The Price

by Arthur Miller

You hear me?

  VICTOR: I’ve made a deal, and that’s it. You know, you take a tone sometimes—like I’m some kind of an incompetent.

  ESTHER—gets up, moves restlessly: Well anyway, you’ll get the whole amount.—God, he’s certainly changed. It’s amazing.

  VICTOR, without assent: Seems so, ya.

  ESTHER, wanting him to join her: He’s so human! And he laughs!

  VICTOR: I’ve seen him laugh.

  ESTHER, with a grin of trepidation: Am I hearing something or is that my imagination?

  VICTOR: I want to think about it.

  ESTHER, quietly: You’re not taking his share?

  VICTOR: I said I would like to think …

  Assuming he will refuse Walter’s share, she really doesn’t know what to do or where to move, so she goes for her purse with a quick stride.

  VICTOR, getting up: Where you going?

  ESTHER, turning back on him: 1 want to know. Are you or aren’t you taking his share?

  VICTOR: Esther, I’ve been calling him all week; doesn’t even bother to come to the phone, walks in here and smiles and I’m supposed to fall into his arms? I can’t behave as though nothing ever happened, and you’re not going to either! Now just take it easy, we’re not dying of hunger.

  ESTHER: I don’t understand what you think you’re upholding!

  VICTOR, outraged: Where have you been?!

  ESTHER: But he’s doing exactly what you thought he should do! What do you want?

  VICTOR: Certain things have happened, haven’t they? I can’t turn around this fast, kid. He’s only been here ten minutes, I’ve got twenty-eight years to shake off my back…. Now sit down, I want you here. He sits.

  She remains standing, uncertain of what to do.

  Please. You can wait a few minutes for your drink.

  ESTHER, in despair: Vic, it’s all blowing away.

  VICTOR, to diminish the entire prize: Half of eleven hundred dollars is five-fifty, dear.

  ESTHER: I’m not talking about money.

  Voices are heard from the bedroom.

  He’s obviously making a gesture, why can’t you open yourself a little? She lays her head back. My mother was right—I can never believe anything I see. But I’m going to. That’s all I’m going to do. What I see.

  A chair scrapes in the bedroom.

  VICTOR: Wipe your cheek, will you?

  Walter enters from the bedroom.

  How is he?

  WALTER: I think he’ll be all right. Warmly: God, what a pirate! He sits. He’s eighty-nine!

  ESTHER: I don’t believe it!

  VICTOR: He is. He showed me his—

  WALTER, laughing: Oh, he show you that too?

  VICTOR, smiling: Ya, the British Navy.

  ESTHER: He was in the British Navy?

  VICTOR, building on Walter’s support: He’s got a discharge. He’s not altogether phony.

  WALTER: I wouldn’t go that far. A guy that age, though, still driving like that … As though admitting Victor was not foolish: There is something wonderful about it.

  VICTOR, understating: I think so.

  ESTHER: What do you think we ought to do, Walter?

  WALTER—slight pause. He is trying to modify what he believes is his overpowering force so as not to appear to be taking over. He is faintly smiling toward Victor: There is a way to get a good deal more out of it. I suppose you know that, though.

  VICTOR: Look, I’m not married to this guy. If you want to call another dealer we can compare.

  WALTER: You don’t have to do that; he’s a registered appraiser.—You see, instead of selling it, you could make it a charitable contribution.

  VICTOR: I don’t understand.

  WALTER: It’s perfectly simple. He puts a value on it—let’s say twenty-five thousand dollars, and—

  ESTHER, fascinated with a laugh: Are you kidding?

  WALTER: It’s done all the time. It’s a dream world but it’s legal. He estimates its highest retail value, which could be put at some such figure. Then I donate it to the Salvation Army. I’d have to take ownership, you see, because my tax rate is much higher than yours so it would make more sense if I took the deduction. I pay around fifty per cent tax, so if I make a twenty-five-thousand-dollar contribution I’d be saving around twelve thousand in taxes. Which we could split however you wanted to. Let’s say we split it in half, I’d give you six thousand dollars. A pause. It’s really the only sensible way to do it, Vic.

  ESTHER—glances at Victor, but he remains silent: Would it be costing you anything?

  WALTER: On the contrary—it’s found money to me. To Victor: I mentioned it to him just now.

  VICTOR, as though this had been the question: What’d he say?

  WALTER: It’s up to you. We’d pay him an appraisal fee— fifty, sixty bucks.

  VICTOR: Is he willing to do that?

  WALTER: Well, of course he’d rather buy it outright, but what the hell—

  ESTHER: Well, that’s not his decision, is it?

  VICTOR: No … it’s just that I feel I did come to an agreement with him and I—

  WALTER: Personally, I wouldn’t let that bother me. He’d be making fifty bucks for filling out a piece of paper.

  ESTHER: That’s not bad for an afternoon.

  Pause,

  VICTOR: I’d like to think about it.

  ESTHER: There’s not much time, though, if you want to deal with him.

  VICTOR, cornered: I’d like a few minutes, that’s all.

  WALTER, to Esther: Sure … let him think it over. To Victor: It’s perfectly legal, if that’s what’s bothering you. I almost did it with my stuff but I finally decided to keep it. He laughs. In fact, my own apartment is so loaded up it doesn’t look too different from this.

  ESTHER: Well, maybe you’ll get married again.

  WALTER: I doubt that very much, Esther.—I often feel I never should have.

  ESTHER, scoffing: Why!

  WALTER: Seriously. I’m in a strange business, you know. There’s too much to learn and far too little time to learn it. And there’s a price you have to pay for that. I tried awfully hard to kid myself but there’s simply no time for people. Not the way a woman expects, if she’s any kind of woman. He laughs. But I’m doing pretty well alone!

  VICTOR: How would I list an amount like that on my income tax?

  WALTER: Well … call it a gift.

  Victor is silent, obviously in conflict. Walter sees the emotion.

  Not that it is, but you could list it as such. It’s allowed.

  VICTOR: I see. I was just curious how it—

  WALTER: Just enter it as a gift. There’s no problem.

  With the first sting of a vague resentment, Walter turns his eyes away. Esther raises her eyebrows, staring at the floor. Walter lifts the foil off the table—clearly changing the subject.

  You still fence?

  VICTOR, almost gratefully pursuing this diversion: No, you got to join a club and all that. And I work weekends often. I just found it here.

  WALTER, as though to warm the mood: Mother used to love to watch him do this.

  ESTHER, surprised, pleased: Really?

  WALTER: Sure, she used to come to all his matches.

  ESTHER, to Victor, somehow charmed: You never told me that.

  WALTER: Of course; she’s the one made him take it up. He laughs to Victor. She thought it was elegant!

  VICTOR: Hey, that’s right!

  WALTER, laughing at the memory: He did look pretty good too! He spreads his jacket away from his chest. I’ve still got the wounds! To Victor, who laughs: Especially with those French gauntlets she—

  VICTOR, recalling: Say …! Looking around with an enlivened need: I wonder where the hell … He suddenly moves toward a bureau. Wait, I think they used to be in …

  ESTHER, to Walter: French gauntlets?

  WALTER: She brought them from Paris. Gorgeously embroidered. He looked like one of the musketeers.

  Out of the drawer wh
ere he earlier found the ice skate, Victor takes a pair of emblazoned gauntlets.

  VICTOR: Here they are! What do you know!

  ESTHER, reaching her hand out: Aren’t they beautiful!

  He hands her one.

  VICTOR: God, I’d forgotten all about them. He slips one on his hand.

  WALTER: Christmas, 1929.

  VICTOR, moving his hand in the gauntlet: Look at that, they’re still soft … To Walter—a little shy in asking: How do you remember all this stuff?

  WALTER: Why not? Don’t you?

  ESTHER: He doesn’t remember your mother very well.

  VICTOR: I remember her. Looking at the gauntlet: It’s just her face; somehow I can never see her.

  WALTER, warmly: That’s amazing, Vic. To Esther: She adored him.

  ESTHER, pleased: Did she?

  WALTER: Victor? If it started to rain she’d run all the way to school with his galoshes. Her Victor—my God! By the time he could light a match he was already Louis Pasteur.

  VICTOR: It’s odd … like the harp! I can almost hear the music … But I can never see her face. Somehow. For a moment, silence, as he looks across at the harp.

  WALTER: What’s the problem?

  Pause. Victor’s eyes are swollen with feeling. He turns and looks up at Walter, who suddenly is embarrassed and oddly anxious.

  SOLOMON—enters from the bedroom. He looks quite distressed. He is in his vest, his tie is open. Without coming downstage: Please, Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind I would like to … He breaks off, indicating the bedroom.

  WALTER: What is it?

  SOLOMON: Just for one minute, please.

  Walter stands. Solomon glances at Victor and Esther and returns to the bedroom.

  WALTER: I’ll be right back. He goes rather quickly up and into the bedroom.

  A pause. Victor is sitting in silence, unable to face her.

  ESTHER, with delicacy and pity, sensing his conflicting feelings: Why can’t you take him as he is?

  He glances at her.

  Well you can’t expect him to go into an apology, Vic—he probably sees it all differently, anyway.

  He is silent. She comes to him.

  I know it’s difficult, but he is trying to make a gesture, I think.

  VICTOR: I guess he is, yes.

  ESTHER: You know what would be lovely? If we could take a few weeks and go to like … out-of-the-way places … just to really break it up and see all the things that people do. You’ve been around such mean, petty people for so long and little ugly tricks. I’m serious—it’s not romantic. We’re much too suspicious of everything.

  VICTOR, staring ahead: Strange guy.

  ESTHER: Why?

  VICTOR: Well, to walk in that way—as though nothing ever happened.

  ESTHER: Why not? What can be done about it?

  VICTOR—slight pause: I feel I have to say something.

  ESTHER, with a slight trepidation, less than she feels: What can you say?

  VICTOR: You feel I ought to just take the money and shut up, heh?

  ESTHER: But what’s the point of going backwards?

  VICTOR, with a self-bracing tension: I’m not going to take this money unless I talk to him.

  ESTHER, frightened: You can’t bear the thought that he’s decent.

  He looks at her sharply.

  That’s all it is, dear. I’m sorry, I have to say it.

  VICTOR, without raising his voice: I can’t bear that he’s decent!

  ESTHER: You throw this away, you’ve got to explain it to me. You can’t go on blaming everything on him or the system or God knows what else! You’re free and you can’t make a move, Victor, and that’s what’s driving me crazy! Silence. Quietly: Now take this money.

  He is silent, staring at her.

  You take this money! Or I’m washed up. You hear me? If you’re stuck it doesn’t mean I have to be. Now that’s it.

  Movements are heard within the bedroom. She straightens. Victor smooths down his hair with a slow, preparatory motion of his hand, like one adjusting himself for combat.

  WALTER—enters from the bedroom, smiling, shaking his head. Indicating the bedroom: Boy—we got a tiger here. What is this between you, did you know him before?

  VICTOR: No. Why? What’d he say?

  WALTER: He’s still trying to buy it outright. He laughs. He talks like you added five years by calling him up.

  VICTOR: Well, what’s the difference, I don’t mind.

  WALTER, registering the distant rebuke: No, that’s fine, that’s all right. He sits. Slight pause. We don’t understand each other, do we?

  VICTOR, with a certain thrust, matching Walter’s smile: I am a little confused, Walter … yes.

  WALTER: Why is that?

  Victor doesn’t answer at once.

  Come on, we’ll all be dead soon!

  VICTOR: All right, I’ll give you one example. When I called you Monday and Tuesday and again this morning—

  WALTER: I’ve explained that

  VICTOR: But I don’t make phone calls to pass the time. Your nurse sounded like I was a pest of some kind … it was humiliating.

  WALTER—oddly, he is over-upset: I’m terribly sorry, she shouldn’t have done that.

  VICTOR: I know, Walter, but I can’t imagine she takes that tone all by herself.

  WALTER, aware now of the depth of resentment in Victor:

  Oh no—she’s often that way. I’ve never referred to you like that.

  Victor is silent, not convinced.

  Believe me, will you? I’m terribly sorry. I’m overwhelmed with work, that’s all it is.

  VICTOR: Well, you asked me, so I’m telling you.

  WALTER: Yes! You should! But don’t misinterpret that. Slight pause. His tension has increased. He braves a smile. Now about this tax thing. He’d be willing to make the appraisal twenty-five thousand. With difficulty: If you’d like, I’d be perfectly willing for you to have the whole amount I’d be saving.

  Slight pause.

  ESTHER: Twelve thousand?

  WALTER: Whatever it comes to.

  Pause. Esther slowly looks to Victor.

  You must be near retirement now, aren’t you?

  ESTHER, excitedly: He’s past it. But he’s trying to decide what to do.

  WALTER: Oh. To Victor—near open embarrassment now: It would come in handy, then, wouldn’t it?

  Victor glances at him as a substitute for a reply.

  I don’t need it, that’s all, Vic. Actually, I’ve been about to call you for quite some time now.

  VICTOR: What for?

  WALTER—suddenly, with a strange quick laugh, he reaches and touches Victor’s knee: Don’t be suspicious!

  VICTOR, grinning: I’m just trying to figure it out, Walter.

  WALTER: Yes, good. All right. Slight pause. I thought it was time we got to know one another. That’s all.

  Slight pause.

  VICTOR: You know, Walter, I tried to call you a couple of times before this about the furniture—must be three years ago.

  WALTER: I was sick.

  VICTOR, surprised: Oh … Because I left a lot of messages.

  WALTER: I was quite sick. I was hospitalized.

  ESTHER: What happened?

  WALTER—slight pause. As though he were not quite sure whether to say it: I broke down.

  Slight pause.

  VICTOR: I had no idea.

  WALTER: Actually, I’m only beginning to catch up with things. I was out of commission for nearly three years. With a thrust of success: But I’m almost thankful for it now— I’ve never been happier!

  ESTHER: You seem altogether different!

  WALTER: I think I am, Esther. I live differently, I think differently. All I have now is a small apartment. And I got rid of the nursing homes—

  VICTOR: What nursing homes?

  WALTER, with a removed self-amusement: Oh, I owned three nursing homes. There’s big money in the aged, you know. Helpless, desperate children trying to dump t
heir parents—nothing like it. I even pulled out of the market. Fifty percent of my time now is in City hospitals. And I tell you, I’m alive. For the first time. I do medicine, and that’s it. Attempting an intimate grin: Not that I don’t soak the rich occasionally, but only enough to live, really. It is as though this was his mission here, and he waits for Victor’s comment.

  VICTOR: Well, that must be great.

  WALTER, seizing on this minute encouragement: Vic, I wish We could talk for weeks, there’s so much I want to tell you.… It is not rolling quite the way he would wish and he must pick examples of his new feelings out of the air. I never had friends—you probably know that. But I do now, I have good friends. He moves, sitting nearer Victor, his enthusiasm flowing. It all happens so gradually. You start out wanting to be the best, and there’s no question that you do need a certain fanaticism; there’s so much to know and so little time. Until you’ve eliminated everything extraneous— he smiles—including people. And of course the time comes when you realize that you haven’t merely been specializing in something—something has been specializing in you. You become a kind of instrument, an instrument that cuts money out of people, or fame out of the world. And it finally makes you stupid. Power can do that. You get to think that because you can frighten people they love you. Even that you love them.—And the whole thing comes down to fear. One night I found myself in the middle of my living room, dead drunk with a knife in my hand, getting ready to kill my wife.

  ESTHER: Good Lord!

  WALTER: Oh ya—and I nearly made it too! He laughs. But there’s one virtue in going nuts—provided you survive, of course. You get to see the terror—not the screaming kind, but the slow, daily fear you call ambition, and cautiousness, and piling up the money. And really, what I wanted to tell you for some time now—is that you helped me to understand that in myself.

  VICTOR: Me?

  WALTER: Yes. He grins warmly, embarrassed. Because of what you did. I could never understand it, Vic—after all, you were the better student. And to stay with a job like that through all those years seemed … He breaks off momentarily, the uncertainty of Victor’s reception widening his smile. You see, it never dawned oh me until I got sick—that you’d made a choice.