JIM: He certainly was good looking.
AMANDA: No doubt about that! A girl can do no worse than put herself at the mercy of—a handsome appearance! Character’s what to look for in a man. Sterling qualities, that’s what counts in the world! What was I telling you? Oh, yes Tom Wingfield, the children’s father. They hardly remember his face! He just disappeared, walked off one morning and didn’t come back that night. A few months later I received a postcard from Hawthorne, California, saying on it—“Working on a squab ranch!” Tell me, what is a squab ranch, do you know?
JIM: I guess it’s a—
AMANDA: Place where they raise pigeons! Something like that! The most improbable statement in the world! And went on to say “I’ll send you some money as soon as I get paid!” But, Mr. Delaney—the man was never paid! Ha-ha-ha! Must have never been paid . . . ha-ha-ha! Well, five years later another post-card came, this one from Mexico. Ha-ha-ha! The capital city of Mexico, with a picture of—parrots or something! Well—“Dear Amanda. Hope you’re well and happy. Much love. Tom!” Ha-ha-ha! That was the last we heard of Tom Wingfield the First. So you can see that Tom Wingfield the Second has a lot to live up to, and let me tell you—I’ve had to scratch for existence! Don’t let anyone tell you a woman deserted with children to take care of has a bed of roses! A bed of—briers I’ve lived in! But why am I telling you all my earthly sorrows, when there’s so much that’s pleasant to talk about? Tom—is Laura getting the dinner on the table?
TOM: No, she isn’t.
AMANDA: What?—Oh!—Please excuse me. I guess that Laura hasn’t finished—dressing. I must see. [She flounces prettily out, her musical laughter still ringing.]
TOM [gloomily]: You see what I mean? A perennial southern belle.
JIM [recovering slowly]: She can—talk!
TOM: Oh, yes.
JIM [wiping his forehead]: Wonderful—a woman like that!
TOM: Would you like to live with her?
JIM: Like to? Why not!
TOM: Well— [Amanda trips back in the upstage area with some dishes.]
AMANDA: Are you talking about me? Am I the subject of discussion in there? Mr. Delaney, do you think I’m awful? Do you think I’m a—Laura, dear? Everything’s ready!
LAURA [off]: I’m not coming out! [Amanda laughs quickly to cover up.]
AMANDA: My children compare me to—No, I won’t say, I won’t tell you! You’d think they were cruel, and they don’t mean to be cruel. It’s just that I’m of a—different generation, a different background. I still belong to the South, to Mississippi, where there was—gentle—living! Gracious living! Kindness! I ought to learn to be cold in the northern way, but I much prefer to stay the way that I am! My children will have to put up with a silly old mother they say looks like a witch! [Enters portieres.] Mr. Delaney—Jim!— Do I look like a witch?
JIM [abashed]: A—what?
AMANDA: A witch! That’s what they call me! I guess you wonder what I’ve done to deserve such—castigation! Well, I’ll tell you! I’ve pushed, I’ve driven, I’ve given myself no rest! I’ve sold subscriptions over the telephone. I’ve worked as an artist’s model at the Washington Art School, standing in cruel positions for hours of time! I’ve taken in sewing, I’ve cooked at the high school cafeteria down on Newstead. I’ve modeled for matron’s dresses at Famous & Barr. I’ve hired myself out as a practical nurse to horrible invalid women who’ve pinched and scratched me and made me ashamed to be human! I’ve done all those things, which was very bad of me, and so I am now like a witch!—And my children tell me I am and— [She nearly bursts into tears. Turning quickly.] Dinner is—served! [Composing herself, she turns quickly and makes a little cringing courtesy.] Gentlemen—dinner is served!