Chapters (27)
| You look tired. | |
| AUGUSTUS | (Uncomfortable.) |
|
I nearly collided with Jones, barrelling full steam across the porch. |
|
| AMALIA | Did he see you? |
| AUGUSTUS | Shadows are kind to niggers. |
| AMALIA | You’re not a nigger! |
| AUGUSTUS | (Catching her hand by the wrist.) |
|
Yes I am, Amalia. Best not forget that. |
|
| AMALIA | (Leading him to the fire.) |
| Come and get warm. | |
| AUGUSTUS | (Hanging back.) |
| What did Jones want? | |
| AMALIA | Oh, he was complaining about the weather. |
| AUGUSTUS |
The cold’s hard on the crops. They should be picked fast. |
| AMALIA | (Lightly.) |
| Scylla says the weather will break tomorrow. | |
| AUGUSTUS | Since when have you taken to consulting Scylla? |
| AMALIA |
I didn’t “consult” her. She came up today and said, “If it please the Mistress, the cold has run its course. Morn will break warm, no worry.” |
| AUGUSTUS |
Why should you risk your profit on Scylla’s words? |
| AMALIA |
Look at us, squabbling about agriculture! Forget about the weather! Who cares what happens out there? |
| AUGUSTUS | Someone’s got to care, Missy. |
| AMALIA | Don’t call me that. |
| AUGUSTUS |
That’s what you are. And I’m your slave. Nothing has changed that. |
| AMALIA | (Putting her hand to his mouth; AUGUSTUS withdraws, but only slightly.) |
|
Shh! If this is all the world they’ve left us, then it’s ours to make over. From time to time we can step out to show ourselves to the people so they will have someone to blame. |
|
| AUGUSTUS | It’s too late. |
| AMALIA |
Don’t you think I see the suffering? Don’t you think I know I’m the cause? |
With sarcasm and self-loathing.
|
But a master cannot allow himself the privilege of sorrow. A master must rule, or die. |
|
| AUGUSTUS | (Pained, thinking of HECTOR.) |
|
Dying used to be such a simple business. Easy— |
Caresses her neck.
|
as long as there was nothing to live for. |
Tightening his grip; AMALIA shows no fear.
|
And murder simply a matter of being on the right side of the knife. |
|
| AMALIA | (Caressing him, pulling his shirt up.) |
|
Have you ever used a knife? Have you ever killed someone? |
|
| AUGUSTUS | (Haunted, evasive.) |
| Now where would I get a knife? |
Turns abruptly away; from outside, barely audible, come the opening strains of “Steal Away”.
| AMALIA | (Touching each scar on his back as she talks.) |
|
Your back is like a book no-one can bear to read to the end— each angry gash, each proud welt . . . But these scars on your side are different. |
Touching them gently.
|
They couldn’t have come from a whipping. They’re more like—more like markings that turn up in fairy tales of princes and paupers exchanged at birth. |
|
| AUGUSTUS | I’ve had them since birth. |
| AMALIA | (Caressing him.) |
| So they are magical! | |
| AUGUSTUS |
Hardly—unless the art of survival is in your magician’s bag of tricks. |
AUGUSTUS begin to return AMALIA’s attentions.