# They Knew What They Wanted/Act 1

Layout 2
THE FIRST ACT
THE FIRST ACT
[The red, white, and green of Italy combine with the red, white, and blue of these United States in bunting, garlands of fluted paper, pompons, and plumes of shredded tissue, to make up a scheme of decoration which is, to say the least, violent. The picture of Garibaldi is draped with an American flag. The picture of Washington with an Italian flag. The full glare of the early morning sun streams in through door and windows.
The room is fairly littered with boxes. Atop one of these, from which it has just been extracted, stands a handsome wedding cake, surmounted by statuary representing the ideal bride and groom in full regalia under a bell. The boxes are all addressed to
Tony Patucci, R. F. D., Napa, Calif.
Ah Gee stands on a ladder on the porch outside the open entrance door, hanging Chinese lanterns. He is a silent, spare Chinaman, of age maturely indeterminate. He wears blue overalls and a black chambray shirt.
​Joe—dark, sloppy, beautiful, and young—is busyopening a packing case in the centre of the stage. His back is turned upon the door.]
Joe
[As he works, he half sings, half mutters to himself the words of “Remember,” an I. W. W. song, to the tune of “Hold the Fort.”]
“We speak to you from jail to-day, Two hundred union men, We’re here because the bosses’ laws Bring slavery again.”
[Through this the curtain rises and Father McKee is seen climbing the porch steps. He wears the sober garb of a Catholic priest, not over clean, what with dust, spots, and all. He nods to Ah Gee and comes into the doorway. He stands a moment to mop his large, pale face with a red bandana. Then he lowers lugubrious disapproval upon everything in sight. Then he yawns.
He is one of those clerics who can never mention anything except to denounce it. And his technique of denunciation is quite special to himself. It consists in a long, throaty abstention from inflexion of any kind which culminates in a vocal explosion when he reaches the accented syllable of the word upon which ​his emphasis depends. This word always seems to wake him up for an instant. Once it is spoken, however, he relapses into semi-somnolence for the remainder of his remarks. At heart, he is genial and kindly enough, quite the American counterpart of the French village curé.]
Father McKee
Hello, Joe.
Joe
Hello there, Padre. What do you think?
Father McKee
Looks to me like a bawdy house.
Joe
It’s goin’ to be some festa. . . . Lily Cups! What do you know about that for style?
Father McKee
Where’s Tony?
Joe
[Nods toward the door of the bedroom]: In there gettin’ dolled up. Hey, there, bridegroom! The Padre’s out here.
Father McKee
I come up to have a serious talk with Tony.
Joe
Well, for God’s sake, don’t get him upset no more’n what he is already. He’s been stallin’ around all mornin’, afraid to go down and meet the bride. You better leave him alone.
Father McKee
I’m always glad to have your advice, Joe. I didn’t look to find you still hangin’ ’round.
Joe
Oh, didn’t you, Padre?
Father McKee
Tony told me you’d decided to go away.
Joe
Well, Padre, I’ll tell you how it is. [He grins impudently.] I don’t believe in stayin’ any one place too long. ’Tain’t fair for me not to give the rest of California a chance at my society. But I ain’t goin’ before I seen all the fun, got Tony safely married, an’ kissed the bride. [He turns to the door and Ah Gee.] That’s fine, Ah Gee. Better take these here Lily Cups in the kitchen when you get through.
[Magnificently Tony enters from the bedroom. He is stout, floridly bronzed, sixty years old, vigorous, jovial, simple, and excitable. His great gift is for gesture. To-day we meet him in his Sunday best, a very brilliant purple suit with a more than oriental waistcoat which serves to display a stupendous gold watch chain. He wears a boiled shirt, an emerald-green tie, and a derby hat. He carries his new patent-leather shoes in his hand, He seems to be perspiring rather freely.]
Tony
Looka me! I’m da most stylish fella in da world.
Father McKee
I come up to talk to you, Tony.
Tony
I’m glad you come, Padre. How you like my clothes, eh? Costa playnta good money! [Attention is called to the shoes.] For da feet. . . .
Joe
[A motion to the wedding cake]: How’s it strike you, Tony.
Tony
Madonna! [He throws his shoes into the morris chair. His hat assumes a terrific angle. He cannot ​keep his hands off that cake.] Look, Padre! From Frisco! Special! Twelve dollar’ an’ two bits! Look! [The miniature bride and groom particularly please him.] Ees Tony an’ his Amy!
Joe
Them lanterns is Ah Gee’s personal donation.
Tony
Thank you, Ah Gee! Ees verra fine. Ah Gee, you go an’ bring vino, now, for Padre, eh? [Ah Gee obeys the order, taking the Lily Cups with him into his kitchen.]
Joe
Show some speed now, Tony. It’s past nine. T’ain’t hardly pretty to keep the bride waitin’.
Tony
[As he sits down to the struggle with his shoes]: I’m goin’ verra quick.
Father McKee
I got to have a word with you, Tony, before you go to the station.
Joe
The Padre’s been tryin’ to tell me you’re scared to have me around where I can kiss the bride.
[He picks up a couple of flags and goes outside.]
Tony
[In undisguised terror]: You ain’ goin’ be kissin’ no bride, Joe. You hear dat?
Joe
[Off stage he is heard singing]:
“We laugh and sing, we have no fear Our hearts are always light, We know that every Wobbly true Will carry on the fight.”
Tony
He’s too goddam fresh, dat fella, with kissin’ my Amy an’ all dose goddam Wobbly songs. Don’ you think so, Padre?
Father McKee
I didn’t come up here to talk about Joe, Tony. I come up to talk about this here weddin’.
Tony
I’m glad you come, Padre. I’m verra bad scare’.
Father McKee
You got good reason for bein’ scared, if you want to know what I think.
Tony
I got verra special reason.
Father McKee
What reason?
Tony
Don’ you never mind! Da’s my secret dat I don’ tell nobody. You tell Joe he go away quick, Padre. Den, maybe, ees all right.
Father McKee
So that’s it! Well, I don’t blame you for that.
Tony
[Deeply indignant at the implication]: Oh! . . . No, by God! . . . You don’ ondrastan’, Padre. Joe is like my own son to me! Ees som’thing verre different. Madonna mia! Ees som’thing I been doin’ myself. Ees som’thing Tony’s been doin’ w’at’s goin’ mak’ verra bad trouble for Tony.
Father McKee
I’ll tell Joe nothin’. You’ve made your own bed and if you won’t get off it while there’s time, you got to lie on it. But I want you to understand that I don’t like nothin’ ’bout this here weddin’. It ain’t got my approval.
Tony
[The first shoe slips on and he sits up in amazement.] You don’ like weddin’, Padre?
Father McKee
No, I don’t. An’ that’s just what I come up here to tell you. I don’t like nothin’ about it, an’ if you persist in goin’ ahead in spite of my advice, I don’t want you sayin’ afterwards that you wasn’t warned.
Tony
Dio mio! [He amplifies this with the sign of the cross. Then his confidence rather returns to him.] Aw . . . tak’ a pinch-a snuff! You mak’ me tire’, Padre! You think festa is no good for people. You padre fellas don’ know nothing. Work! Work! Work evra day! Den, by-an’-by, is comin’ festa. After festa workin’ is more easy. [He resumes the shoe problem.]
Father McKee
Tony, you know perfectly well that I ain’t got no more objection to no festa than I have to any other pomp of the flesh. But I’m your spirichool advisor an’ I been mullin’ this weddin’ over in my mind an’ I come to the conclusion that I’m agin it. I don’t like it at all. I got my reasons for what I say.
Tony
[Does the Padre guess his secret?] W’at reason you got?
Father McKee
In the first place, you ain’t got no business marryin’ no woman who ain’t a good Cath’lic.
Tony
[Immeasurable relief]: Ees no matter.
Father McKee
A mixed marriage ain’t no better’n plain livin’ in sin.
Tony
Ain’ we got you for keep’ sin away, Padre?
Father McKee
Why ain’t you marryin’ a woman out of your own parish instead of trapesin’ all the way to Frisco to pick out a heretic?
Tony
Is no good womans in dees parish.
Father McKee
What’s wrong with ’em?
Tony
Joe is sleepin’ with evra one.
Father McKee
That ain’t the point,
Tony
[Enlisting the shoe to help his gesticulation]: Oh, ees point all right, Padre. Joe is told me ’bout evrathing. I been lookin’ all ’round here at all da womans in dees parish. I been lookin’ evra place for twent’ mile. Ees no good womans for wife here. Joe is told me ’bout evra one. Den I’m gone to Napa for look all ’round dere an’ in Napa ees no better . . . ees just da same like here. So den I go down all da way to Frisco for look after wife an’ I find my Amy. She is like a rose, all wilt’, You puttin’ water on her an’ she come out most beautiful. I’m goin’ marry with my Amy, Padre, an’ I don’ marry with nobody else. She’s been tellin’ me she is no Cath’lic. I say, w’at I care? By an’ by, maybe, if we bein’ patient, we bringin’ her in da church, an’ showin’ her da candles and da Madonna, all fix up good with flowers and da big tin heart, an’ evrathing smellin’ so prett’ an’ you preachin’ verra loud an’ da music an’ evrathing, maybe . . . by an’ by. . . . [He turns again to hie shoe.] But now ees no matter. W’at I care?
Father McKee
It don’t look good to me.
Tony
Ees all right. . . . If you don’ want my Amy an’ me gettin’ married with good Cath’lic priest like you, den, by God———
Father McKee
I ain’t said I wouldn’t marry you.
Tony
Eh bene!
Father McKee
I’m only tryin’ to tell you. . . .
Tony
Ahi! Dio mio. . . . [The shoe goes on, producing intense pain.] He look much better as he feel!
Father McKee
There ain’t no good in no old man marryin’ with no young woman.
Tony
You think anybody marry with old woman? Tak’ a pinch-a snuff!
Father McKee
I know one old man who married a young woman an’ she carried on with a stage driver!
Tony
Dio mio!
Father McKee
He had knowed her all her life, too, an’ you ain’t knowed your Amy more’n ’bout five minutes.
Tony
Ees no matter.
Father McKee
An’ I knew another fellow who married one of them city girls like your Amy without bein’ properly acquainted an’ she turned out to be a scarlet woman.
Tony
My Amy don’ do dat.
[Ah Gee enters from kitchen with two glasses and a bottle of wine.]
Father McKee
Ain’t you just now been tellin’ me you’re scared of her seein’ Joe?
Tony
No, by God!
Father McKee
Joe ain’t the only young fellow around, either!
Tony
Young fellas is no matter. Only Joe. An’ I ain’ scare’ over Joe excep’ for special reason. You tell Joe, Padre . . . [He is returning to his old subject, but the wine distracts him.] Ah-h-h!
Father McKee
Why didn’t you get married forty years ago?
Tony
I think you know verra good w’y. Ees because I’m no dam’ fool. . . . W’en I’m young, I got nothing. I’m broke all da time, you remember? I got no money for havin’ wife. I don’ want no wife for mak’ her work all da time. Da’s no good, dat. Da’s mak’ her no more young, no more prett’, Evrabody say Tony is crazy for no’ havin’ wife. I say Tony is no dam’ fool. W’at is happen? Pro’ibish’ is com’. Salute! [A glass of wine. Ah Gee has returned to his kitchen.] An’ w’at I say? I say, “Ees dam’ fool law. Ees dam’ fool fellas fer bein’ scare’ an’ pullin’ up da grape’ for tryin’ growin’ som’thing different.” Wat I’m doin’? I’m keep the grape, eh? I say, “I ​come in dees country for growin’ da grape! God mak’ dees country for growin’ da grape! Ees not for pro’ibish’ God mak’ dees country. Ees for growin’ da grape! Ees true? Sure ees true! [Another glass of wine.] An’ w’at happen? Before pro’ibish’ I sell my grape’ for ten, maybe twelve dollar’ da ton. Now I sell my grape’ some’time one hundra dollar’ da ton. Pro’ibish’ is mak’ me verra rich. [Another glass of wine.] I got my fine house, I got Joe for bein’ foreman. I got two men for helpin’ Joe. I got one Chink for cook. I got one Ford car. I got all I want, evrathing, excep only wife. Now I’m goin’ have wife. Verra nice an’ young an’ fat. Not for work. No! For sit an’ holdin’ da hands and havin’ kids. Three kids. [He demonstrates the altitude of each.] Antonio . . . Giuseppe . . . Anna. . . Da’s like trees an’ cows an’ all good peoples. Da’s fine for God an’ evrabody! I tell you, Padre, Tony know w’at he want!
Father McKee
Whatever made you think a man of your age could have children? [This staggers Tony.] I tell you, Tony, it ain’t possible.
Tony
Eh? Tony is too old for havin’ kids? I tell you, Tony can have twent’ kids if he want! I tell you ​Tony can have kids w’en he is one hundra year’ old. Dio mio! From da sole of his feet to da top of his hat, Tony is big, strong man! I think I ondrastan’ you verra good, Padre. Tony is not too old for havin’ kids. He’s too rich, eh? [This rather strikes home.] Yah! Tony is rich an’, if he don’ have no kids, den da church is gettin’ all Tony’s money an’ da Padre is gettin’ Tony’s fine house all fix’ up good for livin’ in, eh?
Father McKee
[A very severe shepherd]: Tony!
Tony
[The horns of the devil with his fingers]: Don’ you go for puttin’ no evil eye on Tony an’ his Amy!
Father McKee
You’re givin’ way to ignorant superstition, which ain’t right in no good Cath’lic.
Tony
[On his feet in a panic]: Dio mio! My Amy is comin’ on dat train an’ here you keep me, sittin’, talkin’. . . .
Father McKee
You irreverent old lunatic, you, if you’re bent on marryin’, I’ll marry you. [Joe reappears in the ​doorway.] But I don’t want you comin’ around afterwards squawkin’ about it.
Tony
Eh, Joe! Da Padre don’ want me gettin’ marry with my Amy because he’s scare’ da church don’ never get my money!
Joe
For cripe’s sake, Tony, ain’t you heard that whistle?
Tony
I go! I go!
Joe
Train’s in now.
Tony
Porco Dio! Ah Gee!
Joe
Fix your tie.
Tony
I fix. . . .
[Ah Gee comes from the kitchen for his master’s order.]
Un altro fiasco.
[Ah Gee returns to the kitchen.]
Joe
You won’t make no hit if you’re drunk, Tony.
Tony
Not drunk, Joe. Only scare’. Verra bad scare’.
Joe
Bridegrooms is always scared.
Tony
Jes’ Chris’, maybe I’m sick!
Joe
No!
Tony
Santa Maria, I am sick!
Joe
What’s wrong with you?
Tony
I don’ know! I’m sick! I’m sick! I’m sick!
[Ah Gee returns with the wine bottle refilled. Tony seeks prompt solace. {Ah Gee goes back to his kitchen.]
Joe
You’ll be a helluva sight sicker if you don’t lay off that stuff.
Tony
I canno’ go for get my Amy, Joe. I canno’ go. . . .
Joe
All right. I’ll go. . . .
Tony
Oh, by God! No! NO!
Joe
Tony, if you drive the Ford down the hill in this state of mind you’ll break your dam’ neck.
Tony
[More solace]: I feel good now. I drive fine. I don’ want nobody for go for my Amy but only me. . . . [Then he weakens again.] Joe, I’m scare’, I’m scare’, I’m scare’!
Joe
What you scared of, Tony?
Tony
Maybe my Amy . . .
Joe
Come on, beat it!
Tony
I feel good now an’ I don’ want nobody for go for my Amy but only me. You bet! [He starts.]
Joe
That’s the boy!
Tony
[Another relapse]: Joe, you don’ get mad if I ask you som’thing? I got verra good reason, Joe . . . Joe . . . how soon you goin’ away, Joe?
Joe
You don’t want me to go, do you?
Tony
I think ees much better.
Joe
What’s the idea, Tony?
Tony
Joe . . . som’thing is happen’, da’s all. . . . You go, Joe, I been tryin’ for three days for ask you dees, Joe, an’ I been scare’ you get mad. I pay you double extra for goin’ to-day, for goin’ now, eh? Joe? Verra quick?
Joe
An’ miss the festa? Like hell!
Tony
Joe, you don’ ondrastan’. . . .
Joe
Forget it, Tony.
Tony
Joe. . . .
Joe
If you keep her waitin’, she’ll go back to Frisco.
Tony
Dio mio! [He goes to the door and turns yet once again.] Joe . . .? [He catches Father McKee’s eye.] Som’thing verra bad is goin’ happen with Tony. . . . Clean evrathing clean before my Amy come.
[He is really gone. Joe follows him out and stands on the porch looking after him. A Ford motor roars and dies away into high speed.]
Father McKee
[At the window]: Look at him!
Joe
He could drive that Ford in his sleep.
Father McKee
I don’t hold with no old man gallivantin’.
Joe
Don’t you fret, Padre. Didn’t I tell you not to get him all worked up?
[This ruffles the good priest who makes to follow Tony. Joe intercepts him and forces him back into the room.]
Father McKee
Well?
Joe
Sit down a minute, You been tellin’ Tony what you think. Now I got some tellin’ to do.
Father McKee
Have you, indeed? Well, I don’t see no good———
Joe
Maybe I don’t see much good, but what the hell!
Father McKee
Young man! That’s the pernicious doctrine of Lacey Fairey.
Joe
What’s that?
Father McKee
A French expression meanin’ “Sufficient unto the day.”
Joe
What of it? If folks is bent on makin’ mistakes, an’ you can’t stop ’em, let ’em go ahead, that’s what I say. I don’t want nobody hatin’ my guts for bein’ too dam’ right all the time, see? Not bein’ a priest, I aim to get along with folks. ‘That way, when they’re in wrong, I can be some use.
Father McKee
That ain’t in accord with the teachin’s of Jesus.
Joe
A helluva lot you an’ me know about the teachin’s of Jesus!
Father McKee
Joe, if you ain’t goin’ to be rev’rent . . .
Joe
I’m talkin’ now.
Father McKee
Oh, are you?
Joe
Yeah, I wouldn’t have no harm come to Tony, not for anything in the world, see? An’ I been agitatin’ against this weddin’ a lot longer’n you have an’ I know what it’s all about, see? I’m here goin’ on five months, now, an’ that’s longer’n I ever stayed any one place.
Father McKee
Is it?
Joe
Excep’ once in jail, it is. An’ I been lookin’ after Tony all the time since I come here. I come in to bum a meal an’ I stayed five months. Five months I been workin’ for Tony an’ lookin’ after him and he’s treated me dam’ good an’ that’s God’s truth. I wouldn’t have worked that long for him if he hadn’t treated me dam’ good, either. I ain’t none too strong for stayin’ put, you know. I like to move an’ now I’m goin’ to move. I’m what the papers call a “unskilled migratory” an’ I got to migrate, see? Tony wants me to go an’ I want to go. But, what I want to know is: who’s goin’ to look after Tony when I’m gone?
Father McKee
Ain’t that his wife’s place?
Joe
Sure it’s his wife’s place. But suppose this weddin’ don’t turn out so good? Are you goin’ to look out for him?
Father McKee
Ain’t Tony my spirachool charge an’ responsibility?
Joe
All right! An’ I ain’t so sure you’re goin’ to have much trouble, either. Amy looks to me like a fair to middlin’ smart kid an’ she knows what she’s in for, too.
Father McKee
You seem to be well informed, Joe! Do you happen to know the lady?
Joe
I ain’t never laid eyes on her. [Then the implication percolates.] Oh, I may go chasin’ women plenty, but I don’t chase Tony’s wife, see? An’ I ain’t fixin’ to, neither. Just get that straight.
Father McKee
I’m glad to hear it, Joe.
Joe
But I happen to know about her. Didn’t I have to write all Tony’s letters for him? You wouldn’t ex​pect Tony to be writin’ to no lady with his education,would you?
Father McKee
No, I can’t say that I would.
Joe
Why, I even had to read him the letters she wrote back. That’s how I got my dope. An’ what I say is: she’s got plenty of sense. Don’t you fool yourself she hasn’t. I’ll show you. [He goes to the chest of drawers for some letters and photographs. He brings them back to the Padre.] You can see for yourself. [And he submits Exhibit A—a letter.] Tony goes to Frisco lookin’ for a wife, see? The nut! An’ he finds Amy waitin’ on table in a spaghetti joint. Joint’s called “Il Trovatore.” Can you beat it? He ain’t even got the nerve to speak to her. He don’t even go back to see her again. He just falls for her, gets her name from the boss an’ comes home an’ makes me write her a letter proposin’ marriage. That’s her answer.
Father McKee
It’s good clear writin’. It’s a good letter. It looks like she’s got more character’n what I thought. But, just the same, it ain’t no way to conduct a courtship,
Joe
There’s worse ways.
Father McKee
She says she likes the letter you wrote.
Joe
The second time I wrote, I told her all about the farm an’ just how she was goin’ to be fixed. Oh, I was careful not to say nothin’ about Tony’s money. Only the Ford. I thought she ought to know about the Ford. [He hands the second letter over.] An’ she wrote this one back.
Father McKee
She likes the country, does she? She wants Tony’s photo.
Joe
Say, you ought to have seen Tony gettin’ his face shot! By God! It took me a whole week to talk him into it. An’ when I did get him down there—you know that place across from the depot?—dam’ if he wasn’t scared right out of his pants!
Father McKee
By what?
Joe
By the camera! Would you believe it? We had to clamp him into the chair, both of us, the photogra​pher an’ me! You ought to have seen that wop sweat! And when we try to point the machine at him, he gives a yell you could hear a block an’ runs right out in the street!
Father McKee
No!
Joe
I couldn’t get him back, only I promised to let the guy shoot me first. They was some pictures! Tony’s [He hands a specimen to the Padre.] sure looks like him, but she must have seen somethin’ in it, because she sent hers right back. [He studies Amy’s photograph for a moment before submitting it.] Here. Not bad, huh?
Father McKee
[A long and very pleased contemplation]: There ain’t no explainin’ women! [He returns the photograph.] Do you think she’s straight, Joe?
Joe
What the hell! If she ain’t, she wants to be. That’s the main thing.
Father McKee
Maybe it won’t turn out so bad, after all. There’s always this about life: no man don’t never get every​thing he sets out to get, but half the time he don’t never find out he ain’t got it.
Joe
Oh, if you’re goin’ off on that tack!
Father McKee
It’s the tack life travels on, with the help of Almighty God.
Joe
What the hell! Life ain’t so bad.
Father McKee
I’m delighted to hear you say so!
Joe
[He has returned the exhibits to the drawer.] I never put over anything half so good myself!
Father McKee
Do you think Tony’s goin’ to put it over?
Joe
Wait and see.
Father McKee
Well, I don’t know how I can approve of this weddin’, but I’m willin’ to give it the benefit of my sanc​tion an’ to do all I can to help it along an’ look out for Tony. Does that satisfy you? . . . Just the same, I don’t believe in unnecessary chances, Joe. Pull along out of here like Tony asked you to.
Joe
Say, you make me sore! Why, anybody ’ud think, to hear you talk, that I’m all set to . . .
[The R. F. D. has appeared on the porch. He carries a dusty coat on his arm, and wipes the sweat from his brow with his blue handkerchief. He wears a gray flannel shirt, old trousers hitched to suspenders that are none too secure. His badge is his only sign of office. He is an eager, tobacco-chewing old countryman.]
The R. F. D.
Hey, Tony! Tony! [As he reaches the door] Where’s Tony? ’Mornin’, Padre.
Joe
Tony’s gone to town. You’re early.
The R. F. D.
That’s more’n Tony is. I got to get his signature on a piece of registered mail.
Joe
What is it?
The R. F. D.
It’s his wife. [Joe and the Priest rise astonished.] Sure! I got her outside in the buckboard an’ she’s madder’n hell because Tony didn’t meet her. She’s some girl, too. I never heard the beat!. Lands a girl like that an’ don’t even take the trouble to——— [The other two are already at the windows.]
Joe
Where’d you find her?
The R. F. D.
I finds her pacin’ up and down the platform an’ I gives her a lift. I sure do hate to see a good-lookin’ girl cry—an’ she sure was cryin’. I reckoned Tony couldn’t get the Ford started so———
Father McKee
He went down all right. I wonder what happened to him?
Joe
He must have took the short cut.
Father McKee
Didn’t you pass him?
Joe
I knew I ought to have went instead.
Father McKee
He wasn’t in no condition.
The R. F. D.
I’ll have a look on my way back.
Joe
What are we goin’ to do with her?
The R. F. D.
Ask her in.
Joe
Ah Gee! [He goes out, calling:] Giorgio! Angelo!
[The R. F. D. follows him. Ah Gee comes from his kitchen and evinces some confusion, but does not hold back from the summons. Father McKee arranges his costume and goes out last. The stage remains empty for a moment. A babble of voices is heard, voices that speak both English and Italian. Joe is heard shouting:]
Lend a hand with that trunk!
Amy’s Voice
How do you do? I’m pleased to meet you. I certainly had some time getting here. I certainly expected somebody would meet me at the station.
Father McKee’s Voice
The old man left all right.
Joe’s Voice
He started a little too late.
The R. F. D.’s Voice
I’ll have a look for him.
[The rest is lost in a babble of Italian as Amy comes on to the porch and the others follow her, not the least among them being the two Italian hands, Giorgio and Angelo whose volubility subsides only as Amy enters the room.
As for Amy, she is all that Tony said of her and much more. She wears a pretty dress, new, ready-made, and inexpensive, and a charming and equally cheap hat. Her shoes are bright coloured and her handbag matches them. But her own loveliness is quite beyond belief. She is small and plump and vivid and her golden hair shimmers about her face like morning sunshine. She herself shines with an inner, constitutional energy. Her look is, to be sure, just a little tired. She probably is not more than twenty-two or -three, but she seems older. Her great quality is definiteness. It lends pathos to her whole personality. At the moment, her vanity is piqued by Tony’s remissness and she carries matters with a hand a little too high to be ​entirely convincing. She ts embarrassed, of course, but she won’t admit it.]
Amy
[As she enters]: I must say it ain’t my idea of the way a gentleman ought to welcome his blooming bride. I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all. What was the matter?
Joe
Why, nothin’.
Father McKee
He was scared.
Amy
Scared of me? Why didn’t you come yourself?
Joe
I wanted to, but . . .
Amy
[The decorations have caught her eye.] Say, did you folks go and do all this for the wedding?
Joe
Sure we did.
Amy
Well, if that ain’t the cutest ever! A regular wop wedding! Excuse me. I meant Italian. [The “I” is long.]
Joe
That’s all right.
Amy
And here’s the priest, too, all set and ready. Say! I can see right now I’m going to like it here.
Joe
I don’t guess nobody’s goin’ to kick at that.
Amy
All right, then, I’ll forgive you. That’s the way I am. Forgive and forget! I always believe in letting bygones be bygones. And down at the station I was thinking: Well, if they ain’t got enough sense of politeness to come after the bride, I’m going to hop the very next train back to Frisco. I’d have done it, too, only—would you believe it?—I didn’t have the price of a ticket! I spent the last cent I had on this hat. Say, when I remembered that, maybe I didn’t cry! That’s what I was crying over when you come up. [This last to the R. F. D.; otherwise her eyes have scarcely left Joe’s face.]
The R. F. D.
Pleased to have been of service, ma’am.
Amy
Well, you certainly was of service. But here I am alive and well, as they say, so I guess we don’t need to fuss about that any more. I guess I’ll sit down. [She does so.]
Joe
Here’s the cook an’ the hands to pay their respects.
Angelo
[A deep obeisance to Amy}] Eh, la nostra padrona! Tanti auguri, cara Signora, e buona festa! Come sta? Ha fatto buon viaggio? [Here Giorgio adds his voice.]
Joe
Hey, that’s enough!
Amy
Now, that was very nice of them. I liked every word they said. I guess I better study up on the lingo. All I know is words like spaghetti and raviole. . . .
Angelo and Giorgio
[Sotto voce]: Ah! La Signora parla Italiano!
Amy
. . . I guess you got plenty of that around. Well, you can’t make me mad. I just love it. [Then she sees Ah Gee’s ceremonious obeisance.] How do you do? Are you the cook?
Ah Gee
Yea, missy. Velly good cook!
Amy
Say! I didn’t know I drew a chef. You didn’t tell me. [Ah Gee takes himself off.] Say, my baggage is out there.
Joe
All right boys, lend a hand.
[Angelo and Giorgio go down the steps.]
Amy
Ii you don’t mind I’ll just keep an eye on them. My wedding dress is in that trunk. I bet you didn’t expect me to bring a wedding dress. Well, I didn’t expect to, myself. And I don’t know why I did. But I did! I just blew myself. I said: “You only get married once” and—I got a veil, too. I got the whole works. [She hears her trunk en route.] Go easy there! [She is out on the porch.]
The R. F. D.
Well, that’s her.
Joe
[As he goes to help]: She ain’t bad.
Father McKee
No, she ain’t half bad.
Amy
[Calling down]: Not upside down! Be careful, can’t you?
The R. F. D.
I don’t hold much with city girls myself, but———
Joe
[Calling down]: Careful boys! Look out for that vine! Gimme the grip.
Father McKee
Oh, she’s above the average.
The R. F. D.
[Nudging him]: Do you think she . . . ?
Father McKee
I wouldn’t hardly like to say off-hand, but . . .
The R. F. D.
I wouldn’t think so.
Father McKee
Joe, do you think she . . . ?
Joe
No. Not her. Not on your life.
[He puts grip down inside the bedroom door. At the same time Angelo and Giorgio carry in Amy’s pathetic little trunk, which they take into the bedroom.]
The R. F. D.
Well, I got my deliveries.
Father McKee
I’ll come along with you. You stay here an’ keep things conversational, Joe.
Joe
No! I’ll come, too.
The R. F. D.
Till the groom turns up, Joe. You don’t want her to get all upset again, do you?
Father McKee
[As Amy comes along the porch to the door]: Shh! Don’t get her worryin’.
Amy
[In the doorway, finishing the feminine touch of powder to the nose]: I thought a little of this wouldn’t make me any harder to look at.
The R. F. D.
We’ll have to be movin’ on, ma’am.
Father McKee
Yes.
Amy
[Shaking hands with him]: I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance.
The R. F. D.
I hope to have the pleasure soon again.
Amy
Why, ain’t you coming to the wedding?
The R. F. D.
Sure I am, if I’m invited.
Amy
I’ll never forgive you, if you don’t. And I certainly want to thank you for the lift. [A handshake to him.] Thank you. . . . Good-bye. . . . Good-bye. . . .
The R. F. D.
Good-bye, ma’am.
[He shuffles out. Joe starts to follow.]
Amy
You ain’t going, too?
Joe
Well, I———
The R. F. D.
[Through the window]: Just the Padre an’ me.
Father McKee
[As he goes, to Joe]: We’ll send him right up.
The R. F. D.
[As they disappear]: Good-bye, ma’am.
Amy
Good-bye. See you later. [Awkward silence.] I ain’t sorry they went. I think they ought to have done it sooner and left us to get acquainted. They got me all fussed up staring that way. I just couldn’t think of what to say next. A girl gets kind of fussed, coming off like this to marry a man she ain’t never seen. I was a mile up in the air. I—I guess I must have sounded kind of fresh. I wouldn’t want you to think I was fresh.
Joe
I didn’t.
Amy
I’m glad you didn’t. You know, I like it up here already. You got it fixed up so cute and—[She discovers the cake.] and that. . . . It was awful nice of you to think of that. And the view! Is them all vines?
Joe
Yeah. . . .
[An awkward pause.]
Amy
It certainly is a pretty sight. Coming up I could taste the wind way down inside me. It made me think of where I used to live.
Joe
Where was that?
Amy
In the Santa Clara. You know, I wrote you.
Joe
Oh, yeah. In the Santa Clara. I forgot.
Amy
We had a big place in the Santa Clara. Prunes and apricots. Ninety acres in prunes and fifty in apricots. . . . [Again an awkward silence.] I guess I’ll sit down. [She does so.] There ought to have been good money in prunes and apricots. But the prunes didn’t do so good and the apricots got the leaf curl.
Joe
You’re quite a farmer.
Amy
My old man was, but he got to drinking.
Joe
That’s bad.
Amy
So we lost if after my mother died. But I used to love it there. In the spring, when the blossoms was out, I used to climb up on the windmill at night, when there was a moon. You never saw such a pretty sight as them blossoms in the moonlight. You could see for miles and miles all round—for miles and miles.
Joe
It must have been pretty.
[Awkward pause.]
Amy
Ever been in the Santa Clara?
Joe
Sure. I worked there before I come here.
Amy
Where did you work?
Joe
Near Mountain View. I forget the guy’s name.
Amy
I went to school in Mountain View. Our place was near there. Ever know Father O’Donnell?
Joe
No.
Amy
Thought you might have, being a Catholic and all.
Joe
I was organizer there for the Wobblies.
Amy
The Wobblies?
Joe
I. W. W.
Amy
Say! You ain’t one of them?
Joe
I used to be.
Amy
I sure am glad you gave that up. You don’t talk one bit like an Italian.
Joe
I ain’t. Only by descent. I was born in Frisco.
Amy
Oh, in Frisco? I see. . . . I’m Swiss by descent myself. My father was born in Switzerland and my grandfather, on my mother’s side, he was born there, too. I don’t know what that makes me—Swiss cheese, I guess. . . . [She laughs. Joe does not. This crushes her and there is another awkward gap.] Our old house in the Santa Clara was bigger than this one, but it wasn’t near so pretty. I must say you keep this house nice and clean for having no woman around. Our house got awful dirty toward the end. You see, my mother got to drinking, too. Hard stuff, you know. I got nothing against beer or vino, but the hard stuff don’t do nobody any good. . . . That how you stand on prohibition?
Joe
Sure, I guess so.
Amy
I’m glad to hear that. I sure am. I don’t want no more experience with the hard stuff. . . . That certainly is some view. Got the Santa Clara beat a mile. The Santa Clara’s so flat. You couldn’t get no view at all unless you climbed up on that windmill ​like I told you about. . . . Our old house had a cellar. Has this house got a cellar?
Joe
Sure, it has. Underneath the whole house.
[She goes to the cellar door to see.]
Amy
I used to hide in our cellar when things got too rough upstairs. You could hear the feet running around over your head, but they never come down in the cellar after me because there was a ladder, and when you’re that way you don’t care much for ladders. . . . They always took it out on me.
Joe
Did they?
Amy
Yeah. I always had the cellar though. I used to play down there hot days. It smelt like apricots.
Joe
Our cellar smells like hell. It’s full of vino.
Amy
That’s a nice clean smell. It’s sour, but it’s healthy.
Joe
You’re a regular wop, ain’t you?
Amy
Well, after two years in a spaghetti joint! I like Italians. They always left me alone. I guess it wouldn’t have done ’em much good getting fresh with me, at that. . . . Say, I’m getting pretty confidential.
Joe
Go right ahead.
Amy
All right. . . . I guess I ain’t got much reason for being shy with you, at that. I wouldn’t never have said I was going to marry an Italian, though. But I guess I just jumped at the chance. I got so tired of things. Oh, everything! I used to think I just couldn’t keep on any longer.
Joe
Poor kid!
Amy
Oh, I usually know which side my bread’s buttered on, I just said to myself: “He looks all right and I like the country and anyway it can’t be no worse than this.” And I said: “Why shouldn’t I take a chance? ​He’s taking just as much of a chance on me as I am on him.”
Joe
That’s fair enough.
Amy
Sure it is. And—maybe I hadn’t ought to say it—but when I come in here and seen all you done, fixing things up for the wedding and all, and looked out the window, and smelt that wind, I said to myself, I said: “Amy, old kid, you’re in gravy.” Now, what do you think of that for an admission?
Joe
You’re dead right. That’s just what I said when I come here. I only intended to stay a few days. I’m that way, see? I been here goin’ on five months now.
Amy
Is that all?
Joe
That’s the longest I ever stayed any one place since I was old enough to dress myself.
Amy
You have been a rover!
Joe
I been all over—with the Wobblies, you see. Before I come here, that is.
Amy
What did you used to do?
Joe
Cherries an’ hops—melons down in the Imperial an’ oranges down South an’ the railroad an’ the oilfields. . . . Before I come here. When I come here I just stayed. Maybe I was gettin’ tired of bummin’. Now I’m tired of this. But I don’t mind.
Amy
Well, don’t get too tired of it. I’m net a bit strong for moving myself. I had all I want of that in my time.
Joe
I guess you have.
Amy
I wonder what you think of me coming all the way up here like I did, all by myself, to marry a man I ain’t never seen, only his photograph.
Joe
You couldn’t have picked a better man.
Amy
Say! Don’t get a swelled head, will you?
Joe
Who, me?
Amy
Oh, no, nobody! [Ah Gee passes along the porch.] I hope you’re right that’s all. And I guess you are, at that. And believe me, if I thought this wasn’t a permanent offer, I wouldn’t be here. I mean business. I hope you do.
Joe
Me?
Amy
Well, I certainly ain’t referring to the Chink.
Joe
Say, who do you think . . . ?
Amy
[Touching his sleeve with a kind of gentle diffidence which is her first attempt at intimacy]: Don’t get sore. The minute I came in I knew I was all right. I am. Why, I feel just as comfortable as if we was old friends. There don’t seem to be anything strange in me being here like I am. Not now, anyhow. It just ​goes to show you: you never can tell how things is going to turn out. Why, if a fortune-teller had told me that I would come up here like I did, do you know what I would have said to her? I’d have said, “You’re no fortune-teller.” Life sure is funny, though. It’s lucky for me I can say that now and laugh when I say it. I ain’t always been so good at laughing. I guess we’ll get used to each other in time. Don’t you think we will, Tony?
Joe
Tony? Say, I ain’t . . ! Oh, Jesus!
[His words are lost in the roar of a Ford motor as it approaches, and the motor, in turn, is drowned in wild cries of dismay from Giorgio and Angelo. The tension between the two in the room is broken by the excited entrance of Ah Gee, who has evidently seen, from his kitchen window, the cause of disturbance.]
Father McKee
[Calling from off stage]: Joe! Joe!
Joe
[Following Ah Gee toward the door]: What is it? [From the porch he see what it is.] What——— Is he dead? . . . Take that bench!
[He disappears in the direction of the disturbance which continues in both English and Italian.]
Amy
What’s the matter? Is somebody hurt?
[The Doctor, with his fedora hat and his little black satchel, appears. He is the perfect young rural medico, just out of medical school and full of learned importance.]
The Doctor
I’ll get the ambulance.
Joe
[Following him in]: Is he bad, Doc?
The Doctor
[As he goes into the bedroom]: Both legs above the knee—compound fractures.
Joe
Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?
The R. F. D.
[As he enters]: The Ford went right off the bridge.
Father McKee
[As he enters]: Not two hundred yards from here, Joe.
The R. F. D.
Must have fell twenty feet!
Father McKee
Never seen such a wreck! [To Amy]: We found him lyin’ in two feet of water. The car was turned right upside down.
Amy
But who is it? I don’t get it. I don’t know what’s happened.
Father McKee
Two broken legs, that’s what’s happened.
The Doctor
[He reappears in his shirt sleeves.] Better lend a hand, Joe!
[He vanishes again. Giorgio and Angelo appear, carrying the bench and apostrophizing the deity in Italian. Tony is recumbent and unconscious on this improvised stretcher. Much “steady” from Joe. Much “There now, Tony” from the R. F. D. Much and prolonged groaning from Tony.]
Joe
[As the bench is set down]: All right now, Tony.
Tony
[Reviving]: AH-h-h! . . . Ees you, Joe?
Joe
Yeah, It’s me. Amy’s here.
Tony
Amy? Ees all right, Joe? You been makin’ evrathing all right?
Joe
Sure. Everything’s fine.
Tony
Were is my Amy? [He sees her where she stands dumbfounded against the wall.] Ah-h-h, Amy! . . . Amy, don’ be standin’ way off dere! Come over here for shake hands. [Amy shakes her head.] You ain’ mad with me, Amy? . . . [Amy shakes her head again.] Amy ain’ mad with me, Joe?
Joe
Nobody’s mad. . . . Don’t you worry. . . .
Tony
Den we have da weddin’ just da same? We have da weddin’ just da same?
[The Doctor appears in the bedroom doorway, holding a hypodermic.]
Joe
Sure, we will.
The Doctor
All right, boys, bring him in. I want to give him another one of these and clean up his cuts.
Joe
Come on now, boys! Avanti! Careful there!
Tony
Amy! . . . Amy! . . .
[The jar of movement hurts him. He breaks down into groans and is carried into the bedroom. All others go with him except Joe and Amy.]
Joe
[As he starts to go, a strangled sound from Amy arrests him. He turns and meets her gaze. He closes the door.] This is tough on you.
Amy
[Almost voiceless with her terrible surmise]: Who—who is that old guy?
Joe
That? That’s Tony. . . .
Amy
Tony?
Joe
It’s too bad he never got to meet you. It’s too bad he wasn’t here when you come. [Amy sways desperately a moment, then, with a choked cry, makes for the bedroom.] You can’t go in there.
Amy
I want my trunk.
Joe
Now, listen! It ain’t Tony’s fault he’s had an accident. . . .
Amy
Of all the dirty, low-down tricks that was ever played on a girl!
Joe
An’ it ain’t his fault you made a little mistake.
Amy
What do you think you are—a bunch of Houdinis? [She tears open her handbag which she put down on the table at her first entrance and produces a photograph.] Is this your photo or isn’t it?
Joe
[In amazement]: Where did you get it?
Amy
Where do you think I got it?
Joe
Good God, Tony didn’t send you this, did he? For God’s sake, tell me! Did Tony send you this?
Amy
Ain’t I just told you?
Joe
By God, he must have been plumb crazy! By God, he was so dead gone on you he was afraid you wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with an old man like him. . . . He didn’t have the nerve. . . . An’ he just went an’ sent you my photo instead of his. . . . Tony’s like that, Amy. He ain’t nothing but a kid. He’s like a puppy, Tony is. Honest, Amy, it’s God’s truth I’m telling you. . . . I wouldn’t have had nothin’ to do with no such thing. Honest I wouldn’t. I did write the letters for him, but that was only because he don’t write good English like I do.
Amy
That ain’t no excuse.
Joe
But there wasn’t one word in them letters that wasn’t God’s own truth. I never knew nothin’ about this photo, though. Honest to God, I never! An’ Tony never meant no harm neither, Amy. Honest he never. An’ he’s been after me to beat it, too. Every day he has. . . . Sure it was a dirty trick an’ he was crazy to think he could get away with it. I ain’t denyin’ it’s the dirtiest trick I ever heard of. . . . Only he didn’t mean no harm.
Amy
Oh, didn’t he? Well, how about my feelings? How about me?
Joe
I’ll do everything I can to square it. I’ll drive you right down to the station now, and you can hop the first train back.
Amy
Oh, can I? And what do you expect me to do when I get there? Ain’t I thrown up my job there? Do you think jobs is easy for a girl to get? And ain’t I spent every cent I had on my trousseau?
Joe
I’ll make Tony square it.
Amy
Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I got to go back and wait on table! What’ll all those girls say when they see me? And I ain’t even got the price of my ticket!
Joe
We can fix that.
Amy
I’ll get a lawyer, I will! I wish to God I hadn’t never heard of no wops!
Joe
Don’t start cryin’. [He tries to comfort, her.]
Amy
You take your hands off me and get my things.
Joe
All right. . . .
[He looks at her a moment, his distress quite evident. Then he gives it up and goes into the bedroom. As he opens the door, the Doctor and Tony are audible. He closes the door after him.
Amy picks up the few belongings she has left about the room. She stands a moment holding them, looking about her, at the four walls, at the country outside.
​Then her eye falls upon Joe’s photograph which still lies, face-up, on the table. She takes it in her hand and looks at it. Mechanically she makes as though to put it into the bosom of her dress. She changes her mind, drops it on the table and looks around her again.
She seems to reach a decision. Her face sets and she pushes the photograph vigorously away from her. Joe returns with her satchel.]
Joe
The doc’s give him something to make him sleep. They’re goin’ to get an ambulance an’ take him to the hospital. We can take the doc’s Ford an? . . . It’s a shame, but . . .
Amy
I ain’t going.
Joe
What?
Amy
No, I ain’t going. Why should I go? I like the country. This place suits me all right. It’s just what I was looking for. I’m here and I might as well stick, I guess he ain’t so bad, at that. I guess I ​could have done a lot worse. If he wants to marry me, I’m game. I’m game to see it through It’s nice up here.
[She pulls off her hat and sits, exhausted. Joe stares in mute admiration as the curtain fails.]