LADY: Wait!
VAL: —Huh?
LADY: —Where do you stay?
VAL: —When?
LADY: Nights.
VAL: I stay at the Wildwood cabins on the highway.
LADY: You like it there?
VAL: Uh-huh.
LADY: —Why?
VAL: I got a comfortable bed, a two-burner stove, a shower and icebox there.
LADY: You want to save money?
VAL: I never could in my life.
LADY: You could if you stayed on the place.
VAL: What place?
LADY: This place.
VAL: Whereabouts on this place?
LADY [pointing to alcove]: Back of that curtain.
VAL: —Where they try on clothes?
LADY: There’s a cot there. A nurse slept on it when Jabe had his first operation, and there’s a washroom down here and I’ll get a plumber to put in a hot an’ cold shower! I’ll—fix it up nice for you. . . . [She rises, crosses to foot of stairs. Pause. He lets the door shut, staring at her.]
VAL [moving downstage center]: —I—don’t like to be—obligated.
LADY: There wouldn’t be no obligation, you’d do me a favor. I’d feel safer at night with somebody on the place. I would; it would cost you nothing! And you could save up that money you spend on the cabin. How much? Ten a week? Why, two or three months from now you’d—save enough money to— [Makes a wide gesture with a short laugh as if startled.] Go on! Take a look at it! See if it don’t suit you! —All right. . . .
[But he doesn’t move; he appears reflective.]
LADY [shivering, hugging herself]: Where does heat go in this building?
VAL [reflectively]: —Heat rises. . . .
LADY: You with your dog’s temperature, don’t feel cold, do you? I do! I turn blue with it!
VAL: —Yeah. . . .
[The wait is unendurable to Lady.]
LADY: Well, aren’t you going to look at it, the room back there, and see if it suits you or not?!
VAL: —I’ll go and take a look at it. . . . [He crosses to the alcove and disappears behind the curtain. A light goes on behind it, making its bizarre pattern translucent: a gold tree with scarlet fruit and white birds in it, formally designed. Truck roars; lights sweep the frosted window, Lady gasps aloud; takes out a pint bottle and a glass from under the counter, setting them down with a crash that makes her utter a startled exclamation: then a startled laugh. She pours a drink and sits in chair right of counter. The lights turn off behind alcove curtain and Val comes back out. She sits stiffly without looking at him as he crosses back lazily, goes behind counter, puts guitar down. His manner is gently sad as if he had met with a familiar, expected disappointment. He sits down quietly on edge of counter and takes the pint bottle and pours himself a shot of the liquor with a reflective sigh. Boards creak loudly, contracting with the cold, Lady’s voice is harsh and sudden, demanding:]
LADY: Well, is it okay or—what!
VAL: I never been in a position where I could turn down something I got for nothing in my life. I like that picture in there. That’s a famous picture, that “September Morn” picture you got on the wall in there. Ha ha! I might have trouble sleeping in a room with that picture. I might keep turning the light on to take another look at it! The way she’s cold in that water and sort of crouched over in it, holding her body like that, that—might—ha ha!—sort of keep me awake. . . .
LADY: Aw, you with your dog’s temperature and your control of all functions, it would take more than a picture to keep you awake!
VAL: I was just kidding.
LADY: I was just kidding too.
VAL: But you know how a single man is. He don’t come home every night with just his shadow.
[Pause. She takes a drink.]
LADY: You bring girls home nights to the Wildwood cabins, do you?
VAL: I ain’t so far. But I would like to feel free to. That old life is what I’m used to. I always worked nights in cities and if you work nights in cities you live in a different city from those that work days.
LADY: Yes. I know, I—imagine. . . .
VAL: The ones that work days in cities and the ones that work nights in cities, they live in different cities. The cities have the same name but they are different cities. As different as night and day. There’s something wild in the country that only the night people know. . . .
LADY: Yeah, I know!
VAL: I’m thirty years old!—but sudden changes don’t work, it takes—
LADY: —Time—yes. . . . [Slight pause which she finds disconcerting. He slides off counter and moves around below it.]
VAL: You been good to me, Lady. —Why d’you want me to stay here?
LADY [defensively]: I told you why.
VAL: For company nights?
LADY: Yeah, to, to!—guard the store, nights!
VAL: To be a night watchman?
LADY: Yeah, to be a night watchman.
VAL: You feel nervous alone here?
LADY: Naturally now! —Jabe sleeps with a pistol next to him but if somebody broke in the store, he couldn’t git up and all I could do is holler! —Who’d hear me? They got a telephone girl on the night shift with—sleepin’ sickness, I think! Anyhow, why’re you so suspicious? You look at me like you thought I was plottin. —Kind people exist: Even me! [She sits up rigid in chair, lips and eyes tight closed, drawing in a loud breath which comes from a tension both personal and vicarious.]
VAL: I understand, Lady, but. . . . Why’re you sitting up so stiff in that chair?
LADY: Ha! [Sharp laugh; she leans back in chair.]
VAL: You’re still unrelaxed.
LADY: I know.
VAL: Relax. [Moving around close to her.] I’m going to show you some tricks I learned from a lady osteopath that took me in, too.
LADY: What tricks?
VAL: How to manipulate joints and bones in a way that makes you feel like a loose piece of string. [Moves behind her chair. She watches him.] Do you trust me or don’t you?
LADY: Yeah, I trust you completely, but—
VAL: Well then, lean forward a little and raise your arms up and turn sideways in the chair.
[She follows these instructions.]
Drop your head. [He manipulates her head and neck.] Now the spine, Lady. [He places his knee against the small of her backbone and she utters a sharp, startled laugh as he draws her backbone hard against his kneecap.]
LADY: Ha, ha! —That makes a sound like, like, like! —boards contracting with cold in the building, ha, ha!
[She relaxes.]
VAL: Better?
LADY: Oh, yes!—much . . . thanks. . . .
VAL [stroking her neck]: Your skin is like silk. You’re light skinned to be Italian.
LADY: Most people in this country think Italian people are dark. Some are but not all are! Some of them are fair . . very fair. . . . My father’s people were dark but my mother’s people were fair. Ha ha!
[The laughter is senseless. He smiles understandingly at her as she chatters to cover confusion. He turns away, then goes above and sits on counter close to her.]
My mother’s mother’s sister—come here from Monte Cassino, to die, with relations! —but I think people always die alone . . . with or without relations. I was a little girl then and I remember it took her such a long, long time to die we almost forgot her. —And she was so quiet . . . in a corner. . . . And I remember asking her one time, Zia Teresa, how does it feel to die? —Only a little girl would ask such a question, ha ha! Oh, and I remember her answer. She said—“It’s a lonely feeling.” I think she wished she had stayed in Italy and died in a place that she knew. . . . [Looks at him directly for the first time since mentioning the alcove.] Well, there is a washroom, and I’ll get the plumber to put in a hot and cold
shower! Well— [Rises, retreats awkwardly from the chair. His interest seems to have wandered from her.] I’ll go up and get some clean linen and make up that bed in there.
[She turns and walks rapidly, almost running, to stairs. He appears lost in some private reflection but as soon as she has disappeared above the landing, he says something under his breath and crosses directly to the cashbox. He coughs loudly to cover the sound of ringing it open; scoops out a fistful of bills and coughs again to cover the sound of slamming drawer shut. Picks up his guitar and goes out the front door of store, Lady returns downstairs, laden with linen. The outer darkness moans through the door left open. She crosses to the door and a little outside it, peering both ways down the dark road. Then she comes in furiously, with an Italian curse, shutting the door with her foot or shoulder, and throws the linen down on counter. She crosses abruptly to cashbox, rings it open and discovers theft. Slams drawer violently shut.]
Thief! Thief!
[Turns to phone, lifts receiver. Holds it a moment, then slams it back into place. Wanders desolately back to the door, opens it and stands staring out into the starless night as the scene dims out. Music: blues—guitar.]
SCENE FOUR
Late that night, Val enters the store, a little unsteadily, with his guitar; goes to the cashbox and rings it open. He counts some bills off a big wad and returns them to the cashbox and the larger wad to the pocket of his snakeskin jacket. Sudden footsteps above; light spills onto stair landing. He quickly moves away from the cashbox as Lady appears on the landing in a white sateen robe; she carries a flashlight.
LADY: Who’s that?
[Music fades out.]
VAL: —Me.
[She turns the flashlight on his figure.]
LADY: Oh, my God, how you scared me!
VAL: You didn’t expect me?
LADY: How’d I know it was you I heard come in?
VAL: I thought you give me a room here.
LADY: You left without letting me know if you took it or not. [She is descending the stairs into store, flashlight still on him.]
VAL: Catch me turning down something I get for nothing.
LADY: Well, you might have said something so I’d expect you or not.
VAL: I thought you took it for granted.
LADY: I don’t take nothing for granted.
[He starts back to the alcove.]
Wait! —I’m coming downstairs. . . . [She descends with the flashlight beam on his face.]
VAL: You’re blinding me with that flashlight. [He laughs. She keeps the flashlight on him. He starts back again toward the alcove.]
LADY: The bed’s not made because I didn’t expect you.
VAL: That’s all right.
LADY: I brought the linen downstairs and you’d cut out.
VAL: —Yeah, well—
[She picks up linen on counter.]
Give me that stuff. I can make up my own rack. Tomorrow you’ll have to get yourself a new clerk. [Takes it from her and goes again toward alcove.] I had a lucky night. [Exhibits a wad of bills.]
LADY: Hey!
[He stops near the curtain. She goes and turns on green-shaded bulb over cash box.]
—Did you just open this cashbox?
VAL: —Why you ask that?
LADY: I thought I heard it ring open a minute ago, that’s why I come down here.
VAL: —In your—white satin—kimona?
LADY: Did you just open the cashbox?!
VAL: —I wonder who did if I didn’t. . . .
LADY: Nobody did if you didn’t, but somebody did! [Opens cashbox and hurriedly counts money. She is trembling violently.]
VAL: How come you didn’t lock the cash up in the safe this evening, Lady?
LADY: Sometimes I forget to.
VAL: That’s careless.
LADY: —Why’d you open the cashbox when you come in?
VAL: I opened it twice this evening, once before I went out and again when I come back. I borrowed some money and put it back in the box an’ got all this left over! [Shows her the wad of bills.] I beat a blackjack dealer five times straight. With this much loot I can retire for the season. . . . [He returns money to pocket.]
LADY: Chicken feed! —I’m sorry for you.
VAL: You’re sorry for me?
LADY: I’m sorry for you because nobody can help you. I was touched by your—strangeness, your strange talk. —That thing about birds with no feet so they have to sleep on the wind? —I said to myself, “This boy is a bird with no feet so he has to sleep on the wind,” and that softened my fool Dago heart and I wanted to help you. . . . Fool, me! —I got what I should of expected. You robbed me while I was upstairs to get sheets to make up your bed!
[He starts out toward the door.]
I guess I’m a fool to even feel disappointed.
VAL [stopping center and dropping linen on counter]: You’re disappointed in me. I was disappointed in you.
LADY [coming from behind counter]: —How did I disappoint you?
VAL: There wasn’t no cot behind that curtain before. You put it back there for a purpose.
LADY: It was back there!—folded behind the mirror.
VAL: It wasn’t back of no mirror when you told me three times to go and—
LADY [cutting in]: I left that money in the cashbox on purpose, to find out if I could trust you.
VAL: You got back th’ . . .
LADY: No, no, no, I can’t trust you, now I know I can’t trust you, I got to trust anybody or I don’t want him.
VAL: That’s okay, I don’t expect no character reference from you.
LADY: I’ll give you a character reference. I’d say this boy’s a peculiar talker! But I wouldn’t say a real hard worker or honest. I’d say a peculiar slew-footer that sweet talks you while he’s got his hand in the cashbox.
VAL: I took out less than you owed me.
LADY: Don’t mix up the issue. I see through you, mister!
VAL: I see through you, Lady.
LADY: What d’you see through me?
VAL: You sure you want me to tell?
LADY: I’d love for you to.
VAL: —A not so young and not so satisfied woman, that hired a man off the highway to do double duty without paying overtime for it. . . . I mean a store clerk days and a stud nights, and—
LADY: God, no! You—! [She raises her hand as if to strike at him.] Oh, God no . . . you cheap little— [Invectives fail her so she uses her fists, hammering at him with them. He seizes her wrists. She struggles a few moments more, then collapses, in chair, sobbing. He lets go of her gently.]
VAL: It’s natural. You felt—lonely. . . .
[She sobs brokenly against the counter.]
LADY: Why did you come back here?
VAL: To put back the money I took so you wouldn’t remember me as not honest or grateful— [He picks up his guitar and starts to the door nodding gravely. She catches her breath; rushes to intercept him, spreading her arms like a crossbar over the door.]
LADY: NO, NO, DON’T GO . . . I NEED YOU!!!
[He faces her for five beats. The true passion of her outcry touches him then, and he turns about and crosses to the alcove. . . . As he draws the curtain across it he looks back at her.]
TO LIVE. . . . TO GO ON LIVING!!!
[Music fades in—“Lady’s Love Song”—guitar. He closes the curtain and turns on the light behind it, making it translucent. Through an opening in the alcove entrance, we see him sitting down with his guitar. Lady picks up the linen and crosses to the alcove like a spellbound child. Just outside it she stops, frozen with uncertainty, a conflict of feelings, but then he begins to whisper the words of a song so tenderly that she is able to draw the curtain open and enter the alcove. He looks up gravely at her from his guitar. She closes the curtain behind her. Its
bizarre design, a gold tree with white birds and scarlet fruit in it, is softly translucent with the bulb lighted behind it. The guitar continues softly for a few moments; stops; the stage darkens till only the curtain of the alcove is clearly visible.]
CURTAIN
ACT THREE
An early morning. The Saturday before Easter. The sleeping alcove is lighted. Val is smoking, half dressed, on the edge of the cot. Lady comes running, panting downstairs, her hair loose, in dressing robe and slippers and calls out in a panicky, shrill whisper.
LADY: Val! Val, he’s comin’ downstairs!
VAL [hoarse with sleep]: Who’s—what?
LADY: Jabe!
VAL: Jabe?
LADY: I swear he is, he’s coming downstairs!
VAL: What of it?
LADY: Jesus, will you get up and put some clothes on? The damned nurse told him that he could come down in the store to check over the stock! You want him to catch you half dressed on that bed there?
VAL: Don’t he know I sleep here?
LADY: Nobody knows you sleep here but you and me.
[Voices above.]
Oh, God!—they’ve started.
NURSE: Don’t hurry now. Take one step at a time.
[Footsteps on stairs, slow, shuffling. The professional, nasal cheer of a nurse’s voice.]
LADY [panicky]: Get your shirt on! Come out!
NURSE: That’s right. One step at a time, one step at a time, lean on my shoulder and take one step at a time.
[Val rises, still dazed from sleep. Lady gasps and sweeps the curtain across the alcove just a moment before the descending figures enter the sight lines on the landing. Lady breathes like an exhausted runner as she backs away from the alcove and assumes a forced smile. Jabe and the nurse, Miss Porter, appear on the landing of the stairs and at the same moment scudding clouds expose the sun. A narrow window on the landing admits a brilliant shaft of light upon the pair. They have a bizarre and awful appearance, the tall man, his rusty black suit hanging on him like an empty sack, his eyes burning malignantly from his yellow face, leaning on a stumpy little woman with bright pink or orange hair, clad all in starched white, with a voice that purrs with the faintly contemptuous cheer and sweetness of those hired to care for the dying.]
Orpheus Descending and Suddenly Last Summer Page 7