The Emperor Jones by Eugene O'Neill (shoe dog free ebook txt) 📕

was luck! But I makes dat luck, you heah? I loads de dice! Yessuh! When dat murderin’ nigger ole Lem hired to kill me takes aim ten feet away and his gun misses fire and I shoots him dead, what you heah me say?

SMITHERS—You said yer’d got a charm so’s no lead bullet’d kill yer. You was so strong only a silver bullet could kill yer, you told ‘em. Blimey, wasn’t that swank for yer — and plain, fat-‘eaded luck?

JONES—(_proudly_) I got brains and I uses ‘em quick.

Dat ain’t luck.

SMITHERS—Yer know they wasn’t ‘ardly likely to get no silver bullets. And it was luck ‘e didn’t ‘it you that time.

JONES—(_laughing_) And dere all dem fool, bush niggers was kneelin’ down and bumpin’ deir heads on de ground like I was a miracle out o’ de Bible Oh Lawd, from dat time on I has dem all eatin’ out of my hand. I cracks de whip and dey jumps through.

SMITHERS—(_with a sniff_) Yankee bluff done it.

JONES—Ain’t a man’s talkin’ big what makes him big-long as he makes folks believe it? Sho’, I talks large when I ain’t got nothin’ to back it up, but I ain’t talkin’ wild just de same. I knows

I kin fool ‘em — I knows it — and dat’s backin’ enough fo’ my game. And ain’t I got to learn deir lingo and teach some of dem English befo’ I kin talk to ‘em? Ain’t dat wuk? You ain’t never learned ary word er it, Smithers, in do ten years you been heah, dough you’ knows it’s money in yo’ pocket tradin’ wid ‘em if you does. But you’se too shiftless to take de trouble.

SMITHERS—(_flushing_) Never mind about me. What’s this

I’ve ‘eard about yer really ‘avin’ a silver bullet moulded for yourself?

JONES—It’s playin’ out my bluff. I has de silver bullet moulded and I tells ‘em when do time comes I kills myself wid it.

I tells ‘em dat’s ‘cause I’m de on’y man in de world big enuff to git me. No use’n deir tryin’. And dey falls down and bumps deir heads. (_He laughs._) I does dat so’s I kin take a walk in peace widout no jealous nigger gunnin’ at me from behind de trees.

SMITHERS—(astonished) Then you ‘ad it made — ‘onest?

JONES—Sho’ did. Heah she he. (_He takes out his revolver, breaks it, and takes the silver bullet out of one chamber._) Five lead an’ dis silver baby at de last. Don’t she shine pretty? (_He holds it in his hand, looking at it admiringly, as if strangely fascinated._)

SMITHERS—Let me see. (_reaches out his hand for it_)

JONES—(_harshly_) Keep yo’ hands whar dey b’long, white man. (_He replaces it in the chamber and puts the revolver back on his hip._)

SMITHERS—(_snarling_) Gawd Nimey! Mink I’m a bleedin’ thief, you would.

JONES — No, ‘tain’t dat. I knows you ‘se scared to steal from me. On’y I ain’t ‘lowin’ nary body to touch dis baby. She’s my rabbit’s foot.

SMITHERS—(_sneering_) A bloomin’ charm, wot? (_venomously_)

Well, you’ll need all the bloody charms you ‘as before long, s’ ‘elp me!

JONES—(_judicially_) Oh, I’se good for six months yit

‘fore dey gits sick o’ my game. Den, when I sees trouble comin’, I makes my getaway.

SMITHERS—Ho! You got it all planned, ain’t yer?

JONES—I ain’t no fool. I knows dis Emperor’s time is sho’t.

Dat why I make hay when de sun shine. Was you thinkin’ I’se aimin’ to hold down dis job for life? No, suh! What good is gittin’ money if you stays back in dis raggedy country? I wants action when I spends.

And when I sees dese niggers gittin’ up deir nerve to tu’n me out, and I’se got all de money in sight, I resigns on de spot and beats it quick.

SMITHERS—Where to?

JONES—None o’ yo’ business.

SMITHERS—Not back to the bloody States, I’ll lay my oath.

JONES—(_suspiciously_) Why don’t I? (_then with an easy laugh_) You mean ‘count of dat story ‘bout me breakin’ from jail back dere? Dat’s all talk.

SMITHERS—(_skeptically_) Ho, yes!

JONES—(_sharply_) You ain’t ‘sinuatin’ I’se a liar, is you?

SMITHERS—(_hastily_) No, Gawd strike me! I was only thinkin’ o’ the bloody lies you told the blacks ‘ere about killin’ white men in the States.

JONES—(_angered_) How come dey’re lies?

SMITHERS—You’d ‘ave been in jail, if you ‘ad, wouldn’t yer then? (_with venom_) And from what I’ve ‘eard, it ain’t ‘ealthy for a black to kill a white man in the States. They burns ‘em in oil, don’t they?

JONES—(_with cool deadliness_) You mean lynchin’ ‘d scare me? Well, I tells you, Smithers, maybe I does kill one white man back dere, Maybe I does. And maybe I kills another right heah ‘fore long if he don’t look out.

SMITHERS—(_trying to force a laugh_) I was on’y spoofin’ yer. Can’t yer take a joke? And you was just sayin’ you’d never ken in jail.

JONES—(_in the same tone—slightly boastful_) Maybe

I goes to jail dere for gettin’ in an argument wid razors ovah a crap game. Maybe I gits twenty years when dat colored man die. Maybe I gits in ‘nother argument wid de prison guard was overseer ovah us when we’re wukin’ de roads. Maybe he hits me wid a whip and I splits his head wid a shovel and runs away and files de chain off my leg and gits away safe. Maybe I does all dat an’ maybe I don’t. It’s a story I tells you so’s you knows I’se de kind of man dat if you evah repeats one words of it, I ends yo’ stealin’ on dis yearth mighty damn quick!

SMITHERS—(_terrified_) Think I’d peach on yer? Not me! Ain’t I always been yer friend?

JONES—(_suddenly relaxing_) Sho’ you has — and you better be.

SMITHERS—(_recovering his composure—and with it his malice_) And just to show yer I’m yer friend, I’ll tell yer that bit o’ news I was goin’ to.

JONES—Go ahead! Shoot de piece. Must be bad news from de happy way you look.

SMITHERS—(_warningly_) Maybe it’s gettin’ time for you to resign — with that bloomin’ silver bullet, wot? (_He finishes with a mocking grin._)

JONES—(_puzzled_) What’s dat you say? Talk plain.

SMITHERS—Ain’t noticed any of the guards or servants about the place today, I ‘aven’t.

JONES—(_carelessly_) Dey’re all out in de garden sleepin’ under de trees.

When I sleeps, dey sneaks a sleep, too, and I pretends I never suspicions it. All I got to do is to ring de bell and dey come flyin’, makin’ a bluff dey was wukin’ all de time.

SMITHERS—(_in the same mocking tone_) Ring the bell now an’ you’ll bloody well see what I means.

JONES—(_startled to alertness, but preserving the same careless tone_) Sho’ I rings. (_He reaches below the throne and pulls out a big, common dinner bell which is painted the same vivid scarlet as the throne. He rings this vigorously—then stops to listen. Then he goes to both doors, rings again, and looks out._)

SMITHERS—(_watching him with malicious satisfaction, after a pause—mockingly_) The bloody ship is sinkin’ an’ the bleedin’ rats ‘as slung their ‘ooks.

JONES—(_in a sudden fit of anger flings the bell clattering into a corner_) Low-flung, woods’ niggers!

(_then catching Smither’s eye on him, he controls himself and suddenly bursts into a low chuckling laugh._)

Reckon I overplays my hand dis once! A man can’t take de pot on a bob-tailed flush all de time. Was I sayin’ I’d sit in six months mo’? Well, I’se changed my mind den. I cashes in and resigns de job of Emperor right dis minute.

SMITHERS—(_with real admiration_) Blimey, but you’re a cool bird, and no mistake.

JONES—No use’n fussin’. When I knows de game’s up I kisses it goodbye widout no long waits. Dey’ve all run off to de hills, ain’t dey?

SMITHERS—Yes—every bleedin’ man jack of ‘em.

JONES—Den de revolution is at de post. And de Emperor better git his feet smokin’ up de trail. (_He starts for the door in rear._)

SMITHERS—Goin’ out to look for your ‘orse? Yer won’t find any. They steals the ‘orses first thing. Mine was gone when I went for ‘im this mornin’. That’s wot first give me a suspicion of wot was up.

JONES—(_alarmed for a second, scratches his head, then philosophically_) Well, den I hoofs it. Feet, do yo’ duty! (_He pulls out a gold watch and looks at it._) Three-thuty. Sundown’s at six-thuty or dereabouts. (Puts his watch back — with cool confidence) I got plenty o’ time to make it easy.

SMITHERS—Don’t be so bloomin’ sure of it. They’ll be after you ‘ot and ‘eavy. Ole Lem is at the bottom o’ this business an’ ‘e ‘ates you like ‘ell. ‘E’d rather do for you than eat ‘is dinner, ‘e would!

JONES—(_scornfully_) Dat fool no-count nigger! Does you think I’se scared o’ him? I stands him on his thick head more’n once befo’ dis, and I does it again if he come in my way—(_fiercely_)

And dis time I leave him a dead nigger fo’ sho’!

SMITHERS—You’ll ‘ave to cut through the big forest — an’ these blacks ‘ere can sniff and follow a trail in the dark like ‘ounds.

You’d ‘ave to ‘ustle to get through that forest in twelve hours even if you knew all the bloomin’ trails like a native.

JONES—(_with indignant scorn_) Look-a-heah, white man!

Does you think I’se a natural bo’n fool? Give me credit fo’ havih’ some sense, fo’ Lawd’s sake! Don’t you s’pose I’se looked ahead and made sho’ of all de chances? I’se gone out in dat big forest, pretendin’ to hunt, so many times dat I knows it high an’ low like a book. I could go through on dem trails wid my eyes shut. (_with great contempt_) Think dese ig’nerent bush niggers dat ain’t got brains enuff to know deir own names even can catch Brutus Jones? Huh, I s’pects not! Not on yo’ life! why, man, de white men went after me wid bloodhounds where I come from an’ I jes’ laughs at ‘em. It’s a shame to fool dese black trash around heah, dey’re so easy. You watch me, man’. I’ll make dem look sick, I will. I’ll be ‘cross de plain to de edge of de forest by time dark comes. Once in de woods in de night, dey got a swell chance o’ findin’ dis baby! Dawn tomorrow I’ll be out at de oder side and on de coast whar dat French gunboat is stayin’. She picks me up, take me to the Martinique when she go dar, and dere I is safe wid a mighty big bankroll in my jeans. It’s easy as rollin’ off a log.

SMITHERS—(_maliciously_) But s’posin’ somethin’ ‘appens wrong an’ they do nab yer?

JONES—(_decisively_) Dey don’t—dat’s de answer.

SMITHERS—But, just for argyment’s sake—what’d you do?

JONES—(_frowning_) I’se got five lead bullets in dis gun good enuff fo’ common bush niggers—and after dat I got de silver bullet left to cheat ‘em out o’ gittin’ me.

SMITHERS—(_jeeringly_) Ho, I was fergettin’ that silver bullet. You’ll bump yourself orf in style, won’t yer? Blimey!

JONES—(_gloomily_) You kin bet yo’ whole roll on one thing, white man. Dis baby plays out his string to de end and when he quits, he quits wid a bang de way he ought. Silver bullet ain’t none too good for him when he go, dat’s a fac’ I—(_then shaking off his nervousness—with a confident laugh_) Sho’! what is I talkin’ about? Ain’t come to dat yit and I never will — not wid trash niggers like dese yere. (_boastfully_) Silver bullet bring me luck anyway.

I kin outguess, outrun, outfight, an’ outplay de whole lot o’ dem all ovah de board any time o’ de day er night! You watch me!

(_From the distant hills comes the faint, steady thump of a tom-tom, low and vibrating. It starts