The Miracle Worker

by William Gibson

  (KATE shakes her head to this, with a smile; after a moment she extends her open hand. ANNIE looks at it, but when she puts hers out it is not to shake hands, it is to set her fist in KATE’S palm.)

  KATE [PUZZLED]: Hm?

  ANNIE: A. It’s the first of many. Twenty-six!

  (KATE squeezes her fist, squeezes it hard, and hastens out after KELLER. ANNIE stands as the door closes behind her, her manner so apprehensive that finally she slaps her brow, holds it, sighs, and, with her eyes closed, crosses herself for luck.

  The lights dim into a cool silhouette scene around her, the lamp paling out, and now, in formal entrances, persons appear around ANNIE with furniture for the room: PERCY crosses the stage with a rocking chair and waits; MARTHA from another direction bears in a stool, VINEY bears in a small table, and the other Negro servant rolls in a bed partway from left; and ANNIE, opening her eyes to put her glasses back on, sees them. She turns around in the room once, and goes into action, pointing out locations for each article; the servants place them and leave, and ANNIE then darts around, interchanging them. In the midst of this—while PERCY and MARTHA reappear with a tray of food and a chair, respectively— JAMES comes down from the house with ANNIE’S suitcase, and stands viewing the room and her quizzically; ANNIE halts abruptly under his eyes, embarrassed, then seizes the suitcase from his hand, explaining herself brightly.)

  ANNIE: I always wanted to live in a doll’s house!

  (She sets the suitcase out of the way, and continues; VINEY at left appears to position a rod with drapes for a doorway, and the other servant at center pushes in a wheelbarrow loaded with a couple of boxes of HELEN’S toys and clothes. ANNIE helps lift them into the room, and the servant pushes the wheelbarrow off. In none of this is any heed taken of the imaginary walls of the garden house, the furniture is moved in from every side and itself defines the walls.

  ANNIE now drags the box of toys into center, props up the doll conspicuously on top; with the people melted away, except for JAMES, all is again still. The lights turn again without pause, rising warmer.)

  JAMES: You don’t let go of things easily, do you? How will you—win her hand now, in this place?

  ANNIE [CURTLY]: Do I know? I lost my temper, and here we are!

  JAMES [LIGHTLY]: No touching, no teaching. Of course, you are bigger—

  ANNIE: I’m not counting on force, I’m counting on her. That little imp is dying to know.

  JAMES: Know what?

  ANNIE: Anything. Any and every crumb in God’s creation. I’ll have to use that appetite too.

  (She gives the room a final survey, straightens the bed, arranges the curtains.)

  JAMES [A PAUSE]: Maybe she’ll teach you.

  ANNIE: Of course.

  JAMES: That she isn’t. That there’s such a thing as—dullness of heart. Acceptance. And letting go. Sooner or later we all give up, don’t we?

  ANNIE: Maybe you all do. It’s my idea of the original sin.

  JAMES: What is?

  ANNIE [WITHERINGLY]: Giving up.

  JAMES [NETTLED]: You won’t open her. Why can’t you let her be? Have some—pity on her, for being what she is—

  ANNIE: If I’d ever once thought like that, I’d be dead!

  JAMES [PLEASANTLY]: You will be. Why trouble?

  (ANNIE turns to glare at him; he is mocking.)

  Or will you teach me?

  (And with a bow, he drifts off.

  Now in the distance there comes the clopping of hoofs, drawing near, and nearer, up to the door; and they halt. ANNIE wheels to face the door. When it opens this time, the KELLERS—KATE in travelling bonnet, KELLER also hatted—are standing there with HELEN between them; she is in a cloak. KATE gently cues her into the room. HELEN comes in groping, baffled, but interested in the new surroundings; ANNIE evades her exploring hand, her gaze not leaving the child.)

  ANNIE: Does she know where she is?

  KATE: [SHAKES HER HEAD]: We rode her out in the country for two hours.

  KELLER: For all she knows, she could be in another town—

  (HELEN stumbles over the box on the floor and in it discovers her doll and other battered toys, is pleased, sits to them, then becomes puzzled and suddenly very wary. She scrambles up and back to her mother’s thighs, but ANNIE steps in, and it is hers that HELEN embraces. HELEN recoils, gropes, and touches her cheek instantly.)

  KATE: That’s her sign for me.

  ANNIE: I know.

  (HELEN waits, then recommences her groping, more urgently. KATE stands indecisive, and takes an abrupt step toward her, but ANNIE’S hand is a barrier.)

  In two weeks.

  KATE: Miss Annie, I— Please be good to her. These two weeks, try to be very good to her—

  ANNIE: I will.

  (KATE, turning then, hurries out. The KELLERS cross back of the main house.

  ANNIE closes the door. HELEN starts at the door jar, and rushes it. ANNIE holds her off. HELEN kicks her, breaks free, and careens around the room like an imprisoned bird, colliding with furniture, groping wildly, repeatedly touching her cheek in a growing panic. When she has covered the room, she commences her weird screaming. ANNIE moves to comfort her, but her touch sends HELEN into a paroxysm of rage: she tears away, falls over her box of toys, flings the box too, reels to her feet, rips curtains from the window, bangs and kicks at the door, sweeps objects off the mantelpiece and shelf, a little tornado incarnate, all destruction, until she comes upon her doll and, in the act of hurling it, freezes. Then she clutches it to herself, and in exhaustion sinks sobbing to the floor. ANNIE stands contemplating her, in some awe.)

  Two weeks.

  (She shakes her head, not without a touch of disgusted bewilderment.)

  What did I get into now?

  (The lights have been dimming throughout, and the garden house is lit only by moonlight now, with ANNIE lost in the patches of dark.

  KATE, now hatless and coatless, enters the family room by the rear door, carrying a lamp. KELLER, also hatless, wanders simultaneously around the back of the main house to where JAMES has been waiting, in the rising moonlight, on the porch.)

  KELLER: I can’t understand it. I had every intention of dismissing that girl, not setting her up like an empress.

  JAMES: Yes, what’s her secret, sir?

  KELLER: Secret?

  JAMES [PLEASANTLY]: That enables her to get anything she wants out of you? When I can’t.

  (JAMES turns to go into the house, but KELLER grasps his wrist, twisting him half to his knees. KATE comes from the porch.)

  KELLER [ANGRILY]: She does not get anything she—

  JAMES [IN PAIN]: Don’t—don’t—

  KATE: Captain.

  KELLER: He’s afraid.

  (He throws JAMES away from him, with contempt.)

  What does he want out of me?

  JAMES [AN OUTCRY]: My God, don’t you know?

  (He gazes from KELLER to KATE.)

  Everything you forgot, when you forgot my mother.

  KELLER: What!

  (JAMES wheels into the house. KELLER takes a stride to the porch, to roar after him.)

  One thing that girl’s secret is not, she doesn’t fire one shot and disappear!

  (KATE stands rigid, and KELLER comes back to her.)

  Katie. Don’t mind what he—

  KATE: Captain, I am proud of you.

  KELLER: For what?

  KATE: For letting this girl have what she needs.

  KELLER: Why can’t my son be? He can’t bear me, you’d think I treat him as hard as this girl does Helen—

  (He breaks off, as it dawns in him.)

  KATE [GENTLY]: Perhaps you do.

  KELLER: But he has to learn some respect!

  KATE [A PAUSE, WRYLY]: Do you like the child?

  (She turns again to the porch, but pauses, reluctant.)

  How empty the house is, tonight.

  (After a moment she continues on in. KELLER stands moveless, as the moonlight dies on him.

 
The distant belfry chimes toll, two o’clock, and with them, a moment later, comes the boy’s voice on the wind, in a whisper:)

  BOY’S VOICE: Annie. Annie.

  (In her patch of dark ANNIE, now in her nightgown, hurls a cup into a corner as though it were her grief, getting rid of its taste through her teeth.)

  ANNIE: No! No pity, I won’t have it.

  (She comes to HELEN, prone on the floor.)

  On either of us.

  (She goes to her knees, but when she touches HELEN’S hand the child starts up awake, recoils, and scrambles away from her under the bed. ANNIE stares after her. She strikes her palm on the floor, with passion.)

  I will touch you!

  (She gets to her feet, and paces in a kind of anger around the bed, her hand in her hair, and confronting HELEN at each turn.)

  How, how? How do I—

  (ANNIE stops. Then she calls out urgently, loudly.)

  Percy! Percy!

  (She moves swiftly to the drapes, at left.)

  Percy, wake up!

  (PERCY’S voice comes in a thick sleepy mumble, unintelligible.)

  Get out of bed and come in here, I need you.

  (ANNIE darts away, finds and strikes a match, and touches it to the hanging lamp; the lights come up dimly in the room, and PERCY stands bare to the waist in torn overalls between the drapes, with eyes closed, swaying. ANNIE goes to him, pats his cheeks vigorously.)

  Percy. You awake?

  PERCY: No’m.

  ANNIE: How would you like to play a nice game?

  PERCY: Whah?

  ANNIE: With Helen. She’s under the bed. Touch her hand.

  (She kneels PERCY down at the bed, thrusting his hand under it to contact HELEN’S: HELEN emits an animal sound and crawls to the opposite side, but commences sniffing. ANNIE rounds the bed with PERCY and thrusts his hand again at HELEN; this time HELEN clutches it, sniffs in recognition, and comes scrambling out after PERCY, to hug him with delight. PERCY alarmed struggles, and HELEN’S fingers go to his mouth.)

  PERCY: Lemme go. Lemme go—

  (HELEN fingers her own lips, as before, moving them in dumb imitation.)

  She tryin’ talk. She gonna hit me—

  ANNIE [GRIMLY]: She can talk. If she only knew, I’ll show you how. She makes letters.

  (She opens PERCY’S other hand, and spells into it:)

  This one is C. C.

  (She hits his palm with it a couple of times, her eyes upon HELEN across him; HELEN gropes to feel what PERCY’S hand is doing, and when she encounters ANNIE’S she falls back from them.)

  She’s mad at me now, though, she won’t play. But she knows lots of letters. Here’s another, A. C, a. C, a.

  (But she is watching HELEN, who comes groping, consumed with curiosity; ANNIE makes the letters in PERCY’S hand, and HELEN pokes to question what they are up to. Then HELEN snatches PERCY’S other hand, and quickly spells four letters into it. ANNIE follows them aloud.)

  C, a, k, e! She spells cake, she gets cake.

  (She is swiftly over to the tray of food, to fetch cake and a jug of milk.)

  She doesn’t know yet it means this. Isn’t it funny she knows how to spell it and doesn’t know she knows?

  (She breaks the cake into two pieces, and extends one to each; HELEN rolls away from her offer.)

  Well, if she won’t play it with me, I’ll play it with you. Would you like to learn one she doesn’t know?

  PERCY: No’m.

  (But ANNIE seizes his wrist, and spells to him.)

  ANNIE: M, i, l, k. M is this. I, that’s an easy one, just the little finger. L is this—

  (And HELEN comes back with her hand, to feel the new word. ANNIE brushes her away, and continues spelling aloud to PERCY. HELEN’S hand comes back again, and tries to get in; ANNIE brushes it away again. HELEN’S hand insists, and ANNIE puts it away rudely.)

  No, why should I talk to you? I’m teaching Percy a new word. L. K is this—

  (HELEN now yanks their hands apart; she butts PERCY away, and thrusts her palm out insistently. ANNIE’S eyes are bright, with glee.)

  Ho, you’re jealous, are you!

  (HELEN’S hand waits, intractably waits.)

  All right.

  (ANNIE spells into it, milk; and HELEN after a moment spells it back to ANNIE. ANNIE takes her hand, with her whole face shining. She gives a great sigh.)

  Good! So I’m finally back to where I can touch you, hm? Touch and go! No love lost, but here we go.

  (She puts the jug of milk into HELEN’S hand and squeezes PERCY’S shoulder.)

  You can go to bed now, you’ve earned your sleep. Thank you.

  (PERCY stumbling up weaves his way out through the drapes. HELEN finishes drinking, and holds the jug out, for ANNIE; when ANNIE takes it, HELEN crawls onto the bed, and makes for sleep. ANNIE stands, looks down at her.)

  Now all I have to teach you is—one word. Everything.

  (She sets the jug down. On the floor now ANNIE spies the doll, stoops to pick it up, and with it dangling in her hand, turns off the lamp. A shaft of moonlight is left on HELEN in the bed, and a second shaft on the rocking chair; and ANNIE, after putting off her smoked glasses, sits in the rocker with the doll. She is rather happy, and dangles the doll on her knee, and it makes its momma sound. ANNIE whispers to it in mock solicitude.)

  Hush, little baby. Don’t—say a word—

  (She lays it against her shoulder, and begins rocking with it, patting its diminutive behind; she talks the lullaby to it, humorously at first.)

  Momma’s gonna buy you—a mockingbird:

  If that—mockingbird don’t sing—

  (The rhythm of the rocking takes her into the tune, softly, and more tenderly.)

  Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring:

  If that diamond ring turns to brass—

  (A third shaft of moonlight outside now rises to pick out JAMES at the main house, with one foot on the porch step; he turns his body, as if hearing the song.)

  Momma’s gonna buy you a looking-glass:

  If that looking-glass gets broke—

  (In the family room a fourth shaft picks out KELLER seated at the table, in thought; and he, too, lifts his head, as if hearing.)

  Momma’s gonna buy you a billy goat:

  If that billy goat won’t pull—

  (The fifth shaft is upstairs in ANNIE’S room, and picks out KATE, pacing there; and she halts, turning her head, too, as if hearing.)

  Momma’s gonna buy you a cart and bull:

  If that cart and bull turns over,

  Momma’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover;

  If that dog named Rover won’t bark—

  (With the shaft of moonlight on HELEN, and JAMES, and KELLER, and KATE, all moveless, and ANNIE rocking the doll, the curtain ends the act.)

  ACT III

  The stage is totally dark, until we see ANNIE and HELEN silhouetted on the bed in the garden house. ANNIE’S voice is audible, very patient, and worn; it has been saying this for a long time.

  ANNIE: Water, Helen. This is water. W, a, t, e, r. It has a name.

  (A silence. Then:)

  Egg, e, g, g. It has a name, the name stands for the thing. Oh, it’s so simple, simple as birth, to explain.

  (The lights have commenced to rise, not on the garden house but on the homestead. Then:)

  Helen, Helen, the chick has to come out of its shell, sometime. You come out, too.

  (In the bedroom upstairs, we see VINEY unhurriedly washing the window, dusting, turning the mattress, readying the room for use again; then in the family room a diminished group at one end of the table— KATE, KELLER, JAMES —finishing up a quiet breakfast; then outside, down right, the other Negro servant on his knees, assisted by MARTHA, working with a trowel around a new trellis and wheelbarrow. The scene is one of everyday calm, and all are oblivious to ANNIE’S voice.)

  There’s only one way out, for you, and it’s language. To learn that your fingers can talk. And say anything, anythi
ng you can name. This is mug. Mug, m, u, g. Helen, it has a name. It—has—a—name—

  (KATE rises from the table.)

  KELLER [GENTLY]: You haven’t eaten, Katie.

  KATE [SMILES, SHAKES HER HEAD]: I haven’t the appetite. I’m too—restless, I can’t sit to it.

  KELLER: You should eat, my dear. It will be a long day, waiting.

  JAMES [LIGHTLY]: But it’s been a short two weeks. I never thought life could be so—noiseless, went much too quickly for me.

  (KATE and KELLER gaze at him, in silence. JAMES becomes uncomfortable.)

  ANNIE: C, a, r, d. Card. C, a—

  JAMES: Well, the house has been practically normal, hasn’t it?

  KELLER [HARSHLY]: Jimmie.

  JAMES: Is it wrong to enjoy a quiet breakfast, after five years? And you two even seem to enjoy each other—

  KELLER: It could be even more noiseless, Jimmie, without your tongue running every minute. Haven’t you enough feeling to imagine what Katie has been undergoing, ever since—

  (KATE stops him, with her hand on his arm.)

  KATE: Captain.

  (To JAMES.)

  It’s true. The two weeks have been normal, quiet, all you say. But not short. Interminable.

  (She rises, and wanders out; she pauses on the porch steps, gazing toward the garden house.)

  ANNIE [FADING]: W, a, t, e, r. But it means this. W, a, t, e, r. This. W, a, t—

  JAMES: I only meant that Miss Sullivan is a boon. Of contention, though, it seems.

  KELLER [HEAVILY]: If and when you’re a parent, Jimmie, you will understand what separation means. A mother loses a—protector.

  JAMES [BAFFLED]: Hm?

  KELLER: You’ll learn, we don’t just keep our children safe. They keep us safe.

  (He rises, with his empty coffee cup and saucer.)

  There are of course all kinds of separation, Katie has lived with one kind for five years. And another is disappointment. In a child.

  (He goes with the cup out the rear door. JAMES sits for a long moment of stillness. In the garden house the lights commence to come up; ANNIE, haggard at the table, is writing a letter, her face again almost in contact with the stationery; HELEN, apart on the stool, and for the first time as clean and neat as a button, is quietly crocheting an endless chain of wool, which snakes all around the room.)