A View From the Bridge: A Play in Two Acts Page 6

  Catherine and Rodolpho continue dancing.

  CATHERINE: Yeah, well, I mean.

  EDDIE, to Beatrice: He’s lucky, believe me. Slight pause. He looks away, then back to Beatrice. That’s why the water front is no place for him. They stop dancing. Rodolpho turns off phonograph. I mean like me—I can’t cook, I can’t sing, I can’t make dresses, so I’m on the water front. But if I could cook, if I could sing, if I could make dresses, I wouldn’t be on the water front. He has been unconsciously twisting the newspaper into a tight roll. They are all regarding him now; he senses he is exposing the issue and he is driven on. I would be someplace else. I would be like in a dress store. He has bent the rolled paper and it suddenly tears in two. He suddenly gets up and pulls his pants up over his belly and goes to Marco. What do you say, Marco, we go to the bouts next Saturday night. You never seen a fight, did you?

  MARCO, uneasily: Only in the moving pictures.

  EDDIE, going to Rodolpho: I’ll treat yiz. What do you say, Danish? You wanna come along? I’ll buy the tickets.

  RODOLPHO: Sure. I like to go.

  CATHERINE goes to Eddie; nervously happy now: I’ll make some coffee, all right?

  EDDIE: Go ahead, make some! Make it nice and strong. Mystified, she smiles and exits to kitchen. He is weirdly elated, rubbing his fists into his palms. He strides to Marco. You wait, Marco, you see some real fights here. You ever do any boxing?

  MARCO: No, I never.

  EDDIE, to Rodolpho: Betcha you have done some, heh?

  RODOLPHO: No.

  EDDIE: Well, come on, I’ll teach you.

  BEATRICE: What’s he got to learn that for?

  EDDIE: Ya can’t tell, one a these days somebody’s liable to step on his foot or sump’m. Come on, Rodolpho, I show you a couple a passes. He stands below table.

  BEATRICE: Go ahead, Rodolpho. He’s a good boxer, he could teach you.

  RODOLPHO, embarrassed: Well, I don’t know how to—He moves down to Eddie.

  EDDIE: Just put your hands up. Like this, see? That’s right. That’s very good, keep your left up, because you lead with the left, see, like this. He gently moves his left into Rodolpho’s face. See? Now what you gotta do is you gotta block me, so when I come in like that you—Rodolpho parries his left. Hey, that’s very good! Rodolpho laughs. All right, now come into me. Come on.

  RODOLPHO: I don’t want to hit you, Eddie.

  EDDIE: Don’t pity me, come on. Throw it, I’ll show you how to block it. Rodolpho jabs at him, laughing. The others join. ’At’s it. Come on again. For the jaw right here. Rodolpho jabs with more assurance. Very good!

  BEATRICE, to Marco: He’s very good!

  Eddie crosses directly upstage of Rodolpho.

  EDDIE: Sure, he’s great! Come on, kid, put sump’m behind it, you can’t hurt me. Rodolpho, more seriously, jabs at Eddie’s jaw and grazes it. Attaboy.

  Catherine comes from the kitchen, watches.

  Now I’m gonna hit you, so block me, see?

  CATHERINE, with beginning alarm: What are they doin’?

  They are lightly boxing now.

  BEATRICE—she senses only the comradeship in it now: He’s teachin’ him; he’s very good!

  EDDIE: Sure, he’s terrific! Look at him go! Rodolpho lands a blow. ’At’s it! Now, watch out, here I come, Danish! He feints with his left hand and lands with his right. It mildly staggers Rodolpho. Marco rises.

  CATHERINE, rushing to Rodolpho: Eddie!

  EDDIE: Why? I didn’t hurt him. Did I hurt you, kid? He rubs the back of his hand across his mouth.

  RODOLPHO: No, no, he didn’t hurt me. To Eddie with a certain gleam and a smile: I was only surprised.

  BEATRICE, pulling Eddie down into the rocker: That’s enough, Eddie; he did pretty good, though.

  EDDIE: Yeah. Rubbing his fists together: He could be very good, Marco. I’ll teach him again.

  Marco nods at him dubiously.

  RODOLPHO: Dance, Catherine. Come. He takes her hand; they go to phonograph and start it. It plays “Paper Doll.”

  Rodolpho takes her in his arms. They dance. Eddie in thought sits in his chair, and Marco takes a chair, places it in front of Eddie, and looks down at it. Beatrice and Eddie watch him.

  MARCO: Can you lift this chair?

  EDDIE: What do you mean?

  MARCO: From here. He gets on one knee with one hand behind his back, and grasps the bottom of one of the chair legs but does not raise it.

  EDDIE: Sure, why not? He comes to the chair, kneels, grasps the leg, raises the chair one inch, but it leans over to the floor. Gee, that’s hard, I never knew that. He tries again, and again fails. It’s on an angle, that’s why, heh?

  MARCO: Here. He kneels, grasps, and with strain slowly raises the chair higher and higher, getting to his feet now. Rodolpho and Catherine have stopped dancing as Marco raises the chair over his head.

  Marco is face to face with Eddie, a strained tension gripping his eyes and jaw, his neck stiff, the chair raised like a weapon over Eddie’s head—and he transforms what might appear like a glare of warning into a smile of triumph, and Eddie’s grin vanishes as he absorbs his look.

  CURTAIN

  ACT TWO

  Light rises on Alfieri at his desk.

  ALFIERI: On the twenty-third of that December a case of Scotch whisky slipped from a net while being unloaded—as a case of Scotch whisky is inclined to do on the twenty-third of December on Pier Forty-one. There was no snow, but it was cold, his wife was out shopping. Marco was still at work. The boy had not been hired that day; Catherine told me later that this was the first time they had been alone together in the house.

  Light is rising on Catherine in the apartment. Rodolpho is watching as she arranges a paper pattern on cloth spread on the table.

  CATHERINE: You hungry?

  RODOLPHO: Not for anything to eat. Pause. I have nearly three hundred dollars. Catherine?

  CATHERINE: I heard you.

  RODOLPHO: You don’t like to talk about it any more?

  CATHERINE: Sure, I don’t mind talkin’ about it.

  RODOLPHO: What worries you, Catherine?

  CATHERINE: I been wantin’ to ask you about something. Could I?

  RODOLPHO: All the answers are in my eyes, Catherine. But you don’t look in my eyes lately. You’re full of secrets. She looks at him. She seems withdrawn. What is the question?

  CATHERINE: Suppose I wanted to live in Italy.

  RODOLPHO, smiling at the incongruity: You going to marry somebody rich?

  CATHERINE: No, I mean live there—you and me.

  RODOLPHO, his smile vanishing: When?

  CATHERINE: Well ... when we get married.

  RODOLPHO, astonished: You want to be an Italian?

  CATHERINE: No, but I could live there without being Italian. Americans live there.

  RODOLPHO: Forever?

  CATHERINE: Yeah.

  ROOOLPHO crosses to rocker: You’re fooling.

  CATHERINE: No, I mean it.

  RODOLPHO: Where do you get such an idea?

  CATHERINE: Well, you’re always saying it’s so beautiful there, with the mountains and the ocean and all the—

  RODOLPHO: You’re fooling me.

  CATHERINE: I mean it.

  RODOLPHO goes to her slowly: Catherine, if I ever brought you home with no money, no business, nothing, they would call the priest and the doctor and they would say Rodolpho is crazy.

  CATHERINE: I know, but I think we would be happier there.

  RODOLPHO: Happier! What would you eat? You can’t cook the view!

  CATHERINE: Maybe you could be a singer, like in Rome or—

  RODOLPHO: Rome! Rome is full of singers.

  CATHERINE: Well, I could work then.

  RODOLPHO: Where?

  CATHERINE: God, there must be jobs somewhere!

  RODOLPHO: There’s nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing. Now tell me what you’re talking about. How can I bring you from a rich country to suffer in a poor country?
What are you talking about? She searches for words. I would be a criminal stealing your face. In two years you would have an old, hungry face. When my brother’s babies cry they give them water, water that boiled a bone. Don’t you believe that?

  CATHERINE, quietly: I’m afraid of Eddie here.

  Slight pause.

  RODOLPHO steps closer to her: We wouldn’t live here. Once I am a citizen I could work anywhere and I would find better jobs and we would have a house, Catherine. If I were not afraid to be arrested I would start to be something wonderful here!

  CATHERINE, steeling herself: Tell me something. I mean just tell me, Rodolpho—would you still want to do it if it turned out we had to go live in Italy? I mean just if it turned out that way.

  RODOLPHO: This is your question or his question?

  CATHERINE: I would like to know, Rodolpho. I mean it.

  RODOLPHO: To go there with nothing.

  CATHERINE : Yeah.

  RODOLPHO: No. She looks at him wide-eyed. No.

  CATHERINE: You wouldn’t?

  RODOLPHO: No; I will not marry you to live in Italy. I want you to be my wife, and I want to be a citizen. Tell him that, or I will. Yes. He moves about angrily. And tell him also, and tell yourself, please, that I am not a beggar, and you are not a horse, a gift, a favor for a poor immigrant.

  CATHERINE: Well, don’t get mad!

  RODOLPHO: I am furious! Goes to her. Do you think I am so desperate? My brother is desperate, not me. You think I would carry on my back the rest of my life a woman I didn’t love just to be an American? It’s so wonderful? You think we have no tall buildings in Italy? Electric lights? No wide streets? No flags? No automobiles? Only work we don’t have. I want to be an American so I can work, that is the only wonder here—work! How can you insult me, Catherine?

  CATHERINE: I didn’t mean that—

  RODOLPHO: My heart dies to look at you. Why are you so afraid of him?

  CATHERINE, near tears: I don’t know!

  RODOLPHO: Do you trust me, Catherine? You?

  CATHERINE: It’s only that I—He was good to me, Rodolpho. You don’t know him; he was always the sweetest guy to me. Good. He razzes me all the time but he don’t mean it. I know. I would—just feel ashamed if I made him sad. ‘Cause I always dreamt that when I got married he would be happy at the wedding, and laughin’—and now he’s—mad all the time and nasty—She is weeping. Tell him you’d live in Italy—just tell him, and maybe he would start to trust you a little, see? Because I want him to be happy; I mean—I like him, Rodolpho—and I can’t stand it!

  RODOLPHO: Oh, Catherine—oh, little girl.

  CATHERINE: I love you, Rodolpho, I love you.

  RODOLPHO: Then why are you afraid? That he’ll spank you?

  CATHERINE: Don’t, don’t laugh at me! I’ve been here all my life.... Every day I saw him when he left in the morning and when he came home at night. You think it’s so easy to turn around and say to a man he’s nothin’ to you no more?

  RODOLPHO: I know, but—

  CATHERINE: You don’t know; nobody knows! I’m not a baby, I know a lot more than people think I know. Beatrice says to be a woman, but—

  RODOLPHO: Yes.

  CATHERINE: Then why don’t she be a woman? If I was a wife I would make a man happy instead of goin’ at him all the time. I can tell a block away when he’s blue in his mind and just wants to talk to somebody quiet and nice.... I can tell when he’s hungry or wants a beer before he even says anything. I know when his feet hurt him, I mean I know him and now I’m supposed to turn around and make a stranger out of him? I don’t know why I have to do that, I mean. RODOLPHO: Catherine. If I take in my hands a little bird. And she grows and wishes to fly. But I will not let her out of my hands because I love her so much, is that right for me to do? I don’t say you must hate him; but anyway you must go, mustn’t you? Catherine?

  CATHERINE, softly: Hold me.

  RODOLPHO, clasping her to him: Oh, my little girl.

  CATHERINE: Teach me. She is weeping. I don’t know anything, teach me, Rodolpho, hold me.

  RODOLPHO: There’s nobody here now. Come inside. Come. He is leading her toward the bedrooms. And don’t cry any more.

  Light rises on the street. In a moment Eddie appears. He is unsteady, drunk. He mounts the stairs. He enters the apartment, looks around, takes out a bottle from one pocket, puts it on the table. Then another bottle from another pocket, and a third from an inside pocket. He sees the pattern and cloth, goes over to it and touches it, and turns toward upstage.

  EDDIE: Beatrice? He goes to the open kitchen door and looks in. Beatrice? Beatrice?

  Catherine enters from bedroom; under his gaze she adjusts her dress.

  CATHERINE: You got home early.

  EDDIE: Knocked off for Christmas early. Indicating the pattern: Rodolpho makin’ you a dress?

  CATHERINE: No. I’m makin’ a blouse.

  Rodolpho appears in the bedroom doorway. Eddie sees him and his arm jerks slightly in shock. Rodolpho nods to him testingly.

  RODOLPHO: Beatrice went to buy presents for her mother.

  Pause.

  EDDIE: Pack it up. Go ahead. Get your stuff and get outa here. Catherine instantly turns and walks toward the bedroom, and Eddie grabs her arm. Where you goin’?

  CATHERINE, trembling with fright: I think I have to get out of here, Eddie.

  EDDIE: No, you ain’t goin’ nowheres, he’s the one.

  CATHERINE: I think I can’t stay here no more. She frees her arm, steps back toward the bedroom. I’m sorry, Eddie. She sees the tears in his eyes. Well, don’t cry. I’ll be around the neighborhood; I’ll see you. I just can’t stay here no more. You know I can’t. Her sobs of pity and love for him break her composure. Don’t you know I can’t? You know that, don’t you? She goes to him. Wish me luck. She clasps her hands prayerfully. Oh, Eddie, don’t be like that!

  EDDIE: You ain’t goin’ nowheres.

  CATHERINE: Eddie, I’m not gonna be a baby any more! You—

  He reaches out suddenly, draws her to him, and as she strives to free herself he kisses her on the mouth.

  RODOLPHO: Don’t! He pulls on Eddie’s arm. Stop that! Have respect for her!

  EDDIE, spun round by Rodolpho: You want something?

  RODOLPHO: Yes! She’ll be my wife. That is what I want. My wife!

  EDDIE: But what’re you gonna be?

  RODOLPHO: I show you what I be!

  CATHERINE: Wait outside; don’t argue with him!

  EDDIE: Come on, show me! What’re you gonna be? Show me!

  RODOLPHO, with tears of rage: Don’t say that to me!

  Rodolpho flies at him in attack. Eddie pins his arms, laughing, and suddenly kisses him.

  CATHERINE: Eddie! Let go, ya hear me! I’ll kill you! Leggo of him!

  She tears at Eddie’s face and Eddie releases Rodolpho. Eddie stands there with tears rolling down his face as he laughs mockingly at Rodolpho. She is staring at him in horror. Rodolpho is rigid. They are like animals that have torn at one another and broken up without a decision, each waiting for the other’s mood,

  EDDIE, to Catherine: You see? To Rodolpho: I give you till tomorrow, kid. Get outa here. Alone. You hear me? Alone.

  CATHERINE: I’m going with him, Eddie. She starts toward Rodolpho.

  EDDIE, indicating Rodolpho with his head: Not with that. She halts, frightened. He sits, still panting for breath, and they watch him helplessly as he leans toward them over the table. Don’t make me do nuttin’, Catherine. Watch your step, submarine. By rights they oughta throw you back in the water. But I got pity for you. He moves unsteadily toward the door, always facing Rodolpho. Just get outa here and don’t lay another hand on her unless you wanna go out feet first. He goes out of the apartment.

  The lights go down, as they rise on Alfieri.

  ALFIERI: On December twenty-seventh I saw him next. I normally go home well before six, but that day I sat around looking out my window at the bay, and when I saw him walking
through my doorway, I knew why I had waited. And if I seem to tell this like a dream, it was that way. Several moments arrived in the course of the two talks we had when it occurred to me how—almost transfixed I had come to feel. I had lost my strength somewhere. Eddie enters, removing his cap, sits in the chair, looks thoughtfully out. I looked in his eyes more than I listened—in fact, I can hardly remember the conversation. But I will never forget how dark the room became when he looked at me; his eyes were like tunnels. I kept wanting to call the police, but nothing had happened. Nothing at all had really happened. He breaks off and looks down at the desk. Then he turns to Eddie. So in other words, he won’t leave?

  EDDIE: My wife is talkin’ about renting a room upstairs for them. An old lady on the top floor is got an empty room.

  ALFIERI: What does Marco say?

  EDDIE: He just sits there. Marco don’t say much.

  ALFIERI: I guess they didn’t tell him, heh? What happened?

  EDDIE: I don’t know; Marco don’t say much.

  ALFIERI: What does your wife say?

  EDDIE, unwilling to pursue this: Nobody’s talkin’ much in the house. So what about that?

  ALFIERI: But you didn’t prove anything about him. It sounds like he just wasn’t strong enough to break your grip.

  EDDIE: I’m tellin’ you I know—he ain’t right. Somebody that don’t want it can break it. Even a mouse, if you catch a teeny mouse and you hold it in your hand, that mouse can give you the right kind of fight. He didn’t give me the right kind of fight, I know it, Mr. Alfieri, the guy ain’t right.

  ALFIERI: What did you do that for, Eddie?

  EDDIE: To show her what he is! So she would see, once and for all! Her mother’ll turn over in the grave! He gathers himself almost peremptorily. So what do I gotta do now? Tell me what to do.

  ALFIERI: She actually said she’s marrying him?

  EDDIE: She told me, yeah. So what do I do?

  Slight pause.

  ALFIERI: This is my last word, Eddie, take it or not, that’s your business. Morally and legally you have no rights, you cannot stop it; she is a free agent.

  EDDIE, angering: Didn’t you hear what I told you?

  ALFIERI, with a tougher tone: I heard what you told me, and I’m telling you what the answer is. I’m not only telling you now, I’m warning you—the law is nature. The law is only a word for what has a right to happen. When the law is wrong it’s because it’s unnatural, but in this case it is natural and a river will drown you if you buck it now. Let her go. And bless her. A phone booth begins to glow on the opposite side of the stage; a faint, lonely blue. Eddie stands up, jaws clenched. Somebody had to come for her, Eddie, sooner or later. Eddie starts turning to go and Alfieri rises with new anxiety. You won’t have a friend in the world, Eddie! Even those who understand will turn against you, even the ones who feel the same will despise you! Eddie moves off. Put it out of your mind! Eddie! He follows into the darkness, calling desperately.