Anna Christie (2 of 34)

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ACT I (CONT'D)

CHRIS--Hello, Yohnny! Have drink on me. Come on, Larry. Give us drink. Have one yourself. [Putting his hand in his pocket.] Ay gat money--plenty money.

JOHNNY--[Shakes CHRIS by the hand.] Speak of the devil. We was just talkin' about you.

LARRY--[Coming to the end of the bar.] Hello, Chris. Put it there. [They shake hands.]

CHRIS--[Beaming.] Give us drink.

JOHNNY--[With a grin.] You got a half-snootful now. Where'd you get it?

CHRIS--[Grinning.] Oder fallar on oder barge--Irish fallar--he gat bottle vhiskey and we drank it, yust us two. Dot vhiskey gat kick, by yingo! Ay yust come ashore. Give us drink, Larry. Ay vas little drunk, not much. Yust feel good. [He laughs and commences to sing in a nasal, high-pitched quaver.]

"My Yosephine, come board de ship. Long time Ay
vait for you.
De moon, she shi-i-i-ine. She looka yust like you.
Tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee."

[To the accompaniment of this last he waves his hand as if he were conducting an orchestra.]

JOHNNY--[With a laugh.] Same old Yosie, eh, Chris?

CHRIS--You don't know good song when you hear him. Italian fallar on oder barge, he learn me dat. Give us drink. [He throws change on the bar.]

LARRY--[With a professional air.] What's your pleasure, gentlemen?

JOHNNY--Small beer, Larry.

CHRIS--Vhiskey--Number Two.

LARRY--[As he gets their drinks.] I'll take a cigar on you.

CHRIS--[Lifting his glass.] Skoal! [He drinks.]

JOHNNY--Drink hearty.

CHRIS--[Immediately.] Have oder drink.

JOHNNY--No. Some other time. Got to go home now. So you've just landed? Where are you in from this time?

CHRIS--Norfolk. Ve make slow voyage--dirty vedder--yust fog, fog, fog, all bloody time! [There is an insistent ring from the doorbell at the family entrance in the back room. Chris gives a start--hurriedly.] Ay go open, Larry. Ay forgat. It vas Marthy. She come with me. [He goes into the back room.]

LARRY--[With a chuckle.] He's still got that same cow livin' with him, the old fool!

JOHNNY--[With a grin.] A sport, Chris is. Well, I'll beat it home. S'long. [He goes to the street door.]

LARRY--So long, boss.

JOHNNY--Oh--don't forget to give him his letter.

LARRY--I won't. [JOHNNY goes out. In the meantime, CHRIS has opened the family entrance door, admitting MARTHY. She might be forty or fifty. Her jowly, mottled face, with its thick red nose, is streaked with interlacing purple veins. Her thick, gray hair is piled anyhow in a greasy mop on top of her round head. Her figure is flabby and fat; her breath comes in wheezy gasps; she speaks in a loud, mannish voice, punctuated by explosions of hoarse laughter. But there still twinkles in her blood-shot blue eyes a youthful lust for life which hard usage has failed to stifle, a sense of humor mocking, but good-tempered. She wears a man's cap, double-breasted man's jacket, and a grimy, calico skirt. Her bare feet are encased in a man's brogans several sizes too large for her, which gives her a shuffling, wobbly gait.]

MARTHY--[Grumblingly.] What yuh tryin' to do, Dutchy--keep me standin' out there all day? [She comes forward and sits at the table in the right corner, front.]

CHRIS--[Mollifyingly.] Ay'm sorry, Marthy. Ay talk to Yohnny. Ay forgat. What you goin' take for drink?

MARTHY--[Appeased.] Gimme a scoop of lager an' ale.

CHRIS--Ay go bring him back. [He returns to the bar.] Lager and ale for Marthy, Larry. Vhiskey for me. [He throws change on the bar.]

LARRY--Right you are. [Then remembering, he takes the letter from in back of the bar.] Here's a letter for you--from St. Paul, Minnesota--and a lady's writin'. [He grins.]

CHRIS--[Quickly--taking it.] Oh, den it come from my daughter, Anna. She live dere. [He turns the letter over in his hands uncertainly.] Ay don't gat letter from Anna--must be a year.

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