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?
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 . . .
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 17