The Man in the Cab

A Dramatic Dialogue Between a Prosperous Cabby and a Despondent Young Man

FRANZ MOLNAR

Author of "Liliom", Translated by Benjamin F. Glazer

THE scene is played in a shabby one-horse cab at half-past four in the morning. The rising sun has still the warmth of summer, though tiny pennants of autumn mist are curling up from the muddy little lake around which the cab is circling.

Inside the cab sits a dishevelled young man; up on the driver's seat sits a very ragged and unshaven cabby. The young man has just staggered out of a cafe and is taking the drive for a breath of fresh air before going home. The horse trots along briskly.

THE YOUNG MAN: Say, cabby, are you poor?

THE CABBY: Yes, sir.

(Turns to look back at his passenger.)

THE YOUNG MAN: Look where you're driving!

THE CABBY: Yes, sir.

(They are silent a while.)

THE YOUNG MAN: Have you got a wife? THE CABBY: TWO.

THE YOUNG MAN: Good for you! Any children?

THE CABBY:. Three by one wife; four by the other. That's eight altogether. Then there's one I had long ago, when I was only a cabby.

THE YOUNG MAN: Aren't you a cabby now? THE CABBY: NO, sir. This cab belongs to me.

THE YOUNG MAN: This old rattle-trap belongs to you? And also this animated sausage that pulls it?

THE CABBY: All belongs to me. I own four cabs and eight horses. And two coupes for funerals. And I have a white hearse with a glass coffin for children's funerals. It all belongs to me, even if I do wear old clothes. You don't suppose I get dressed up in good clothes to drive at night, do you? Why, even this cab is only a night cab.

THE YOUNG MAN: Then you are not poor at all, you old fraud. Why do you say you're poor?

THE CABBY: I own a house in Elias Street. And I own an empty lot, too. Oh, I'm not a beggar—just a poor man. When you have to take orders you're poor.

(There is a pause.)

THE YOUNG MAN: IS your horse going all right, sir?

THE CABBY: Me?

THE YOUNG MAN: Sure.

THE CABBY: I didn't think you were talking to me because you said "sir".

THE. YOUNG MAN: Certainly I call you "sir". Why, you're a property owner and a man of affairs . . . Say, I'd like to get up on the box and drive this cab awhile.

THE CABBY: If you like.

THE YOUNG MAN: The people will laugh at us.

THE CABBY: What for?

THE YOUNG MAN: Because the two of us will be sitting on the box and nobody inside the cab. But I'll tell you what we can do. You sit inside the cab as if you were the passenger and I the driver. Will you?

THE CABBY: All right.

(The cab stops. The cabby sits in the cab

and the young man mounts to the driver's seat and takes the reins. He whips the horse briskly and the cab is off again.)

THE CABBY: Can I smoke?

THE YOUNG MAN: Certainly. You are the passenger now. Where'd you like to go?

THE CABBY: Around the reservoir and back.

THE YOUNG MAN: Yes, sir. Get up!

(He whips up the horse. They ride a long tune in silence. Suddenly the cabby speaks.)

THE CABBY: Say, cabby, are you rich?

(The young man turns and looks back at him.)

THE YOUNG MAN: What? What's that? ,

THE CABBY: Look where you're driving.

I asked whether you're rich.

THE YOUNG MAN: (shrugs his shoulders) Yes.

(There is a pause.)

THE CABBY: Have you got a wife?

THE YOUNG MAN: Twenty-two.

THE CABBY: Good for you! Got any children?

THE YOUNG MAN: Not one.

THE CABBY: Well, then, what have you got?

THE YOUNG MAN: I have got a pair of white trousers, eight notes at the money lender's, three in the name of my first wife, four in my second wife's name, and one in the name of my grandfather . . . but that one

is forged. That's eight all together. I've also got a furnished room on Burg Street . . . but I've been put out of that because I haven't paid the rent for four months. I haven't got a job. Yesterday I took my silver cigarette case to the pawnshop and with what they gave me on it I bought eight, bottles of beer. So I have one gulden left, and I'll have to give that to you. Now I'm going to ask my landlady to let me sleep at home one more day. Then I think I'll buy a package of phosphorous matches, dissolve them in water and drink it. You see, I sold my revolver . . . But if I'm very sleepy I won't drink the phosphorous because I like to sleep too much. When I get up —then I'll drink it. Always when I wake up my pillow is wet because I cry at night over my misspent life. But come to think of it, I won't have enough left to buy the matches. Maybe you'll give me some back out of my gulden ?

THE GABBY: Don't be a fool. Is this true, what you're telling me?

THE YOUNG MAN: It's true. One talks about it so long that at last one does it. That's how you work yourself up to it. And all the time you get less and less afraid of it. Perhaps for another week I'll talk about it . . . and then I won't be afraid any more, and I'll do it. Peacefully, very peacefully I'll leave the world; my heart will stop like a clock. But you can't understand, my dear cabby . . . you've never lain on your bed naked, weeping, with a revolver pressed close to your skin. That's so peaceful, my dear Mister Cabby. The hot tears roll down your cheeks. You press the revolver barrel hard against your ribs, so hard that you can't hear the rumble of wheels outside on the street, and then suddenly you feel as pure as a new born babe . . . But you must be careful not to press the trigger . . . These stories about how you go mad and shoot yourself in a single day are fairy tales. That sort of thing comes very slowly. But you don't understand, my poor dear cabby, and, anyhow, I sold my revolver to get enough to go to the races.

THE CABBY: Have you no income?

THE YOUNG MAN : No, sir.

THE CABBY: Do you want to work for me as a driver?

THE YOUNG MAN: Gladly, sir. It's all the same to me as long as I have a room and board until I can bring myself to do it. If you want to know what I mean, Mister Cabby, I'll explain it to you. This much I can tell you: that no one should die while he is sad. Old men get tired and are glad to die at the last minute. The sick lose their desire to live. If a man jumps off a bridge he grows old during his fall. I must get from eight to ten days older so as not to cry too much while I'm dying. Nature won't let a man leave this world until she agrees that he ought to go. We ourselves can't force matters. But you're too stupid to understand what I'm talking about, my dear cabby.

THE CABBY: YOU will sleep in the stable and eat dinner with us. You can buy your supper for seventeen kreuzer in the little restaurant near the cab-stand.

(Continued on page 78)

(Continued from page 40)

THE YOUNG MAN: Yes, sir.

THE CABBY: Well, do you take the job?

THE YOUNG MAN: Right now.

THE CABBY: Then I won't do any more driving myself. My eyes are weak. Driving spoils your eyes on account of the dust. And why should I go blind? Who would support my two wives and my eight children? Eh?

THE YOUNG MAN: YOU are right.

THE CABBY: The horse's name is Rosa. Remember that. I'll tell you all the rest you have to know when we get to Elias Street.

THE YOUNG MAN: Then I won't have to pay you for this ride?

THE CABBY: Why not? For the first half hour I am entitled to seventyfive kreuzer because you were still a passenger then. The rest you needn't pay. But I'll not take your gulden away from you. Keep it. I'll deduct the seventy-five kreuzer from your wages.

THE YOUNG MAN: Yes, sir.

{Meantime they have circled the reservoir and are back at the place where they started. The cab stops.)

THE YOUNG MAN: Where would you like to go now, sir? Home?

THE CABBY: Not yet. First we must go to the feed-dealer's. Hereafter you'll know where he lives. Go ahead. Forty-two Sand Street. Stop whipping that horse or I'll knock you off the box.

THE YOUNG MAN : Yes, sir. Get up, Rosa.

(The cab proceeds. A milk wagon with two women on the driver's seat is just ahead.)

THE YOUNG MAN: (shouts loudly) Hey, there!

(Swerves to the right and laughs proudly at the women because he has passed them. But the first thrill of pride in his new calling—or something else—has wrung two hot tears from his eyes. The sun is now shining brightly and they proceed at a lively trot. The sireets are now filling with people. The cab passes a sleepy policeman. The new cabby glowers at him. They stop at the door of the feed-dealer's. The cabby gets out.)

THE CABBY: Wait here. I'll be back soon.

THE YOUNG MAN : Yes, sir.

{He waits until the cabby has vanished into the store. He looks around him. Nearby a cigar store is being opened for the day. He climbs down from his box and goes into the store. Like a careful cabby, he takes his whip with him.)

THE WOMAN IN THE STORE: What will you have?

THE YOUNG MAN: Give me a box of matches, not the Swedish kind, but the kind with the phosphorous tips.

(His silver gulden falls ringing on the counter.)