Read Cat on a Hot Tin Roof for Free Online Page B

it? I like it, I think the
     truth is—yeah! I shouldn't have told you. . . .
    BRICK [ holding
     his head unnaturally still and uptilted a bit ]:
    It was Skipper that told me about it. Not you, Maggie.
    MARGARET:
    I told you!
    BRICK:
    After he told me!
    MARGARET:
    What does it matter who—?
    [ Brick turns suddenly out upon the gallery
     and calls: ]
    BRICK:
    Little girl! Hey, little girl!
    LITTLE GIRL [ at a distance ]:
    What, Uncle Brick?
    BRICK:
    Tell the folks to come up!—Bring everybody upstairs!
    MARGARET:
    I can't stop myself! I'd go on telling you this in front of them
     all, if I had to!

    BRICK:
    Little girl! Go on, go on, will you? Do what I told you, call
     them!
    MARGARET:
    Because it's got to be told and you, you!—you never let
     me!
    [ She sobs, then controls herself, and
     continues almost calmly .]
    It was one of those beautiful, ideal things they tell about in the Greek
     legends, it couldn't be anything else, you being you, and that's what
     made it so sad, that's what made it so awful, because it was love that never
     could be carried through to anything satisfying or even talked about plainly. Brick,
     I tell you, you got to believe me, Brick, I do understand all about it! I—I think it was—noble! Can't you tell I'm sincere when I
     say I respect it? My only point, the only point that I'm making, is
     life has got to be allowed to continue even after the dream of life is—all—over . . . .
    [ Brick is without his crutch. Leaning on
     furniture, he crosses to pick it up as she continues as if possessed by a will
     outside herself: ]
    Why I remember when we double-dated at college, Gladys Fitzgerald
     and I and you and Skipper, it was more like a date between you and Skipper. Gladys
     and I were just sort of tagging along as if it was necessary to chaperone
     you! —to make a good public impression—
    BRICK [ turns to
     face her, half lifting his crutch ]:
    Maggie, you want me to hit you with this crutch? Don't you know I could
     kill you with this crutch?
    MARGARET:
    Good Lord, man, d’ you think I'd care if you did?

    BRICK:
    One man has one great good true thing in his life. One great good thing which is
     true!—I had friendship with Skipper.—You are naming it
     dirty!
    MARGARET:
    I'm not naming it dirty! I am naming it clean.
    BRICK:
    Not love with you, Maggie, but friendship with Skipper was that one great true thing,
     and you are naming it dirty!
    MARGARET:
    Then you haven't been listenin’, not understood what I'm
     saying! I'm naming it so damn clean that it killed poor
     Skipper!—You two had something that had to be kept on ice, yes,
     incorruptible, yes!—and death was the only icebox where you could keep
     it . . . .
    BRICK:
    I married you, Maggie. Why would I marry you, Maggie, if I was—?
    MARGARET:
    Brick, don't brain me yet, let me finish!—I know, believe me I
     know, that it was only Skipper that harbored even any unconscious desire for anything not perfectly pure between you
     two! —Now let me skip a little. You married me early that summer we
     graduated out of Ole Miss, and we were happy, weren't we, we were blissful,
     yes, hit heaven together ev'ry time that we loved! But that fall you
     an’ Skipper turned down wonderful offers of jobs in order to keep on
     bein’ football heroes—pro-football heroes. You organized the
     Dixie Stars that fall, so you could keep on bein’ teammates forever!
     But somethin’ was not right with it! —Me
     included!—between you. Skipper began hittin’ the
     bottle . . . you got a spinalinjury—couldn't play
     the Thanksgivin’ game in Chicago, watched it on TV from a traction bed in
     Toledo. I joined Skipper. The Dixie Stars lost because poor Skipper was drunk. We
     drank together that night all night in the bar of the Blackstone and when cold day
     was comin’ up over the Lake an’ we were comin’ out drunk to
     take a dizzy look at it, I said, “SKIPPER! STOP LOVIN’ MY
     HUSBAND OR TELL HIM HE'S GOT TO LET YOU