The Penguin Arthur Miller

by Arthur Miller

  J.B.: Hester, you got to go home for me. He goes to window helplessly.

  DAVID: Maybe she was only fooling, John . . .

  J.B.: No! But . . . To Hester: Somebody’s got to go home for me! And suddenly he bursts into uncontrolled sobbings.

  HESTER: What in the world . . . !

  DAVID, angrily: John! Shakes him, then seats him. John! Are you going to cut that out?

  HESTER, going to J.B.: What happened? What did she say?

  J.B., stops sobbing, sits swaying backward and forward, very slightly in his chair: All these years . . . we could’ve had children . . . all these weary, weary years.

  HESTER: What are you talking about?

  J.B., pointing waywardly toward the door to the outside: Just told me . . . she made it up about the doctor . . . made it all up. We could’ve had two kids by now. Looks at David. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. Because I drink, she says. A drunkard, she says! They’ll wipe my name off my mail box like I never lived!

  HESTER: Come upstairs and lie down. You make me so mad I could choke you! You could have everything in the world and you drink it away.

  J.B.: If I had a boy . . . I wouldn’t have touched a drop.

  HESTER: Oh, push! She tries to move him to the stairway.

  J.B.: I’m only a failure, Dave. The world is full of failures. All a man needs is one mistake and he’s a failure.

  David turns his head, a little annoyed.

  DAVID, impatiently: I know, John. Looks out window again.

  J.B.: You are the only man I ever knew who never makes a mistake. You understand me. Look at me! I am saying something.

  DAVID, now turns full to him: What are you talking about?

  J.B.: I’m not as drunk as I look, David! You’re a good man, yes. You know how to do. But you’ve had a phenomenal lot of luck in your life, Dave. Never play luck too hard. It’s like a season, and seasons go away.

  HESTER: Come up or you’ll pass away.

  Enter Pat downstairs with watch in hand.

  PAT: My watch says eight-thirty, where is he? He told you no later than eight o’clock, didn’t he?

  DAVID: Which means he’s half an hour late. That’s what it means, doesn’t it?

  PAT: I don’t know what to tell Amos. I made him take another shower.

  DAVID, with growing fear: He pitched the greatest game of his life today, what more does he need to be told? That man’ll be here.

  PAT: Maybe he was kidding us. He looked like he might be that type.

  DAVID: Are you going to stop that?

  PAT: . . . And Amos did look a little nervous in the eighth inning with those two men on base.

  DAVID: But they didn’t score! Now will you just stop. Pat, hurt, looks at him, then goes to the stairs. Dad, what you want me to do; I can’t grow him in my back yard, can I?

  Shory enters pushed by Gus. At the stairs, Pat turns, starts to speak, then goes up and out.

  SHORY, as the door shuts: I’m getting my aches and pains. I came in to say goodnight. . . . Party’s breakin’ up anyway out there.

  DAVID: No, wait a little. I don’t want everybody pulling out.

  He goes to window as . . .

  SHORY: The man told you seven-thirty, what’re you making believe he said eight? You told me as he said seven-thirty, didn’t you?

  DAVID—his fury is at the scout. He keeps searching out of the window: He could’ve got a flat maybe.

  SHORY: It don’t take an hour to change a flat, Dave.

  DAVID, tensely. He turns: Don’t go away. Please.

  Enter Hester.

  To Hester: The folks are starting to go. Moving her back to the door. I want a party here when the scout leaves. Keep them here.

  HESTER: It’s not the world coming to an end. I don’t want you acting this way. It’s no fault of yours what happens to him. She grasps him. Why do you act this way? Davey . . .

  DAVID: I don’t get it, I swear to God I don’t get it. Strides to the window. He seems about to burst from the room.

  SHORY: Get what?

  DAVID: Everything is so hard for him. Turns to them suddenly, unable to down his anxiety. I want to ask you something. All of you, and you too, Hess. You know what I can do and what I can’t do, you . . . you know me. Everything I touch, why is it? It turns gold. Everything.

  HESTER: What’s come over you? Why . . . ?

  DAVID, with extreme urgency: It bothers me, it . . . To all: What is it about me? I never . . . I never lose. Since we were kids I expected Amos to rise and shine. He’s the one, he knows something, he knows one thing perfect. Why? Is it all luck? Is that what it is?

  GUS: Nonsense. You’re a good man, David.

  DAVID: Aren’t you good?

  GUS: Yes, but I . . .

  DAVID: Then why did your shop fail? Why are you working for me now? He moves as one in the throes of release.

  GUS: They remember the war here, Dave, they don’t like to buy from a foreigner.

  DAVID: No, that’s crazy.

  GUS: Also, I had a second-rate location.

  DAVID: Gus, it was better than mine. Every car coming into town had to pass your place. And they came to me. Why is that?

  GUS: You know an engine, Dave, you . . .

  DAVID: Including Marmons? To all: I got fourteen thousand dollars in the bank and as much again standing on the ground. Amos? Never had a nickel. Not a bloody nickel. Why? A slight pause.

  HESTER, goes to him. Smiles to make him smile but he does not: Why does it bother you? It’s good to be lucky. Isn’t it?

  DAVID, looks at her a moment: Isn’t it better to feel that what you have came to you because of something special you can do? Something, something . . . inside you? Don’t you have to know what that thing is?

  HESTER: Don’t you know?

  DAVID: . . . I don’t, I don’t know.

  SHORY: And you’ll never know . . .

  DAVID: Damn it all, if everything drops on you like fruit from a tree, for no reason, why can’t it break away for no reason? Everything you have . . . suddenly.

  HESTER, takes David’s arm: Come, say goodbye to the folks.

  DAVID: No . . . they’re not going home till the scout comes! Now go out . . .

  HESTER, shakes his arm: It’s his hard luck, not yours!

  DAVID: It is mine! A man has a right to get what he deserves. He does, damn it! He goes to the window, breaking from her.

  HESTER, angrily: You talk like you’d stole something from him. You never got anything you didn’t deserve. You . . .

  DAVID, at the end of his patience, he turns on her: Am I that good and he that bad? I can’t believe it. There’s something wrong, there’s something wrong! Suddenly: I’m going to Burley. To Hester, hurriedly: Where’s the keys to the car . . . ?

  HESTER: You don’t even know where to find the man . . .

  DAVID: I’ll find him, where are the keys?

  HESTER—she grabs him: Davey, stop it . . .

  DAVID: I’m going, I’ll drag him here . . . !

  HESTER, frightened: Davey . . . !

  He strides toward the door. Shory grabs his arm and holds it fast.

  SHORY: Stop it!

  DAVID: Let go of me!

  SHORY—he will not let go: Listen to me, you damn fool! There’s nothing you can do, you understand?

  DAVID: Let go of my arm . . .

  SHORY, forces him down into a chair: David, I’m going to tell you something . . . I never told you before. But you need to know this now. Amos deserves better than this, but I deserved better than this too. Pats his thighs. When I went to France there was no broken bones in my imagination. I left this town with a beautiful moustache and full head of hair. Women traveled half the state to climb into my bed. Even over there, under shot and shell, as they say, there was a
special star over my head. I was the guy nothin’ was ever going to hit . . . And nothin’ ever did, David. He releases David’s arm. Now David does not move away. Right through the war without a scratch. Surprised? I walked into Paris combing my hair. The women were smiling at me from both sides of the street, and I walked up the stairs with the whistles blowing out the Armistice. I remember how she took off my shoes and put them under the bed. The next thing I knew the house was laying on my chest and they were digging me out.

  David, all, stare at him.

  HESTER: Everybody said it was a battle, I thought . . .

  SHORY, to her: No, no battle at all. To David. In battle—there’s almost a reason for it, a man almost “deserves” it that way. I just happened to pick out the one woman in Paris who lived in a house where the janitor was out getting drunk on the Armistice. He forgot to put water in the furnace boiler. Smiles. The walls blew out. Points upstage with his thumb over his shoulder. Amos’s walls happened to blow out. And you happen to be a lucky boy, brother David. A jellyfish can’t swim no matter how he tries; it’s the tide that pushes him every time. So just keep feeding, and enjoy the water till you’re thrown up on the beach to dry.

  Pause.

  HESTER, goes to him: Come, Dave, the folks are waiting to say goodbye.

  David is forced to turn quickly toward the window. It is an indecisive turn of the head, a questioning turn, and she follows as he strides to the window and looks out toward upstage direction . . .

  DAVID: Wait! Starting for the window. A car? Turns quickly to them all. It didn’t go past. It stopped. He starts quickly for the door, across the stage, right. Pat rushes down the stairs.

  PAT: He’s here! He came! Get out, everybody! To all: All the way from Burley in a taxicab! Dave, you stay. I want your advice when he starts talkin’ contract! Pat rushes out.

  DAVID, as they all keep exclaiming: Out, out, all of you! As they start for door, David musses Shory. Where’s your jellyfish now, brother!

  SHORY, at door with the others: His luck is with him, sister, that’s all, his luck!

  DAVID: Luck, heh? Smiling, he bends over Shory, pointing left toward his big desk and speaking privately . . . : Some day remind me to open the middle drawer of that desk. I’ll show you a fistful of phone bills for calls to Detroit.

  GUS, joyously: Dave. You called them!

  DAVID: Sure, I called them. That man is here because I brought him here! To Shory: Where’s the jellyfish could’ve done that! Triumphantly, to all: Don’t anybody go. We’re going to raise the roof tonight!

  They have all gone out now, on his last lines. Only Hester remains in the doorway.

  David looks at her a moment, and with a laugh embraces her quickly.

  I’ll tell you everything he says.

  HESTER: Be like this all the time, Davey. She turns toward the hallway into which this door leads. Tell me every word, now. She goes.

  David quickly brushes his hair back, looking rapidly about the room and to himself . . .

  DAVID: Now it’s wonderful: This is how it ought to be!

  Enter Amos—comes down stairs.

  AMOS, hushed, with his hands clasped as though in prayer: God, it’s happening just like it ought’ve. ’Cause I’m good. I betcha I’m probably great! He says this, facing the door, glancing at David.

  Enter Augie Belfast and Pat. Augie is a big Irishman dressed nattily.

  PAT, as they enter: . . . couldn’t stop him from setting up a party. Sees Dave. Oh, here he is.

  AUGIE, to Amos and David: Sit down, sit down. Don’t stand on ceremony with me. I’m Augie Belfast . . .

  Amos sits on the couch. David in a chair. As Pat . . .

  PAT: Let me have your coat?

  AUGIE—lays down his hat: It don’t bother me. I live in it. Thanks just the same. Taking out chewing gum: Gum?

  DAVID: No thanks, we’ve been eating all day.

  AUGIE, unfolding a slice as Pat sits. He moves about constantly; he already has a wad of gum in his cheek: Loosen up, don’t stand in awe of me. To David and Amos: I was just telling your father . . . I got tied up in Burley on some long-distance calls. I’m very sorry to be so late. He is anxious to be pardoned.

  DAVID: Oh, that’s all right. We know how busy you fellas are.

  AUGIE: Thanks. I knew how you must’ve been feeling. He paces a little, chewing, looking at the floor. Amos? He says nothing for a long moment. Stops walking, looks down, slowly unfolds another slice of gum.

  AMOS, whisper: Ya?

  AUGIE: Amos, how long you been pitchin’?

  AMOS: Well, about . . . Turns to Pat.

  PAT: Steadily since he’s been nine years old.

  AUGIE, nods. Pause: I guess you know he’s a damn fine pitcher.

  PAT, comfortably: We like to think so around here.

  AUGIE: Yeh, he’s steady, he’s good. Got a nice long arm, no nerves in that arm. He’s all right. He feels the plate. All the time thinking of something else, pacing.

  PAT: Well, you see, I’ve had him practicing down the cellar against a target. Dug the cellar out deeper so he could have room after he grew so tall.

  AUGIE: Yeh, I know. Man sitting next to me this afternoon was telling me. Look, Mr. Beeves . . . He straddles a chair, folds his arms on its back, facing them. I want you to have confidence in what I say. I’m Augie Belfast, if you know anything about Augie Belfast you know he don’t bull. There’s enough heartbreak in this business without bull-throwers causin’ any more. In toto, I don’t string an athlete along. Pitchin’ a baseball to me is like playin’ the piano well, or writin’ beautiful literature, so try to feel I’m giving you the last word because I am. Pat nods a little, hardly breathing. I have watched many thousands of boys, Mr. Beeves. I been whackin’ the bushes for material for a long time. You done a fine job on Amos. He’s got a fine, fast ball, he’s got a curve that breaks off sharp, he’s got his control down to a pinpoint. He’s almost original sometimes. When it comes to throwin’ a ball, he’s all there. Now. Slight pause. When I saw him two years ago, I said . . .

  DAVID, electrically: You were here before?

  AUGIE: Oh yeh, I meant to tell you. I came to see him last year, too . . .

  PAT: Why didn’t you let me know?

  AUGIE: Because there was one thing I couldn’t understand, Mr. Beeves. I understand it today, but I couldn’t then. When the bases are clear, Mr. Beeves, and there’s nobody on, your boy is terrific. . . . Now wait a minute, let me say rather that he’s good, very good. . . . I don’t want to say an untruth, your boy is good when nobody’s on. But as soon as a man gets on base and starts rubbin’ his spikes in the dirt and makin’ noise behind your boy’s back, something happens to him. I seen it once, I seen it twice. I seen it every time the bases get loaded. And once the crowd starts howlin’, your body, Mr. Beeves, is floatin’ somewhere out in paradise.

  PAT: But he pitched a shut-out.

  AUGIE: Only because them Black Giants like to swing bats. If they’d waited him out in the eighth inning they could’ve walked in half a dozen runs. Your boy was out of control. Dead silence. I couldn’t understand it. I absolutely couldn’t get the angle on it. Here’s a boy with a terrific. . . . Well, let’s not say terrific, let’s say a damn good long arm. But not an ounce of base-brains. There is something in him that prevents him from playin’ the bases . . .

  PAT: I know, I’ve been drilling him the last three years.

  AUGIE: I know, but in three years there’s been no improvement. In fact, this year he’s worse in that respect than last year. Why? Today I found the answer.

  PAT, softly: You did?

  AUGIE: The guy sitting next to me mentions about him pitchin’ down the cellar since he was nine years old. That was it! Follow me now. In the cellar there is no crowd. In the cellar he knows exactly what’s behind his back. In the cellar, in toto, your boy is
home. He’s only got to concentrate on that target, his mind is trained to take in that one object, just the target. But once he gets out on a wide ball field, and a crowd is yelling in his ears, and there’s two or three men on bases jumpin’ back and forth behind him, his mind has got to do a lot of things at once, he’s in a strange place, he gets panicky, he gets paralyzed, he gets mad at the base runners and he’s through! From that minute he can’t pitch worth a nickel bag of cold peanuts!

  He gets up, pulls down his vest. David and Pat sit dumbly, Amos staring at nothing.

  I got to make a train, Mr. Beeves.

  PAT, slowly rises. As though in a dream: I didn’t want to waste the winters, that’s why I trained him down the cellar.

  AUGIE, thoughtfully: Yeh, that’s just where you made your mistake, Mr. Beeves.

  DAVID, rises: But . . . that was his plan. He didn’t want to waste the winters. Down the cellar . . . it seemed like such a good idea!

  AUGIE: But it was a mistake.

  DAVID: But he’s been doing it twelve years! A man can’t be multiplying the same mistake for twelve years, can he?

  AUGIE: I guess he can, son. It was a very big mistake.

  Pause.

  PAT: Well . . . you can’t take that out of him? Your coaches and . . . everything?

  AUGIE: There’s no coach in the world can take out a boy’s brain and set it back twelve years. Your boy is crippled up here. Taps his temple. I’m convinced.

  DAVID: But if you coached him right, if you drilled him day after day . . .

  AUGIE: It would take a long, long time, and I personally don’t believe he’ll ever get rid of it.

  PAT: You can’t . . . you can’t try him, eh?

  AUGIE: I know how you feel, Mr. Beeves, but I am one man who will not take a boy out of his life when I know in my heart we’re going to throw him away like a wet rag.

  DAVID—for a long time he stands staring: He has no life.

  AUGIE, bends closer to hear: Eh?

  DAVID: He doesn’t know how to do anything else.

  AUGIE, nods with sympathy: That was another mistake. He starts to turn away to go.