>And another one of Eugene O’Neill’s Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:
Now we come to Eugene O’Neill.
The first collection of plays I have is entitled Seven Plays of the Sea
This one called The Long Voyage Home. It stars the same cast of characters – crewmen on the British ship Glencairn – who were also in The Moon of the Caribees and Bound East for Cardiff. The crew has now landed back in England … the play takes place in a small dingy tavern down by the docks in London. There are two barmaids there when the crew bursts in, looking for drinks, and women.
The play ends on a really ugly note. Freda, one of the barmaids, is also a thief. She works with Joe, the proprietor of the dive, in ripping off customers who get too drunk. She butters them up, gets them talking, keeps them distracted, so she can then steal their wallet.
I’ll post the excerpt between Freda and Olson, the crew member from Sweden, who’s kind of a naive sweet guy. She is beginning to work her scam.
EXCERPT FROM The Long Voyage Home
FREDA. [to Olson] Stay ‘ere an’ ‘ave a talk wiv me. They’re all drunk an’ you ain’t drinkin’. [with a smile up into his face] I’ll think yer don’t like me if yer goes in there.
OLSON. [confused] You wus wrong, Miss Freda. I don’t — I mean I do like you.
FREDA. [smiling — puts her hand over his on the table] An’ I likes you. Yer a genelman. You don’t get drunk an’ hinsult poor gels wot ‘as a ‘ard an’ uneppy life.
OLSON. [pleased but still more confused — wriggling his feet] I bane drunk many time, Miss Freda.
FREDA. Then why ain’t yer drinkin’ now? [She exchanges a quick questioning glance with Joe, who nods back at her — then she continues persuasively] Tell me somethin’ abaht yeself.
OLSON. There ain’t nothin’ to say, Miss Freda. I bane poor devil sailor man, dat’s all.
FREDA. Where was you born — Norway? [Olson shakes his head] Denmark?
OLSON. No. YOu guess once more.
FREDA. Then it must be Sweden.
OLSON. Yes. I wus born in Stockholm.
FREDA. [pretending great delight] Ow, ain’t that funny! I was born there, too — in Stockholm.
OLSON. [astonished] You wus born in Sweden?
FREDA. Yes; you wouldn’t think it, but it’s Gawd’s troof. [She claps her hands delightedly]
OLSON. [beaming all over] You speak Swedish?
FREDA. [trying to smile sadly] Now. Y’see my ole man an’ woman come ‘ere to England when I was on’y a baby an’ they was speakin’ English b’fore I was old enough to learn. Sow I never knew Swedish. [sadly] Wisht I ‘ad! [with a smile] We’d ‘ave a bloomin’ lark of it if I ‘ad, wouldn’t we?
OLSON. It sound nice to hear the old talk yust once in a time.
FREDA. Righto! No place like yer ‘ome, I says. Are yer goin’ up to — to Stockholm b’fore yer ships away agen?
OLSON. Yes. I go home from here to Stockholm. [Proudly] As passenger!
FREDA. An’ you’ll git another ship up there arter you’ve ‘ad a vacation?
OLSON. No. I don’t never ship on sea no more. I got all sea want for my life — too much hard work for little money. Yust work, work, work on ship. I don’t want more.
FREDA. Ow, I see. That’s why you give up drinkin’.
OLSON. Yes. [with a grin] If I drink I yust get drunk and spend all money.
FREDA. But if you ain’t gointer be a sailor no more, what’ll yer do? You been a sailor all yer life, ain’t yer?
OLSON. No. I work on farm till I am eighteen. I like it, too — it’s nice — work on farm.
FREDA. But ain’t Stockholm a city same’s London? Ain’t no farm there, is there?
OLSON. We live — my brother and mother live — my father is dead — on farm yust a little way from Stockholm. I have plenty money, now. I go back with two years’ pay and buy more land yet; work on farm. [Grinning] No more sea, no more bum grub, no more storms — yust nice work.
FREDA. Ow, ain’t that luv’ly! I s’pose you’ll be gittin’ married, too?
OLSON> [very much confused] I don’t know. I like to, if I find a nice girl, maybe.
FREDA. Ain’t yer got some gel back in Stockholm? I bet yer ‘as.
OLSON. No. I got nice girl once before I go to sea. But I go on ship, and I don’t come back, and she marry other faller. [He grins sheepishly]
FREDA. Well, it’s nice for yer to be goin’ ‘ome, anyway.
OLSON. Yes. I tank so.
[There is a crash from the room on left and the music abruptly stops. A moment later Cocky and Driscoll appear, supporting the inert form of Ivan between them. He is in the last stage of intoxication, unable to move a muscle. Nick follows them and sits down at the table in rear.]
DRISCOLL. [as they zigzag up to the bar] Ut’s dead he is, I’m thinkin’, for he’s as limp as a blarsted corpse.
COCKY. [puffing] Gawd, ‘e ain’t ‘arf ‘eavy!
DRISCOLL. [slapping Ivan’s face with his free hand] Wake up, ye divil, ye. Ut’s no use. Gabriel’s trumpet itself cudn’t rouse him. [To Joe] Give us a dhrink for I’m perishing wid the thirst. ‘Tis harrd worrk, this.
JOE. Whiskey?
