by Howard Fast
LORRY You love me?
DAVID All over, just like the plate. Every inch of you. Wherever I can see you, I love you.
LORRY That’s more than you love Mommy, isn’t it?
DAVID Well…
JANE (to HILDA) YOU might cover her to-night, Hilda. It’s going to be cool, I think.
DAVID … well, differently. You’re something special.
(He speaks to HILDA almost casually)
I wish you’d have Grace use the back door, Hilda.
HILDA (stiffening) I never told her to use the front door, Mr. Graham.
JANE I did. I told her to. You know that, David.
DAVID Look, I know. It’s just that I couldn’t explain that to Fuller. Did you see the way he looked at her?
HILDA If you’ll give me Lorry, I’ll put her to bed.
(Her voice is even and emotionless.)
I’ll see that Grace doesn’t use the front door again.
JANE Hilda——
(She breaks off, staring at DAVID.)
HILDA Come on, Lorry, Kiss them good night.
(LORRY kisses each in turn.)
LORRY You going to get me that present, Daddy?
DAVID Sure, angel. Run along.
LORRY What’s it going to be?
DAVID I haven’t made up my mind yet. Upstairs now.
LORRY You going to fix that damn tractor for me?
DAVID Not if you use that kind of language. Up to bed and good night.
(HILDA goes up the stairs, LORRY following. When they are gone, there is a strained silence. DAVID look at his drink, sips it.)
Well—go ahead. Let me have it.
JANE Don’t make me out to be a fishwife, Dave. (Almost gently) You didn’t have to say that.
DAVID Well, damn it all, what do you suppose Fuller thought?
JANE What did he think, Dave?
DAVID (walking slowly to the chair and dropping into it) Who treats a … well, one of them that way? You make a friend of Hilda.…You get to treat all of them that way.
JANE What way? Like a human being?
DAVID Can you explain that to Fuller? He’s looking for Reds—not for politeness.
JANE (striding over and facing him) My God, Dave, do I have to explain to Fuller! Am I a Communist because I treat a maid decently or let a friend of hers come in by the front door?
DAVID Look—I don’t know what a Communist is. I never met one. I never spoke to one. Christ Almighty, maybe I’m a Communist! Maybe Agronsky is! How do I know? But they say Reds do that. He looked at Grace—and I could see what he was thinking.
JANE (more gently) What’s the matter, Dave? What’s getting into you?
DAVID I don’t know, Jane. It’s the first time I ever ran into one of them. I heard about it. It happened to my friends. But this is the first time for me. Well, I’m scared. I’m no hero. That’s the F.B.I., and I don’t like it.
JANE Let’s forget it. Come on, Davey—let me see you smile.
(She sits in his lap.)
DAVID He files two reports—one on Agronsky, one on me.
JANE (standing up) How do you know?
DAVID Of course he does. He’d have to.
JANE Well, what of it? So he files a report on you.
DAVID Suppose Agronsky is a Communist? Where does that put me? Did you ever hear Agronsky say anything against Russia? Do you remember that story he told about Soviet medicine? I remember once, in our unit—Agronsky made a crack about capitalism. He said——
JANE (She has been listening to this incredulously, and breaks in on him angrily.) Dave; you can go crazy thinking that way!
DAVID (standing up) You always liked Agronsky.… You think I never noticed the way you look at him, the way you listen to him.
JANE Dave!
DAVID (shaking his head bewilderedly) I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Jane.
(He paces across the room.)
Everything I’ve said to-night——
JANE (coming over to hint) That’s all done. Everything washed out. Will you take me to dinner at the Occidental and let me have two more cocktails and get stinking and overbid everything—will you, Dave?
DAVID It’s a deal.
JANE (starting up the stairs) I love you—you crazy damn fool.
Curtain—End of Scene One
Scene Two
It is about midnight of the same day. One lamp burns in the room as the curtain rises on the same scene. There is a sound of the door opening, and the GRAHAMS come in, DAVID first.
DAVID (continuing a speech he started offstage) —not just losing, but their damned arrogance. I don’t mind the five dollars. I do mind being set the way we were set three times.
JANE Dave, what difference does it make? Maybe if Jim Andrews was better at other things, he wouldn’t have to feed his ego this way on a card game. Maybe then we’d talk once in a while, instead of burying ourselves in cards.
DAVID (putting on a lamp and lighting a cigarette) What makes you think I’m better than Jim Andrews at anything?
JANE (smiling) I’ve got my reasons.
DAVID (dropping into a chair) What are they? Andrews was an up and coming New Dealer, but when they threw out the New Dealers, he became a solid administration man. When the war came, they made him a captain in the Pentagon. He’ll be Secretary of the Interior some day, and I’ll still be doing statistics at six thousand a year. That’s how much better I am than Jim Andrews. His father just happens to, be a vice president of Amalgamated Steel, and mine runs a drug store in Peoria.
JANE Go ahead, get it all off your chest. You’re nobody. You’re just poor David Graham who never amounted to anything and never will amount to anything.
DAVID You mean that, don’t you?
JANE David, you’re impossible. All this because I play bridge as stupidly as I always have. Why did we go there to-night?
DAVID Because I haven’t got the guts to turn down a bid from Andrews. Because I brownnose him the same way I did Agronsky. Because I’m not good enough to get anything or do anything on my own.
JANE Agronsky never thought so.
DAVID How do you know what Agronsky thought?
JANE Dave, he spoke to me about you. Is that so unnatural? He thinks you’re a hell of a guy.
DAVID Then I’ve really achieved something.
(bitterly)
I’m a hell of a guy to Leonard Agronsky. I shouldn’t take that from where it comes, should I? What was in it for him? What I am doesn’t matter. But if Agronsky puts in a good word for me, I’m solid with you.
JANE I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dave.
DAVID I asked Jim Andrews about Agronsky when you were inside with Ruth. Do you know what he said?
JANE I can guess. He wouldn’t like Agronsky. What difference does it make?
DAVID Nothing that concerns me makes any difference, does it?
JANE Dave, I’m not going into all that again at this time of the night. If you want to beat yourself, do it alone. I’m going to bed.
(She starts toward the stairs.)
DAVID Poison.
JANE What?
DAVID Nothing—I’m just giving you Jim Andrews’ opinion of Agronsky. He said the man is poison.
JANE Did he?
DAVID It just seems funny as hell that you know so much more about Leonard Agronsky than I ever did. Nothing surprises you.
JANE Why should I be surprised by one of Jim Andrews’ profound opinions?
DAVID If you’re on such solid ground with Agronsky, why couldn’t you offer an opinion when Fuller asked you?
JANE (She has gone on to the stairs. Now she stops with her hand on the rail and turns to him.) Dave, I’m not a police informer.
DAVID Then Agronsky is a Communist? In other words—even if you knew, you’re not talking.
JANE Dave, he may be a Martian, I don’t know. If your friend, Mr. Fuller, is going to think I’m a Communist because I allow a Negro woman to come in my house through the front door, then he�
��ll think just what he pleases about Leonard Agronsky, and nothing you or I say is going to change it.
DAVID (standing up and facing her) That’s fine. But it never occurred to you that I might take any rap for this?
JANE That occurred to me, Dave.
DAVID And——
JANE What do you think I should have done, Dave? Told Fuller that Agronsky was a Communist and I knew it?
DAVID Did you know it? That’s all I’m trying to find out.
(He starts toward her.)
I thought I knew Agronsky! I thought it was all my brilliance as a tech sergeant that made him get me this job. But I don’t know a thing about Agronsky, and I can see that! When it comes to Jews and such—I’m ignorant. My little innocent wife could teach me a thing or two.
JANE (very coolly and evenly, in contrast to his raised voice) Stop it, David. I think you’ve said enough.
DAVID (forcing his anger now) There’s a lot I could say if I want——
JANE (breaking in at the beginning) Don’t say any more, David. That’s enough. I’m going to bed. Good night, David. ‘
(JANE goes up the stairs and offstage without looking back DAVID stands where he is, watching her and then staring at the stairs after she has gone. He turns slowly until he is facing the vestibule, takes out a cigarette and lights it nervously. His puffs are quick and nervous as he walks over to the piano and drops the match in an ash tray.)
(As he does this, HILDA enters from the dining-room, and DAVID starts at her step, swinging around to face her.)
DAVID What do you want?
HILDA (evenly) I came in to put out the lights, Mr. Graham. I thought you and Mrs. Graham had gone to bed.
DAVID Why? Because you were listening.
HILDA (control covering her mounting anger) I don’t eavesdrop, Mr. Graham. I heard voices in here and then the voices stopped, and from the kitchen I could still see the lights burning. You got no right to accuse me of eaves-dropping. I don’t know what you were saying and I don’t care what you were saying.
DAVID All right. I’m sorry.
HILDA (taking a deep breath and biting her lower lip before she speaks) This is a job, Mr. Graham, and I like working for Mrs. Graham, and I like the little girl. But I can find another job if you want me to.
DAVID Who said that?
HILDA That’s what you implied, Mr. Graham. I don’t like to be accused of listening at keyholes. I don’t like to be insulted about my friends. I never told Grace to go the front way. Mrs. Graham told her that.
DAVID (suddenly losing control) You can do just as you God damn please, Hilda! Stay or go! The hell with it. This is still my house! You want me to put it more definitely? You’re fired! I never could tolerate one of your kind who couldn’t keep his place. You understand?
HILDA (with great calm) I understand, Mr. Graham. Good night.
(She exits through the dining-room.)
(DAVID stands there looking after her. This way for at least thirty seconds. Then he takes off his glasses and rubs his clenched fist into his eyes. He turns slowly, looking around the room, crosses over to the telephone and stares at it. Then he moves forward and drops into a chair and sits there loosely and unhappily. He then rises and turns off some of the lamps. He starts toward the stairs, stops, stands irresolute, then tales out his wallet and extracts a card. Now that the die is cast, he moves more quickly, dialing a number on the phone with nervous concentration. He holds the phone while it rings and then speaks softly.)
DAVID (into the phone) Hello—Fuller?
(pause for rejoinder)
Mr. Fuller, this is David Graham—yes, you remember, David Graham. I’m sorry to call you this late. I’m sorry as hell. But you know how it is when you have something pressing on your conscience. You can’t wait for morning. You just can’t wait.
(pause)
I’m glad you felt that way. I agree with you that duty doesn’t punch a time clock.
(pause)
Of course. And you understand this isn’t an easy thing to do. There are all sorts of connotations to something like this, and it takes some understanding to see yourself as a loyal American doing his duty. I was in the service, you know——
(pause)
Yes, of course.
(pause)
Yes. Yes. That’s a fine way to put it. I wouldn’t have thought of putting it that way, Mr. Fuller, but it’s true. As you say, it’s a morality that transcends morality. That doesn’t mean I held anything back. I tried to be as frank and open with you as I knew how, and even now I’ve got nothing sensational to add to what I told you. That is, nothing that makes for any kind of conclusive thoughts——
(pause)
No—of course, I agree with you that you never can be conclusive on this kind of thing. But my wife and I put our heads together …
(On this, JANE appears on the staircase. She is wearing a dressing gown, and as DAVID speaks, she continues down, halting near the bottom and watching him, almost frozen.)
… and we couldn’t help but agree that Agronsky could very well be a Red. You put the pieces together, and it seems to be a reasonable conclusion, anyway, that’s how it seems——
(pause)
Yes, I’d be fairly definite on it. Naturally, he never told me so. If he had, I would have broken clean. As it is we had practically stopped seeing each other. I couldn’t stomach his philosophy——
(pause)
Yes—I want to co-operate. Any time you say.
(pause)
Good night to you, sir.
(DAVID replaces the phone and turns, seeing JANE. They stare at each other. Then DAVID shrugs and lights another cigarette. JANE walks across the room, never taking her eyes off DAVID, until she is opposite the vestibule and facing him. When she speaks, however, her voice is very calm, yet with an undertone of tension.)
JANE Do you feel better now, David?
(DAVID refuses to meet her eyes. He puffs his cigarette.)
Cleansed?
(He walks to the piano, grinding the cigarette into an ash tray. Now his hack is to her. He turns sharply to her, yet remains silent.)
Purified, David? You shouldn’t raise your voice when -you purify yourself. I wouldn’t have heard you if you weren’t so afraid your friend might miss something you said.
DAVID For Christ’s sake, Jane, leave me alone! I did it. That’s all. I did what I thought was right.
JANE (with a note of pity in her voice) You didn’t think it was right, David.
DAVID How do you know what I thought? You’re so God damn righteous! You can’t be wrong. But whatever I do is wrong.
JANE No—that’s not so.
DAVID You said yourself nothing I said or did would keep them from thinking whatever they wanted to think about Agronsky.
JANE Sure I said that.
DAVID Then what difference does it make?
JANE (shaking her head) My God, David, are you really asking me that?
DAVID Well, it’s done.
JANE After Agronsky got you the, job. I know what it is to be frightened, David. I’ve been frightened too, believe me——
DAVID (breaking in) Stop preaching at me! I’m not a child that I have to be preached at this way!
JANE You’re not a child, David.
DAVID Why do you have to keep beating at it? It’s done, isn’t it?
JANE Sure it’s done, David. Sure it’s done.
(She goes toward the stairs.)
Good night, David.
The curtain falls for the end of Act I
ACT II
Scene One
The time is early afternoon of the following day. The place is the office of AUSTIN CARMICHAEL in the Treasury Department. This is a fair-sized office, neither very modern nor rich in its furnishings, but with the substantial and well-kept air of a government office occupied by a moderately important executive. The desk is mahogany: the walls are the insipid green preferred so often in Washington. The floor is covered by a grey carpet
, and at either side of the desk, which is stage right, cattycorner, are two leather-upholstered chairs. A broad window with Venetian blinds backs the stage, and at one side of it, a water cooler. A leather couch and two straight-back chairs complete the furnishings. A framed picture of the President on the wall at stage right is the only personal picture. There is a framed eagle print and one of those many-figured steel engravings of an early Cabinet meeting. The desk is neat, with few papers, and as the curtain rises, a long slant of sunlight warms the room from the window.
As the curtain rises, the mahogany door at stage left opens, and AUSTIN CARMICHAEL enters, followed by FRED SELWIN. CARMICHAEL is a heavy, middle-sized man of fifty. His fat is less excess than substance. He carries his head a little forward and walks with a slight stoop. His features are large but regular, and his eyes are bright blue under heavy brows. He wears a seersucker suit. SELWIN is younger, in his forties, pinch-faced, thin, nervous in temperament.
CARMICHAEL walks to the blind and tilts it, blotting the sun. His movements are decisive. Then he sits down behind the desk. SELWIN stands beside the desk, looking at a file folder.
CARMICHAEL Let’s see it, Fred.
(He holds out his hand for the file folder, meanwhile examining another paper on his desk. SELWIN gives it to him and he opens it and ruffles through it. SELWIN drifts across the room.)
They are a thorough group of people, believe me.
SELWIN Yes, they make up in efficiency what they lack in inspiration.
CARMICHAEL Come now—give the credit where it’s due. That’s a good practice, Fred. Now I’m not one of these damn fool Chamber of Commerce patriots, but you got to admit that when we do a thing we can do it a little better than anyone else.
SELWIN A lot better, unfortunately.
CARMICHAEL It’s not so unfortunate, Fred, and stop trying to be a two-bit philosopher. You’ve read this, I suppose.
SELWIN I read it.
CARMICHAEL The mere fact that they send it here is an indication of desired action. There’s nothing in it particularly damning except that Graham’s a fool. I feel kind of sorry for him.
SELWIN Like hell you do!
CARMICHAEL (good-humouredly) You really think I take pleasure in inflicting—let us say suffering?
