Experimental O'Neill. Eugene O'Neill

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СКАЧАТЬ seems about to challenge this last statement with the facts but something in the other’s eyes holds and cows him.]

      SMITHERS: [In a cowardly whine] No ‘arm meant, old top.

      JONES: [Condescendingly] I accepts yo’ apology. [lets his hand fall from his revolver] No use’n you rakin’ up ole times. What I was den is one thing. What I is now ‘s another. You didn’t let me in on yo’ crooked work out o’ no kind feelin’s dat time. I done de dirty work fo’ you—and most o’ de brain work, too, fo’ dat matter—and I was wu’th money to you, dat’s de reason.

      SMITHERS: Well, blimey, I give yer a start, didn’t I—when no one else would. I wasn’t afraid to ‘ire yer like the rest was—’count of the story about your breakin’ jail back in the States.

      JONES: No, you didn’t have no s’cuse to look down on me fo’ dat. You been in jail you’self more’n once.

      SMITHERS: [Furiously] It’s a lie! [Then trying to pass it off by an attempt at scorn] Garn! Who told yer that fairy tale?

      JONES: Dey’s some tings I ain’t got to be tole. I kin see ‘em in folk’s eyes. [Then after a pause—meditatively] Yes, you sho’ give me a start. And it didn’t take long from dat time to git dese fool, woods’ niggers right where I wanted dem. [with pride] From stowaway to Emperor in two years! Dat’s goin’ some!

      SMITHERS: [With curiosity] And I bet you got yer pile o’ money ‘id safe some place.

      JONES: [With satisfaction] I sho’ has! And it’s in a foreign bank where no pusson don’t ever git it out but me no matter what come. You didn’t s’pose I was holdin’ down dis Emperor job for de glory in it, did you? Sho’! De fuss and glory part of it, dat’s only to turn de heads o’ de low-flung, bush niggers dat’s here. Dey wants de big circus show for deir money. I gives it to ‘em an’ I gits de money. [With a grin] De long green, dat’s me every time! [Then rebukingly] But you ain’t got no kick agin me, Smithers. I’se paid you back all you done for me many times. Ain’t I pertected you and winked at all de crooked tradin’ you been doin’ right out in de broad day. Sho’. I has—and me makin’ laws to stop it at de same time! [He chuckles.]

      SMITHERS: [Grinning] But, meanin’ no ‘arm, you been grabbin’ right and left yourself, ain’t yer? Look at the taxes you’ve put on ‘em! Blimey! You’ve squeezed ‘em dry!

      JONES: [Chuckling]: No, dey ain’t all dry yet. I’se still heah, ain’t I?

      SMITHERS: [Smiling at his secret thought] They’re dry right now, you’ll find out. [Changing the subject abruptly] And as for me breakin’ laws, you’ve broke ‘em all yerself just as fast as yer made ‘em.

      JONES: Ain’t r de Emperor? De laws don’t go for him. [judicially] You heah what I tells you, Smithers. Dere’s little stealin’ like you does, and dere’s big stealin’ like I does. For de little stealin’ dey gits you in jail soon or late. For de big stealin’ dey makes you Emperor and puts you in de Hall o’ Fame when you croaks. [reminiscently] If dey’s one thing I learns in ten years on de Pullman ca’s listenin’ to de white quality talk, it’s dat same fact. And when I gits a chance to use it I winds up Emperor in two years.

      SMITHERS: [Unable to repress the genuine admiration of the small fry for the large] Yes, yer turned the bleedin’ trick, all fight. Blimey, I never seen a bloke ‘as ‘ad the bloomin’ luck you ‘as.

      JONES: [Severely] Luck? What you mean—luck?

      SMITHERS: I suppose you’ll say as that swank about the silver bullet ain’t luck—and that was what first got the fool blacks on yer side the time of the revolution, wasn’t it?

      JONES: [With a laugh] Oh, dat silver bullet! Sho’ was luck! But I makes dat luck, you heah? I loads de dice! Yessuh! When dat murderin’ nigger ole Lem hired to kill me takes aim ten feet away and his gun misses fire and I shoots him dead, what you heah me say?

      SMITHERS: You said yer’d got a charm so’s no lead bullet’d kill yer. You was so strong only a silver bullet could kill yer, you told ‘em. Blimey, wasn’t that swank for yer—and plain, fat-’eaded luck?

      JONES: [Proudly] I got brains and I uses ‘em quick. Dat ain’t luck.

      SMITHERS: Yer know they wasn’t ‘ardly likely to get no silver bullets. And it was luck ‘e didn’t ‘it you that time.

      JONES: [Laughing] And dere all dem fool, bush niggers was kneelin’ down and bumpin’ deir heads on de ground like I was a miracle out o’ de Bible Oh Lawd, from dat time on I has dem all eatin’ out of my hand. I cracks de whip and dey jumps through.

      SMITHERS: [With a sniff] Yankee bluff done it.

      JONES: Ain’t a man’s talkin’ big what makes him big-long as he makes folks believe it? Sho’, I talks large when I ain’t got nothin’ to back it up, but I ain’t talkin’ wild just de same. I knows I kin fool ‘em—I knows it—and dat’s backin’ enough fo’ my game. And ain’t I got to learn deir lingo and teach some of dem English befo’ I kin talk to ‘em? Ain’t dat wuk? You ain’t never learned ary word er it, Smithers, in do ten years you been heah, dough you’ knows it’s money in yo’ pocket tradin’ wid ‘em if you does. But you’se too shiftless to take de trouble.

      SMITHERS: [Flushing] Never mind about me. What’s this I’ve ‘eard about yer really ‘avin’ a silver bullet moulded for yourself?

      JONES: It’s playin’ out my bluff. I has de silver bullet moulded and I tells ‘em when do time comes I kills myself wid it. I tells ‘em dat’s ‘cause I’m de on’y man in de world big enuff to git me. No use’n deir tryin’. And dey falls down and bumps deir heads. [He laughs.] I does dat so’s I kin take a walk in peace widout no jealous nigger gunnin’ at me from behind de trees.

      SMITHERS: [Astonished] Then you ‘ad it made—’onest?

      JONES: Sho’ did. Heah she he.

      [He takes out his revolver, breaks it, and takes the silver bullet out of one chamber.]

      Five lead an’ dis silver baby at de last. Don’t she shine pretty?

      [He holds it in his hand, looking at it admiringly, as if strangely fascinated.]

      SMITHERS: Let me see.

      [Reaches out his hand for it]

      JONES: [Harshly] Keep yo’ hands whar dey b’long, white man.

      [He replaces it in the chamber and puts the revolver back on his hip.]

      SMITHERS: [Snarling] Gawd blimey! Think I’m a bleedin’ thief, you would.

      JONES: No, ‘tain’t dat. I knows you ‘se scared to steal from me. On’y I ain’t ‘lowin’ nary body to touch dis baby. She’s my rabbit’s foot.

      SMITHERS: [Sneering] A bloomin’ charm, wot? [Venomously] Well, you’ll need all the bloody charms you ‘as before long, s’ ‘elp me!

      JONES: [Judicially] Oh, I’se good for six months yit ‘fore dey gits sick o’ my game. Den, when I sees trouble comin’, I makes my getaway.

      SMITHERS: Ho! You got it all planned, ain’t СКАЧАТЬ