Brecht Collected Plays: 1: Baal; Drums in the Night; In the Jungle of Cities; Life of Edward II of England; & 5 One Act Plays: "Baal", "Drums in the Night", "In the Jungle of Ci (World Classics) by Bertolt Brecht Page B

that. Not with kid gloves on always, but hard work the whole time, God knows! Now on top! Cheers, Anna!
The gramophone plays ‘Ich bete an die Macht der Liebe’
.
    BALICKE: Bravo! Well, what’s wrong, Anna?
    ANNA
has got up
,
stands half turned away
: I don’t know. It’s all happening so quickly. Perhaps that isn’t a good thing, eh, Mother?
    FRAU BALICKE: What’s the matter, child? So silly! Go on, enjoy yourself. Not a good thing, indeed!
    BALICKE: Sit! Or wind the gramophone, as you’re up.
Anna sits down
.
    Pause
.
    MURK: So cheers, then!
Clinks glasses with Anna
. What’s wrong?
    BALICKE: Then about the business, Fritz, ammunition boxes, that’ll soon be a dead duck. A few more weeks of civil war, that’s the best you can hope for, then finish. I know the ideal answer, I’m not joking: children’s prams. The factory’s tip-top all along the line.
He takes Murk’s arm and draws him upstage. Pulls back the curtains
. New buildings Three and Four. All modern and permanent. Anna, windupthe gramophone. I always find that moving.
The gramophone plays ‘Deutschland, Deutschland über alles’
.
    MURK: Hey, there’s a man in the factory yard. What’s going on?
    ANNA: Oh, how creepy! I think he’s looking up here.
    BALICKE: Probably the night-watchman. Why are you laughing, Fritz! Cough it up. The ladies look quite pale.
    MURK: A funny idea came into my head: the Spartacists, don’t you know …
    BALICKE: Rubbish. None of that round here.
Turns away all the same
,
disagreeably disturbed
. So that’s the factory.
Approaches the table. Anna draws the curtain
. The war put me in the proverbial clover. The stuff was lying around for anybody to pick up, why not, it would have been too stupid. Someone else would have had it. Can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs. Looked at the right way the war was a godsend to us. We’ve got our pile, round, fat, and snug. We can sit back and make prams. No special hurry. Am I right?
    MURK: Absolutely, Dad. Cheers!
    BALICKE: The same way you can sit back and make children. Hahahaha.
    MAID: Herr Babusch, Herr Balicke.
    BABUSCH
trots in
: Hey, hey, you folks are well dug in against the red terror. Spartacus has mobilized. Negotiations been broken off. Artillery fire over Berlin in another twenty-four hours.
    BALICKE
has his napkin round his neck
: To hell with it, can’t those fellows be satisfied?
    FRAU BALICKE: Artillery? O godogodogodogod! What a night! What a night! Balicke, I’m going to the cellar.
    BABUSCH: It’s all quiet so far in the central districts. 1 But the story is that they want to seize the newspaper offices.
    BALICKE: What! We’re celebrating an engagement! And this is the day we choose! Quite mad!
    MURK: They should execute the lot.
    BALICKE: A firing squad for all grumblers.
    BABUSCH: Is
it your
engagement, Balicke?
    MURK : Babusch: my fiancée.
    FRAU BALICKE: A wonderful surprise. But when’ll the shooting start?
    BABUSCH
shakes Anna’s and Murk’s hands
: Spartacus have been hoarding weapons for all they’re worth. Lowdown secretive lot. Anna, Anna! Don’t let them put you off. Nothing’ll touch you here. Here’s a peaceful retreat. The family. The German family. My home is my castle.
    FRAU BALICKE: What times these are! What times these are! And on your big day! Anna!
    BABUSCH: It’s damned interesting all the same, folks.
    BALICKE: Not to me it isn’t. Not one little bit.
Wipes his mouth with the napkin
.
    MURK: You know what? Come to the Piccadilly Bar with us. We’re celebrating.
    BABUSCH: And Spartacus?
    BALICKE : Can wait, Babusch. Shoot some other fellow in the guts, Babusch. Come to the Piccadilly Bar with us. Get your fineries on, girls!
    FRAU BALICKE : Piccadilly Bar? Tonight?
Sits on a chair
.
    BALICKE: Piccadilly Bar it used to be called. It’s the Café Vaterland now. Friedrich’s taking us out. What’s wrong with tonight? What are cabs for? Gee up; get your togs on, old girl!
    FRAU BALICKE: I’m not moving a foot