27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays Read Online Free PDF Page A

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. )
    CURTAIN
    S CENE III
    It is about nine o’clock the same evening. Although the sky behind the house is a dusky rose color, a full September moon of almost garish intensity gives the front of the house a ghostly brilliance. Dogs are howling like demons