FRICK, slight pause: Tremendous parking space down there. ’They need that for?
LEROY: Well a lot of people visit on weekends. Fills up pretty much.
FRICK: Really? That whole area?
LEROY: Pretty much.
FRICK: ’Doubt that. He goes to the window and looks out. Pause. Beautifully landscaped, got to say that for it.
LEROY: Yes, it’s a very nice place.
FRICK: ’See them walking around out there it’s hard to tell. ’Stopped one to ask directions and only realized when he stuck out his finger and pointed at my nose.
LEROY: Heh-heh.
FRICK: Quite a shock. Sitting there reading some thick book and crazy as a coot. You’d never know. He sits in another chair. Leroy returns to the magazine. He studies Leroy. Is it your wife?
LEROY: Yes.
FRICK: I’ve got mine in there too.
LEROY: Uh, huh. He stares ahead, politely refraining from the magazine.
FRICK: My name’s Frick.
LEROY: Hi. I’m Hamilton.
FRICK: Gladamettu. Slight pause. How do you find it here?
LEROY: I guess they do a good job.
FRICK: Surprisingly well kept for a state institution.
LEROY: Oh, ya.
FRICK: Awful lot of colored, though, ain’t there?
LEROY: Quite a few, ya.
FRICK: Yours been in long?
LEROY: Going on seven weeks now.
FRICK: They give you any idea when she can get out?
LEROY: Oh, I could take her out now, but I won’t for a couple weeks.
FRICK: Why’s that?
LEROY: Well this is her third time.
FRICK: ’Don’t say.
LEROY: I’d like them to be a little more sure before I take her out again. . . . Although you can never be sure.
FRICK: That fairly common?—that they have to come back?
LEROY: About a third they say. This your first time, I guess.
FRICK: I just brought her in last Tuesday. I certainly hope she doesn’t have to stay long. They ever say what’s wrong with her?
LEROY: She’s a depressive.
FRICK: Really. That’s what they say about mine. Just gets . . . sort of sad?
LEROY: It’s more like . . . frightened.
FRICK: Sounds just like mine. Got so she wouldn’t even leave the house.
LEROY: That’s right.
FRICK: Oh, yours too?
LEROY: Ya, she wouldn’t go out. Not if she could help it, anyway.
FRICK: She ever hear sounds?
LEROY: She used to. Like a loud humming.
FRICK: Same thing! Ts. What do you know! —How old is she?
LEROY: She’s forty-four.
FRICK: Is that all! I had an idea it had something to do with getting old . . .
LEROY: I don’t think so. My wife is still—I wouldn’t say a raving beauty, but she’s still . . . a pretty winsome woman. They’re usually sick a long time before you realize it, you know. I just never realized it.
FRICK: Mine never showed any signs at all. Just a nice, quiet kind of a woman. Always slept well . . .
LEROY: Well mine sleeps well too.
FRICK: Really?
LEROY: Lot of them love to sleep. I found that out. She’d take naps every afternoon. Longer and longer.
FRICK: Mine too. But then about six, eight months ago she got nervous about keeping the doors locked. And then the windows. I had to air-condition the whole house. I finally had to do the shopping, she just wouldn’t go out.
LEROY: Oh I’ve done the shopping for twenty years.
FRICK: You don’t say!
LEROY: Well you just never think of it as a sickness. I like to ski, for instance, or ice skating . . . she’d never come along. Or swimming in the summer. I always took the kids alone . . .
FRICK: Oh you have children.
LEROY: Yes. Seven.
FRICK: Seven!—I’ve been wondering if it was because she never had any.
LEROY: No, that’s not it. —You don’t have any?
FRICK: No. We kept putting it off, and then it got too late, and first thing you know . . . it’s just too late.
LEROY: For a while there I thought maybe she had too many children . . .
FRICK: Well I don’t have any, so . . .
LEROY: Yeah, I guess that’s not it either.
Slight pause.
FRICK: I just can’t figure it out. There’s no bills; we’re very well fixed; she’s got a beautiful home. . . . There’s really not a trouble in the world. Although, God knows, maybe that’s the trouble . . .
LEROY: Oh no, I got plenty of bills and it didn’t help mine. I don’t think it’s how many bills you have.
FRICK: What do you think it is, then?
LEROY: Don’t ask me, I don’t know.
FRICK: When she started locking up everything I thought maybe it’s these Negroes, you know? There’s an awful lot of fear around; all this crime.
LEROY: I don’t think so. My wife was afraid before there were any Negroes. I mean, around.
FRICK: Well one thing came out of it—I finally learned how to make coffee. And mine’s better than hers was. It’s an awful sensation, though—coming home and there’s nobody there.
LEROY: How’d you like to come home and there’s seven of them there?
FRICK: I guess I’m lucky at that.
LEROY: Well, I am too. They’re wonderful kids.
FRICK: They still very young?
LEROY: Five to nineteen. But they all pitch in. Everything’s clean, house runs like a ship.
FRICK: You’re lucky to have good children these days. —I guess we’re both lucky.
LEROY: That’s the only way to look at it. Start feeling sorry for yourself, that’s when you’re in trouble.
FRICK: Awfully hard to avoid sometimes.
LEROY: You can’t give in to it though. Like tonight—I was so disgusted I just laid down and . . . I was ready to throw in the chips. But then I got up and washed my face, put on the clothes, and here I am. After all, she can’t help it either, who you going to blame?
FRICK: It’s a mystery—a woman with everything she could possibly want. I don’t care what happens to the country, there’s nothing could ever hurt her anymore. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she’s terrified! . . . She lost all her optimism. Yours do that? Lose her optimism?
LEROY: Mine was never very optimistic. She’s Swedish.
FRICK: Oh. Mine certainly was. Whatever deal I was in, couldn’t wait till I got home to talk about it. Real estate, stock market, always interested. All of a sudden, no interest whatsoever. Might as well be talking to that wall over there. —Your wife have brothers and sisters?
LEROY: Quite a few, ya.
FRICK: Really. I even thought maybe it’s that she was an only child, and if she had brothers and sisters to talk to . . .
LEROY: Oh no—at least I don’t think so. It could be even worse.
FRICK: They don’t help, huh?
LEROY: They think they’re helping. Come around saying it’s a disgrace for their sister to be in a public institution. That’s the kind of help. So I said, “Well, I’m the public!”
FRICK: Sure! —It’s a perfectly nice place.
LEROY: They want her in the Rogers Pavilion.
FRICK: Rogers! —that’s a couple of hundred dollars a day minimum . . .
LEROY: Well if I had that kind of money I wouldn’t mind, but . . .
FRICK: No-no, don’t you do it. I could afford it, but what are we paying taxes for?
LEROY: So they can go around saying their sister’s in the Rogers Pavilion, that’s all.
FRICK: Out of the question. That’s fifty thousand dollars a year. Plus tips. I’m sure you
have to tip them there.
LEROY: Besides, it’s eighty miles there and back, I could never get to see her . . .
FRICK: If they’re so sensitive you ought to tell them to pay for it. That’d shut them up, I bet.
LEROY: Well no—they’ve offered to pay part. Most of it, in fact.
FRICK: Whyn’t you do it, then?
LEROY, holding a secret: I didn’t think it’s a good place for her.
FRICK: Why?—if they’d pay for it? It’s one of the top places in the country. Some very rich people go there.
LEROY: I know.
FRICK: And the top doctors, you know. And they order whatever they want to eat. I went up there to look it over; no question about it, it’s absolutely first-class, much better than this place. You should take them up on it.
LEROY: I’d rather have her here.
FRICK: Well I admire your attitude. You don’t see that kind of pride anymore.
LEROY: It’s not pride, exactly.
FRICK: Never mind, it’s a great thing, keep it up. Everybody’s got the gimmes, it’s destroying the country. Had a man in a few weeks ago to put in a new showerhead. Nothing to it. Screw off the old one and screw on the new one. Seventeen dollars an hour!
LEROY: Yeah, well. Gets up, unable to remain seated. Everybody’s got to live, I guess.
FRICK: I take my hat off to you—that kind of independence. Don’t happen to be with Colonial Trust, do you?
LEROY: No.
FRICK: There was something familiar about you. What line are you in?
LEROY, he is at the window now, staring out. Slight pause: Carpenter.
FRICK, taken aback: Don’t say. . . . Contractor?
LEROY: No. Just carpenter. —I take on one or two fellas when I have to, but I work alone most of the time.
FRICK: I’d never have guessed it.
LEROY: Well that’s what I do. Looks at his watch, wanting escape.
FRICK: I mean your whole . . . your way of dressing and everything.
LEROY: Why? Just ordinary clothes.
FRICK: No, you look like a college man.
LEROY: Most of them have long hair, don’t they?
FRICK: The way college men used to look. I’ve spent thirty years around carpenters, that’s why it surprised me. You know Frick Supply, don’t you?
LEROY: Oh ya. I’ve bought quite a lot of wood from Frick.
FRICK: I sold out about five years ago . . .
LEROY: I know. I used to see you around there.
FRICK: You did? Why didn’t you mention it?
LEROY, shrugs: Just didn’t.
FRICK: You say Anthony?
LEROY: No, Hamilton. Leroy.
FRICK, points at him: Hey now! Of course! There was a big article about you in the Herald a couple of years ago. Descended from Alexander Hamilton.
LEROY: That’s right.
FRICK: Sure! No wonder! Holding out his palm as to a photo. Now that I visualize you in overalls, I think I recognize you. In fact, you were out in the yard loading plywood the morning that article came out. My bookkeeper pointed you out through the window. It’s those clothes—if I’d seen you in overalls I’d’ve recognized you right off. Well, what do you know? The air of condescension plus wonder. Amazing thing what clothes’ll do, isn’t it. —Keeping busy?
LEROY: I get work.
FRICK: What are you fellas charging now?
LEROY: I get seventeen an hour.
FRICK: Good for you.
LEROY: I hate asking that much, but even so I just about make it.
FRICK: Shouldn’t feel that way; if they’ll pay it, grab it.
LEROY: Well ya, but it’s still a lot of money. —My head’s still back there thirty years ago.
FRICK: What are you working on now?
LEROY: I’m renovating a colonial near Waverly. I just finished over in Belleville. The Presbyterian church.
FRICK: Did you do that?
LEROY: Yeah, just finished Wednesday.
FRICK: That’s a beautiful job. You’re a good man. Where’d they get that altar?
LEROY: I built that.
FRICK: That altar?
LEROY: Uh huh.
FRICK: Hell, that’s first-class! Huh! You must be doing all right.
LEROY: Just keeping ahead of it.
FRICK, slight pause: How’d it happen?
LEROY: What’s that?
FRICK: Well coming out of an old family like that—how do you come to being a carpenter?
LEROY: Just . . . liked it.
FRICK: Father a carpenter?
LEROY: No.
FRICK: What was your father?
LEROY: Lawyer.
FRICK: Why didn’t you?
LEROY: Just too dumb, I guess.
FRICK: Couldn’t buckle down to the books, huh?
LEROY: I guess not.
FRICK: Your father should’ve taken you in hand.
LEROY, sits with magazine, opening it: He didn’t like the law either.
FRICK: Even so. —Many of the family still around?
LEROY: Well my mother, and two brothers.
FRICK: No, I mean of the Hamiltons.
LEROY: Well they’re Hamiltons.
FRICK: I know, but I mean— some of them must be pretty important people.
LEROY: I wouldn’t know. I never kept track of them.
FRICK: You should. Probably some of them must be pretty big. —Never even looked them up?
LEROY: Nope.
FRICK: You realize the importance of Alexander Hamilton, don’t you?
LEROY: I know about him, more or less.
FRICK: More or less! He was one of the most important Founding Fathers.
LEROY: I guess so, ya.
FRICK: You read about him, didn’t you?
LEROY: Well sure . . . I read about him.
FRICK: Well didn’t your father talk about him?
LEROY: Some. But he didn’t care for him much.
FRICK: Didn’t care for Alexander Hamilton?
LEROY: It was something to do with his philosophy. But I never kept up with the whole thing.
FRICK, laughing, shaking his head: Boy, you’re quite a character, aren’t you.
Leroy is silent, reddening. Frick continues chuckling at him for a moment.
LEROY: I hope to God your wife is cured, Mr. Frick, I hope she never has to come back here again.
FRICK, sensing the hostility: What have I said?
LEROY: This is the third time in two years for mine, and I don’t mean to be argumentative, but it’s got me right at the end of my rope. For all I know I’m in line for this funny farm myself by now, but I have to tell you that this could be what’s driving so many people crazy.
FRICK: What is!
LEROY: This.
FRICK: This what?
LEROY: This whole kind of conversation.
FRICK: Why? What’s wrong with it?
LEROY: Well never mind.
FRICK: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
LEROY: Well what’s it going to be, equality or what kind of country—I mean, am I supposed to be ashamed I’m a carpenter?
FRICK: Who said you . . . ?
LEROY: Then why do you talk like this to a man? One minute my altar is terrific and the next minute I’m some kind of shit bucket.
LEROY: Hey now, wait a minute . . . !
LEROY: I don’t mean anything against you personally, I know you’re a successful man and more power to you, but this whole type of conversation about my clothes—should I be ashamed I’m a carpenter? I mean everybody’s talking “labor, labor,” how much labor’s getting; well if it’s so great to be labor how come nobody wants to be it? I mean you ever hear a parent going around
saying—mimes thumb pridefully tucked into suspenders—“My son is a carpenter”? Do you? Do you ever hear people brag about a bricklayer? I don’t know what you are but I’m only a dumb swamp Yankee, but . . . Suddenly breaks off with a shameful laugh. Excuse me. I’m really sorry. But you come back here two-three more times and you’re liable to start talking the way you were never brought up to. Opens magazine.
FRICK: I don’t understand what you’re so hot about.
LEROY, looks up from the magazine. Seems to start to explain, then sighs: Nothing.
He returns to his magazine. Frick shakes his head with a certain condescension, then goes back to the window and looks out.
FRICK: It’s one hell of a parking lot, you have to say that for it.
They sit for a long moment in silence, each in his own thoughts.
BLACKOUT
SCENE II
Most of the stage is occupied by Patricia’s bedroom. In one of the beds a fully clothed woman lies motionless with one arm over her eyes. She will not move throughout the scene.
Outside this bedroom is a corner of the Recreation Room, bare but for a few scattered chairs.
Presently . . . from just offstage the sound of a Ping-Pong game. The ball comes bouncing into the Recreation Room area and Patricia Hamilton enters chasing it. She captures it and with a sigh of boredom goes offstage with it.
We hear two or three pings and the ball comes onstage again with Patricia Hamilton after it. She starts to return to the game offstage but halts, looks at the ball in her hand, and to someone offstage . . .
PATRICIA: Why are we doing this? Come let’s talk, I hate these games.
Mrs. Karen Frick enters. She is in her sixties, very thin, eyeglasses, wispy hair.
I said I’m quitting.
Karen stares at the paddle.
Well never mind. Studies her watch. You’re very good.
KAREN: My sister-in-law taught me. She used to be a stewardess on the Queen Mary. She could even play when the ship was rocking. But she never married.
PATRICIA: Here, put it down, dear.
Karen passively gives up the paddle, then stands there looking uncomfortable.
I’m going to lie down; sit with me, if you like.
KAREN, indicates Ping-Pong area: Hardly anyone ever seems to come out there.
PATRICIA: They don’t like exercise, they’re too depressed.
Patricia lies down. The woman in the other bed does not stir and no attention is paid to her.
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 119