The Iceman Cometh

1

(liquid dripping)

(loud snoring)

Make it fast.

Don't want the boys

to get wise.

Jees!

(laughs)

Ain't the old bastard

a riot

when he starts

that bull about

"turnin' over a new leaf"?

"Not a damn drink

on the house," he tells me,

"and all these bums have gotta

pay up their room rent

beginning tomorrow,"

he says.

(both men laughing)

I'm glad to pay up...

tomorrow.

And I know my fellow inmates

will promise the same.

They've all

a touching credulity

concerning tomorrows.

It'll be a great day

for them tomorrow,

The Feast of All Fools.

And their ships will come in

loaded to the gunwales,

with cancelled regrets

and promises fulfilled,

and clean slates

and new leases.

Yeah, and a ton of hope!

Don't mock their faith.

You no respect

for religion,

you unregenerate Wop?

What does it matter

if the truth is

that their favoring breeze

will have the stink

of nickel whiskey

on its breath?

And their sea

will be a growler

of lager and ale?

And their ships will long since

be looted and scuttled,

and sunk

on the bottom?

The hell with the truth.

The history of the world

proves that truth

has no bearing

on anything.

It's the lie of the pipe dream

that gives life to the whole

misbegotten mad lot of us,

drunk or sober.

The old Foolosopher,

like Hickey calls you.

I suppose you don't fall

for no pipe dreams.

No, I don't.

Mine are dead and buried

behind me.

What's before me

is the fact

that death

is a fine long sleep.

I'm damn tired,

and it can't come

too soon for me.

Yeah, just hangin' around,

hopin' you croak, ain't you?

Well, I'm bettin' you have

a good long wait.

Jees, somebody'd have

to take an ax to croak you!

(both chuckling)

Yeah, it's my bad luck to be

cursed with an iron constitution

that even Harry's booze

can't corrode.

The old Anarchist wise guy

that knows

all the answers.

Forget the anarchist

part of it.

I'm through with

the Movement long since.

I saw that,

if men wanted to be safe

from themselves,

that would mean they'd

have to give up greed.

I wouldn't pay

that price for liberty.

So I said to the world,

"God bless all here

"and may

the best man win...

and die of gluttony."

I took a seat

in the grand stand

of philosophical detachment.

Fall asleep

observing the cannibals

do their death dance.

Ain't I telling him

the truth, Comrade Hugo?

Oh, for Chrissake!

Don't get

that bughouse bum started!

(thick Russian accent)

Capitalist swine!

Bourgeois stool pigeons!

Have the slaves

no right to sleep even?

(giggling)

Hello, little Rocky,

little monkey face!

Where are your little

slave girls?

(giggles)

Don't be a fool,

loan me a dollar!

Damned bourgeois Wop!

Buy me a drink!

(snoring)

He's out again.

He's lucky no one don't take

his cracks serious,

or he'd wake up every morning

in a hospital.

"Nobody takes him

seriously?"

That's his epitaph.

I've been through with

the Movement long since.

It's been through with him.

And thanks to whiskey,

He's the only one

that doesn't know it.

He's goin' to pull that

slave girl stuff on me

once too often.

Hell, you'd think

I was a pimp or somethin'.

A pimp don't hold a job.

I'm a bartender!

Them tarts,

Margie and Pearl,

they're just a sideline

to pick up some extra dough.

Strictly business,

like they were fighters

and I was their

manager, see?

I fixed the cops for them,

so they can hustle

without gettin' pinched.

And I don't beat 'em up

like a pimp would.

They like me!

What if I,

I take their money?

Tarts can't hang on

to dough.

But I'm a bartender

and I work hard

for my living

in this dump.

Shrewd businessman

who doesn't miss

an opportunity

to get on in the world, huh?

And that's me;

grab another ball,

Larry.

You'd never think

all these bums

had a bed upstairs

to go to.

Scared if

they hit the hay

they wouldn't be here

when Hickey showed up,

and they'd miss

a couple of drinks.

Me, it's not so much

the hope of booze,

but I've got the blues.

And Hickey's a great one

to make a joke of everything

and cheer you up.

Yes, some kidder!

Remember how he works up

that gag about his wife

when he's cockeyed?

Crying over a picture

and then spilling in

on you all of a sudden

that he left her in the hay

with the iceman?

(chuckles)

Yeah, I wonder

what's happenin'.

You could set your watch

by his periodicals

before this.

We always got here

a couple of days

before Harry's

birthday party,

and now he's only got

'till tonight to make it.

This dump...

(chuckles)

is like a morgue with

all these bums passed out.

It's a lie, Papa!

(sobbing)

Papa!

Poor devil.

Ah, the hell with pity!

It does no good,

I'm through with it.

Dreamin' about

his old man.

From what

the old timers say,

the old gent

sure made a pile of dough

on a bucket-shop game

before the cops got him.

Jees!

I've seen him bad before

but never this bad.

Look at that get-up.

Sold his suit and shoes

at Solly's two days ago.

Solly give him two bucks

and a bum outfit.

Yesterday he sells the bum

one back to Solly

for four bits

and gets these rags

to put out,

now he's through.

That's Solly's

final edition

and he wouldn't take back

for nothin'.

Willie sure is

on the bottom.

I ain't never seen

no one so bad except Hickey

on end of a couple

of his bats.

It's a great game,

the pursuit of happiness.

I don't even know

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes