY [bellowing]:

Mitch!

MITCH:

Coming!

BLANCHE:

Gracious, what lung-power!... I teach high school. In Laurel.

MITCH:

What do you teach? What subject?

BLANCHE:

Guess!

MITCH:

I bet you teach art or music?

[Blanche laughs delicately]

Of course I could be wrong. You might teach arithmetic.

BLANCHE:

Never arithmetic, sir, never arithmetic!

[with a laugh]

I don't even know my multiplication tables! No, I have the misfortune of being an English instructor. I attempt to instill a bunch of bobby-soxers and drug-store Romeos with reverence for Hawthorne and Whitman and Poe!

MITCH:

I guess that some of them are more interested in other things.

BLANCHE:

How very right you are! Their literary heritage is not what most of them treasure above all else! But they're sweet things! And in the spring, it's touching to notice them making their first discovery of love! As if nobody had ever known it before!

[The bathroom door opens and Stella comes out. Blanche continues talking to Mitch.]

Oh! Have you finished? Wait--I'll turn on the radio.

[She turns the knobs on the radio and it begins to play "Wien, Wien, nur du allein." Blanche waltzes to the music with romantic gestures. Mitch is delighted and moves in awkward imitation like a dancing bear.

[Stanley stalks fiercely through the portieres into the bedroom. He crosses to the small white radio and snatches it off the table. With a shouted oath, he tosses the instrument out the window.]

STELLA:

Drunk--drunk--animal thing, you!

[She rushes through to the poker table]

All of you--please go home! If any of you have one spark of decency in you--

BLANCHE [wildly]:

Stella, watch out, he's--

[Stanley charges after Stella.]

men [feebly]:

Take it easy, Stanley. Easy, fellow.--Let's all--

STELLA:

You lay your hands on me and I'll--

[She backs out of sight. He advances and disappears. There is the sound of a blow. Stella cries out. Blanche screams and runs into the kitchen. The men rush forward and there is grappling and cursing. Something is overturned with a crash.]

BLANCHE [shrilly]:

My sister is going to have a baby!

MITCH:

This is terrible.

BLANCHE:

Lunacy, absolute lunacy!

MITCH:

Get him in here, men.

[Stanley is forced, pinioned by the two men, into the bedroom. He nearly throws them off. Then all at once he subsides and is limp in their grasp. They speak quietly and lovingly to him and he leans his face on one of their shoulders.]

STELLA [in a high, unnatural voice, out of sight]:

I want to go away, I want to go away!

MITCH:

Poker shouldn't be played in a house with women.

[Blanche rushes into the bedroom.]

BLANCHE:

I want my sister's clothes! We'll go to that woman's upstairs!

MITCH:

Where is the clothes?

BLANCHE [opening the closet]:

I've got them!

[She rushes through to Stella]

Stella, Stella, precious! Dear, dear little sister, don't be afraid!

[With her arms around Stella, Blanche guides her to the outside door and upstairs.]

STANLEY [dully]:

What's the matter; what's happened?

MITCH:

You just blew your top, Stan.

PABLO:

He's okay, now.

STEVE:

Sure, my boy's okay!

MITCH:

Put him on the bed and get a wet towel.

PABLO:

I think coffee would do him a world of good, now.

STANLEY [thickly]:

I want water.

MITCH:

Put him under the shower!

[The men talk quietly as they lead him to the bathroom.]

STANLEY:

Let go of me, you sons of bitches!

[Sounds of blows are heard. The water goes on full tilt.]

STEVE:

Let's get quick out of here!

[They rush to the poker table and sweep up their winnings on their way out.]

MITCH [sadly but firmly]:

Poker should not be played in a house with women.

[The door closes on them and the place is still. The Negro entertainers in the bar around the corner play "Paper Doll" slow and blue. After a moment Stanley comes out of the bathroom dripping water and still in his clinging wet polka dot drawers.]