On the rise: It is early Sunday morning. Joe Keller is sitting in the sun reading the want ads of the Sunday paper, the other sections of which lie neatly on the ground beside him. Behind his back, inside the arbor, Doctor Jim Bayliss is reading part of the paper at the table.
Keller is nearing sixty. A heavy man of solid mind and build, a business man these many years, but with the imprint of the machine-shop worker and boss still upon him. When he reads, when he speaks, when he listens, it is with the terrible concentration of the uneducated man for whom there is still wonder in many commonly known things, a man whose judgments must be dredged out of experience and a peasant-like common sense. A man among men.
Doctor Bayliss is nearing forty. A wry self-controlled man, an easy talker, but with a wisp of sadness that clings even to his self-effacing humor.
At curtain, Jim is standing at left, staring at the broken tree. He taps a pipe on it, blows through the pipe, feels in his pockets for tobacco, then speaks.
JIM: Where’s your tobacco?
KELLER: I think I left it on the table. Jim goes slowly to table on the arbor at right, finds a pouch, and sits there on the bench, filling his pipe. Gonna rain tonight.
JIM: Paper says so?
KELLER: Yeah, right here.
JIM: Then it can’t rain.
Frank Lubey enters, from right through a small space between the poplars. Frank is thirty-two but balding. A pleasant, opinionated man, uncertain of himself, with a tendency toward peevishness when crossed, but always wanting it pleasant and neighborly. He rather saunters in, leisurely, nothing to do. He does not notice Jim in the arbor. On his greeting, Jim does not bother looking up.
FRANK: Hya.
KELLER: Hello, Frank. What’s doin’?
FRANK: Nothin’. Walking off my breakfast. Looks up at the sky. That beautiful? Not a cloud.
KELLER, looks up: Yeah, nice.
FRANK: Every Sunday ought to be like this.
KELLER, indicating the sections beside him: Want the paper?
FRANK: What’s the difference, it’s all bad news. What’s today’s calamity?
KELLER: I don’t know, I don’t read the news part any more. It’s more interesting in the want ads.
FRANK: Why, you trying to buy something?
KELLER: No, I’m just interested. To see what people want, y’know? For instance, here’s a guy is lookin’ for two Newfoundland dogs. Now what’s he want with two Newfoundland dogs?
FRANK: That is funny.
KELLER: Here’s another one. Wanted—Old Dictionaries. High prices paid. Now what’s a man going to do with an old dictionary?
FRANK: Why not? Probably a book collector.
KELLER: You mean he’ll make a living out of that?
FRANK: Sure, there’s a lot of them.
KELLER, shakes his head: All the kind of business goin’ on. In my day, either you were a lawyer, or a doctor, or you worked in a shop. Now . . .
FRANK: Well, I was going to be a forester once.
KELLER: Well, that shows you; in my day, there was no such thing. Scanning the page, sweeping it with his hand: You look at a page like this you realize how ignorant you are. Softly, with wonder, as he scans page: Psss!
FRANK, noticing tree: Hey, what happened to your tree?
KELLER: Ain’t that awful? The wind must’ve got it last night. You heard the wind, didn’t you?
FRANK: Yeah, I got a mess in my yard, too. Goes to tree. What a pity. Turns to Keller. What’d Kate say?
KELLER: They’re all asleep yet. I’m just waiting for her to see it.
FRANK, struck: You know?—It’s funny.
KELLER: What?
FRANK: Larry was born in August. He’d been twenty-seven this month. And his tree blows down.
KELLER, touched: I’m surprised you remember his birthday, Frank. That’s nice.
FRANK: Well, I’m working on his horoscope.
KELLER: How can you make him a horoscope? That’s for the future, ain’t it?
FRANK: Well, what I’m doing is this, see. Larry was reported missing on November 25th, right?
KELLER: Yeah?
FRANK: Well, then, we assume that if he was killed it was on November 25th. Now, what Kate wants . . .
KELLER: Oh, Kate asked you to make a horoscope?
FRANK: Yeah, what she wants to find out is whether November 25th was a favorable day for Larry.
KELLER: What is that, favorable day?
FRANK: Well, a favorable day for a person is a fortunate day, according to his stars. In other words it would be practically impossible for him to have died on his favorable day.
KELLER: Well, was that his favorable day?—November 25th?
FRANK: That’s what I’m working on to find out. It takes time! See, the point is, if November 25th was his favorable day, then it’s completely possible he’s alive somewhere, because . . . I mean it’s possible. He notices Jim now. Jim is looking at him as though at an idiot. To Jim—with an uncertain laugh: I didn’t even see you.
KELLER, to Jim: Is he talkin’ sense?
JIM: Him? He’s all right. He’s just completely out of his mind, that’s all.
FRANK, peeved: The trouble with you is, you don’t believe in anything.
JIM: And your trouble is that you believe in anything. You didn’t see my kid this morning, did you?
FRANK: No.
KELLER: Imagine? He walked off with his thermometer. Right out of his bag.
JIM, gets up: What a problem. One look at a girl and he takes her temperature. Goes to driveway, looks upstage toward street.
FRANK: That boy’s going to be a real doctor; he’s smart.
JIM: Over my dead body he’ll be a doctor. A good beginning, too.
FRANK: Why? It’s an honorable profession.
JIM, looks at him tiredly: Frank, will you stop talking like a civics book? Keller laughs.
FRANK: Why, I saw a movie a couple of weeks ago, reminded me of you. There was a doctor in that picture . . .
KELLER: Don Ameche!
FRANK: I think it was, yeah. And he worked in his basement discovering things. That’s what you ought to do; you could help humanity, instead of . . .
JIM: I would love to help humanity on a Warner Brothers salary.
KELLER, points at him, laughing: That’s very good, Jim.
JIM, looks toward house: Well, where’s the beautiful girl was supposed to be here?
FRANK, excited: Annie came?
KELLER: Sure, sleepin’ upstairs. We picked her up on the one o’clock train last night. Wonderful thing. Girl leaves here, a scrawny kid. Couple of years go by, she’s a regular woman. Hardly recognized her, and she was running in and out of this yard all her life. That was a very happy family used to live in your house, Jim.
JIM: Like to meet her. The block can use a pretty girl. In the whole neighborhood there’s not a damned thing to look at. Enter Sue, Jim’s wife, from left. She is rounding forty, an overweight woman who fears it. On seeing her Jim wryly adds: . . . Except my wife, of course.
SUE, in same spirit: Mrs. Adams is on the phone, you dog.
JIM, to Keller: Such is the condition which prevails . . . Going to his wife: my love, my light. . . .
SUE: Don’t sniff around me. Points to their house, left. And give her a nasty answer. I can smell her perfume over the phone.
JIM: What’s the matter with her now?
SUE: I don’t know, dear. She sounds like she’s in terrible pain—unless her mouth is full of candy.
JIM: Why don’t you just tell her to lay down?
SUE: She enjoys it more when you tell her to lay down. And when are you going to see Mr. Hubbard?
JIM: My dear; Mr. Hubbard is not sick, and I have better things to do than to sit there and hold his hand.
; SUE: It seems to me that for ten dollars you could hold his hand.
JIM, to Keller: If your son wants to play golf tell him I’m ready. Going left. Or if he’d like to take a trip around the world for about thirty years. He exits left.
KELLER: Why do you needle him? He’s a doctor, women are supposed to call him up.
SUE: All I said was Mrs. Adams is on the phone. Can I have some of your parsley?
KELLER: Yeah, sure. She goes left to parsley box and pulls some parsley. You were a nurse too long, Susie. You’re too . . . too . . . realistic.
SUE, laughing, points at him: Now you said it! Enter Lydia Lubey from right. She is a robust, laughing girl of twenty-seven.
LYDIA: Frank, the toaster . . . Sees the others. Hya.
KELLER: Hello!
LYDIA, to Frank: The toaster is off again.
FRANK: Well, plug it in, I just fixed it.
LYDIA, kindly, but insistently: Please, dear, fix it back like it was before.
FRANK: I don’t know why you can’t learn to turn on a simple thing like a toaster! Frank exits right.
SUE, laughs: Thomas Edison.
LYDIA, apologetically: He’s really very handy. She sees broken tree. Oh, did the wind get your tree?
KELLER: Yeah, last night.
LYDIA: Oh, what a pity. Annie get in?
KELLER: She’ll be down soon. Wait’ll you meet her, Sue, she’s a knockout.
SUE: I should’ve been a man. People are always introducing me to beautiful women. To Joe: Tell her to come over later; I imagine she’d like to see what we did with her house. And thanks. Sue exits left.
LYDIA: Is she still unhappy, Joe?
KELLER: Annie? I don’t suppose she goes around dancing on her toes, but she seems to be over it.
LYDIA: She going to get married? Is there anybody . . . ?
KELLER: I suppose . . . say, it’s a couple years already. She can’t mourn a boy forever.
LYDIA: It’s so strange . . . Annie’s here and not even married. And I’ve got three babies. I always thought it’d be the other way around.
KELLER: Well, that’s what a war does. I had two sons, now I got one. It changed all the tallies. In my day when you had sons it was an honor. Today a doctor could make a million dollars if he could figure out a way to bring a boy into the world without a trigger finger.
LYDIA: You know, I was just reading . . . Enter Chris Keller from house, stands in doorway.
LYDIA: Hya, Chris . . . Frank shouts from off right.
FRANK: Lydia, come in here! If you want the toaster to work don’t plug in the malted mixer.
LYDIA, embarrassed, laughs: Did I . . . ?
FRANK: And the next time I fix something don’t tell me I’m crazy! Now come in here!
LYDIA, to Keller: I’ll never hear the end of this one.
KELLER, calling to Frank: So what’s the difference? Instead of toast have a malted!
LYDIA: Sh! sh! She exits right laughing.
Chris watches her off. He is thirty-two; like his father, solidly built, a listener. A man capable of immense affection and loyalty. He has a cup of coffee in one hand, part of a doughnut in other.
KELLER: You want the paper?
CHRIS: That’s all right, just the book section. He bends down and pulls out part of paper on porch floor.
KELLER: You’re always reading the book section and you never buy a book.
CHRIS, coming down to settee: I like to keep abreast of my ignorance. He sits on settee.
KELLER: What is that, every week a new book comes out?
CHRIS: Lot of new books.
KELLER: All different.
CHRIS: All different.
KELLER, shakes his head, puts knife down on bench, takes oilstone up to the cabinet: Psss! Annie up yet?
CHRIS: Mother’s giving her breakfast in the dinning-room.
KELLER, crosses, downstage of stool, looking at broken tree: See what happened to the tree?
CHRIS, without looking up: Yeah.
KELLER: What’s Mother going to say? Bert runs on from driveway. He is about eight. He jumps on stool, then on Keller’s back.
BERT: You’re finally up.
KELLER, swinging him around and putting him down: Ha! Bert’s here! Where’s Tommy? He’s got his father’s thermometer again.
BERT: He’s taking a reading.
CHRIS: What!
BERT: But it’s only oral.
KELLER: Oh, well, there’s no harm in oral. So what’s new this morning, Bert?
BERT: Nothin’. He goes to broken tree, walks around it.
KELLER: Then you couldn’t’ve made a complete inspection of the block. In the beginning, when I first made you a policeman you used to come in every morning with something new. Now, nothin’s ever new.
BERT: Except some kids from Thirtieth Street. They started kicking a can down the block, and I made them go away because you were sleeping.
KELLER: Now you’re talkin’, Bert. Now you’re on the ball. First thing you know I’m liable to make you a detective.
BERT, pulls him down by the lapel and whispers in his ear: Can I see the jail now?
KELLER: Seein’ the jail ain’t allowed, Bert. You know that.
BERT: Aw, I betcha there isn’t even a jail. I don’t see any bars on the cellar windows.
KELLER: Bert, on my word of honor, there’s a jail in the basement. I showed you my gun, didn’t I?
BERT: But that’s a hunting gun.
KELLER: That’s an arresting gun!
BERT: Then why don’t you ever arrest anybody? Tommy said another dirty word to Doris yesterday, and you didn’t even demote him.
KELLER—he chuckles and winks at Chris, who is enjoying all this: Yeah, that’s a dangerous character, that Tommy. Beckons him closer: What word does he say?
BERT, backing away quickly in great embarrassment: Oh, I can’t say that.
KELLER, grabs him by the shirt and pulls him back: Well, gimme an idea.
BERT: I can’t. It’s not a nice word.
KELLER: Just whisper it in my ear. I’ll close my eyes. Maybe I won’t even hear it.
BERT, on tiptoe, puts his lips to Keller’s ear, then in unbearable embarrassment steps back: I can’t, Mr. Keller.
CHRIS, laughing: Don’t make him do that.
KELLER: Okay, Bert. I take your word. Now go out, and keep both eyes peeled.
BERT, interested: For what?
KELLER: For what! Bert, the whole neighborhood is depending on you. A policeman don’t ask questions. Now peel them eyes!
BERT, mystified, but willing: Okay. He runs off right back of arbor.
KELLER, calling after him: And mum’s the word, Bert.
BERT, stops and sticks his head thru the arbor: About what?
KELLER: Just in general. Be v-e-r-y careful.
BERT, nods in bewilderment: Okay. Bert exits downstage right.
KELLER, laughs: I got all the kids crazy!
CHRIS: One of these days, they’ll all come in here and beat your brains out.
KELLER: What’s she going to say? Maybe we ought to tell her before she sees it.
CHRIS: She saw it.
KELLER: How could she see it? I was the first one up. She was still in bed.
CHRIS: She was out here when it broke.
KELLER: When?
CHRIS: About four this morning. Indicating window above them: I heard it cracking and I woke up and looked out. She was standing right here when it cracked.
KELLER: What was she doing out here four in the morning?
CHRIS: I don’t know. When it cracked she ran back into the house and cried in the kitchen.
KELLER: Did you talk to her?
CHRIS: No, I . . . I figured the best thing was to leave her alone
. Pause.
KELLER, deeply touched: She cried hard?
CHRIS: I could hear her right through the floor of my room.
KELLER, slight pause: What was she doing out here at that hour? Chris silent. An undertone of anger showing: She’s dreaming about him again. She’s walking around at night.
CHRIS: I guess she is.
KELLER: She’s getting just like after he died. Slight pause. What’s the meaning of that?
CHRIS: I don’t know the meaning of it. Slight pause. But I know one thing, Dad. We’ve made a terrible mistake with Mother.
KELLER: What?
CHRIS: Being dishonest with her. That kind of thing always pays off, and now it’s paying off.
KELLER: What do you mean, dishonest?
CHRIS: You know Larry’s not coming back and I know it. Why do we allow her to go on thinking that we believe with her?
KELLER: What do you want to do, argue with her?
CHRIS: I don’t want to argue with her, but it’s time she realized that nobody believes Larry is alive any more. Keller simply moves away, thinking, looking at the ground. Why shouldn’t she dream of him, walk the nights waiting for him? Do we contradict her? Do we say straight out that we have no hope any more? That we haven’t had any hope for years now?
KELLER, frightened at the thought: You can’t say that to her.
CHRIS: We’ve got to say it to her.
KELLER: How’re you going to prove it? Can you prove it?
CHRIS: For God’s sake, three years! Nobody comes back after three years. It’s insane.
KELLER: To you it is, and to me. But not to her. You can talk yourself blue in the face, but there’s no body and there’s no grave, so where are you?
CHRIS: Sit down, Dad. I want to talk to you.
KELLER, looks at him searchingly a moment, and sitting . . . : The trouble is the Goddam newspapers. Every month some boy turns up from nowhere, so the next one is going to be Larry, so . . .
CHRIS: All right, all right, listen to me. Slight pause. Keller sits on settee. You know why I asked Annie here, don’t you?
KELLER—he knows, but . . . : Why?
CHRIS: You know.
KELLER: Well, I got an idea, but . . . What’s the story?
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 11
