《榆树下的欲望》PART III SCENE FOUR
∙ DESIRE UNDER THE ELMS
About an hour later. Same as Scene Three. Shows the kitchen and Cabot's bedroom. It is after dawn. The sky is brilliant with the sunrise. In the kitchen, Abbie sits at the table, her body limp and exhausted, her head bowed down over her arms, her face hidden. Upstairs, Cabot is still asleep but awakens with a start. He looks toward the window and gives a snort of surprise and irritation--throws back the covers and begins hurriedly pulling on his clothes. Without looking behind him, he begins talking to Abbie, whom he supposes beside him.
 
CABOT--Thunder 'n' lightnin', Abbie! I hain't slept this late in fifty year! Looks 's if the sun was full riz a'most. Must've been the dancin' an' likker. Must be gittin' old. I hope Eben's t' wuk. Ye might've tuk the trouble t' rouse me, Abbie. (He turns--sees no one there--surprised) Waal--whar air she? Gittin' vittles, I calc'late. (He tiptoes to the cradle and peers
down--proudly) Mornin', sonny. Putty's a picter! Sleepin' sound. He don't beller all night like most o' 'em. (He goes quietly out the door in rear--a few moments later enters kitchen--sees Abbie--with satisfaction) So thar ye be. Ye got any vittles cooked?
ABBIE--(without moving) No.
CABOT--(coming to her, almost sympathetically) Ye feelin' sick?
ABBIE--No.
CABOT--(pats her on shoulder. She shudders.) Ye'd best lie down a spell. (half jocularly) Yer son'll be needin' ye soon. He'd ought t' wake up with a gnashin' appetite, the sound way he's sleepin'.
ABBIE--(shudders--then in a dead voice) He hain't never goin' t' wake up.
CABOT--(jokingly) Takes after me this mornin'. I hain't slept so late in. . . .
ABBIE--He's dead.
CABOT--(stares at her--bewilderedly) What. . . .
ABBIE--I killed him.
CABOT--(stepping back from her--aghast) Air ye drunk--'r crazy--'r . . . !
ABBIE--(suddenly lifts her head and turns on him--wildly) I killed him, I tell ye! I smothered him. Go up an' see if ye don't b'lieve me! (Cabot stares at her a second, then bolts out the rear door, can be heard bounding up the stairs, and rushes into the bedroom and over to the cradle. Abbie has sunk back lifelessly into her former position. Cabot puts his hand down on the body in the crib. An expression of fear and horror comes over his face.)
CABOT--(shrinking away--tremblingly) God A'mighty! God A'mighty. (He stumbles out the door--in a short while returns to the kitchen--comes to Abbie, the stunned expression still on his face--hoarsely) Why did ye do it? Why? (As she doesn't answer, he grabs her violently by the shoulder and shakes her.) I ax ye why ye done it! Ye'd better tell me 'r . . . !
ABBIE--(gives him a furious push which sends him staggering back and springs to her feet--with wild rage and hatred) Don't ye dare tech me! What right hev ye t' question me 'bout him? He wa'n't yewr son! Think I'd have a son by yew? I'd die fust! I hate the sight o' ye an' allus did! It's yew I should've murdered, if I'd had good sense! I hate ye! I love Eben. I did from the fust. An' he was Eben's son--mine an' Eben's--not your'n!
CABOT--(stands looking at her dazedly--a pause--finding his words with an effort--dully) That was it--what I felt--pokin' 'round the corners--while ye lied--holdin' yerself from me--sayin' ye'd a'ready conceived--(He lapses into crushed silence--then with a strange emotion) He's dead, sart'n. I felt his heart. Pore little critter! (He blinks back one tear, wiping his sleeve across his nose.)
ABBIE--(hysterically) Don't ye! Don't ye! (She sobs unrestrainedly.)
CABOT--(with a concentrated effort that stiffens his body into a rigid line and hardens his face into a stony mask--through his teeth to himself) I got t' be--like a stone--a rock o' jedgment! (shudderA pause. He gets complete control over himself--harshly) If he was Eben's, I b
e glad he air gone! An' mebbe I suspicioned it all along. I felt they was somethin' onnateral--somewhars--the house got so lonesome--an' cold--drivin' me down t' the barn--t' the beasts o' the field. . . . Ay-eh. I must've suspicioned--somethin'. Ye didn't fool me--not altogether, leastways--I'm too old a bird--growin' ripe on the bough. . . . (He becomes aware he is wandering, straightens again, looks at Abbie with a cruel grin.) So ye'd liked t' hev murdered me 'stead o' him, would ye? Waal, I'll live to a hundred! I'll live t' see ye hung! I'll deliver ye up t' the jedgment o' God an' the law! I'll git the Sheriff now. (starts for the door)
ABBIE--(dully) Ye needn't. Eben's gone fur him.
CABOT--(amazed) Eben--gone fur the Sheriff?
ABBIE--Ay-eh.
CABOT--T' inform agen ye?
ABBIE--Ay-eh.
CABOT--(considers this--a pause--then in a hard voice) Waal, I'm thankful fur him savin' me the trouble. I'll git t' wuk. (He goes to the door--then turns--in a voice full of strange emotion) He'd ought t' been my son, Abbie. Ye'd ought t' loved me. I'm a man. If ye'd loved me, I'd never told no Sheriff on ye no matter what ye did, if they was t' brile me alive!
ABBIE--(defensively) They's more to it nor yew know, makes him tell.
CABOT--(dryly) Fur yewr sake, I hope they be. (He goes out--comes around to the gate--stares up at the sky. His control relaxes. For a moment he is old and weary. He murmurs despairingly) God A'mighty, I be lonesomer'n ever! (He hears running footsteps from the left, immediately is himself again. Eben runs in, panting exhaustedly, wild-eyed and mad looking. He lurches through the gate. Cabot grabs him by the shoulder. Eben stares at him dumbly.) Did ye tell the Sheriff?

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