Toward the Gulf Part 6

FLORENCE

You can't do that.

JACK

Why not?

FLORENCE

No more than I.

Oh well perhaps, if a nice man came by To marry me then I could get away.

It happens all the time. Last week in fact Christ Perko married Rachel who lived here.

He's rich as cream.

JACK

What corresponds to marriage To take me from slavery?

FLORENCE

Money is everything.

JACK

Yes, everything and nothing.

Christ Perko's rich, Christ Perko runs this house, The madam merely acts as figure-head; Keeps check upon the girls and on the wine.

She's just the editor, and yet I'd rather Be editor than owner. I was editor.

My Perko was the owner of a pulp mill, Incorporate through some multi-millionaires, And all our lesser writers were the girls, Like you and Rachel.

FLORENCE

But you know before He married Rachel, he was lover to The madam here.

JACK

The stories tally, for The pulp mill took my first a.s.sistant editor To wife by making him the editor.

And I was fired just as the madam here Lost out with Perko.

FLORENCE

This is growing funny...

Ahem! I'll ask you something-- As if I were a youth and you a girl-- How were you ruined first?

JACK

The same as you: You ran away from school. It was romance.

You thought you loved this flashy travelling man.

And I--I loved adventure, loved the truth.

I wanted to destroy the force called "They."

There is no "They"--we're all together here, And everyone must live, Christ Perko too, The pulp-mill, the policeman, magistrate, The alderman, the precinct captain too, And you the girls, myself the editor, And all the lesser writers. Here we are Thrown in one integrated lot. You see There is no "They," except the terms, the thought Which ramifies and vivifies the whole. ...

So I came to the city, went to work Reporting for a paper. Having said There is no "They"--I've freed myself to say What bitter things I choose. For how they drive you, And terrify you, mock you, ridicule you, And call you cub and greenhorn, send you round To courts and dirty places, make you risk Your body and your life, and make you watch The rules about your writing; what's tabooed, What names are to be cursed or to be praised, What interests, policies to be subserved, And what to undermine. So I went through, Until I had a desk, wrote editorials-- Now said I to myself, I'm free at last.

But no, my manager, your madam, mark you, Kept eye on me, for he was under watch Of some Christ Perko. So my manager Blue penciled me when I touched certain subjects.

But, as he was a just man, loved me too.

He gave me things to write where he could let My conscience have full scope, as you might live In this house where you saw the man you loved, And no one else, though living in this h.e.l.l.

For I lived in a h.e.l.l, who saw around me Such lying, hatred, malice, prost.i.tution.

And when this offer came to be an editor Of a great magazine, I seemed to feel My courage and my virtue given reward.

Now, I should pa.s.s on poems, and on stories, Creations of free souls. It was not so.

The poems and the stories one could see Were written to be sold, to please a taste, Placate a prejudice, keep still alive An era dying, ready for the tomb, Already smelling. And that was not all.

Just as the madam here must make report To Perko, so the magazine had to run To suit the pulp mill. As the madam here, a.s.sistant to Christ Perko, must keep friends With alderman, policemen, magistrates, So I was just a wheel in a machine To keep it running with such larger wheels, And by them run, of policies, and politics Of State and Nation. Here was I locked in And given dope to keep me still lest I Cry out and wake the copper-who's the copper For such as I was? If he heard me cry How could he raid the magazine? If he raided Where was the court to take me and the rest-- That's it, where is the court?

FLORENCE

It seems to me You're bad as I am.

JACK

I am worse than you: I poison minds with thoughts they take as good.

I drug an era, make it foul or dull-- You only sicken bodies here and there.

But you know how it is. You have remorse, You fight it down, hush it with sophistry.

You think about the world, about your fellows: You see that everyone is selling self, Little or much somehow. You feed your body, Try to be hearty, take things as they come.

You take athletics, try to keep your strength, As you hear music, laugh, drink wine, and smoke, Are bathed and coifed to keep your beauty fresh.

And through it all the soul's and body's needs, The pleasures, interests, pa.s.sions of our life, The cry that comes from somewhere: "Live, O Soul, The time is pa.s.sing," move and claim your strength.

Till you forget yourself, forget the boy And man you were, forget the dreams you had, The creed you wished to live by--yes, what's worse, See dreams you had, grown tawdry, see your creed Cracked through and crumbled like a falling house.

And then you say: What is the difference?

As you might ask what virtue is and why Should woman keep it.

I have reached this place Save for one truth I hold to, shall still hold to: As long as I have breath: The man who sees not, Or cares not for the Truth that keeps the world From vast disintegration is a brute, And marked for a brute's death--that is his h.e.l.l.

'Twas loyalty to this truth that made me lose My place as editor. For when they came And tried to make me pa.s.s an article To poison millions with, I said, "I won't, I won't by G.o.d. I'll quit before I do."

And then they said, "You quit," and so I quit.

FLORENCE

And so you took to drink and came to me!

And that's the same as if I came to you And used you as an editor. I am nothing But just a poor reporter in this house-- But now I quit.

JACK

Where are you going, Florence?

FLORENCE

I'm going to a village or a farm Where I'll get up at six instead of twelve, Where I'll wear calico instead of silk, And where there'll be no furnace in the house.

And where the carpet which has kept me here And keeps you here as editor is not.

I'm going to economize my life By freeing it of systems which grow rich By using me, and for the privilege Bestow these gaudy clothes and perfumed bed.

I hate you now, because I hate my life.

JACK