What is going to become of us?
HYMAN, indicating the paper: —But what has Germany got to do with . . . ?
SYLVIA, shouting; his incomprehension dangerous: But how can those nice people go out and pick Jews off the street in the middle of a big city like that, and nobody stops them . . . ?
HYMAN: You mean I’ve changed? Is that it?
SYLVIA: I don’t know . . . one minute you say you like me and then you turn around and I’m . . .
HYMAN: Listen, I simply must call in somebody . . .
SYLVIA: No! You could help me if you believed me!
HYMAN, his spine tingling with her fear; a shout: I do believe you!
SYLVIA: No!—you’re not going to put me away somewhere!
HYMAN, a horrified shout: Now you stop being ridiculous!
SYLVIA: But . . . but what . . . what . . . Gripping her head; his uncertainty terrifying her: What will become of us!
HYMAN, unnerved: Now stop it—you are confusing two things . . . !
SYLVIA: But . . . from now on . . . you mean if a Jew walks out of his house, do they arrest him . . . ?
HYMAN: I’m telling you this won’t last.
SYLVIA, with a weird, blind, violent persistence: But what do they do with them?
HYMAN: I don’t know! I’m out of my depth! I can’t help you!
SYLVIA: But why don’t they run out of the country! What is the matter with those people! Don’t you understand . . . ? Screaming: . . . This is an emergency! What if they kill those children! Where is Roosevelt! Where is England! Somebody should do something before they murder us all!
Sylvia takes a step off the edge of the bed in an hysterical attempt to reach Hyman and the power he represents. She collapses on the floor before he can catch her. Trying to rouse her from her faint . . .
HYMAN: Sylvia? Sylvia!
Gellburg enters.
GELLBURG: What happened!
HYMAN: Run cold water on a towel!
GELLBURG: What happened!
HYMAN: Do it, goddam you!
Gellburg rushes out.
Sylvia!—oh good, that’s it, keep looking at me, that’s it dear, keep your eyes open . . .
He lifts her up onto the bed as Gellburg hurries in with a towel. Gellburg gives it to Hyman, who presses it onto her forehead and back of her neck.
There we are, that’s better, how do you feel? Can you speak? You want to sit up? Come.
He helps her to sit up. She looks around and then at Gellburg.
GELLBURG, to Hyman: Did she call you?
HYMAN, hesitates; and in an angry tone: . . . Well no, to tell the truth.
GELLBURG: Then what are you doing here?
HYMAN: I stopped by, I was worried about her.
GELLBURG: You were worried about her. Why were you worried about her?
HYMAN, anger is suddenly sweeping him: Because she is desperate to be loved.
GELLBURG, off guard, astonished: You don’t say!
HYMAN: Yes, I do say. To her: I want you to try to move your legs. Try it.
She tries; nothing happens.
I’ll be at home if you need me; don’t be afraid to call anytime. We’ll talk about this more tomorrow. Good night.
SYLVIA, faintly, afraid: Good night.
Hyman gives Gellburg a quick, outraged glance, Hyman leaves.
GELLBURG, reaching for his authority: That’s some attitude he’s got, ordering me around like that. I’m going to see about getting somebody else tomorrow. Jersey seems to get further and further away, I’m exhausted.
SYLVIA: I almost started walking.
GELLBURG: What are you talking about?
SYLVIA: For a minute. I don’t know what happened, my strength, it started to come back.
GELLBURG: I knew it! I told you you could! Try it again, come.
SYLVIA, she tries to raise her legs: I can’t now.
GELLBURG: Why not! Come, this is wonderful . . . ! Reaches for her.
SYLVIA: Phillip, listen . . . I don’t want to change, I want Hyman.
GELLBURG, his purse-mouthed grin: What’s so good about him?—you’re still laying there, practically dead to the world.
SYLVIA: He helped me get up, I don’t know why. I feel he can get me walking again.
GELLBURG: Why does it have to be him?
SYLVIA: Because I can talk to him! I want him. An outburst: And I don’t want to discuss it again!
GELLBURG: Well we’ll see.
SYLVIA: We will not see!
GELLBURG: What’s this tone of voice?
SYLVIA, trembling out of control: It’s a Jewish woman’s tone of voice!
GELLBURG: A Jewish woman . . . ! What are you talking about, are you crazy?
SYLVIA: Don’t you call me crazy, Phillip! I’m talking about it! They are smashing windows and beating children! I am talking about it! Screams at him: I am talking about it, Phillip!
She grips her head in her confusion. He is stock still; horrified, fearful.
GELLBURG: What . . . “beating children”?
SYLVIA: Never mind. Don’t sleep with me again.
GELLBURG: How can you say that to me?
SYLVIA: I can’t bear it. You give me terrible dreams. I’m sorry, Phillip. Maybe in a while but not now.
GELLBURG: Sylvia, you will kill me if we can’t be together . . .
SYLVIA: You told him we had relations?
GELLBURG, beginning to weep: Don’t, Sylvia . . . !
SYLVIA: You little liar!—you want him to think I’m crazy? Is that it? Now she breaks into weeping.
GELLBURG: No! It just . . . it came out, I didn’t know what I was saying!
SYLVIA: That I forgot we had relations?! Phillip?
GELLBURG: Stop that! Don’t say any more.
SYLVIA: I’m going to say anything I want to.
GELLBURG, weeping: You will kill me . . . !
They are silent for a moment.
SYLVIA: What I did with my life! Out of ignorance. Out of not wanting to shame you in front of other people. A whole life. Gave it away like a couple of pennies—I took better care of my shoes. Turns to him. —You want to talk to me about it now? Take me seriously, Phillip. What happened? I know it’s all you ever thought about, isn’t that true? What happened? Just so I’ll know.
A long pause.
GELLBURG: I’m ashamed to mention it. It’s ridiculous.
SYLVIA: What are you talking about?
GELLBURG: But I was ignorant, I couldn’t help myself. —When you said you wanted to go back to the firm.
SYLVIA: What are you talking about?—When?
GELLBURG: When you had Jerome . . . and suddenly you didn’t want to keep the house anymore.
SYLVIA: And? —You didn’t want me to go back to business, so I didn’t.
He doesn’t speak; her rage an inch below.
Well what? I didn’t, did I?
GELLBURG: You held it against me, having to stay home, you know you did. You’ve probably forgotten, but not a day passed, not a person could come into this house that you didn’t keep saying how wonderful and interesting it used to be for you in business. You never forgave me, Sylvia.
She evades his gaze.
So whenever I . . . when I started to touch you, I felt that.
SYLVIA: You felt what?
GELLBURG: That you didn’t want me to be the man here. And then, on top of that when you didn’t want any more children . . . everything inside me just dried up. And maybe it was also that to me it was a miracle you ever married me in the first place.
SYLVIA: You mean your face?
He turns slightly.
What have you got against your face? A Jew can have a Jewish face.
Pause.
G
ELLBURG: I can’t help my thoughts, nobody can. . . . I admit it was a mistake, I tried a hundred times to talk to you, but I couldn’t. I kept waiting for myself to change. Or you. And then we got to where it didn’t seem to matter anymore. So I left it that way. And I couldn’t change anything anymore.
Pause.
SYLVIA: This is a whole life we’re talking about.
GELLBURG: But couldn’t we . . . if I taught you to drive and you could go anywhere you liked. . . . Or maybe you could find a position you liked . . . ?
She is staring ahead.
We have to sleep together.
SYLVIA: No.
Gellburg drops to his knees beside the bed, his arms spread awkwardly over her covered body.
GELLBURG: How can this be?
She is motionless.
Sylvia? Pause. Do you want to kill me?
She is staring ahead, he is weeping and shouting.
Is that it! Speak to me!
Sylvia’s face is blank, unreadable. He buries his face in the covers, weeping helplessly. She at last reaches out in pity toward the top of his head, and as her hand almost touches . . .
BLACKOUT
SCENE III
Case’s office. Gellburg is seated alone. Case enters, shuffling through a handful of mail. Gellburg has gotten to his feet. Case’s manner is cold; barely glances up from his mail.
CASE: Good morning, Gellburg.
GELLBURG: Good morning, Mr. Case.
CASE: I understand you wish to see me.
GELLBURG: There was just something I felt I should say.
CASE: Certainly. He goes to a chair and sits. Yes?
GELLBURG: It’s just that I would never in this world do anything against you or Brooklyn Guarantee. I don’t have to tell you, it’s the only place I’ve ever worked in my life. My whole life is here. I’m more proud of this company than almost anything except my own son. What I’m trying to say is that this whole business with Wanamaker’s was only because I didn’t want to leave a stone unturned. Two or three years from now I didn’t want you waking up one morning and Wanamaker’s is gone and there you are paying New York taxes on a building in the middle of a dying neighborhood.
Case lets him hang there. He begins getting flustered.
Frankly, I don’t even remember what this whole thing was about. I feel I’ve lost some of your confidence, and it’s . . . well, it’s unfair, I feel.
CASE: I understand.
GELLBURG, he waits, but that’s it: But . . . but don’t you believe me?
CASE: I think I do.
GELLBURG: But . . . you seem to be . . . you don’t seem . . .
CASE: The fact remains that I’ve lost the building.
GELLBURG: But are you . . . I mean you’re not still thinking that I had something going on with Allan Kershowitz, are you?
CASE: Put it this way—I hope as time goes on that my old confidence will return. That’s about as far as I can go, and I don’t think you can blame me, can you. He stands.
GELLBURG, despite himself his voice rises: But how can I work if you’re this way? You have to trust a man, don’t you?
CASE, begins to indicate he must leave: I’ll have to ask you to . . .
GELLBURG, shouting: I don’t deserve this! You can’t do this to me! It’s not fair, Mr. Case, I had nothing to do with Allan Kershowitz! I hardly know the man! And the little I do know I don’t even like him, I’d certainly never get into a deal with him, for God’s sake! This is . . . this whole thing is . . . Exploding: I don’t understand it, what is happening, what the hell is happening, what have I got to do with Allan Kershowitz, just because he’s also a Jew?
CASE, incredulously and angering: What? What on earth are you talking about!
GELLBURG: Excuse me. I didn’t mean that.
CASE: I don’t understand . . . how could you say a thing like that!
GELLBURG: Please. I don’t feel well, excuse me . . .
CASE, his resentment mounting: But how could you say such a thing! It’s an outrage, Gellburg!
Gellburg takes a step to leave and goes to his knees, clutching his chest, trying to breathe, his face reddening.
CASE: What is it? Gellburg? He springs up and goes to the periphery. Call an ambulance! Hurry, for God’s sake! He rushes out, shouting: Quick, get a doctor! It’s Gellburg! Gellburg has collapsed!
Gellburg remains on his hands and knees trying to keep from falling over, gasping.
BLACKOUT
SCENE IV
Sylvia in wheelchair, Margaret and Harriet seated on either side of her. Sylvia is sipping a cup of cocoa.
HARRIET: He’s really amazing, after such an attack.
MARGARET: The heart is a muscle; muscles can recover sometimes.
HARRIET: I still can’t understand how they let him out of the hospital so soon.
MARGARET: He has a will of iron. But it may be just as well for him here.
SYLVIA: He wants to die here.
MARGARET: No one can know, he can live a long time.
SYLVIA, handing her the cup: Thanks. I haven’t drunk cocoa in years.
MARGARET: I find it soothes the nerves.
SYLVIA, with a slight ironical edge: He wants to be here so we can have a talk, that’s what it is. Shakes her head. How stupid it all is; you keep putting everything off like you’re going to live a thousand years. But we’re like those little flies—born in the morning, fly around for a day till it gets dark—and bye-bye.
HARRIET: Well, it takes time to learn things.
SYLVIA: There’s nothing I know now that I didn’t know twenty years ago. I just didn’t say it. Grasping the chair wheels. Help me! I want to go to him.
MARGARET: Wait till Harry says it’s all right.
HARRIET: Sylvia, please—let the doctor decide.
MARGARET: I hope you’re not blaming yourself.
HARRIET: It could happen to anybody—To Margaret: Our father, for instance—laid down for his nap one afternoon and never woke up. To Sylvia: Remember?
SYLVIA, a wan smile, nods: He was the same way all his life—never wanted to trouble anybody.
HARRIET: And just the day before he went and bought a new bathing suit. And an amber holder for his cigar. To Sylvia: She’s right, you mustn’t start blaming yourself.
SYLVIA, a shrug: What’s the difference? Sighs tiredly—stares. Basically to Margaret: The trouble, you see—was that Phillip always thought he was supposed to be the Rock of Gibraltar. Like nothing could ever bother him. Supposedly. But I knew a couple of months after we got married that he . . . he was making it all up. In fact, I thought I was stronger than him. But what can you do? You swallow it and make believe you’re weaker. And after a while you can’t find a true word to put in your mouth. And now I end up useless to him . . . starting to weep, just when he needs me!
HARRIET, distressed, stands: I’m making a gorgeous pot roast, can I bring some over?
SYLVIA: Thanks, Flora’s going to cook something.
HARRIET: I’ll call you later, try to rest. Moves to leave, halts, unable to hold back. I refuse to believe that you’re blaming yourself for this. How can people start saying what they know?—there wouldn’t be two marriages left in Brooklyn! Nearly overcome. It’s ridiculous!—you’re the best wife he could have had!—better! She hurries out. Pause.
MARGARET: I worked in the pediatric ward for a couple of years. And sometimes we’d have thirty or forty babies in there at the same time. A day or two old and they’ve already got a personality; this one lays there, stiff as a mummy . . . mimes a mummy, hands closed in fists, a regular banker. The next one is throwing himself all over the place . . . wildly flinging her arms, happy as a young horse. The next one is Miss Dreary, already worried about her hemline drooping. And how could it be otherwise—each one has twenty thousand years of the h
uman race backed up behind him . . . and you expect to change him?
SYLVIA: So what does that mean? How do you live?
MARGARET: You draw your cards face down; you turn them over and do your best with the hand you got. What else is there, my dear? What else can there be?
SYLVIA, staring ahead: . . . Wishing, I guess . . . that it had been otherwise. Help me! Starts the chair rolling. I want to go to him.
MARGARET: Wait. I’ll ask Harry if it’s all right. Backing away. Wait, okay? I’ll be right back.
She turns and exits. Alone, Sylvia brings both hands pressed together up to her lips in a sort of prayer, and closes her eyes.
BLACKOUT
SCENE V
The cellist plays, the music falls away.
Gellburg’s bedroom. He is in bed. Hyman is putting his stethoscope back into his bag, and sits on a chair beside the bed.
HYMAN: I can only tell you again, Phillip,—you belong in the hospital.
GELLBURG: Please don’t argue about it anymore! I couldn’t stand it there, it smells like a zoo; and to lay in a bed where some stranger died . . . I hate it. If I’m going out I’ll go from here. And I don’t want to leave Sylvia.
HYMAN: I’m trying to help you. Chuckles. And I’m going to go on trying even if it kills both of us.
GELLBURG: I appreciate that. I mean it. You’re a good man.
HYMAN: You’re lucky I know that. The nurse should be here around six.
GELLBURG: I’m wondering if I need her—I think the pain is practically gone.
HYMAN: I want her here overnight.
GELLBURG: I . . . I want to tell you something; when I collapsed . . . it was like an explosion went off in my head, like a tremendous white light. It sounds funny but I felt a . . . happiness . . . that funny? Like I suddenly had something to tell her that would change everything, and we would go back to how it was when we started out together. I couldn’t wait to tell it to her . . . and now I can’t remember what it was. Anguished, a rushed quality; suddenly near tears. God, I always thought there’d be time to get to the bottom of myself!
HYMAN: You might have years, nobody can predict.
GELLBURG: It’s unbelievable—the first time since I was twenty I don’t have a job. I just can’t believe it.
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 128