CHRIS: Dad! Dad!
KELLER, trying to hush him: I didn’t kill anybody!
CHRIS: Then explain it to me. What did you do? Explain it to me or I’ll tear you to pieces!
KELLER, horrified at his overwhelming fury: Don’t, Chris, don’t . . .
CHRIS: I want to know what you did, now what did you do? You had a hundred and twenty cracked engine-heads, now what did you do?
KELLER: If you’re going to hang me then I . . .
CHRIS: I’m listening, God Almighty, I’m listening!
KELLER—their movements now are those of subtle pursuit and escape. Keller keeps a step out of Chris’s range as he talks: You’re a boy, what could I do! I’m in business, a man is in business; a hundred and twenty cracked, you’re out of business; you got a process, the process don’t work you’re out of business; you don’t know how to operate, your stuff is no good; they close you up, they tear up your contracts, what the hell’s it to them? You lay forty years into a business and they knock you out in five minutes, what could I do, let them take forty years, let them take my life away? His voice cracking: I never thought they’d install them. I swear to God. I thought they’d stop ’em before anybody took off.
CHRIS: Then why’d you ship them out?
KELLER: By the time they could spot them I thought I’d have the process going again, and I could show them they needed me and they’d let it go by. But weeks passed and I got no kick-back, so I was going to tell them.
CHRIS: Then why didn’t you tell them?
KELLER: It was too late. The paper, it was all over the front page, twenty-one went down, it was too late. They came with handcuffs into the shop, what could I do? He sits on bench at center. Chris . . . Chris, I did it for you, it was a chance and I took it for you. I’m sixty-one years old, when would I have another chance to make something for you? Sixty-one years old you don’t get another chance, do ya?
CHRIS: You even knew they wouldn’t hold up in the air.
KELLER: I didn’t say that . . .
CHRIS: But you were going to warn them not to use them . . .
KELLER: But that don’t mean . . .
CHRIS: It means you knew they’d crash.
KELLER: It don’t mean that.
CHRIS: Then you thought they’d crash.
KELLER: I was afraid maybe . . .
CHRIS: You were afraid maybe! God in heaven, what kind of a man are you? Kids were hanging in the air by those heads. You knew that!
KELLER: For you, a business for you!
CHRIS, with burning fury: For me! Where do you live, where have you come from? For me!—I was dying every day and you were killing my boys and you did it for me? What the hell do you think I was thinking of, the Goddam business? Is that as far as your mind can see, the business? What is that, the world—the business? What the hell do you mean, you did it for me? Don’t you have a country? Don’t you live in the world? What the hell are you? You’re not even an animal, no animal kills his own, what are you? What must I do to you? I ought to tear the tongue out of your mouth, what must I do? With his fist he pounds down upon his father’s shoulder. He stumbles away, covering his face as he weeps. What must I do, Jesus God, what must I do?
KELLER: Chris . . . My Chris . . .
CURTAIN
ACT THREE
Two o’clock the following morning, Mother is discovered on the rise, rocking ceaselessly in a chair, staring at her thoughts. It is an intense, slight sort of rocking. A light shows from upstairs bedroom, lower floor windows being dark. The moon is strong and casts its bluish light.
Presently Jim, dressed in jacket and hat, appears from left, and seeing her, goes up beside her.
JIM: Any news?
MOTHER: No news.
JIM, gently: You can’t sit up all night, dear, why don’t you go to bed?
MOTHER: I’m waiting for Chris. Don’t worry about me, Jim, I’m perfectly all right.
JIM: But it’s almost two o’clock.
MOTHER: I can’t sleep. Slight pause. You had an emergency?
JIM, tiredly: Somebody had a headache and thought he was dying. Slight pause. Half of my patients are quite mad. Nobody realizes how many people are walking around loose, and they’re cracked as coconuts. Money. Money-money-money-money. You say it long enough it doesn’t mean anything. She smiles, makes a silent laugh. Oh, how I’d love to be around when that happens!
MOTHER, shakes her head: You’re so childish, Jim! Sometimes you are.
JIM, looks at her a moment: Kate. Pause. What happened?
MOTHER: I told you. He had an argument with Joe. Then he got in the car and drove away.
JIM: What kind of an argument?
MOTHER: An argument. Joe . . . he was crying like a child, before.
JIM: They argued about Ann?
MOTHER, slight hesitation: No, not Ann. Imagine? Indicates lighted window above: She hasn’t come out of that room since he left. All night in that room.
JIM, looks at window, then at her: What’d Joe do, tell him?
MOTHER—she stops rocking: Tell him what?
JIM: Don’t be afraid, Kate, I know. I’ve always known.
MOTHER: How?
JIM: It occurred to me a long time ago.
MOTHER: I always had the feeling that in the back of his head, Chris . . . almost knew. I didn’t think it would be such a shock.
JIM, gets up: Chris would never know how to live with a thing like that. It takes a certain talent . . . for lying. You have it, and I do. But not him.
MOTHER: What do you mean . . . he’s not coming back?
JIM: Oh, no, he’ll come back. We all come back, Kate. These private little revolutions always die. The compromise is always made. In a peculiar way. Frank is right—every man does have a star. The star of one’s honesty. And you spend your life groping for it, but once it’s out it never lights again. I don’t think he went very far. He probably just wanted to be alone to watch his star go out.
MOTHER: Just as long as he comes back.
JIM: I wish he wouldn’t, Kate. One year I simply took off, went to New Orleans; for two months I lived on bananas and milk, and studied a certain disease. It was beautiful. And then she came, and she cried. And I went back home with her. And now I live in the usual darkness; I can’t find myself; it’s even hard sometimes to remember the kind of man I wanted to be. I’m a good husband; Chris is a good son—he’ll come back.
Keller comes out on porch in dressing-gown and slippers. He goes upstage—to alley. Jim goes to him.
JIM: I have a feeling he’s in the park. I’ll look around for him. Put her to bed, Joe; this is no good for what she’s got. Jim exits up driveway.
KELLER, coming down: What does he want here?
MOTHER: His friend is not home.
KELLER—his voice is husky. Comes down to her: I don’t like him mixing in so much.
MOTHER: It’s too late, Joe. He knows.
KELLER, apprehensively: How does he know?
MOTHER: He guessed a long time ago.
KELLER: I don’t like that.
MOTHER, laughs dangerously, quietly into the line: What you don’t like . . .
KELLER: Yeah, what I don’t like.
MOTHER: You can’t bull yourself through this one, Joe, you better be smart now. This thing—this thing is not over yet.
KELLER, indicating lighted window above: And what is she doing up there? She don’t come out of the room.
MOTHER: I don’t know, what is she doing? Sit down, stop being mad. You want to live? You better figure out your life.
KELLER: She don’t know, does she?
MOTHER: She saw Chris storming out of here. It’s one and one—she knows how to add.
KELLER: Maybe I ought to talk to her?
MOTHER: Don’t ask me, Joe.
KELLER, almost an outburst: Then who do I ask? But I don’t think she’ll do anything about it.
MOTHER: You’re asking me again.
KELLER: I’m askin’ you. What am I, a stranger? I thought I had a family here. What happened to my family?
MOTHER: You’ve got a family. I’m simply telling you that I have no strength to think any more.
KELLER: You have no strength. The minute there’s trouble you have no strength.
MOTHER: Joe, you’re doing the same thing again; all your life whenever there’s trouble you yell at me and you think that settles it.
KELLER: Then what do I do? Tell me, talk to me, what do I do?
MOTHER: Joe . . . I’ve been thinking this way. If he comes back . . .
KELLER: What do you mean “if”? . . . He’s comin’ back!
MOTHER: I think if you sit him down and you . . . explain yourself. I mean you ought to make it clear to him that you know you did a terrible thing. Not looking into his eyes. I mean if he saw that you realize what you did. You see?
KELLER: What ice does that cut?
MOTHER, a little fearfully: I mean if you told him that you want to pay for what you did.
KELLER, sensing . . . quietly: How can I pay?
MOTHER: Tell him . . . you’re willing to go to prison. Pause.
KELLER, struck, amazed: I’m willing to . . . ?
MOTHER, quickly: You wouldn’t go, he wouldn’t ask you to go. But if you told him you wanted to, if he could feel that you wanted to pay, maybe he would forgive you.
KELLER: He would forgive me! For what?
MOTHER: Joe, you know what I mean.
KELLER: I don’t know what you mean! You wanted money, so I made money. What must I be forgiven? You wanted money, didn’t you?
MOTHER: I didn’t want it that way.
KELLER: I didn’t want it that way, either! What difference is it what you want? I spoiled the both of you. I should’ve put him out when he was ten like I was put out, and make him earn his keep. Then he’d know how a buck is made in this world. Forgiven! I could live on a quarter a day myself, but I got a family so I . . .
MOTHER: Joe, Joe . . . it don’t excuse it that you did it for the family.
KELLER: It’s got to excuse it!
MOTHER: There’s something bigger than the family to him.
KELLER: Nothin’ is bigger!
MOTHER: There is to him.
KELLER: There’s nothin’ he could do that I wouldn’t forgive. Because he’s my son. Because I’m his father and he’s my son.
MOTHER: Joe, I tell you . . .
KELLER: Nothin’s bigger than that. And you’re goin’ to tell him, you understand? I’m his father and he’s my son, and if there’s something bigger than that I’ll put a bullet in my head!
MOTHER: You stop that!
KELLER: You heard me. Now you know what to tell him. Pause. He moves from her—halts. But he wouldn’t put me away though . . . He wouldn’t do that . . . Would he?
MOTHER: He loved you, Joe, you broke his heart.
KELLER: But to put me away . . .
MOTHER: I don’t know. I’m beginning to think we don’t really know him. They say in the war he was such a killer. Here he was always afraid of mice. I don’t know him. I don’t know what he’ll do.
KELLER: Goddam, if Larry was alive he wouldn’t act like this. He understood the way the world is made. He listened to me. To him the world had a forty-foot front, it ended at the building line. This one, everything bothers him. You make a deal, overcharge two cents, and his hair falls out. He don’t understand money. Too easy, it came too easy. Yes sir. Larry. That was a boy we lost. Larry. Larry. He slumps on chair in front of her. What am I gonna do, Kate . . .
MOTHER: Joe, Joe, please . . . you’ll be all right, nothing is going to happen . . .
KELLER, desperately, lost: For you, Kate, for both of you, that’s all I ever lived for . . .
MOTHER: I know, darling, I know . . .
Ann enters from house. They say nothing, waiting for her to speak.
ANN: Why do you stay up? I’ll tell you when he comes.
KELLER, rises, goes to her: You didn’t eat supper, did you? To Mother: Why don’t you make her something?
MOTHER: Sure, I’ll . . .
ANN: Never mind, Kate, I’m all right. They are unable to speak to each other. There’s something I want to tell you. She starts, then halts. I’m not going to do anything about it. . . .
MOTHER: She’s a good girl! To Keller: You see? She’s a . . .
ANN: I’ll do nothing about Joe, but you’re going to do something for me. Directly to Mother: You made Chris feel guilty with me. Whether you wanted to or not, you’ve crippled him in front of me. I’d like you to tell him that Larry is dead and that you know it. You understand me? I’m not going out of here alone. There’s no life for me that way. I want you to set him free. And then I promise you, everything will end, and we’ll go away, and that’s all.
KELLER: You’ll do that. You’ll tell him.
ANN: I know what I’m asking, Kate. You had two sons. But you’ve only got one now.
KELLER: You’ll tell him . . .
ANN: And you’ve got to say it to him so he knows you mean it.
MOTHER: My dear, if the boy was dead, it wouldn’t depend on my words to make Chris know it. . . . The night he gets into your bed, his heart will dry up. Because he knows and you know. To his dying day he’ll wait for his brother! No, my dear, no such thing. You’re going in the morning, and you’re going alone. That’s your life, that’s your lonely life. She goes to porch, and starts in.
ANN: Larry is dead, Kate.
MOTHER—she stops: Don’t speak to me.
ANN: I said he’s dead. I know! He crashed off the coast of China November twenty-fifth! His engine didn’t fail him. But he died. I know . . .
MOTHER: How did he die? You’re lying to me. If you know, how did he die?
ANN: I loved him. You know I loved him. Would I have looked at anyone else if I wasn’t sure? That’s enough for you.
MOTHER, moving on her: What’s enough for me? What’re you talking about? She grasps Ann’s wrists.
ANN: You’re hurting my wrists.
MOTHER: What are you talking about! Pause. She stares at Ann a moment, then turns and goes to Keller.
ANN: Joe, go in the house . . .
KELLER: Why should I . . .
ANN: Please go.
KELLER: Lemme know when he comes. Keller goes into house.
MOTHER—she sees Ann take a letter from her pocket: What’s that?
ANN: Sit down . . . Mother moves left to chair, but does not sit. First you’ve got to understand. When I came, I didn’t have any idea that Joe . . . I had nothing against him or you. I came to get married. I hoped . . . So I didn’t bring this to hurt you. I thought I’d show it to you only if there was no other way to settle Larry in your mind.
MOTHER: Larry? Snatches letter from Ann hand.
ANN: He wrote it to me just before he— Mother opens and begins to read letter. I’m not trying to hurt you, Kate. You’re making me do this, now remember you’re— Remember. I’ve been so lonely, Kate . . . I can’t leave here alone again. A long, low moan comes from Mother’s throat as she reads. You made me show it to you. You wouldn’t believe me. I told you a hundred times, why wouldn’t you believe me!
MOTHER: Oh, my God . . .
ANN, with pity and fear: Kate, please, please . . .
MOTHER: My God, my God . . .
ANN: Kate, dear, I’m so sorry . . . I’m so sorry.
Chris enters from driveway. He seems exhausted.
CHRIS: What’s the matter . . . ?
ANN: Where were you? . . . You’re all perspired. Mother doesn’t move. Where were you?
CHRIS:
Just drove around a little. I thought you’d be gone.
ANN: Where do I go? I have nowhere to go.
CHRIS, to Mother: Where’s Dad?
ANN: Inside lying down.
CHRIS: Sit down, both of you. I’ll say what there is to say.
MOTHER: I didn’t hear the car . . .
CHRIS: I left it in the garage.
MOTHER: Jim is out looking for you.
CHRIS: Mother . . . I’m going away. There are a couple of firms in Cleveland, I think I can get a place. I mean, I’m going away for good. To Ann alone: I know what you’re thinking, Annie. It’s true. I’m yellow. I was made yellow in this house because I suspected my father and I did nothing about it, but if I knew that night when I came home what I know now, he’d be in the district attorney’s office by this time, and I’d have brought him there. Now if I look at him, all I’m able to do is cry.
MOTHER: What are you talking about? What else can you do?
CHRIS: I could jail him! I could jail him, if I were human any more. But I’m like everybody else now. I’m practical now. You made me practical.
MOTHER: But you have to be.
CHRIS: The cats in that alley are practical, the bums who ran away when we were fighting were practical. Only the dead ones weren’t practical. But now I’m practical, and I spit on myself. I’m going away. I’m going now.
ANN, goes up to stop him: I’m coming with you. . . .
CHRIS: No, Ann.
ANN: Chris, I don’t ask you to do anything about Joe.
CHRIS: You do, you do . . .
ANN: I swear I never will.
CHRIS: In your heart you always will.
ANN: Then do what you have to do!
CHRIS: Do what? What is there to do? I’ve looked all night for a reason to make him suffer.
ANN: There’s reason, there’s reason!
CHRIS: What? Do I raise the dead when I put him behind bars? Then what’ll I do it for? We used to shoot a man who acted like a dog, but honor was real there, you were protecting something. But here? This is the land of the great big dogs, you don’t love a man here, you eat him! That’s the principle; the only one we live by—it just happened to kill a few people this time, that’s all. The world’s that way, how can I take it out on him? What sense does that make? This is a zoo, a zoo!
All My Sons Page 10