CHRIS: No . . . nothing like that . . .
ANN: Then what’s wrong? . . . Even in your letters, there was something ashamed.
CHRIS: Yes. I suppose I have been. But it’s going from me.
ANN: You’ve got to tell me—
CHRIS: I don’t know how to start. He takes her hand.
ANN: It wouldn’t work this way. Slight pause.
CHRIS, speaks quietly, factually at first: It’s all mixed up with so many other things. . . . You remember, overseas, I was in command of a company?
ANN: Yeah, sure.
CHRIS: Well, I lost them.
ANN: How many?
CHRIS: Just about all.
ANN: Oh, gee!
CHRIS: It takes a little time to toss that off. Because they weren’t just men. For instance, one time it’d been raining several days and this kid came to me, and gave me his last pair of dry socks. Put them in my pocket. That’s only a little thing . . . but . . . that’s the kind of guys I had. They didn’t die; they killed themselves for each other. I mean that exactly; a little more selfish and they’d’ve been here today. And I got an idea—watching them go down. Everything was being destroyed, see, but it seemed to me that one new thing was made. A kind of . . . responsibility. Man for man. You understand me?—To show that, to bring that on to the earth again like some kind of a monument and everyone would feel it standing there, behind him, and it would make a difference to him. Pause. And then I came home and it was incredible. I . . . there was no meaning in it here; the whole thing to them was a kind of a—bus accident. I went to work with Dad, and that rat-race again. I felt . . . what you said . . . ashamed somehow. Because nobody was changed at all. It seemed to make suckers out of a lot of guys. I felt wrong to be alive, to open the bank-book, to drive the new car, to see the new refrigerator. I mean you can take those things out of a war, but when you drive that car you’ve got to know that it came out of the love a man can have for a man, you’ve got to be a little better because of that. Otherwise what you have is really loot, and there’s blood on it. I didn’t want to take any of it. And I guess that included you.
ANN: And you still feel that way?
CHRIS: I want you now, Annie.
ANN: Because you mustn’t feel that way any more. Because you have a right to whatever you have. Everything, Chris, understand that? To me, too . . . And the money, there’s nothing wrong in your money. Your father put hundreds of planes in the air, you should be proud. A man should be paid for that . . .
CHRIS: Oh Annie, Annie . . . I’m going to make a fortune for you!
KELLER, offstage: Hello . . . Yes. Sure.
ANN, laughing softly: What’ll I do with a fortune . . . ? They kiss. Keller enters from house.
KELLER, thumbing toward house: Hey, Ann, your brother . . . They step apart shyly. Keller comes down, and wryly . . . : What is this, Labor Day?
CHRIS, waving him away, knowing the kidding will be endless: All right, all right . . .
ANN: You shouldn’t burst out like that.
KELLER: Well, nobody told me it was Labor Day. Looks around. Where’s the hot dogs?
CHRIS loving it: All right. You said it once.
KELLER: Well, as long as I know it’s Labor Day from now on, I’ll wear a bell around my neck.
ANN, affectionately: He’s so subtle!
CHRIS: George Bernard Shaw as an elephant.
KELLER: George!—hey, you kissed it out of my head—your brother’s on the phone.
ANN, surprised: My brother?
KELLER: Yeah, George. Long distance.
ANN: What’s the matter, is anything wrong?
KELLER: I don’t know, Kate’s talking to him. Hurry up, she’ll cost him five dollars.
ANN—she takes a step upstage, then comes down toward Chris: I wonder if we ought to tell your mother yet? I mean I’m not very good in an argument.
CHRIS: We’ll wait till tonight. After dinner. Now don’t get tense, just leave it to me.
KELLER: What’re you telling her?
CHRIS: Go ahead, Ann. With misgivings, Ann goes up and into house. We’re getting married, Dad. Keller nods indecisively. Well, don’t you say anything?
KELLER, distracted: I’m glad, Chris, I’m just . . . George is calling from Columbus.
CHRIS: Columbus!
KELLER: Did Annie tell you he was going to see his father today?
CHRIS: No, I don’t think she knew anything about it.
KELLER, asking uncomfortably: Chris! You . . . you think you know her pretty good?
CHRIS, hurt and apprehensive: What kind of a question . . . ?
KELLER: I’m just wondering. All these years George don’t go to see his father. Suddenly he goes . . . and she comes here.
CHRIS: Well, what about it?
KELLER: It’s crazy, but it comes to my mind. She don’t hold nothin’ against me, does she?
CHRIS, angry: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
KELLER, a little more combatively: I’m just talkin’. To his last day in court the man blamed it all on me; and this is his daughter. I mean if she was sent here to find out something?
CHRIS, angered: Why? What is there to find out?
ANN, on phone, offstage: Why are you so excited, George? What happened there?
KELLER: I mean if they want to open up the case again, for the nuisance value, to hurt us?
CHRIS: Dad . . . how could you think that of her?
ANN, still on phone, simultaneously: But what did he say to you, for God’s sake?
KELLER: It couldn’t be, heh. You know.
CHRIS: Dad, you amaze me . . .
KELLER, breaking in: All right, forget it, forget it. With great force, moving about: I want a clean start for you, Chris. I want a new sign over the plant—Christopher Keller, Incorporated.
CHRIS, a little uneasily: J. O. Keller is good enough.
KELLER: We’ll talk about it. I’m going to build you a house, stone, with a driveway from the road. I want you to spread out, Chris, I want you to use what I made for you . . . He is close to him now. . . . I mean, with joy, Chris, without shame . . . with joy.
CHRIS, touched: I will, Dad.
KELLER, with deep emotion: . . . Say it to me.
CHRIS: Why?
KELLER: Because sometimes I think you’re . . . ashamed of the money.
CHRIS: No, don’t feel that.
KELLER: Because it’s good money, there’s nothing wrong with that money.
CHRIS, a little frightened: Dad, you don’t have to tell me this.
KELLER, with overriding affection and self-confidence now. He grips Chris by the back of the neck, and with laughter between his determined jaws: Look, Chris, I’ll go to work on Mother for you. We’ll get her so drunk tonight we’ll all get married! Steps away, with a wide gesture of his arm: There’s gonna be a wedding, kid, like there never was seen! Champagne, tuxedoes . . . !
He breaks off as Ann’s voice comes out loud from the house where she is still talking on phone.
ANN: Simply because when you get excited you don’t control yourself. . . . Mother comes out of house. Well, what did he tell you for God’s sake? Pause. All right, come then. Pause. Yes, they’ll all be here. Nobody’s running away from you. And try to get hold of yourself, will you? Pause. All right, all right. Goodbye. There is a brief pause as Ann hangs up receiver, then comes out of kitchen.
CHRIS: Something happen?
KELLER: He’s coming here?
ANN: On the seven o’clock. He’s in Columbus. To Mother: I told him it would be all right.
KELLER: Sure, fine! Your father took sick?
ANN, mystified: No, George didn’t say he was sick. I . . . Shaking it off: I don’t know, I suppose it’s something stupid, you know my brother . . . She comes to Chris. Let’
s go for a drive, or something . . .
CHRIS: Sure. Give me the keys, Dad.
MOTHER: Drive through the park. It’s beautiful now.
CHRIS: Come on, Ann. To them: Be back right away.
ANN, as she and Chris exit up driveway: See you. Mother comes down toward Keller, her eyes fixed on him.
KELLER: Take your time. To Mother: What does George want?
MOTHER: He’s been in Columbus since this morning with Steve. He’s gotta see Annie right away, he says.
KELLER: What for?
MOTHER: I don’t know. She speaks with warning. He’s a lawyer now, Joe. George is a lawyer. All these years he never even sent a postcard to Steve. Since he got back from the war, not a postcard.
KELLER: So what?
MOTHER, her tension breaking out: Suddenly he takes an airplane from New York to see him. An airplane!
KELLER: Well? So?
MOTHER, trembling: Why?
KELLER: I don’t read minds. Do you?
MOTHER: Why, Joe? What has Steve suddenly got to tell him that he takes an airplane to see him?
KELLER: What do I care what Steve’s got to tell him?
MOTHER: You’re sure, Joe?
KELLER, frightened, but angry: Yes, I’m sure.
MOTHER—she sits stiffly in a chair: Be smart now, Joe. The boy is coming. Be smart.
KELLER, desperately: Once and for all, did you hear what I said? I said I’m sure!
MOTHER—she nods weakly: All right, Joe. He straightens up. Just . . . be smart. Keller, in hopeless fury, looks at her, turns around, goes up to porch and into house, slamming screen door violently behind him. Mother sits in chair downstage, stiffly, staring, seeing.
CURTAIN
ACT TWO
As twilight falls, that evening.
On the rise: Chris is discovered at right, sawing the broken-off tree, leaving stump standing alone. He is dressed in good pants, white shoes, but without a shirt. He disappears with tree up the alley when Mother appears on porch. She comes down and stands watching him. She has on a dressing-gown, carries a tray of grape juice drink in a pitcher, and glasses with sprigs of mint in them.
MOTHER, calling up alley: Did you have to put on good pants to do that? She comes downstage and puts tray on table in the arbor. Then looks around uneasily, then feels pitcher for coolness. Chris enters from alley brushing off his hands. You notice there’s more light with that thing gone?
CHRIS: Why aren’t you dressing?
MOTHER: It’s suffocating upstairs. I made a grape drink for Georgie. He always liked grape. Come and have some.
CHRIS, impatiently: Well, come on, get dressed. And what’s Dad sleeping so much for? He goes to table and pours a glass of juice.
MOTHER: He’s worried. When he’s worried he sleeps. Pauses. Looks into his eyes. We’re dumb, Chris. Dad and I are stupid people. We don’t know anything. You’ve got to protect us.
CHRIS: You’re silly; what’s there to be afraid of?
MOTHER: To his last day in court Steve never gave up the idea that Dad made him do it. If they’re going to open the case again I won’t live through it.
CHRIS: George is just a damn fool, Mother. How can you take him seriously?
MOTHER: That family hates us. Maybe even Annie. . . .
CHRIS: Oh, now, Mother . . .
MOTHER: You think just because you like everybody, they like you!
CHRIS: All right, stop working yourself up. Just leave everything to me.
MOTHER: When George goes home tell her to go with him.
CHRIS, noncommittally: Don’t worry about Annie.
MOTHER: Steve is her father, too.
CHRIS: Are you going to cut it out? Now, come.
MOTHER, going upstage with him: You don’t realize how people can hate, Chris, they can hate so much they’ll tear the world to pieces. . . . Ann, dressed up, appears on porch.
CHRIS: Look! She’s dressed already. As he and Mother mount porch: I’ve just got to put on a shirt.
ANN, in a preoccupied way: Are you feeling well, Kate?
MOTHER: What’s the difference, dear. There are certain people, y’know, the sicker they get the longer they live. She goes into house.
CHRIS: You look nice.
ANN: We’re going to tell her tonight.
CHRIS: Absolutely, don’t worry about it.
ANN: I wish we could tell her now. I can’t stand scheming. My stomach gets hard.
CHRIS: It’s not scheming, we’ll just get her in a better mood.
MOTHER, offstage, in the house: Joe, are you going to sleep all day!
ANN, laughing: The only one who’s relaxed is your father. He’s fast asleep.
CHRIS: I’m relaxed.
ANN: Are you?
CHRIS: Look. He holds out his hand and makes it shake. Let me know when George gets here.
He goes into the house. She moves aimlessly, and then is drawn toward tree stump. She goes to it, hesitantly touches broken top in the hush of her thoughts. Offstage Lydia calls, “Johnny! Come get your supper!” Sue enters from left, and halts, seeing Ann.
SUE: Is my husband . . . ?
ANN, turns, startled: Oh!
SUE: I’m terribly sorry.
ANN: It’s all right, I . . . I’m a little silly about the dark.
SUE, looks about: It is getting dark.
ANN: Are you looking for your husband?
SUE: As usual. Laughs tiredly. He spends so much time here, they’ll be charging him rent.
ANN: Nobody was dressed so he drove over to the depot to pick up my brother.
SUE: Oh, your brother’s in?
ANN: Yeah, they ought to be here any minute now. Will you have a cold drink?
SUE: I will, thanks. Ann goes to table and pours. My husband. Too hot to drive me to beach.—Men are like little boys; for the neighbors they’ll always cut the grass.
ANN: People like to do things for the Kellers. Been that way since I can remember.
SUE: It’s amazing. I guess your brother’s coming to give you away, heh?
ANN, giving her drink: I don’t know. I suppose.
SUE: You must be all nerved up.
ANN: It’s always a problem getting yourself married, isn’t it?
SUE: That depends on your shape, of course. I don’t see why you should have had a problem.
ANN: I’ve had chances—
SUE: I’ll bet. It’s romantic . . . it’s very unusual to me, marrying the brother of your sweetheart.
ANN: I don’t know. I think it’s mostly that whenever I need somebody to tell me the truth I’ve always thought of Chris. When he tells you something you know it’s so. He relaxes me.
SUE: And he’s got money. That’s important, you know.
ANN: It wouldn’t matter to me.
SUE: You’d be surprised. It makes all the difference, I married an intern. On my salary. And that was bad, because as soon as a woman supports a man he owes her something. You can never owe somebody without resenting them. Ann laughs. That’s true, you know.
ANN: Underneath, I think the doctor is very devoted.
SUE: Oh, certainly. But it’s bad when a man always sees the bars in front of him. Jim thinks he’s in jail all the time.
ANN: Oh . . .
SUE: That’s why I’ve been intending to ask you a small favor, Ann . . . it’s something very important to me.
ANN: Certainly, if I can do it.
SUE: You can. When you take up housekeeping, try to find a place away from here.
ANN: Are you fooling?
SUE: I’m very serious. My husband is unhappy with Chris around.
ANN: How is that?
SUE: Jim’s a successful doctor. But he’s got an idea he’d like to do medical research. Discover things.
You see?
ANN: Well, isn’t that good?
SUE: Research pays twenty-five dollars a week minus laundering the hair shirt. You’ve got to give up your life to go into it.
ANN: How does Chris—?
SUE, with growing feeling: Chris makes people want to be better than it’s possible to be. He does that to people.
ANN: Is that bad?
SUE: My husband has a family, dear. Every time he has a session with Chris he feels as though he’s compromising by not giving up everything for research. As though Chris or anybody else isn’t compromising. It happens with Jim every couple of years. He meets a man and makes a statue out of him.
ANN: Maybe he’s right. I don’t mean that Chris is a statue, but . . .
SUE: Now darling, you know he’s not right.
ANN: I don’t agree with you. Chris . . .
SUE: Let’s face it, dear. Chris is working with his father, isn’t he? He’s taking money out of that business every week in the year.
ANN: What of it?
SUE: You ask me what of it?
ANN: I certainly do ask you. She seems about to burst out. You oughtn’t cast aspersions like that, I’m surprised at you.
SUE: You’re surprised at me!
ANN: He’d never take five cents out of that plant if there was anything wrong in it.
SUE: You know that.
ANN: I know it. I resent everything you’ve said.
SUE, moving toward her: You know what I resent, dear?
ANN: Please, I don’t want to argue.
SUE: I resent living next door to the Holy Family. It makes me look like a bum, you understand?
ANN: I can’t do anything about that.
SUE: Who is he to ruin a man’s life? Everybody knows Joe pulled a fast one to get out of jail.
ANN: That’s not true!
SUE: Then why don’t you go out and talk to people? Go on, talk to them. There’s not a person on the block who doesn’t know the truth.
ANN: That’s a lie. People come here all the time for cards and . . .
SUE: So what? They give him credit for being smart. I do, too, I’ve got nothing against Joe. But if Chris wants people to put on the hair shirt let him take off his broadcloth. He’s driving my husband crazy with that phony idealism of his, and I’m at the end of my rope on it!
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 14