The Hairy Ape by Eugene O’Neill (story reading .TXT) 📕

de foist real one I ever seen. Some chest yuh got, and shoulders, and dem arms and mits! I bet yuh got a punch in eider fist dat’d knock ’em all silly! This with genuine admiration. The gorilla, as if he understood, stands upright, swelling out his chest and pounding on it with his fist. Yank grins sympathetically. Sure, I get yuh. Yuh challenge de whole woild, huh? Yuh got what I was sayin’ even if yuh muffed de woids. Then bitterness creeping in. And why wouldn’t yuh get me? Ain’t we both members of de same club⁠—de Hairy Apes? They stare at each other⁠—a pause⁠—then Yank goes on slowly and bitterly. So yuh’re what she seen when she looked at me, de white-faced tart! I was you to her, get me? On’y outa de cage⁠—broke out⁠—free to moider her, see? Sure! Dat’s what she tought. She wasn’t wise dat I was in a cage, too⁠—worser’n yours⁠—sure⁠—a damn sight⁠—’cause you got some chanct to bust loose⁠—but me⁠—He grows confused. Aw, hell! It’s all wrong, ain’t it? A pause. I s’pose yuh wanter know what I’m doin’ here, huh? I been warmin’ a bench down to de Battery⁠—ever since last night. Sure. I seen de sun come up. Dat was pretty, too⁠—all red and pink and green. I was lookin’ at de skyscrapers⁠—steel⁠—and all de ships comin’ in, sailin’ out, all over de oith⁠—and dey was steel, too. De sun was warm, dey wasn’t no clouds, and dere was a breeze blowin’. Sure, it was great stuff. I got it aw right⁠—what Paddy said about dat bein’ de right dope⁠—on’y I couldn’t get in it, see? I couldn’t belong in dat. It was over my head. And I kept tinkin’⁠—and den I beat it up here to see what youse was like. And I waited till dey was all gone to git yuh alone. Say, how d’yuh feel sittin’ in dat pen all de time, havin’ to stand for ’em comin’ and starin’ at yuh⁠—de white-faced, skinny tarts and de boobs what marry ’em⁠—makin’ fun of yuh, laughin’ at yuh, gittin’ scared of yuh⁠—damn ’em! He pounds on the rail with his fist. The gorilla rattles the bars of his cage and snarls. All the other monkeys set up an angry chattering in the darkness. Yank goes on excitedly. Sure! Dat’s de way it hits me, too. On’y yuh’re lucky, see? Yuh don’t belong wit ’em and yuh know it. But me, I belong wit ’em⁠—but I don’t, see? Dey don’t belong wit me, dat’s what. Get me? Tinkin’ is hard⁠—He passes one hand across his forehead with a painful gesture. The gorilla growls impatiently. Yank goes on gropingly. It’s dis way, what I’m drivin’ at. Youse can sit and dope dream in de past, green woods, de jungle and de rest of it. Den yuh belong and dey don’t. Den yuh kin laugh at ’em, see? Yuh’re de champ of de woild. But me⁠—I ain’t got no past to tink in, nor nothin’ dat’s comin’, on’y what’s now⁠—and dat don’t belong. Sure, you’re de best off! Yuh can’t tink, can yuh? Yuh can’t talk neider. But I kin make a bluff at talkin’ and tinkin’⁠—a’most git away wit it⁠—a’most!⁠—and dat’s where de joker comes in. He laughs. I ain’t on oith and I ain’t in heaven, get me? I’m in de middle tryin’ to separate ’em, takin’ all de woist punches from bot’ of ’em. Maybe dat’s what dey call hell, huh? But you, yuh’re at de bottom. You belong! Sure! Yuh’re de on’y one in de woild dat does, yuh lucky stiff! The gorilla growls proudly. And dat’s why dey gotter put yuh in a cage, see? The gorilla roars angrily. Sure! Yuh get me. It beats it when you try to tink it or talk it⁠—it’s way down⁠—deep⁠—behind⁠—you ’n’ me we feel it. Sure! Bot’ members of dis club! He laughs⁠—then in a savage tone. What de hell! T’ hell wit it! A little action, dat’s our meat! Dat belongs! Knock ’em down and keep bustin’ ’em till dey croaks yuh wit a gat⁠—wit steel! Sure! Are yuh game? Dey’ve looked at youse, ain’t dey⁠—in a cage? Wanter git even? Wanter wind up like a sport ’stead of croakin’ slow in dere? The gorilla roars an emphatic affirmative. Yank goes on with a sort of furious exaltation. Sure! Yuh’re reg’lar! Yuh’ll stick to de finish! Me ’n’ you, huh?⁠—bot’ members of this club! We’ll put up one last star bout dat’ll knock ’em offen deir seats! Dey’ll have to make de cages stronger after we’re trou! The gorilla is straining at his bars, growling, hopping from one foot to the other. Yank takes a jimmy from under his coat and forces the lock on the cage door. He throws this open. Pardon from de governor! Step out and shake hands! I’ll take yuh for a walk down Fif’ Avenoo. We’ll knock ’em offen de oith and croak wit de band playin’. Come on, Brother. The gorilla scrambles gingerly out of his cage. Goes to Yank and stands looking at him. Yank keeps his mocking tone⁠—holds out his hand. Shake⁠—de secret grip of our order. Something, the tone of mockery, perhaps, suddenly enrages the animal. With a spring he wraps his huge arms around Yank in a murderous hug. There is a crackling snap of crushed ribs⁠—a gasping cry, still mocking, from Yank. Hey, I didn’t say, kiss me. The gorilla lets the crushed body slip to the floor; stands over it uncertainly, considering; then picks it up, throws it in the cage, shuts the door, and shuffles off menacingly into the darkness at left. A great uproar of frightened chattering and whimpering comes from the other cages. Then Yank moves, groaning, opening his eyes, and there is silence. He mutters painfully.