All My Sons

by Arthur Miller

  Lydia enters on porch. As soon as she sees him.

  LYDIA: Hey, Georgie! Georgie! Georgie! Georgie! Georgie!

  She comes down to him eagerly. She has a flowered hat in her hand, which Kate takes from her as she goes to George.

  GEORGE—they shake hands eagerly, warmly: Hello, Laughy. What’d you do, grow?

  LYDIA: I’m a big girl now.

  MOTHER, taking hat from her: Look what she can do to a hat!

  ANN, to Lydia, admiring the hat: Did you make that?

  MOTHER: In ten minutes! She puts it on.

  LYDIA, fixing it on her head: I only rearranged it.

  GEORGE: You still make your own clothes?

  CHRIS, of Mother: Ain’t she classy! All she needs now is a Russian wolfhound.

  MOTHER, moving her head from left to right: It feels like somebody is sitting on my head.

  ANN: No, it’s beautiful, Kate.

  MOTHER, kisses Lydia—to George: She’s a genius! You should’ve married her. They laugh. This one can feed you!

  LYDIA, strangely embarrassed: Oh, stop that, Kate.

  GEORGE, to Lydia: Didn’t I hear you had a baby?

  MOTHER: You don’t hear so good. She’s got three babies.

  GEORGE, a little hurt by it—to Lydia: No kidding, three?

  LYDIA: Yeah, it was one, two, three— You’ve been away a long time, Georgie.

  GEORGE: I’m beginning to realize.

  MOTHER, to Chris and George: The trouble with you kids is you think too much.

  LYDIA: Well, we think, too.

  MOTHER: Yes, but not all the time.

  GEORGE, with almost obvious envy: They never took Frank, heh?

  LYDIA, a little apologetically: No, he was always one year ahead of the draft.

  MOTHER: It’s amazing. When they were calling boys twenty-seven Frank was just twenty-eight, when they made it twenty-eight he was just twenty-nine. That’s why he took up astrology. It’s all in when you were born, it just goes to show.

  CHRIS: What does it go to show?

  MOTHER, to Chris: Don’t be so intelligent. Some superstitions are very nice! To Lydia: Did he finish Larry’s horoscope?

  LYDIA: I’ll ask him now, I’m going in. To George, a little sadly, almost embarrassed: Would you like to see my babies? Come on.

  GEORGE: I don’t think so, Lydia.

  LYDIA, understanding: All right. Good luck to you, George.

  GEORGE: Thanks. And to you . . . And Frank. She smiles at him, turns and goes off right to her house. George stands staring after her.

  LYDIA, as she runs off: Oh, Frank!

  MOTHER, reading his thoughts: She got pretty, heh?

  GEORGE, sadly: Very pretty.

  MOTHER, as a reprimand: She’s beautiful, you damned fool!

  GEORGE, looks around longingly; and softly, with a catch in his throat: She makes it seem so nice around here.

  MOTHER, shaking her finger at him: Look what happened to you because you wouldn’t listen to me! I told you to marry that girl and stay out of the war!

  GEORGE, laughs at himself: She used to laugh too much.

  MOTHER: And you didn’t laugh enough. While you were getting mad about Fascism Frank was getting into her bed.

  GEORGE, to Chris: He won the war, Frank.

  CHRIS: All the battles.

  MOTHER, in pursuit of this mood: The day they started the draft, Georgie, I told you you loved that girl.

  CHRIS, laughs: And truer love hath no man!

  MOTHER: I’m smarter than any of you.

  GEORGE, laughing: She’s wonderful!

  MOTHER: And now you’re going to listen to me, George. You had big principles, Eagle Scouts the three of you; so now I got a tree, and this one—indicating Chris—when the weather gets bad he can’t stand on his feet; and that big dope—pointing to Lydia’s house—next door who never reads anything but Andy Gump has three children and his house paid off. Stop being a philosopher, and look after yourself. Like Joe was just saying—you move back here, he’ll help you get set, and I’ll find you a girl and put a smile on your face.

  GEORGE: Joe? Joe wants me here?

  ANN, eagerly: He asked me to tell you, and I think it’s a good idea.

  MOTHER: Certainly. Why must you make believe you hate us? Is that another principle?—that you have to hate us? You don’t hate us, George, I know you, you can’t fool me, I diapered you. Suddenly to Ann: You remember Mr. Marcy’s daughter?

  ANN, laughing, to George: She’s got you hooked already! George laughs, is excited.

  MOTHER: You look her over, George; you’ll see she’s the most beautiful . . .

  CHRIS: She’s got warts, George.

  MOTHER, to Chris: She hasn’t got warts! To George: So the girl has a little beauty mark on her chin . . .

  CHRIS: And two on her nose.

  MOTHER: You remember. Her father’s the retired police inspector.

  CHRIS: Sergeant, George.

  MOTHER: He’s a very kind man!

  CHRIS: He looks like a gorilla.

  MOTHER, to George: He never shot anybody. They all burst out laughing, as Keller appears in doorway. George rises abruptly, stares at Keller, who comes rapidly down to him.

  KELLER—the laughter stops. With strained joviality: Well! Look who’s here! Extending his hand: Georgie, good to see ya.

  GEORGE, shakes hands—somberly: How’re you, Joe?

  KELLER: So-so. Gettin’ old. You comin’ out to dinner with us?

  GEORGE: No, got to be back in New York.

  ANN: I’ll call a cab for you. She goes up into the house.

  KELLER: Too bad you can’t stay, George. Sit down. To Mother: He looks fine.

  MOTHER: He looks terrible.

  KELLER: That’s what I said, you look terrible, George. They laugh. I wear the pants and she beats me with the belt.

  GEORGE: I saw your factory on the way from the station. It looks like General Motors.

  KELLER: I wish it was General Motors, but it ain’t. Sit down, George. Sit down. Takes cigar out of his pocket. So you finally went to see your father, I hear?

  GEORGE: Yes, this morning. What kind of stuff do you make now?

  KELLER: Oh, little of everything. Pressure cookers, an assembly for washing machines. Got a nice, flexible plant now. So how’d you find Dad? Feel all right?

  GEORGE, searching Keller, he speaks indecisively: No, he’s not well, Joe.

  KELLER, lighting his cigar: Not his heart again, is it?

  GEORGE: It’s everything, Joe. It’s his soul.

  KELLER, blowing out smoke: Uh huh—

  CHRIS: How about seeing what they did with your house?

  KELLER: Leave him be.

  GEORGE, to Chris, indicating Keller: I’d like to talk to him.

  KELLER: Sure, he just got here. That’s the way they do, George. A little man makes a mistake and they hang him by the thumbs; the big ones become ambassadors. I wish you’d-a told me you were going to see Dad.

  GEORGE, studying him: I didn’t know you were interested.

  KELLER: In a way, I am. I would like him to know, George, that as far as I’m concerned, any time he wants, he’s got a place with me. I would like him to know that.

  GEORGE: He hates your guts, Joe. Don’t you know that?

  KELLER: I imagined it. But that can change, too.

  MOTHER: Steve was never like that.

  GEORGE: He’s like that now. He’d like to take every man who made money in the war and put him up against a wall.

  CHRIS: He’ll need a lot of bullets.

  GEORGE: And he’d better not get any.

  KELLER: That’s a sad thing to hear.

  GEORGE, with bitterness dominant: Why? What’d you expect him to think of you?

>   KELLER, the force of his nature rising, but under control: I’m sad to see he hasn’t changed. As long as I know him, twenty-five years, the man never learned how to take the blame. You know that, George.

  GEORGE—he does: Well, I . . .

  KELLER: But you do know it. Because the way you come in here you don’t look like you remember it. I mean like in 1937 when we had the shop on Flood Street. And he damn near blew us all up with that heater he left burning for two days without water. He wouldn’t admit that was his fault, either. I had to fire a mechanic to save his face. You remember that.

  GEORGE: Yes, but . . .

  KELLER: I’m just mentioning it, George. Because this is just another one of a lot of things. Like when he gave Frank that money to invest in oil stock.

  GEORGE, distressed: I know that, I . . .

  KELLER, driving in, but restrained: But it’s good to remember those things, kid. The way he cursed Frank because the stock went down. Was that Frank’s fault? To listen to him Frank was a swindler. And all the man did was give him a bad tip.

  GEORGE, gets up, moves away: I know those things . . .

  KELLER: Then remember them, remember them. Ann comes out of house. There are certain men in the world who rather see everybody hung before they’ll take blame. You understand me, George? They stand facing each other, George trying to judge him.

  ANN, coming downstage: The cab’s on its way. Would you like to wash?

  MOTHER, with the thrust of hope: Why must he go? Make the midnight, George.

  KELLER: Sure, you’ll have dinner with us!

  ANN: How about it? Why not? We’re eating at the lake, we could have a swell time.

  GEORGE—long pause, as he looks at Ann, Chris, Keller, then back to her: All right.

  MOTHER: Now you’re talking.

  CHRIS: I’ve got a shirt that’ll go right with that suit.

  MOTHER: Size fifteen and a half, right, George?

  GEORGE: Is Lydia . . . ? I mean—Frank and Lydia coming?

  MOTHER: I’ll get you a date that’ll make her look like a . . . She starts upstage.

  GEORGE, laughs: No, I don’t want a date.

  CHRIS: I know somebody just for you! Charlotte Tanner! He starts for the house.

  KELLER: Call Charlotte, that’s right.

  MOTHER: Sure, call her up. Chris goes into house.

  ANN: You go up and pick out a shirt and tie.

  GEORGE—he stops, looks around at them and the place: I never felt at home anywhere but here. I feel so . . . He nearly laughs, and turns away from them. Kate, you look so young, you know? You didn’t change at all. It . . . rings an old bell. Turns to Keller. You too, Joe, you’re amazingly the same. The whole atmosphere is.

  KELLER: Say, I ain’t got time to get sick.

  MOTHER: He hasn’t been laid up in fifteen years. . . .

  KELLER: Except my flu during the war.

  MOTHER: Huhh?

  KELLER: My flu, when I was sick during . . . the war.

  MOTHER: Well, sure . . . To George: I meant except for that flu. George stands perfectly still. Well, it slipped my mind, don’t look at me that way. He wanted to go to the shop but he couldn’t lift himself off the bed. I thought he had pneumonia.

  GEORGE: Why did you say he’s never . . . ?

  KELLER: I know how you feel, kid, I’ll never forgive myself. If I could’ve gone in that day I’d never allow Dad to touch those heads.

  GEORGE: She said you’ve never been sick.

  MOTHER: I said he was sick, George.

  GEORGE, going to Ann: Ann, didn’t you hear her say . . . ?

  MOTHER: Do you remember every time you were sick?

  GEORGE: I’d remember pneumonia. Especially if I got it just the day my partner was going to patch up cylinder heads . . . What happened that day, Joe?

  FRANK, enters briskly from driveway, holding Larry’s horoscope in his hand. He comes to Kate: Kate! Kate!

  MOTHER: Frank, did you see George?

  FRANK, extending his hand: Lydia told me, I’m glad to . . . you’ll have to pardon me. Pulling Mother over right. I’ve got something amazing for you, Kate, I finished Larry’s horoscope.

  MOTHER: You’d be interested in this, George. It’s wonderful the way he can understand the . . .

  CHRIS, entering from house: George, the girl’s on the phone . . .

  MOTHER, desperately: He finished Larry’s horoscope!

  CHRIS: Frank, can’t you pick a better time than this?

  FRANK: The greatest men who ever lived believed in the stars!

  CHRIS: Stop filling her head with that junk!

  FRANK: Is it junk to feel that there’s a greater power than ourselves? I’ve studied the stars of his life! I won’t argue with you, I’m telling you. Somewhere in this world your brother is alive!

  MOTHER, instantly to Chris: Why isn’t it possible?

  CHRIS: Because it’s insane.

  FRANK: Just a minute now. I’ll tell you something and you can do as you please. Just let me say it. He was supposed to have died on November twenty-fifth. But November twenty-fifth was his favorable day.

  CHRIS: Mother!

  MOTHER: Listen to him!

  FRANK: It was a day when everything good was shining on him, the kind of day he should’ve married on. You can laugh at a lot of it, I can understand you laughing. But the odds are a million to one that a man won’t die on his favorable day. That’s known, that’s known, Chris!

  MOTHER: Why isn’t it possible, why isn’t it possible, Chris!

  GEORGE, to Ann: Don’t you understand what she’s saying? She just told you to go. What are you waiting for now?

  CHRIS: Nobody can tell her to go. A car horn is heard.

  MOTHER, to Frank: Thank you, darling, for your trouble. Will you tell him to wait, Frank?

  FRANK, as he goes: Sure thing.

  MOTHER, calling out: They’ll be right out, driver!

  CHRIS: She’s not leaving, Mother.

  GEORGE: You heard her say it, he’s never been sick!

  MOTHER: He misunderstood me, Chris! Chris looks at her, struck.

  GEORGE, to Ann: He simply told your father to kill pilots, and covered himself in bed!

  CHRIS: You’d better answer him, Annie. Answer him.

  MOTHER: I packed your bag, darling . . .

  CHRIS: What?

  MOTHER: I packed your bag. All you’ve got to do is close it.

  ANN: I’m not closing anything. He asked me here and I’m staying till he tells me to go. To George: Till Chris tells me!

  CHRIS: That’s all! Now get out of here, George!

  MOTHER, to Chris: But if that’s how he feels . . .

  CHRIS: That’s all, nothing more till Christ comes, about the case or Larry as long as I’m here! To George: Now get out of here, George!

  GEORGE, to Ann: You tell me. I want to hear you tell me.

  ANN: Go, George!

  They disappear up the driveway, Ann saying, “Don’t take it that way, Georgie! Please don’t take it that way.”

  Chris turns to his mother.

  CHRIS: What do you mean, you packed her bag? How dare you pack her bag?

  MOTHER: Chris . . .

  CHRIS: How dare you pack her bag?

  MOTHER: She doesn’t belong here.

  CHRIS: Then I don’t belong here.

  MOTHER: She’s Larry’s girl.

  CHRIS: And I’m his brother and he’s dead, and I’m marrying his girl.

  MOTHER: Never, never in this world!

  KELLER: You lost your mind?

  MOTHER: You have nothing to say!

  KELLER, cruelly: I got plenty to say. Three and a half years you been talking like a maniac—

  MOTHER—she smashes him across the face: Nothing. You
have nothing to say. Now I say. He’s coming back, and everybody has got to wait.

  CHRIS: Mother, Mother . . .

  MOTHER: Wait, wait . . .

  CHRIS: How long? How long?

  MOTHER, rolling out of her: Till he comes; forever and ever till he comes!

  CHRIS, as an ultimatum: Mother, I’m going ahead with it.

  MOTHER: Chris, I’ve never said no to you in my life, now I say no!

  CHRIS: You’ll never let him go till I do it.

  MOTHER: I’ll never let him go and you’ll never let him go . . . !

  CHRIS: I’ve let him go. I’ve let him go a long . . .

  MOTHER, with no less force, but turning from him: Then let your father go. Pause. Chris stands transfixed.

  KELLER: She’s out of her mind.

  MOTHER: Altogether! To Chris, but not facing them: Your brother’s alive, darling, because if he’s dead, your father killed him. Do you understand me now? As long as you live, that boy is alive. God does not let a son be killed by his father. Now you see, don’t you? Now you see. Beyond control, she hurries up and into house.

  KELLER—Chris has not moved. He speaks insinuatingly, questioningly: She’s out of her mind.

  CHRIS, a broken whisper: Then . . . you did it?

  KELLER, the beginning of plea in his voice: He never flew a P-40—

  CHRIS, struck. Deadly: But the others.

  KELLER, insistently: She’s out of her mind. He takes a step toward Chris, pleadingly.

  CHRIS, unyielding: Dad . . . you did it?

  KELLER: He never flew a P-40, what’s the matter with you?

  CHRIS, still asking, and saying: Then you did it. To the others. Both hold their voices down.

  KELLER, afraid of him, his deadly insistence: What’s the matter with you? What the hell is the matter with you?

  CHRIS, quietly, incredibly: How could you do that? How?

  KELLER: What’s the matter with you!

  CHRIS: Dad . . . Dad, you killed twenty-one men!

  KELLER: What, killed?

  CHRIS: You killed them, you murdered them.

  KELLER, as though throwing his whole nature open before Chris: How could I kill anybody?