27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays (2 page)

27 Wagons Full of Cotton

A Mississippi Delta Comedy

‘Now Eros shakes my soul, a wind on the mountain, falling on the oaks.’

S
APPHO

CHARACTERS

J
AKE
M
EIGHAN,
a cotton-gin owner.

F
LORA
M
EIGHAN,
his wife.

S
ILVA
V
ICARRO,
superintendent of the Syndicate Plantation.

All of the action takes place on the front porch of the Meighans’ residence near Blue Mountain, Mississippi.

27 Wagons Full of Cotton

S
CENE:
The front porch of the Meighans’ cottage near Blue Mountain, Mississippi. The porch is narrow and rises into a single narrow gable. There are spindling white pillars on either side supporting the porch roof and a door of Gothic design and two Gothic windows on either side of it. The peaked door has an oval of richly stained glass, azure, crimson, emerald and gold. At the windows are fluffy white curtains gathered coquettishly in the middle by baby-blue satin bows. The effect is not unlike a doll’s house.

S
CENE
I

It is early evening and there is a faint rosy dusk in the sky. Shortly after the curtain rises, Jake Meighan, a fat man of sixty, scrambles out the front door and races around the corner of the house carrying a gallon can of coal-oil. A dog barks at him. A car is heard starting and receding rapidly in the distance. A moment later Flora calls from inside the house.

F
LORA:
Jake! I’ve lost m’ white kid purse! (
closer to the door
)
Jake? Look’n see ‘f uh laid it on th’ swing. (
There is a pause.
)
Guess I could’ve left it in th’ Chevy? (
She comes up to screen door.
)
Jake. Look’n see if uh left it in th’ Chevy. Jake? (
She steps outside in the fading rosy dusk. She switches on the porch light and stares about, slapping at gnats attracted by the light. Locusts provide the only answering voice. Flora gives a long nasal call.
)
Ja-ay—a-a-ake! (
A cow moos in the distance with the same inflection. There is a muffled explosion
somewhere about half a mile away. A strange flickering glow appears, the reflection of a burst of flame. Distant voices are heard exclaiming.
)

V
OICES:
(
shrill, cackling like hens
)

You heah that noise?

Yeah! Sound like a bomb went off!

Oh, look!

Why, it’s a fire!

Where’s it at? You tell?

Th’ Syndicate Plantation!

Oh, my God! Let’s go! (
A fire whistle sounds in the distance.
)

Henry! Start th’ car! You all wanta go with us?

Yeah, we’ll be right out!

Hurry, honey! (
A car can be heard starting up.
)

Be right there!

Well, hurry.

V
OICE:
(
just across the dirt road
)
Missus Meighan?

F
LORA:
Ye-ah?

V
OICE:
Ahn’t you goin’ th’ fire?

F
LORA:
I wish I could but Jake’s gone off in th’ Chevy.

V
OICE:
Come awn an’ go with us, honey!

F
LORA:
Oh, I cain’t an’ leave th’ house wide open! Jake’s gone off with th’ keys. What do you all think it is on fire?

V
OICE:
Th’ Syndicate Plantation!

F
LORA:
Th’ Syndicate Plan-
ta
-tion? (
The car starts off and recedes.
)
Oh, my Go-od! (
She climbs laboriously back up on the porch and sits on the swing which faces the front. She speaks tragically to herself.
)
Nobody! Nobody! Never! Never! Nobody! (
Locusts can be heard. A car is heard approaching and stopping at a distance back of house. After a moment Jake ambles casually up around the side of the house.
)

F
LORA:
(
in a petulant babyish tone
)
Well!

J
AKE:
Whatsamatter, Baby?

F
LORA:
I never known a human being could be that mean an’ thoughtless!

J
AKE:
Aw, now, that’s a mighty broad statement fo’ you to make, Mrs. Meighan. What’s the complaint this time?

F
LORA:
Just flew out of the house without even sayin’ a word!

J
AKE:
What’s so bad about that?

F
LORA:
I told you I had a headache comin’ on an’ had to have a dope, there wassen a single bottle lef in th’ house, an’ you said, Yeah, get into yuh things ‘n’ we’ll drive in town right away! So I get into m’ things an’ I cain’t find m’ white kid purse. Then I remember I left it on th’ front seat of th’ Chevy. I come out here t’ git it. Where are you? Gone off! Without a word! Then there’s a big explosion! Feel my heart!

J
AKE:
Feel my baby’s heart? (
He puts a hand on her huge bosom.
)

F
LORA:
Yeah, just you feel it, poundin’ like a hammer! How'd I know what happened? You not here, just disappeared somewhere!

J
AKE:
(
sharply
)
Shut up! (
He pushes her head roughly.
)

F
LORA:
Jake! What did you do that fo’?

J
AKE:
I don’t like how you holler! Holler ev’ry thing you say!

F
LORA:
What’s the matter with you?

J
AKE:
Nothing’s the matter with me.

F
LORA:
Well, why did you go off?

J
AKE:
I didn’ go off!

F
LORA:
You certainly
did
go off! Try an’ tell me that you never went off when I just now seen an’ heard you drivin’ back in th’ car? What uh you take me faw? No sense a-tall?

J
AKE:
If you got sense you keep your big mouth shut!

F
LORA:
Don’t talk to me like that!

J
AKE:
Come on inside.

F
LORA:
I won’t. Selfish an’ inconsiderate, that’s what you are! I told you at supper, There’s not a bottle of Coca-Cola left on
th’ place. You said, Okay, right after supper we’ll drive on over to th’ White Star drugstore an’ lay in a good supply. When I come out of th’ house—

J
AKE:
(
He stands in front of her and grips her neck with both hands.
)
Look here! Listen to what I tell you!

F
LORA:
Jake!

J
AKE:
Shhh! Just listen, Baby.

F
LORA:
Lemme go! G’damn you, le’ go my throat!

J
AKE:
Jus
’
try an’ concentrate on what I tell yuh!

F
LORA:
Tell me what?

J
AKE:
I ain’t been off th’ po’ch.

F
LORA:
Huh!

J
AKE:
I ain’t been off th’ front po’ch! Not since supper! Understand that, now?

F
LORA:
Jake, honey, you’ve gone out of you’ mind!

J
AKE:
Maybe so. Never you mind. Just get that straight an’ keep it in your haid. I ain’t been off the porch of this house since supper.

F
LORA:
But you sure as God
was
off it! (
He twists her wrist.
) Ouuuu! Stop it, stop it, stop it!

J
AKE:
Where have I been since supper?

F
LORA:
Here, here! On th’ porch! Fo’ God’s sake, quit that twistin’!

J
AKE:
Where have I been?

F
LORA:
Porch! Porch! Here!

J
AKE:
Doin’ what?

F
LORA:
Jake!

J
AKE:
Doin’ what?

F
LORA:
Lemme go! Christ, Jake! Let loose! Quit twisting, you’ll break my wrist!

J
AKE:
(
laughing between his teeth
)
Doin’ what? What doin’? Since supper?

F
LORA:
(
crying out
)
How in hell do I know!

J
AKE:
‘Cause you was right here with me, all the time, for every
second! You an’ me, sweetheart, was sittin’ here together on th’ swing, just swingin’ back an’ forth every minute since supper! You got that in your haid good now?

F
LORA:
(
whimpering
)
Le’-go!

J
AKE:
Got it? In your haid good now?

F
LORA:
Yeh, yeh, yeh—leggo!

J
AKE:
What was I doin’, then?

F
LORA:
Swinging! For Christ’s sake—swingin’! (
He releases her. She whimpers and rubs her wrist but the impression is that the experience was not without pleasure for both parties. She groans and whimpers. He grips her loose curls in his hand and bends her head back. He plants a long wet kiss on her mouth.
)

F
LORA:
(
whimpering
)
Mmmm-hmmmm! Mmmm! Mmmm!

J
AKE:
(
huskily
)
Tha’s my swee’ baby girl.

F
LORA:
Mmmmm! Hurt! Hurt!

J
AKE:
Hurt?

F
LORA:
Mmmm! Hurt!

J
AKE:
Kiss?

F
LORA:
Mmmm!

J
AKE:
Good?

F
LORA:
Mmmm . . .

J
AKE:
Good! Make little room.

F
LORA:
Too hot!

J
AKE:
Go on, make little room.

F
LORA:
Mmmmm . . .

J
AKE:
Cross patch?

F
LORA:
Mmmmmm.

J
AKE:
Whose baby? Big? Sweet?

F
LORA:
Mmmmm! Hurt!

J
AKE:
Kiss! (
He lifts her wrist to his lips and makes gobbling sounds.
)

F
LORA:
(
giggling
)
Stop! Silly! Mmmm!

J
AKE:
What would I do if you was a big piece of cake?

F
LORA:
Silly.

J
AKE:
Gobble! Gobble!

F
LORA:
Oh, you—

J
AKE:
What would I do if you was angel food cake? Big white piece with lots of nice thick icin’?

F
LORA:
(
giggling
)
Quit!

J
AKE:
Gobble, gobble, gobble!

F
LORA:
(
squealing
)
Jake!

J
AKE:
Huh?

F
LORA:
You
tick-
le!

J
AKE:
Answer little question!

F
LORA:
Wh-at?

J
AKE:
Where I been since supper?

F
LORA:
Off in the Chevy! (
He instantly seizes the wrist again. She shrieks.
)

J
AKE:
Where’ve I been since supper?

F
LORA:
Po’ch! Swing!

J
AKE:
Doin’ what?

F
LORA:
Swingin'!
Oh, Christ, Jake, let loose!

J
AKE:
Hurt?

F
LORA:
Mmmmm . . .

J
AKE:
Good?

F
LORA:
(
whimpering
)
Mmmmm . . .

J
AKE:
Now you know where I been an’ what I been doin’ since supper?

F
LORA:
Yeah . . .

J
AKE:
Case anybody should ask?

F
LORA:
Who’s going to ast?

J
AKE:
Never mind who’s goin’ t’ ast, just you know the answers! Uh-huh?

F
LORA:
Uh-huh. (
lisping babyishly
)
This is where you been. Settin’ on th’ swing since we had supper. Swingin’—back an’ fo’th—back an’ fo’th. . . . You didn’ go off in th’ Chevy.
(
slowly
)
An’ you was awf’ly surprised w’en th’ syndicate fire broke out! (
Jake slaps her.
)
Jake!

J
AKE:
Everything you said is awright. But don’t you get ideas.

F
LORA:
Ideas?

J
AKE
: A woman like you’s not made to have ideas. Made to be hugged an’ squeezed!

F
LORA:
(
babyishly
)
Mmmm. . . .

J
AKE:
But not for ideas. So don’t you have ideas. (
He rises.
)
Go out an’ get in th’ Chevy.

F
LORA:
We goin to th’ fire?

J
AKE:
No
.
We ain’ goin’ no fire. We goin’ in town an’ get us a case a dopes because we’re hot an’ thirsty.

F
LORA:
(
vaguely, as she rises
)
I lost m’ white—kid—purse . . .

J
AKE:
It’s on the seat of th’ Chevy whe’ you left it.

F
LORA:
Whe’
you
goin’?

J
AKE:
I’m goin in t’ th’ toilet. I’ll be right out. (
He goes inside, letting the screen door slam. Flora shuffles to the edge of the steps and stands there with a slight idiotic smile. She begins to descend, letting herself down each time with the same foot, like a child just learning to walk. She stops at the bottom of the steps and stares at the sky, vacantly and raptly, her fingers closing gently around the bruised wrist. Jake can be heard singing inside.
)

‘My baby don’ care fo’ rings

or other expensive things—

My baby just cares—fo’—me!’

CURTAIN

S
CENE
II

It is just after noon. The sky is the color of the satin bows on the window curtains
—
a translucent, innocent blue. Heat devils are shimmering over the flat Delta country and the peaked white
front of the house is like a shrill exclamation. Jake’s gin is busy; heard like a steady pulse across the road. A delicate lint of cotton is drifting about in the atmosphere.

Jake appears, a large and purposeful man with arms like hams covered with a fuzz of fine blond hair. He is followed by Silva Vicarro who is the Superintendent of the Syndicate Plantation where the fire occurred last night. Vicarro is a rather small and wiry man of dark Latin looks and nature. He wears whipcord breeches, laced boots, and a white undershirt. He has a Roman Catholic medallion on a chain about his neck.