Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 295

DRUNKARD. And where is your army?

FOOL. I have left it on the Vistula.

DRUNKARD. And when will you drive the Russians out of there?

FOOL. I have given my orders already.

DRUNKARD. Are they being carried out?

FOOL. I only need to draw my sword.

DRUNKARD. Your sword?

FOOL. Napoleon gave it to me.

PROSt.i.tUTE. Leave him be. Every one is crazy in his way. [_To the fool._] You are cold. Come to the fire. He wanders about the hollows the whole night long.

FOOL [_smiles_]. I've quartered all of my soldiers, but I have no place for myself to sleep in.

PROSt.i.tUTE. A fool, and yet he knows what he says. [_Gives him bread._]

Do you want to eat?

FOOL. I get my dinner from the tables of Kings.

BEGGAR [_awaking_]. You've brought the fool here too? He's got the whole market place to be crazy in, and he comes here, where honest people sleep.

[_Takes his stick and tries to reach the Fool._]

PROSt.i.tUTE [_defending the Fool_]. Leave him alone I tell you. Crazy though he be, he still wants to be among people. Like aches for like.

BEGGAR. Let him go to the graveyard, and yell his craziness out among the graves;--and not disturb honest men in their sleep. The street is the beggar's home, and I don't want to share it with madmen. All that the people throw out of their homes, wanders into the street.

[_He chases the Fool away, and lies down._]

DRUNKARD. Who made you boss here? The street belongs to all. Lie down in the city hall, in the mayor's bed, if you want to have rest.

PROSt.i.tUTE. Keep still. He has a right to the place. He's had it long enough.

DRUNKARD. What kind of a right? Are you a newcomer? How long have you been here?

PROSt.i.tUTE. All my life. I was born in the street, there, behind the fence near the church. My mother pointed out the place to me. I have never known any other home, but the street. In the daytime it belongs to all. When people open their shops, and peasants come in their wagons, and trade begins, I feel a stranger here, and I hide in the fields near the cemetery. But when night comes, and people retire into their holes, then the street is mine. I know every nook and corner of the market place. It is my home.

DRUNKARD. You've said it well. In that house there, I have a home, a bed, and a wife. In the daytime I work there. I sit among boots, and drive nails into heels and soles. And I bear my wife's nagging and cursing patiently.... But when night comes I can't stand it any longer.

The house becomes too small for me. Something draws me into the street.

PROSt.i.tUTE. It is the curse of the street that rests on you as it does on the howling dogs. All of us are d.a.m.ned, and we are punished here for our sins. And we will not be delivered, till the Holy Mother will come, and we will take hold of her dress, and our souls will be freed.

BEGGAR [_in his sleep_]. He-he-he. Ha-ha-ha.

DRUNKARD [_becomes sad, bows his head_]. In the daytime I don't mind it. Then I am like other people. I work like all do. But when night comes....

PROSt.i.tUTE. It's the curse of the street. Don't worry. G.o.d will pity all of us. His mercy is great.

[_The cry of a child comes from the distance. It resembles the howling of a dog._]

DRUNKARD. What's that?

PROSt.i.tUTE. That's Manka's b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He strays the street. He wants to come near the fire.

DRUNKARD. Call him here.

PROSt.i.tUTE. Keep still. [_She points to the Beggar._] He will chase the boy away. They believe the boy is born of the Devil.

DRUNKARD. Who made him boss here? All of us are children of the Devil.

[_He calls to the boy as one calls to a dog._] Come here, you.

[_A dumb boy, all in rags, drags himself near. He makes noises like a little beast. He trembles with cold. The Prost.i.tute tries to quiet him._]

PROSt.i.tUTE. He lies the whole night behind his mother's doorstep. She is afraid of her husband. Sometimes she gives him a piece of bread, when no one looks. Thus he crawls like a worm in the street--human flesh and blood.

DRUNKARD. Let him come near the fire--so. [_He pushes the boy nearer to the fire._] Give him a piece of bread. I'll take care of any one who tries to hurt him.

BEGGAR [_awaking_]. No. That's too much. Who brought this here? You know that the Devil is in him?

[_Tries to chase the boy away._]

PROSt.i.tUTE [_hiding the boy in her shawl_]. Have pity.

BEGGAR. You're the Devil's wife. That's why you pity his child.

[_Tries to reach the boy._]

DRUNKARD [_tears the stick from the Beggar's hand_]. We're all the children of the Devil. You've no more on your hide than he has.

BEGGAR. Don't you start anything. I am a Christian, and believe in G.o.d.

I've no home. That's why I sleep on the street. Every dog finds his hole. But I won't live together with the Devil. And I won't be the neighbor of a harlot either. Nor was a drunkard ever a friend of mine.

[_He gathers his belongings._] What are you running after me for? This whole street belongs to the Devil. Why are you trying to stop me?

[_He tries to go away._]

PROSt.i.tUTE [_detaining him_]. Don't leave us. Let him only warm himself.

He'll go away.

BEGGAR. It does me little honor to be with folk like you anyway.

[_He goes away._]

DRUNKARD. Why do you hold him back? Let him go if he thinks us below his dignity.