The Skin of Our Teeth by Thornton Wilder Read Free Book Online Page A

this kind gentleman . . . yes, my friends, this Spring Mr. Antrobus and I will be celebrating our five thousandth wedding anniversary.
    I don’t know if I speak for my husband, but I can say that, as for me, I regret every moment of it.
    Laughter of confusion.
    I beg your pardon. What I mean to say is that I do not regret one moment of it. I hope none of you catch my cold. We have two children. We’ve always had two children, though it hasn’t always been the same two. But as I say, we have two fine children, and we’re very grateful for that. Yes, Mr. Antrobus and I have been married five thousand years. Each wedding anniversary reminds me of the times when there were no weddings. We had to crusade for marriage. Perhaps there are some women within the sound of my voice who remember that crusade and those struggles; we fought for it, didn’t we? We chained ourselves to lampposts and we made disturbances in the Senate,—anyway, at last we women got the ring.
    A few men helped us, but I must say that most men blocked our way at every step: they said we were unfeminine.
    I only bring up these unpleasant memories, because I see some signs of backsliding from that great victory.
    Oh, my fellow mammals, keep hold of that.
    My husband says that the watchword for the year is Enjoy Yourselves. I think that’s very open to misunderstanding. My watchword for the year is: Save the Family. It’s held together for over five thousand years: Save it! Thank you.
    ANNOUNCER:
    Thank you, Mrs. Antrobus.
    The transparency disappears.
    We had hoped to show you the Beauty Contest that took place here today.
    President Antrobus, an experienced judge of pretty girls, gave the title of Miss Atlantic City 1942, to Miss Lily-Sabina Fairweather, charming hostess of our Boardwalk Bingo Parlor.
    Unfortunately, however, our time is up, and I must take you to some views of the Convention City and conveeners,—enjoying themselves.
    A burst of music; the curtain rises.
    The Boardwalk. The audience is sitting in the ocean. A handrail of scarlet cord stretches across the front of the stage. A ramp—also with scarlet handrail—descends to the right corner of the orchestra pit where a great scarlet beach umbrella or a cabana stands. Front and right stage left are benches facing the sea; attached to each bench is a street-lamp.
    The only scenery is two cardboard cut-outs six feet high, representing shops at the back of the stage. Reading from left to right they are: SALT WATER TAFFY; FORTUNE TELLER; then the blank space; BINGO PARLOR; TURKISH BATH. They have practical doors, that of the Fortune Teller’s being hung with bright gypsy curtains.
    By the left proscenium and rising from the orchestra pit is the weather signal; it is like the mast of a ship with cross bars. From time to time black discs are hung on it to indicate the storm and hurricane warnings. Three roller chairs, pushed by melancholy NEGROES file by empty. Throughout the act they traverse the stage in both directions.
    From time to time, CONVEENERS , dressed like MR. ANTROBUS , cross the stage. Some walk sedately by; others engage in inane horseplay. The old gypsy FORTUNE TELLER is seated at the door of her shop, smoking a corncob pipe.
    From the Bingo Parlor comes the voice of the CALLER .
    BINGO CALLER:
    A-Nine; A-Nine. C-Twenty-six; C-Twenty-six.
    A-Four; A-Four. B-Twelve.
    CHORUS:
    Back-stage.
    Bingo!!!
    The front of the Bingo Parlor shudders, rises a few feet in the air and returns to the ground trembling.
    FORTUNE TELLER:
    Mechanically, to the unconscious back of a passerby, pointing with her pipe.
    Bright’s disease! Your partner’s deceiving you in that Kansas City deal. You’ll have six grandchildren. Avoid high places.
    She rises and shouts after another:
    Cirrhosis of the liver!
    SABINA appears at the door of the Bingo Parlor. She hugs about her a blue raincoat that almost conceals her red bathing suit. She tries to catch the