27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays (4 page)

V
ICARRO:
You find it impossible to remember just what your husband disappeared for after supper? You can’t imagine what kind of errand it was that he went out on, can you?

F
LORA:
No
! N
o, I can’t!

V
ICARRO:
But when he returned—let’s see . . . The fire had just broken out at the Syndicate Plantation?

F
LORA:
Mr. Vicarro, I don’t have the slightest idear what you could be driving at.

V
ICARRO:
You’re a very unsatisfactory witness, Mrs. Meighan.

F
LORA:
I never can think when people—stare straight at me.

V
ICARRO:
Okay. I’ll look away, then. (
He turns his back to her.
)
Now does that improve your memory any? Now are you able to concentrate on the question?

F
LORA:
Huh . . .

V
ICARRO:
No
?
You’re not? (
He turns around again, grinning evilly.
)
Well . . . shall we drop the subject?

F
LORA:
I sure do wish you would.

V
ICARRO:
It’s no use crying over a burnt-down gin. This world is built on the principle of tit for tat.

F
LORA:
What do you mean?

V
ICARRO:
Nothing at all specific. Mind if I . . . ?

F
LORA:
What?

V
ICARRO:
You want to move over a little an’ make some room? (
Flora edges aside on the swing. He sits down with her.
)
I like a swing. I’ve always liked to sit an’ rock on a swing. Relaxes you . . . You relaxed?

F
LORA:
Sure.

V
ICARRO:
No, you’re not. Your nerves are all tied up.

F
LORA:
Well, you made me feel kind of nervous. All of them questions you ast me about the fire.

V
ICARRO:
I didn’ ask you questions about the fire. I only asked you about your husband’s leaving the house after supper.

F
LORA:
I explained that to you.

V
ICARRO:
Sure. That’s right. You did. The good-neighbor policy. That was a lovely remark your husband made about the good-neighbor policy. I see what he means by that now.

F
LORA:
He was thinking about President Roosevelt’s speech. We sat up an’ lissened to it one night last week.

V
ICARRO:
No, I think that he was talking about something closer to home, Mrs. Meighan. You do me a good turn and I’ll do you one, that was the way that he put it. You have a piece of cotton on your face. Hold still—I’ll pick it off. (
He delicately removes the lint.
)
There now.

F
LORA:
(
nervously
)
Thanks.

V
ICARRO:
There’s a lot of fine cotton lint floating round in the air.

F
LORA:
I know there is. It irritates my nose. I think it gets up in my sinus.

V
ICARRO:
Well, you’re a delicate woman.

F
LORA:
Delicate? Me? Oh, no. I’m too big for that.

V
ICARRO:
Your size is part of your delicacy, Mrs. Meighan.

F
LORA:
How do you mean?

V
ICARRO:
There’s a lot of you, but every bit of you is delicate. Choice. Delectable, I might say.

F
LORA:
Huh?

V
ICARRO:
I mean you’re altogether lacking in any—coarseness. You’re soft. Fine-fibered. And smooth.

F
LORA:
Our talk is certainly taking a personal turn.

V
ICARRO:
Yes. You make me think of cotton.

F
LORA:
Huh?

V
ICARRO:
Cotton!

F
LORA:
Well! Should I say thanks or something?

V
ICARRO:
No, just smile, Mrs. Meighan. You have an attractive smile. Dimples!

F
LORA:
No . . .

V
ICARRO:
Yes, you have! Smile, Mrs. Meighan! Come on—smile! (
Flora averts her face, smiling helplessly.
)
There now. See? You’ve got them! (
He delicately touches one of the dimples.
)

F
LORA:
Please don’t touch me. I don’t like to be touched.

V
ICARRO:
Then why do you giggle?

F
LORA:
Can’t help it. You make me feel kind of hysterical, Mr. Vicarro. Mr. Vicarro—

V
ICARRO:
Yes?

F
LORA:
I hope you don’t think that Jake was mixed up in that fire. I swear to goodness he never left the front porch. I remember it perfeckly now. We just set here on the swing till the fire broke out and then we drove in town.

V
ICARRO:
To celebrate?

F
LORA:
No, no, no.

V
ICARRO:
Twenty-seven wagons full of cotton’s a pretty big piece of business to fall in your lap like a gift from the gods, Mrs. Meighan.

F
LORA:
I thought you said that we would drop the subjeck.

V
ICARRO:
You brought it up that time.

F
LORA:
Well, please don’t try to mix me up any more. I swear to goodness the fire had already broke out when he got back.

V
ICARRO:
That’s not what you told me a moment ago.

F
LORA:
You got me all twisted up. We went in town. The fire broke out an’ we didn’t know about it.

V
ICARRO:
I thought you said it irritated your sinus.

F
LORA:
Oh, my God, you sure put words in my mouth. Maybe I’d better make us some lemonade.

V
ICARRO:
Don’t go to the trouble.

F
LORA:
I’ll go in an’ fix it direckly, but right at this moment I’m too weak to get up. I don’t know why, but I can’t hardly hold my eyes open. They keep falling shut. . . . I think it’s a little too crowded, two on a swing. Will you do me a favor an’ set back down over there?

V
ICARRO:
Why do you want me to move?

F
LORA:
It makes too much body heat when we’re crowded together.

V
ICARRO:
One body can borrow coolness from another.

F
LORA:
I always heard that bodies borrowed heat.

V
ICARRO:
Not in this case. I’m cool.

F
LORA:
You don’t seem like it to me.

V
ICARRO:
I’m just as cool as a cucumber. If you don’t believe

it, touch me.

F
LORA:
Where?

V
ICARRO:
Anywhere.

F
LORA:
(
rising with great effort
)
Excuse me. I got to go in. (
He pulls her back down.
)
What did you do that for?

V
ICARRO:
I don’t want to be deprived of your company yet.

F
LORA:
Mr. Vicarro, you’re getting awf’ly familiar.

V
ICARRO:
Haven’t you got any fun-loving spirit about you?

F
LORA:
This isn’t fun.

V
ICARRO:
Then why do you giggle?

F
LORA:
I’m ticklish! Quit switching me, will yuh?

V
ICARRO:
I’m just shooing the flies off.

F
LORA:
Leave ‘em be, then, please. They don’t hurt nothin’.

V
ICARRO:
I think you like to be switched.

F
LORA:
I don’t. I wish you’d quit.

V
ICARRO:
You’d like to be switched harder.

F
LORA:
No, I wouldn’t.

V
ICARRO:
That blue mark on your wrist—

F
LORA:
What about it?

V
ICARRO:
I’ve got a suspicion.

F
LORA:
Of what?

V
ICARRO:
It was twisted. By your husband.

F
LORA:
You’re crazy.

V
ICARRO:
Yes, it was. And you liked it.

F
LORA:
I certainly didn’t. Would you mind moving your arm?

V
ICARRO:
Don’t be so skittish.

F
LORA:
Awright. I’ll get up then.

V
ICARRO:
Go on.

F
LORA:
I feel so weak.

V
ICARRO:
Dizzy?

F
LORA:
A little bit. Yeah. My head’s spinning round. I wish you would stop the swing.

V
ICARRO:
It’s not swinging much.

F
LORA:
But even a little’s too much.

V
ICARRO:
You’re a delicate woman. A pretty big woman, too.

F
LORA:
So is America. Big.

V
ICARRO:
That’s a funny remark.

F
LORA:
Yeah. I don’t know why I made it. My head’s so buzzy.

V
ICARRO:
Fuzzy?

F
LORA:
Fuzzy an’—buzzy . . . Is something on my arm?

V
ICARRO:
No
.

F
LORA:
Then what ‘re you brushing?

V
ICARRO:
Sweat off.

F
LORA:
Leave it alone.

V
ICARRO:
Let me wipe it. (
He brushes her arm with a handkerchief.
)

F
LORA:
(
laughing weakly
)
No, please, don’t. It feels funny.

V
ICARRO:
How does it feel?

F
LORA:
It tickles me. All up an’ down. You cut it out now. If you don’t cut it out I’m going to call.

V
ICARRO:
Call who?

F
LORA:
I’m going to call that nigger. The nigger that’s cutting the grass across the road.

V
ICARRO:
Go on. Call, then.

F
LORA:
(
weakly
)
Hey! Hey, boy!

V
ICARRO:
Can’t you call any louder?

F
LORA:
I feel so funny. What is the matter with me?

V
ICARRO:
You’re just relaxing. You’re big. A big type of woman. I like you. Don’t get so excited.

F
LORA:
I’m not, but you—

V
ICARRO:
What am I doing?

F
LORA:
Suspicions. About my husband and ideas you have about me.

V
ICARRO:
Such as what?

F
LORA:
He burnt your gin down. He didn’t. And I’m not a big piece of cotton. (
She pulls herself up.
)
I’m going inside.

V
ICARRO:
(
rising
)
I think that’s a good idea.

F
LORA:
I said I was. Not you.

V
ICARRO:
Why not me?

F
LORA:
Inside it might be crowded, with you an’ me.

V
ICARRO:
Three’s a crowd. We’re two.

F
LORA:
You stay out. Wait here.

V
ICARRO:
What’ll you do?

F
LORA:
I’ll make us a pitcher of nice cold lemonade.

V
ICARRO:
Okay. You go on in.

F
LORA:
What’ll you do?

V
ICARRO:
I’ll follow.

F
LORA:
That’s what I figured you might be aiming to do. We’ll both stay out.

V
ICARRO:
In the sun?

F
LORA:
We’ll sit back down in th’ shade. (
He blocks her.
)
Don’t stand in my way.

V
ICARRO:
You’re standing in mine.

F
LORA:
I’m dizzy.

V
ICARRO:
You ought to lie down.

F
LORA:
How can I?

V
ICARRO:
Go in.

F
LORA:
You’d follow me.

V
ICARRO:
What if I did?

F
LORA:
I’m afraid.

V
ICARRO:
You’re starting to cry.

F
LORA:
I’m afraid!

V
ICARRO:
What of?

F
LORA:
Of you.

V
ICARRO:
I’m little.

F
LORA:
I’m dizzy. My knees are so weak they’re like water. I’ve got to sit down.

V
ICARRO:
Go in.

F
LORA:
I can’t.

V
ICARRO:
Why not?

F
LORA:
You’d follow.

V
ICARRO:
Would that be so awful?

F
LORA:
You’ve got a mean look in your eyes and I don’t like the whip. Honest to God he never. He didn’t, I swear!

V
ICARRO:
Do what?

F
LORA:
The fire . . .

V
ICARRO:
Go on.

F
LORA:
Please don’t!

V
ICARRO:
Don’t what?

F
LORA:
Put it down. The whip, please put it down. Leave it out here on the porch.

V
ICARRO:
What are you scared of?

F
LORA:
You
.

V
ICARRO:
Go on. (
She turns helplessly and moves to the screen. He pulls it open.
)

F
LORA:
Don’t follow. Please don’t follow! (
She sways uncertainly. He presses his hand against her. She moves inside. He follows. The door is shut quietly. The gin pumps slowly and steadily across the road. From inside the house there is a wild and despairing cry. A door is slammed. The cry is repeated more faintly.
)