Collected Novels and Plays

by James Merrill

Enid loves you.

  MARK:

  Yes. And what a poor thing it is, to be loved! I don’t want that. I need to feel it myself, and I do!

  AURORA:

  Do you mean that you would leave your wife?

  MARK:

  I would leave her for you.

  (A long pause.)

  AURORA:

  There might be a way ….

  (Controlling herself.)

  You should not have made me weep. Tears are moral. When I’ve finished weeping, I’ve finished caring for myself. The sun shines after a little tempest, it’s like that. My sense of obligation is revived.

  MARK:

  But we’re both weary to death of obligations!

  AURORA:

  Are we? Darling, yes, I love you. There it is and there it ends. I am weary of obligations, but not to death. Thank you for these moments. I feel young and strong suddenly, and I love you. And that is all you shall ever have from me. That and this.

  (Kisses him.)

  MARK:

  I don’t understand. I want only you.

  AURORA:

  There, enough! I must get at those flowers. Is it my turn now to comfort you? You’re not cross with me? My voice sounds so fresh and happy, I can’t think why …. Am I happy? I must be, yes I am, deliciously so, for no good reason. Poor poor dear dear young man!

  ENID (entering from the house):

  Good morning.

  AURORA (blandly):

  And dear lovely good creature that you are! We’ve been talking about you. I was saying, if you knew what it does for me, for all of us, to have you here. I may be a goddess, but you are a saint. I’m afraid it’s telling on you, though.

  ENID:

  No, I’m fine, really I enjoy sitting with him. It’s an education, just listening.

  AURORA:

  I simply meant you look a trifle worn.

  ENID:

  That’s my hay fever. I have it every summer. My eyes swell up.

  AURORA:

  I want you to rest today, just the same. Read, go down to the lake, do whatever you feel like doing. Memnon will want to be with his father, and I shall want to—

  (Grimacing?)

  be with Memnon. He’s only here for the day.

  ENID:

  I know. He told me.

  AURORA:

  Oh, you’ve met then. Doesn’t he strike you as rather bourgeois?

  ENID:

  Oh, I couldn’t tell. I met him just now in the hall. Tithonus was awake and had called for you.

  AURORA:

  And Memnon’s with him now?

  ENID:

  I don’t know. I told him he could go in, but he said he thought he would—

  AURORA:

  Don’t tell me what he thought. I don’t want to know.

  MARK:

  Should Tithonus be left alone?

  ENID:

  Good heavens, I wasn’t thinking!

  (Starts off, distressed.)

  AURORA:

  No no no no no, dear. Let me go. Does he know it’s his birthday?

  ENID:

  I don’t think so. I had a present for him, but it didn’t seem to register.

  AURORA:

  Aren’t you an angel! What did you give him?

  ENID:

  He complains so of the cold, I’ve been knitting a little scarf. Rather, it began as a little scarf, but if anything, it’s too long now.

  AURORA:

  I’m sure it’s perfect. When he gets used to it, he’ll love it. It takes a few days, you know, with new things. Well ….

  (Starts away.)

  MARK:

  Aurora, think about what I’ve said.

  (AURORA goes out. A pause.)

  ENID:

  I think I shall go down to the lake. Will you come? I love to look over the side of a boat. You can see your face in the water if it’s calm and you’re turned away from the sun. Not a reflection really, a kind of dark transparency, and through it, below, the grasses moving, something white, one or two fish ….

  (Covering her eyes.)

  These unbroken shining days! How does she manage them?

  (Pause.)

  I don’t want to pry, but tell me—what is Aurora to think about?

  MARK:

  I suggested we might all go off one of these days, with a picnic. There are some fascinating things not far away, churches, antique shops. You know better than I, after reading the guidebook.

  ENID:

  I didn’t know you enjoyed sightseeing.

  MARK:

  Whatever made you think I didn’t? Once in a while, it’s very pleasant. I didn’t know you had hay fever.

  ENID:

  Whatever makes you think I do? And how about Tithonus? You know he can’t be moved.

  MARK (lighting a cigarette).

  Strange. I didn’t think of that.

  ENID:

  Didn’t she?

  MARK:

  Didn’t she what?

  ENID:

  See that as an objection to your plan?

  MARK:

  Yes—so she did.

  ENID (faintly):

  Then why, if the whole thing is impossible, did you ask her to think about it?

  MARK:

  You’ll have to speak louder if you want me to hear you.

  ENID (doing so):

  Or did you intend for me to stay with Tithonus while you and she go off together?

  MARK:

  No, certainly not. I’m sure she can get someone from the village. We might offer to pay for whoever comes. We can afford it, and it would be a nice gesture.

  ENID:

  It has to be someone he knows!

  (Pause.)

  Oh dearest, all I mean is that I don’t take much pleasure in sitting with him the better part of the day and night.

  MARK (losing his temper):

  Then why do it, if you don’t enjoy it?

  ENID:

  Don’t be cross.

  MARK:

  Don’t be pathetic.

  ENID:

  I’m surprised you have any preference in the matter.

  MARK:

  What matter?

  ENID:

  The matter of how you want me to be.

  MARK (politely):

  I’m sorry. Be just as you are.

  ENID:

  Just as I am! With my eyes swollen and my heart sick? If that’s how I am—oh Mark, make me stop! I don’t want to talk this way, I’m beginning to feel at home in this unhappiness. In another moment I’ll start liking it!

  MARK:

  That’s so typical of you, Enid, to find the silver lining of an imaginary cloud.

  ENID:

  What’s the matter with us? It’s like being in an earthquake. The ground slips from under you, but silently, and in bright sunlight.

  (MEMNON enters from the house. He is dressed in a double-breasted business suit, with loud tie and steel-rimmed glasses. He carries a briefcase and before long will light a cigar.)

  MEMNON:

  Morning!

  MARK:

  This will be Memnon.

  (Turning.)

  Good morning.

  MEMNON:

  Just looking around, thanks. Don’t believe you and I have met. I’m the old man’s son, retired myself now.

  MARK (shaking hands):

  How are you? I think you already know my wife.

  MEMNON:

  Can’t say I’ve had that pleasure—

  (Recognizing ENID.)

  Why sure! Isn’t that the limit? Why, I thought you were the nurse! No offense, I hope?

  ENID:

  None whatever. I am the nurse.

  MEMNON (to MARK):

  What outfit were you in?

  MARK:

  Excuse me?

  ENID:

  What outfit were you in, dear?

  MARK:

  I was thirteen when the war ended.

  ENID (smoothing it over, to
MEMNON): How do you think your father looks?

  MEMNON:

  Oh, pretty much the same, I guess.

  ENID:

  He is remarkable, isn’t he?

  MEMNON:

  Remarkable’s the word, all right. Between you and me, though, we never had too much to say to each other, Dad and I.

  ENID:

  I suppose he always was so much older, wasn’t he? But you must be very close to your mother.

  MEMNON:

  Not really. She was always so much younger. They used to look on me like some kind of freak, you know, being human and all. Been sensitive ever since to people making fun of me.

  ENID:

  I hope you’re here for a nice leisurely visit.

  MEMNON:

  Afraid not. Like to stay but got to get back. Just down to wish Dad many happy returns.

  ENID:

  What a pity! Really must you? I’d think, now you’re retired from active duty, your time would be your own.

  MEMNON:

  That’s what I thought till I spoke to my agent last week. He told me I’d have to buckle down hard if I wanted my book to get published even, let alone sell.

  ENID:

  Your book?

  MEMNON:

  My war journal. But like you say, war’s over, has been for a number of years. Public’s beginning to lose interest. My agent said to me, we can’t go on living in a fool’s paradise.

  ENID (after a pause):

  But that’s perfectly thrilling!

  MARK:

  Does it have a title?

  MEMNON:

  Not yet. Wanted to call it Old Soldiers Never Die, but then I started to wonder how Dad would take it. Seemed a bit inappropriate.

  MARK:

  How about From Ranks to Riches?

  (MEMNON jots it down.)

  ENID:

  You must tell your father about it. He has so many wonderful reminiscences of his own. But gracious, if you have work to do, I couldn’t imagine a more perfect atmosphere than right here. That west porch, facing the water!

  MARK:

  Probably the General wants to be within reach of documents and newspaper files.

  MEMNON:

  Between ourselves, that’s the whole point. I could kick myself for not having made some kind of notes at the time. A line a day would have done it. But man! we were in combat! Also, you can’t go into seclusion just to write a book. You’ve got to keep in the public eye! They want your opinions on national affairs. You go after honorary degrees, you lay cornerstones! Show them you’re still full of beans!

  AURORA (entering):

  What under the sun are you talking about?

  (She is now beautifully groomed and carries a large straw purse.)

  ENID:

  Don’t you look lovely!

  MEMNON (whom AURORA kisses on the forehead):

  More like my daughter than my mother.

  MARK:

  We’ve had a little talk about literature.

  AURORA:

  How elevating!

  ENID (to MEMNON):

  Have you a family?

  MENMON:

  No. Never got around to it. Never regretted it, either.

  AURORA (to MARK):

  I’ve had such a curious few minutes on the telephone.

  MARK:

  With whom?

  AURORA:

  Somebody I’d forgotten all about.

  MEMNON (to ENID):

  You know, the example of Mother and Dad did a lot to discourage me from having a family of my own.

  AURORA (to MARK, hushed but excited):

  I’ve changed my mind!

  MARK (eagerly):

  What do you mean?

  AURORA (aloud):

  I mean—we might bring Tithonus out into the garden. It’s such a beautiful mild day, it would be a little treat for him.

  ENID:

  I’ll get him ready.

  AURORA:

  He is ready. And we have two grown men to work for us, so just sit down with me, my sweet. This is your day of rest.

  (To the others.)

  Will you fetch him, please? One of you can carry him, the other bring his covers.

  MEMNON:

  Is he much of a load?

  AURORA:

  Light as a feather. You’ve lifted him, Mark. It’s the same as picking up a baby, you just want to be careful the head doesn’t drop off.

  (MEMNON and MARK go out. A pause.)

  Oh living, living …. Don’t you sometimes feel you’d like to run away, put it all behind you, all the effort, all the pretense?

  ENID:

  Do you pretend, Aurora?

  AURORA:

  I never used to. But now I feel I’m constantly pretending, contriving little lies with my face and voice. I try to appear light and calm, to keep something twirling in my hand ….

  ENID:

  Perhaps you simply pretend to be pretending.

  AURORA:

  Perhaps. What would you say?

  ENID:

  I would say that you were quite truly happy. I envy you.

  AURORA:

  Hush! You mustn’t, you needn’t ….

  (Pause.)

  What a child you are!

  ENID:

  If only I were beautiful!

  AURORA:

  Appearances aren’t everything. Besides, you’re lovely!

  ENID:

  But they are, and I’m not! It’s unfair, the things we were told—by our beautiful mothers, our beautiful sisters, even our beautiful husbands! They made us believe that a sweet disposition meant more than a good figure. They told us that if we were generous and patient and truthful, nobody would care about our not having red-gold hair and gray-gold eyes and wonderful useless hands. I suppose it was sheer human pity on their part, and yet if they had told the truth I might have learned to bear it, by now. I try. I sit at the mirror and stare at my face. I say to myself aloud, over and over, “Appearances are everything!” It’s like dipping my heart in brine!

  AURORA:

  Are you fond of me, Enid? Sometimes I wonder if you like me at all.

  ENID:

  Oh, how hard I’ve tried not to! But I am, I do, so very much! You can’t know the thoughts I’ve had.

  AURORA:

  Can’t I? You have seen me as a young wife tired of her husband. You have imagined me in search of a handsome lover. You have wept all night out of jealousy and helplessness. Isn’t it so?

  (ENID bows her head.)

  Well, I have known all of that. And I have had to smile, thinking how little cause for tears I should have if I were in your position.

  ENID:

  How good you are! Can you guess what a relief—? I’d thought—I hadn’t dared think! Then none of it is true?

  AURORA (lying but radiant):

  None of it!

  ENID:

  There was no reason for me to have—?

  AURORA:

  No reason!

  ENID:

  He really and truly—

  AURORA:

  With all his heart!

  ENID:

  —loves me?

  AURORA (tears in her eyes):

  Loves you!

  (Squeezing ENID’s hand.)

  They’ll be coming. Where’s your handkerchief?

  (ENID gives it to her. AURORA blows her nose.)

  We must never lose faith in those who love us.

  ENID:

  Tell me one thing. What was he saying to you, earlier?

  AURORA:

  You still don’t believe me!

  ENID:

  I do, I want to! But please—

  AURORA (glowing);

  It was a secret. He particularly didn’t want you to know about it. But you will, I promise, and soon.

  (Voices offstage.)

  Ah, here they are!

  (Enter MEMNON with cushions, covers, and a very long knitted scarf. AURORA and ENID move the lawn cha
ir to the center of the stage. MARK appears carrying TITHONUS, of whom is seen only a withered head emerging from white robes.)

  ENID:

  There!

  TITHONUS:

  It is irritating, irritating beyond words, always to be moved, from the bed to the chair, from the chair to the porch ….

  AURORA:

  Now—gently! So.

  (MARK lowers TITHONUS onto the lawn chair. The women arrange his covers.)

  MARK:

  He’s heavier than you think.

  TITHONUS:

  I feel like a migrant, a gypsy, one of those Liszt would describe so amusingly, moving from place to place, from the porch to the bed, bathing, if at all, in the muddy Danube ….

  AURORA (to MEMNON):

  Have you spoken to your father?