ESTHER: Nothing was sacrificed.
WALTER, to Victor: To prove with your failure what a treacherous son of a bitch I am!—to hang yourself in my doorway!
ESTHER: Leave him, Walter—please, don’t say any more!
WALTER—humiliated by her. He is furious. He takes an unplanned step toward the door: You quit; both of you. To Victor as well: You lay down and quit, and that’s the long and short of all your ideology. It is all envy!
Solomon enters, apprehensive, looks from one to the other.
And to this moment you haven’t the guts to face it! But your failure does not give you moral authority! Not with me! I worked for what I made and there are people walking around today who’d have been dead if I hadn’t. Yes. Moving toward the door, he points at the center chair. He was smarter than all of us—he saw what you wanted and he gave it to you! He suddenly reaches out and grabs Solomon’s face and laughs. Go ahead, you old mutt—rob them blind, they love it! Letting go, he turns to Victor. You will never, never again make me ashamed! He strides toward the doorway. A gown lies on the dining table, spread out, and he is halted in surprise at the sight of it.
Suddenly Walter sweeps it up in his hands and rushes at Victor, flinging the gown at him with an outcry. Victor backs up at his wild approach.
VICTOR: Walter!
The flicker of a humiliated smile passes across Walter’s face. He wants to disappear into air. He turns, hardly glancing at Victor, makes for the door, and, straightening, goes out.
VICTOR—starts hesitantly to the door: Maybe he oughtn’t go into the street like that—
SOLOMON, stopping him with his hand: Let him go.
Victor turns to Solomon uncertainly.
What can you do?
ESTHER: Whatever you see, huh.
Solomon turns to her, questioningly.
You believe what you see.
SOLOMON, thinking she was rebuking him: What then?
ESTHER: No—it’s wonderful. Maybe that’s why you’re still going.
Victor turns to her. She stares at the doorway.
I was nineteen years old when I first walked up those stairs—if that’s believable. And he had a brother, who was the cleverest, most wonderful young doctor . . . in the world. As he’d be soon. Somehow, some way. She turns to the center chair. And a rather sweet, inoffensive gentleman, always waiting for the news to come on. . . . And next week, men we never saw or heard of will come and smash it all apart and take it all away.—So many times I thought—the one thing he wanted most was to talk to his brother, and that if they could— But he’s come and he’s gone. And I still feel it—isn’t that terrible? It always seems to me that one little step more and some crazy kind of forgiveness will come and lift up everyone. When do you stop being so . . . foolish?
SOLOMON: I had a daughter, should rest in peace, she took her own life. That’s nearly fifty years. And every night I lay down to sleep, she’s sitting there. I see her clear like I see you. But if it was a miracle and she came to life, what would I say to her? He turns back to Victor, paying out. So you got there seven; so I’m giving you eight, nine, ten, eleven—he searches, finds a fifty—and there’s a fifty for the harp. Now you’ll excuse me—I got a lot of work here tonight. He gets his pad and pencil and begins carefully listing each piece.
VICTOR—folds the money: We could still make the picture, if you like.
ESTHER: Okay.
He goes to his suit and begins to rip the plastic wrapper off.
Don’t bother.
He looks at her.
She turns to Solomon. Goodbye, Mr. Solomon.
SOLOMON—looks up from his pad: Goodbye, dear. I like that suit, that’s very nice. He returns to his work.
ESTHER: Thank you. She walks out with her life.
VICTOR—buckles on his gun belt, pulls up his tie: When will you be taking it away?
SOLOMON: With God’s help if I’ll live, first thing in the morning.
VICTOR, of the suit: I’ll be back for this later, then. And there’s my foil, and the mask, and the gauntlets. Puts on his uniform jacket.
SOLOMON, continuing his work: Don’t worry, I wouldn’t touch it.
VICTOR, extending his hand: I’m glad to have met you, Solomon.
SOLOMON: Likewise. And I want to thank you.
VICTOR: What for?
SOLOMON, with a glance at the furniture: Well . . . who would ever believe I would start such a thing again . . . ? He cuts himself off. But go, go, I got a lot of work here.
VICTOR, starting to the door, putting his cap on: Good luck with it.
SOLOMON: Good luck you can never know till the last minute, my boy.
VICTOR, smiling: Right. Yes. With a last look around at the room. Well . . . bye-bye.
SOLOMON, as Victor goes out: Bye-bye, bye-bye.
He is alone. He has the pad and pencil in his hand, and he takes the pencil to start work again. But he looks about, and the challenge of it all oppresses him and he is afraid and worried. His hand goes to his cheek, he pulls his flesh in fear, his eyes circling the room.
His eye falls on the phonograph. He goes, inspects it, winds it up, sets the tone arm on the record, and flicks the starting lever. The Laughing Record plays. As the two comedians begin their routine, his depressed expression gives way to surprise. Now he smiles. He chuckles, and remembers. Now a laugh escapes, and he nods his head in recollection. He is laughing now, and shakes his head back and forth as though to say, “It still works!” And the laughter, of the record and his own, increase and combine. He holds his head, unable to stop laughing, and sits in the center chair. He leans back sprawling in the chair, laughing with tears in his eyes, howling helplessly to the air.
SLOW CURTAIN
THE CREATION OF THE WORLD AND OTHER BUSINESS
1972
Characters
GOD
ADAM
EVE
LUCIFER
ANGELS: RAPHAEL, AZRAEL, CHEMUEL
CAIN
ABEL
ACT ONE
Music.
A night sky full of stars. Day spreads its pristine light, forming shadows in the contrasting sunlight. It is Paradise, the ultimate Garden—which is to say that it is all an impression of color rather than terrestrial details of plants and vines. Only one such feature stands apart; from the left, reaching out like an inverted, finger-spread hand, is a tree branch with golden leaves, from which hangs an apple.
God appears on his throne above the acting level. He is deep in thought as He tries to visualize the inevitable future.
Now, as light spreads, the caw of a crow sounds, the dawn-welcoming chatter of monkeys, the hee-hawing ass, the lion’s echoing roar, seals barking, pigs grunting, the loon’s sudden laughter—all at once in free cacophony.
And as they subside and day is full, one of the shadows moves—a man, Adam, who reaches up above his head and plucks a fig and, propped up against a rock, crosses his legs and idly chews. He is in every way a man and naked, but his skin is imprinted with striped and speckled shadows, an animated congealment of light and color and darkness.
God emerges behind and to one side of him. He looks about, at the weather, up at the sky. Then He turns and looks down at Adam, who gradually feels His presence, and with only the slightest start of surprise. . . .
ADAM: Oh! Good morning, God!
GOD: Good morning, Adam. Beautiful day.
ADAM: Oh, perfect, Lord. But they all are.
GOD: I’ve turned up the breeze a little. . . .
ADAM: I just noticed that. Holds up a hand to feel it. This is exactly right now. Thanks, Lord.
GOD: I’m very pleased with the way you keep the garden. I see you’ve pruned the peach tree.
ADAM: I had to, Lord. An injured branch was crying all night. Are we going to name more things today?
>
GOD: I have something else to discuss with you this morning, but I don’t see why we couldn’t name a few things first. He points. What would you call that?
ADAM: That? I’d call that a lion.
GOD: Lion. Well, that sounds all right. And that?
ADAM: That? Ahhh . . . lamb?
GOD, trying the word: Lamb.
ADAM: I don’t know what it is today—everything seems to start with L.
GOD: I must say that looks like a lamb. And that?
ADAM: L, L, L . . . That should be—ah . . . labbit?
GOD, cocking His head doubtfully: Labbit doesn’t seem—
ADAM, quickly: You’re right, that’s wrong. See, I was rushing.
GOD: Slow down, we have all the time in the world.
ADAM: Actually, that looks like something that should begin with an R. . . . rabbit!
GOD: Rabbit sounds much better.
ADAM, happily: Rabbit, rabbit!—oh, sure, that’s much better.
GOD: How about that?
ADAM: I’ve been wondering about that. I have a feeling it should have a name that goes up and down, like . . . ka . . . ka . . .
GOD: Yes? Go on . . . Ka what?
ADAM, undulantly: Ca-ter-pill-ar.
GOD: What an amazing creature you’ve turned out to be; I would never have thought of “Caterpillar” in a million years. That’ll be enough for today. I imagine you’ve noticed by this time that all the animals live in pairs—there are male and female?
ADAM: I’m so glad you mentioned that.
GOD: Oh, it disturbs you?
ADAM: Oh no, Lord, nothing disturbs me.
GOD: I’m glad to see that you’ve settled for perfection.
ADAM: It just seemed odd that, of all the creatures, only I am alone. But I’m sure you have your reasons.
GOD: Actually, Adam—and I know this won’t shake your confidence—but now and then I do something and, quite frankly, it’s only afterwards that I discover the reasons. Which, of course, is just as well. In your case it was extremely experimental. I had just finished the chimpanzee and had some clay left over. And I—well, just played around with it, and by golly there you were, the spitting image of me. In fact, that is probably why I feel such a special closeness to you: you sprang out of my instinct rather than some design. And that is probably why it never occurred to me to give you a wife, you see.
ADAM: Oh, I see. What would it look like? Or don’t you know yet?
GOD: Supposing I improvise something and see how it strikes you.
ADAM: All right. But would I have to—like, talk to it all the time?
GOD: What in the world gave you an idea like that?
ADAM: Well, these lions and monkeys and mice—they’re all constantly talking to each other. And I so enjoy lying on my back and just listening to the lilacs budding.
GOD: You mean you’d rather remain alone?
ADAM: I don’t know! I’ve never had anybody.
GOD: Well, neither have I, so I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Why don’t we just try it and see what happens?
ADAM: Of course, Lord, anything you say.
GOD: Lie down, then, and I’ll put you to sleep.
ADAM: Yes, Lord.
He lies down. God feels his rib cage.
GOD: I’ll take out a bottom rib. This one here. You’ll never know the difference.
ADAM, starting up: Is that—fairly definite?
GOD: Oh, don’t worry. I shouldn’t have put it in in the first place, but I wanted to be extra sure. Now close your eyes.
ADAM, lying back nervously: Yes, sir. . . . Starts up again. Is this also going to be experimental, or—I mean how long are we going to keep her?
GOD: Now look, son, you don’t have to hang around her every minute. If it gets too much, you just walk off by yourself.
ADAM: Oh, good. Starts lying down, then sits up nervously. I just wondered.
GOD: Sleep, Adam! He ceremonially lowers his hands on Adam’s rib. Something stirs on the periphery, rising from the ground. Music.
This is now bone of thy bones,
And flesh of thy flesh;
She shall be called . . . Woman,
Because she was taken out of Man.
Wake up, Adam. Adam opens his eyes and sits up. Eve moves out of the darkness, and they look at each other. Her skin too is covered with shadow-marks. God walks around her, inspecting her. Hmmmmm. Very nice. To Adam: What do you say? Music dies off.
ADAM, nervously: Well . . . she certainly is different.
GOD: Is that all?
ADAM: Oh, Lord, she’s perfect! But he is still uneasy.
GOD: I think so too.
ADAM: Me too.
GOD: Huh! I don’t know how I do it! What would you like to call her?
ADAM: Eve.
GOD: Eve! Lovely name. Takes her hand. Now dear, you will notice many different kinds of animals in this garden. Each has its inborn rule. The bee will not eat meat; the elephant will not sing and fish have no interest in flowers.—Those are apples on that tree; you will not eat them.
EVE: Why?
ADAM: That’s the rule!
GOD: Be patient, Adam, she’s very new. To Eve: Perhaps the day will come when I can give you a fuller explanation; for the moment, we’ll put it this way. That is the Tree of Knowledge, Knowledge of Good and Evil. All that you have here springs from my love for you; out of love for me you will not eat of that tree or you will surely die. Not right away, but sometime. Now tell me, Eve—when you look at that tree, what do you think of?
EVE, looks up at the tree: . . . God?
ADAM: She got it!
GOD: That’s exactly the point, dear. Takes both their hands. Now be glad of one another. And remember—if you eat of that tree you shall surely die. Not right away, but sometime. And if you stay clear of that tree, everything will go one just as it is, forever. Eve?
EVE: Yes, Lord.
GOD: Adam?
ADAM: Yes, Lord.
GOD: It is all yours, my children, till the end of time.
He walks away and vanishes. Adam and Eve turn from God and face each other. They smile tentatively. Examine each other’s hands, breasts. He sniffs her. Sniffs closer.
ADAM: You smell differently than I do.
EVE: You do too.
He kisses her lips. Then she kisses his. They smile. He gives a little wave.
ADAM: Well . . . maybe I’ll see you again sometime. I feel like lying down over there.
EVE: I do too!
ADAM, halting: You do?
She stretches out.
EVE: I think I have the same thoughts you do.
ADAM, deciding to test this: Are you a little thirsty?
EVE: Mmhm.
ADAM: Me too. And a little hungry?
EVE: Mmhm.
ADAM: Well, that’s nice. Here, want a fig?
EVE: I just felt like a fig! They chew.
ADAM: We can go swimming later, if you like.
EVE: Fine! That’s just what I was thinking. They lie in silence.
ADAM: Beautiful, isn’t it?
EVE: Oh, ya. Is it all right to ask—
ADAM: What?
EVE: —what you do all day?
ADAM: Well, up till recently I’ve been naming things. But that’s practically over now. See that up there? She looks up. I named that a pomegranate.
EVE: Pomewhat?
ADAM: Pomegranate.
EVE: That doesn’t look like a pomegranate.
ADAM: Of course it’s a pomegranate. He fetches her one. Here, eat one, you’ll see. As you’re spitting out the seeds it feels like “pomegranate, pomegranate, pomegranate.” She bites into it. As she spits out seeds. Granate, granate, granate. . . .
EVE,
chewing, spitting out seeds: Say . . . you’re right, you’re right.
ADAM: That’s better.
EVE—she suddenly plucks something out of his hair and holds it between her fingers: What’s this?
ADAM: That? That’s a prndn. He scratches himself. It’s one of the first things I named.
EVE: This you named a prndn?
ADAM, with a tingle of alarm: Now look, woman, once a thing is named, it’s named.
EVE, hurt, surprised: Oh.
ADAM—conviction failing, he turns back to her: Why? What should I call it?
EVE: Well, to me, this is a louse.
ADAM: Saaay! No wonder I woke up full of L’s this morning! With a happy laugh, she eats the louse. Isn’t it marvelous how we both have exactly the same thoughts, pretty near!
EVE, chewing: Yes. He stares ahead, considering for a moment, then, to show off he spreads his arms and stands on one foot. So what do you do all day?
ADAM: Sometimes I do this. Or this. He rolls onto his head and does a headstand. She watches for a moment. His headstand collapses: Why? Do you have something in mind?
EVE: I think I do, but I don’t know what it is. Say, that bush!
ADAM: What about it?
EVE: I just saw it growing!
ADAM: Oh, sure. Listen . . . do you hear?
EVE: Yes. What is that sound?
ADAM: That’s the sound of sunset.
EVE: And that crackling?
ADAM: A shadow is moving across dry leaves.
EVE: What is that piping sound?
ADAM: Two trout are talking in the river.
EVE, looking upward: Something has exhaled.
ADAM: God is sighing.
EVE: Something is rising and falling.
ADAM: That’s the footsteps of an angel walking through the vines. Come, I’ll show you the pool.
EVE, getting up: I was just thinking that!
ADAM: Good for you! I’ll teach you to ride my alligators! With a comradely arm over her shoulder he walks her out, as angels Chemuel, Azrael, and Raphael enter on the platform.
CHEMUEL: Did you ever see anything so sweet?
RAPHAEL: Look at him putting a plum in her mouth! How lovely!
God enters on the platform.
CHEMUEL: She’s adorable! Lord, you’ve done it again. God, however, has left the group and stands in deep thought, apart. Everybody! Halllllll-elujah!
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 80