Experimental O'Neill. Eugene O'Neill

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СКАЧАТЬ And when I sees dese niggers gittin’ up deir nerve to tu’n me out, and I’se got all de money in sight, I resigns on de spot and beats it quick.

      SMITHERS: Where to?

      JONES: None o’ yo’ business.

      SMITHERS: Not back to the bloody States, I’ll lay my oath.

      JONES: [Suspiciously] Why don’t I? [Then with an easy laugh] You mean ‘count of dat story ‘bout me breakin’ from jail back dere? Dat’s all talk.

      SMITHERS: [Skeptically] Ho, yes!

      JONES: [Sharply] You ain’t ‘sinuatin’ I’se a liar, is you?

      SMITHERS: [Hastily] No, Gawd strike me! I was only thinkin’ o’ the bloody lies you told the blacks ‘ere about killin’ white men in the States.

      JONES: [Angered] How come dey’re lies?

      SMITHERS: You’d ‘ave been in jail, if you ‘ad, wouldn’t yer then? [With venom] And from what I’ve ‘eard, it ain’t ‘ealthy for a black to kill a white man in the States. They burns ‘em in oil, don’t they?

      JONES: [With cool deadliness] You mean lynchin’ ‘d scare me? Well, I tells you, Smithers, maybe I does kill one white man back dere, Maybe I does. And maybe I kills another right heah ‘fore long if he don’t look out.

      SMITHERS: [Trying to force a laugh] I was on’y spoofin’ yer. Can’t yer take a joke? And you was just sayin’ you’d never ken in jail.

      JONES: [In the same tone—slightly boastful] Maybe I goes to jail dere for gettin’ in an argument wid razors ovah a crap game. Maybe I gits twenty years when dat colored man die. Maybe I gits in ‘nother argument wid de prison guard was overseer ovah us when we’re wukin’ de roads. Maybe he hits me wid a whip and I splits his head wid a shovel and runs away and files de chain off my leg and gits away safe. Maybe I does all dat an’ maybe I don’t. It’s a story I tells you so’s you knows I’se de kind of man dat if you evah repeats one words of it, I ends yo’ stealin’ on dis yearth mighty damn quick!

      SMITHERS: [Terrified] Think I’d peach on yer? Not me! Ain’t I always been yer friend?

      JONES: [Suddenly relaxing] Sho’ you has—and you better be.

      SMITHERS: [Recovering his composure—and with it his malice] And just to show yer I’m yer friend, I’ll tell yer that bit o’ news I was goin’ to.

      JONES: Go ahead! Shoot de piece. Must be bad news from de happy way you look.

      SMITHERS: [Warningly] Maybe it’s gettin’ time for you to resign—with that bloomin’ silver bullet, wot? [He finishes with a mocking grin.]

      JONES: [Puzzled] What’s dat you say? Talk plain.

      SMITHERS: Ain’t noticed any of the guards or servants about the place today, I ‘aven’t.

      JONES: [Carelessly] Dey’re all out in de garden sleepin’ under de trees. When I sleeps, dey sneaks a sleep, too, and I pretends I never suspicions it. All I got to do is to ring de bell and dey come flyin’, makin’ a bluff dey was wukin’ all de time.

      SMITHERS:[In the same mocking tone] Ring the bell now an’ you’ll bloody well see what I means.

      JONES: [Startled to alertness, but preserving the same careless tone] Sho’ I rings.

      [He reaches below the throne and pulls out a big, common dinner bell which is painted the same vivid scarlet as the throne. He rings this vigorously—then stops to listen. Then he goes to both doors, rings again, and looks out.]

      SMITHERS: [Watching him with malicious satisfaction, after a pause—mockingly] The bloody ship is sinkin’ an’ the bleedin’ rats ‘as slung their ‘ooks.

      JONES: [In a sudden fit of anger flings the bell clattering into a corner] Low-flung, woods’ niggers!

      [Then catching Smither’s eye on him, he controls himself and suddenly bursts into a low chuckling laugh.]

      Reckon I overplays my hand dis once! A man can’t take de pot on a bob-tailed flush all de time. Was I sayin’ I’d sit in six months mo’? Well, I’se changed my mind den. I cashes in and resigns de job of Emperor right dis minute.

      SMITHERS: [With real admiration] Blimey, but you’re a cool bird, and no mistake.

      JONES: No use’n fussin’. When I knows de game’s up I kisses it goodbye widout no long waits. Dey’ve all run off to de hills, ain’t dey?

      SMITHERS: Yes—every bleedin’ man jack of ‘em.

      JONES: Den de revolution is at de post. And de Emperor better git his feet smokin’ up de trail.

      [He starts for the door in rear.]

      SMITHERS: Goin’ out to look for your ‘orse? Yer won’t find any. They steals the ‘orses first thing. Mine was gone when I went for ‘im this mornin’. That’s wot first give me a suspicion of wot was up.

      JONES: [Alarmed for a second, scratches his head, then philosophically] Well, den I hoofs it. Feet, do yo’ duty!

      [He pulls out a gold watch and looks at it.]

      Three-thuty. Sundown’s at six-thuty or dereabouts.

      [Puts his watch back—with cool confidence]

      I got plenty o’ time to make it easy.

      SMITHERS: Don’t be so bloomin’ sure of it. They’ll be after you ‘ot and ‘eavy. Ole Lem is at the bottom o’ this business an’ ‘e ‘ates you like ‘ell. ‘E’d rather do for you than eat ‘is dinner, ‘e would!

      JONES: [Scornfully] Dat fool no-count nigger! Does you think I’se scared o’ him? I stands him on his thick head more’n once befo’ dis, and I does it again if he come in my way—[fiercely] And dis time I leave him a dead nigger fo’ sho’!

      SMITHERS: You’ll ‘ave to cut through the big forest—an’ these blacks ‘ere can sniff and follow a trail in the dark like ‘ounds. You’d ‘ave to ‘ustle to get through that forest in twelve hours even if you knew all the bloomin’ trails like a native.

      JONES: [With indignant scorn] Look-a-heah, white man! Does you think I’se a natural bo’n fool? Give me credit fo’ havih’ some sense, fo’ Lawd’s sake! Don’t you s’pose I’se looked ahead and made sho’ of all de chances? I’se gone out in dat big forest, pretendin’ to hunt, so many times dat I knows it high an’ low like a book. I could go through on dem trails wid my eyes shut.

      [With great contempt] Think dese ig’nerent bush niggers dat ain’t got brains enuff to know deir own names even can catch Brutus Jones? Huh, I s’pects not! Not on yo’ life! why, man, de white men went after me wid bloodhounds where I come from an’ I jes’ laughs at ‘em. It’s a shame to fool dese black trash around heah, dey’re so easy. You watch me, man’. I’ll make dem look sick, I will. I’ll be ‘cross de plain to de edge of de forest by time dark comes. Once in de woods in de night, dey got a swell chance o’ findin’ dis baby! Dawn tomorrow I’ll be out at de oder side and on de coast СКАЧАТЬ