HYMAN: She’s frightened to death of psychiatry, she thinks it means she’s crazy.
MARGARET: Well, she is, in a way, isn’t she?
HYMAN: I don’t see it that way at all.
MARGARET: Getting this hysterical about something on the other side of the world is sane?
HYMAN: When she talks about it, it’s not the other side of the world, it’s on the next block.
MARGARET: And that’s sane?
HYMAN: I don’t know what it is! I just get the feeling sometimes that she knows something, something that . . . It’s like she’s connected to some . . . some wire that goes half around the world, some truth that other people are blind to.
MARGARET: I think you’ve got to get somebody on this who won’t be carried away, Harry.
HYMAN: I am not carried away!
MARGARET: You really believe that Sylvia Gellburg is being threatened by these Nazis? Is that real or is it hysterical?
HYMAN: So call it hysterical, does that bring you one inch closer to what is driving that woman? It’s not a word that’s driving her, Margaret—she knows something! I don’t know what it is, and she may not either—but I tell you it’s real.
A moment.
MARGARET: What an interesting life you have, Harry.
BLACKOUT
INTERMISSION
ACT TWO
SCENE I
The cellist plays, music fades away.
Stanton Case is standing with hands clasped behind his back as though staring out a window. A dark mood. Gellburg enters behind him but he doesn’t turn at once.
GELLBURG: Excuse me . . .
CASE, turns: Oh, good morning. You wanted to see me.
GELLBURG: If you have a minute I’d appreciate . . .
CASE, as he sits: —You don’t look well, are you all right?
GELLBURG: Oh I’m fine, maybe a cold coming on . . .
Since he hasn’t been invited to sit he glances at a chair then back at Case, who still leaves him hanging—and he sits on the chair’s edge.
I wanted you to know how bad I feel about 611 Broadway. I’m very sorry.
CASE: Yes. Well. So it goes, I guess.
GELLBURG: I know how you had your heart set on it and I . . . I tell you the news knocked me over; they gave no sign they were talking to Allan Kershowitz or anybody else . . .
CASE: It’s very disappointing—in fact, I’d already begun talking to an architect friend about renovations.
GELLBURG: Really. Well, I can’t tell you how . . .
CASE: I’d gotten a real affection for that building. It certainly would have made a perfect annex. And probably a great investment too.
GELLBURG: Well, not necessarily, if Wanamaker’s ever pulls out.
CASE: . . . Yes, about Wanamaker’s—I should tell you—when I found out that Kershowitz had outbid us I was flabbergasted after what you’d said about the neighborhood going downhill once the store was gone— Kershowitz is no fool, I need hardly say. So I mentioned it to one of our club members who I know is related to a member of the Wanamaker board. —He tells me there has never been any discussion whatever about the company moving out; he was simply amazed at the idea.
GELLBURG: But the man at ABC . . .
CASE, impatience showing: ABC was left with the repair work because Wanamaker’s changed to another contractor for their new boilers. It had nothing to do with the store moving out. Nothing.
GELLBURG: . . . I don’t know what to say, I . . . I just . . . I’m awfully sorry . . .
CASE: Well, it’s a beautiful building, let’s hope Kershowitz puts it to some worthwhile use. —You have any idea what he plans to do with it?
GELLBURG: Me? Oh no, I don’t really know Kershowitz.
CASE: Oh! I thought you said you knew him for years?
GELLBURG: . . . Well, I “know” him, but not . . . we’re not personal friends or anything, we just met at closings a few times, and things like that. And maybe once or twice in restaurants, I think, but . . .
CASE: I see. I guess I misunderstood, I thought you were fairly close.
Case says no more; the full stop shoots Gellburg’s anxiety way up.
GELLBURG: I hope you’re not . . . I mean I never mentioned to Kershowitz that you were interested in 611.
CASE: Mentioned? What do you mean?
GELLBURG: Nothing; just that . . . it almost sounds like I had something to do with him grabbing the building away from under you. Because I would never do a thing like that to you!
CASE: I didn’t say that, did I. If I seem upset it’s being screwed out of that building, and by a man whose methods I never particularly admired.
GELLBURG: Yes, that’s what I mean. But I had nothing to do with Kershowitz . . .
Breaks off into silence.
CASE: But did I say you did? I’m not clear about what you wanted to say to me, or have I missed some . . . ?
GELLBURG: No-no, just that. What you just said.
CASE, his mystification peaking: What’s the matter with you?
GELLBURG: I’m sorry. I’d like to forget the whole thing.
CASE: What’s happening?
GELLBURG: Nothing. Really. I’m sorry I troubled you!
Pause. With an explosion of frustration, Case marches out. Gellburg is left open-mouthed, one hand raised as though to bring back his life.
BLACKOUT
SCENE II
The cellist plays and is gone.
Sylvia in a wheelchair is listening to Eddie Cantor on the radio, singing “If You Knew Susie Like I Know Susie.” She has an amused look, taps a finger to the rhythm. Her bed is nearby, on it a folded newspaper.
Hyman appears. She instantly smiles, turns off the radio, and holds a hand out to him. He comes and shakes hands.
SYLVIA, indicating the radio: I simply can’t stand Eddie Cantor, can you?
HYMAN: Cut it out now, I heard you laughing halfway up the stairs.
SYLVIA: I know, but I can’t stand him. This Crosby’s the one I like. You ever hear him?
HYMAN: I can’t stand these crooners—they’re making ten, twenty thousand dollars a week and never spent a day in medical school. She laughs. Anyway, I’m an opera man.
SYLVIA: I never saw an opera. They must be hard to understand, I bet.
HYMAN: Nothing to understand—either she wants to and he doesn’t or he wants to and she doesn’t. She laughs. Either way one of them gets killed and the other one jumps off a building.
SYLVIA: I’m so glad you could come.
HYMAN, settling into chair near the bed: —You ready? We have to discuss something.
SYLVIA: Phillip had to go to Jersey for a zoning meeting . . .
HYMAN: Just as well—it’s you I want to talk to.
SYLVIA: —There’s some factory the firm owns there . . .
HYMAN: Come on, don’t be nervous.
SYLVIA: . . . My back aches, will you help me onto the bed?
HYMAN: Sure.
He lifts her off the chair and carries her to the bed where he gently lowers her.
There we go.
She lies back. He brings up the blanket and covers her legs.
What’s that perfume?
SYLVIA: Harriet found it in my drawer. I think Jerome bought it for one of my birthdays years ago.
HYMAN: Lovely. Your hair is different.
SYLVIA, puffs up her hair: Harriet did it; she’s loved playing with my hair since we were kids. Did you hear all those birds this morning?
HYMAN: Amazing, yes; a whole cloud of them shot up like a spray in front of my horse.
SYLVIA, partially to keep him: You know, as a child, when we first moved from upstate there were so many birds and rabbits and even foxes here—Of course that was real country up there; my dad had a wonderful
general store, everything from ladies’ hats to horseshoes. But the winters were just finally too cold for my mother.
HYMAN: In Coney Island we used to kill rabbits with slingshots.
SYLVIA, wrinkling her nose in disgust: Why!
HYMAN, shrugs: —To see if we could. It was heaven for kids.
SYLVIA: I know! Brooklyn was really beautiful, wasn’t it? I think people were happier then. My mother used to stand on our porch and watch us all the way to school, right across the open fields for—must have been a mile. And I would tie a clothesline around my three sisters so I wouldn’t have to keep chasing after them! —I’m so glad—honestly . . . A cozy little laugh. I feel good every time you come.
HYMAN: Now listen to me; I’ve learned that these kinds of symptoms come from very deep in the mind. I would have to deal with your dreams to get any results, your deepest secret feelings, you understand? That’s not my training.
SYLVIA: But when you talk to me I really feel my strength starting to come back . . .
HYMAN: You should already be having therapy to keep up your circulation.
A change in her expression, a sudden withdrawal which he notices.
You have a long life ahead of you, you don’t want to live it in a wheelchair, do you? It’s imperative that we get you to someone who can . . .
SYLVIA: I could tell you a dream.
HYMAN: I’m not trained to . . .
SYLVIA: I’d like to, can I?—I have the same one every night just as I’m falling asleep.
HYMAN, forced to give way: Well . . . all right, what is it?
SYLVIA: I’m in a street. Everything is sort of gray. And there’s a crowd of people. They’re packed in all around, but they’re looking for me.
HYMAN: Who are they?
SYLVIA: They’re Germans.
HYMAN: Sounds like those photographs in the papers.
SYLVIA, discovering it now: I think so, yes!
HYMAN: Does something happen?
SYLVIA: Well, I begin to run away. And the whole crowd is chasing after me. They have heavy shoes that pound on the pavement. Then just as I’m escaping around a corner a man catches me and pushes me down . . . Breaks off.
HYMAN: Is that the end of it?
SYLVIA: No. He gets on top of me, and begins kissing me . . . Breaks off.
HYMAN: Yes?
SYLVIA: . . . And then he starts to cut off my breasts. And he raises himself up, and for a second I see the side of his face.
HYMAN: Who is it?
SYLVIA: . . . I don’t know.
HYMAN: But you saw his face.
SYLVIA: I think it’s Phillip. Pause. But how could Phillip be like . . . he was almost like one of the others?
HYMAN: I don’t know. Why do you think?
SYLVIA: Would it be possible . . . because Phillip . . . I mean . . . A little laugh . . . he sounds sometimes like he doesn’t like Jews? Correcting. Of course he doesn’t mean it, but maybe in my mind it’s like he’s . . . Breaks off.
HYMAN: Like he’s what. What’s frightening you? Sylvia is silent, turns away. Sylvia?
Hyman tries to turn her face towards him, but she resists.
Not Phillip, is it?
Sylvia turns to him, the answer is in her eyes.
I see.
He moves from the bed and halts, trying to weigh this added complication. Returning to the bedside, sits, takes her hand.
I want to ask you a question.
She draws him to her and kisses him on the mouth.
SYLVIA: I can’t help it.
She bursts into tears.
HYMAN: Oh God, Sylvia, I’m so sorry . . .
SYLVIA: Help me. Please!
HYMAN: I’m trying to.
SYLVIA: I know!
She weeps even more deeply. With a cry filled with her pain she embraces him desperately.
HYMAN: Oh Sylvia, Sylvia. . . .
SYLVIA: I feel so foolish.
HYMAN: No-no. You’re unhappy, not foolish.
SYLVIA: I feel like I’m losing everything, I’m being torn to pieces. What do you want to know, I’ll tell you!
She cries into her hands. He moves, trying to make a decision . . .
I trust you. What do you want to ask me?
HYMAN: —Since this happened to you, have you and Phillip had relations?
SYLVIA, open surprise: Relations?
HYMAN: He said you did the other night.
SYLVIA: We had relations the other night?
HYMAN: But that . . . well he said that by morning you’d forgotten. Is that true?
She is motionless, looking past him with immense uncertainty.
SYLVIA, alarmed sense of rejection: Why are you asking me that?
HYMAN: I didn’t know what to make of it. . . . I guess I still don’t.
SYLVIA, deeply embarrassed: You mean you believe him?
HYMAN: Well . . . I didn’t know what to believe.
SYLVIA: You must think I’m crazy, —to forget such a thing.
HYMAN: Oh God no!—I didn’t mean anything like that . . .
SYLVIA: We haven’t had relations for almost twenty years.
The shock pitches him into silence. Now he doesn’t know what or whom to believe.
HYMAN: Twenty . . . ? Breaks off.
SYLVIA: Just after Jerome was born.
HYMAN: I just . . . I don’t know what to say, Sylvia.
SYLVIA: You never heard of it before with people?
HYMAN: Yes, but not when they’re as young as you.
SYLVIA: You might be surprised.
HYMAN: What was it, another woman, or what?
SYLVIA: Oh no.
HYMAN: Then what happened?
SYLVIA: I don’t know, I never understood it. He just couldn’t anymore.
She tries to read his reaction; he doesn’t face her directly.
You believe me, don’t you?
HYMAN: Of course I do. But why would he invent a story like that?
SYLVIA, incredulously: I can’t imagine. . . . Could he be trying to . . . Breaks off.
HYMAN: What.
SYLVIA: . . . Make you think I’ve gone crazy?
HYMAN: No, you mustn’t believe that. I think maybe . . . you see, he mentioned my so-called reputation with women, and maybe he was just trying to look . . . I don’t know—competitive. How did this start? Was there some reason?
SYLVIA: I think I made one mistake. He hadn’t come near me for like—I don’t remember anymore—a month maybe; and . . . I was so young . . . a man to me was so much stronger that I couldn’t imagine I could . . . you know, hurt him like that.
HYMAN: Like what?
SYLVIA: Well . . . Small laugh. I was so stupid, I’m still ashamed of it . . . I mentioned it to my father—who loved Phillip—and he took him aside and tried to suggest a doctor. I should never have mentioned it, it was a terrible mistake, for a while I thought we’d have to have a divorce . . . it was months before he could say good morning, he was so furious. I finally got him to go with me to Rabbi Steiner, but he just sat there like a . . . She sighs, shakes her head. —I don’t know, I guess you just gradually give up and it closes over you like a grave. But I can’t help it, I still pity him; because I know how it tortures him, it’s like a snake eating into his heart. . . . I mean it’s not as though he doesn’t like me, he does, I know it. —Or do you think so?
HYMAN: He says you’re his whole life.
She is staring, shaking her head, stunned.
SYLVIA, with bitter irony: His whole life! Poor Phillip.
HYMAN: I’ve been talking to a friend of mine at the hospital, a psychiatrist. I want your permission to bring him in; I’ll call you in the morning.
SYLVIA, instantly: Why must you leave? I’m nervous now.
Can’t you talk to me a few minutes? I have some yeast cake. I’ll make fresh coffee . . .
HYMAN: I’d love to stay but Margaret’ll be upset with me.
SYLVIA: Oh. Well call her! Ask her to come over too.
HYMAN: No-no . . .
SYLVIA, a sudden anxiety burst, colored by her feminine disappointment: For God’s sake, why not!
HYMAN: She thinks something’s going on with us.
SYLVIA, pleased surprise—and worriedly: Oh!
HYMAN: I’ll be in touch tomorrow . . .
SYLVIA: Couldn’t you just be here when he comes. I’m nervous—please—just be here when he comes.
Her anxiety forces him back down on the bed. She takes his hand.
HYMAN: You don’t think he’d do something, do you?
SYLVIA: I’ve never known him so angry. —And I think there’s also some trouble with Mr. Case. Phillip can hit, you know. Shakes her head. God, everything’s so mixed up! Pause. She sits there shaking her head, then lifts the newspaper. But I don’t understand—they write that the Germans are starting to pick up Jews right off the street and putting them into . . .
HYMAN, impatience: Now Sylvia, I told you . . .
SYLVIA: But you say they were such nice people—how could they change like this!
HYMAN: This will all pass, Sylvia! German music and literature is some of the greatest in the world; it’s impossible for those people to suddenly change into thugs like this. So you ought to have more confidence, you see?—I mean in general, in life, in people.
She stares at him, becoming transformed.
HYMAN: What are you telling me? Just say what you’re thinking right now.
SYLVIA, struggling: I . . . I . . .
HYMAN: Don’t be frightened, just say it.
SYLVIA, she has become terrified: You.
HYMAN: Me! What about me?
SYLVIA: How could you believe I forget we had relations!
HYMAN, her persistent intensity unnerving him: Now stop that! I was only trying to understand what is happening.
SYLVIA: Yes. And what? What is happening?
HYMAN, forcefully, contained: . . . What are you trying to tell me?
SYLVIA: Well . . . what . . .
Everything is flying apart for her; she lifts the edge of the newspaper; the focus is clearly far wider than the room. An unbearable anxiety . . .
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 127