The Penguin Arthur Miller

by Arthur Miller

  ANN—as though to overcome Mother, she becomes suddenly lively, crosses to Keller on settee, sits on his lap: Let’s eat at the shore tonight! Raise some hell around here, like we used to before Larry went!

  MOTHER, emotionally: You think of him! You see? Triumphantly: She thinks of him!

  ANN, with an uncomprehending smile: What do you mean, Kate?

  MOTHER: Nothing. Just that you . . . remember him, he’s in your thoughts.

  ANN: That’s a funny thing to say; how could I help remembering him?

  MOTHER—it is drawing to a head the wrong way for her; she starts anew. She rises and comes to Ann: Did you hang up your things?

  ANN: Yeah . . . To Chris: Say, you’ve sure gone in for clothes. I could hardly find room in the closet.

  MOTHER: No, don’t you remember? That’s Larry’s room.

  ANN: You mean . . . they’re Larry’s?

  MOTHER: Didn’t you recognize them?

  ANN, slowly rising, a little embarrassed: Well, it never occurred to me that you’d . . . I mean the shoes are all shined.

  MOTHER: Yes, dear. Slight pause. Ann can’t stop staring at her. Mother breaks it by speaking with the relish of gossip, putting her arm around Ann and walking stage left with her. For so long I’ve been aching for a nice conversation with you, Annie. Tell me something.

  ANN: What?

  MOTHER: I don’t know. Something nice.

  CHRIS, wryly: She means do you go out much?

  MOTHER: Oh, shut up.

  KELLER: And are any of them serious?

  MOTHER, laughing, sits in her chair: Why don’t you both choke?

  KELLER: Annie, you can’t go into a restaurant with that woman any more. In five minutes thirty-nine strange people are sitting at the table telling her their life story.

  MOTHER: If I can’t ask Annie a personal question . . .

  KELLER: Askin’ is all right, but don’t beat her over the head. You’re beatin’ her, you’re beatin’ her. They are laughing.

  ANN, to Mother. Takes pan of beans off stool, puts them on floor under chair and sits: Don’t let them bulldoze you. Ask me anything you like. What do you want to know, Kate? Come on, let’s gossip.

  MOTHER, to Chris and Keller: She’s the only one is got any sense. To Ann: Your mother . . . she’s not getting a divorce, heh?

  ANN: No, she’s calmed down about it now. I think when he gets out they’ll probably live together. In New York, of course.

  MOTHER: That’s fine. Because your father is still . . . I mean he’s a decent man after all is said and done.

  ANN: I don’t care. She can take him back if she likes.

  MOTHER: And you? You . . . Shakes her head negatively . . . go out much? Slight pause.

  ANN, delicately: You mean am I still waiting for him?

  MOTHER: Well, no, I don’t expect you to wait for him but . . .

  ANN, kindly: But that’s what you mean, isn’t it?

  MOTHER: . . . Well . . . yes.

  ANN: Well, I’m not, Kate.

  MOTHER, faintly: You’re not?

  ANN: Isn’t it ridiculous? You don’t really imagine he’s . . . ?

  MOTHER: I know, dear, but don’t say it’s ridiculous, because the papers were full of it; I don’t know about New York, but there was half a page about a man missing even longer than Larry, and he turned up from Burma.

  CHRIS, coming to Ann: He couldn’t have wanted to come home very badly, Mom.

  MOTHER: Don’t be so smart.

  CHRIS: You can have a helluva time in Burma.

  ANN, rises and swings around in back of Chris: So I’ve heard.

  CHRIS: Mother, I’ll bet you money that you’re the only woman in the country who after three years is still . . .

  MOTHER: You’re sure?

  CHRIS: Yes, I am.

  MOTHER: Well, if you’re sure then you’re sure. She turns her head away an instant. They don’t say it on the radio but I’m sure that in the dark at night they’re still waiting for their sons.

  CHRIS: Mother, you’re absolutely—

  MOTHER, waving him off: Don’t be so damned smart! Now stop it! Slight pause. There are just a few things you don’t know. All of you. And I’ll tell you one of them, Annie. Deep, deep in your heart you’ve always been waiting for him.

  ANN, resolutely: No, Kate.

  MOTHER, with increasing demand: But deep in your heart, Annie!

  CHRIS: She ought to know, shouldn’t she?

  MOTHER: Don’t let them tell you what to think. Listen to your heart. Only your heart.

  ANN: Why does your heart tell you he’s alive?

  MOTHER: Because he has to be.

  ANN: But why, Kate?

  MOTHER, going to her: Because certain things have to be, and certain things can never be. Like the sun has to rise, it has to be. That’s why there’s God. Otherwise anything could happen. But there’s God, so certain things can never happen. I would know, Annie—just like I knew the day he—indicates Chris—went into that terrible battle. Did he write me? Was it in the papers? No, but that morning I couldn’t raise my head off the pillow. Ask Joe. Suddenly, I knew! I knew! And he was nearly killed that day. Ann, you know I’m right!

  ANN—she stands there in silence, then turns trembling, going upstage: No, Kate.

  MOTHER: I have to have some tea. Frank appears from left carrying ladder.

  FRANK: Annie! Coming down. How are you, gee whiz!

  ANN, taking his hand: Why, Frank, you’re losing your hair.

  KELLER: He’s got responsibility.

  FRANK: Gee whiz!

  KELLER: Without Frank the stars wouldn’t know when to come out.

  FRANK, laughs. To Ann: You look more womanly. You’ve matured. You . . .

  KELLER: Take it easy, Frank, you’re a married man.

  ANN, as they laugh: You still haberdashering?

  FRANK: Why not? Maybe I too can get to be president. How’s your brother? Got his degree, I hear.

  ANN: Oh, George has his own office now!

  FRANK: Don’t say! Funereally: And your dad? Is he . . . ?

  ANN, abruptly: Fine. I’ll be in to see Lydia.

  FRANK, sympathetically: How about it, does Dad expect a parole soon?

  ANN, with growing ill-ease: I really don’t know, I . . .

  FRANK, staunchly defending her father for her sake: I mean because I feel, y’know, that if an intelligent man like your father is put in prison, there ought to be a law that says either you execute him, or let him go after a year.

  CHRIS, interrupting: Want a hand with that ladder, Frank?

  FRANK, taking cue: That’s all right, I’ll . . . Picks up ladder. I’ll finish the horoscope tonight, Kate. Embarrassed: See you later, Ann, you look wonderful. He exits right. They look at Ann.

  ANN, to Chris, sits slowly on stool: Haven’t they stopped talking about Dad?

  CHRIS, comes down and sits on arm of chair: Nobody talks about him any more.

  KELLER, rises and comes to her: Gone and forgotten, kid.

  ANN: Tell me. Because I don’t want to meet anybody on the block if they’re going to . . .

  CHRIS: I don’t want you to worry about it.

  ANN, to Keller: Do they still remember the case, Joe? Do they talk about you?

  KELLER: The only one still talks about it is my wife.

  MOTHER: That’s because you keep on playing policeman with the kids. All their parents hear out of you is jail, jail, jail.

  KELLER: Actually what happened was that when I got home from the penitentiary the kids got very interested in me. You know kids. I was . . . Laughs. like the expert on the jail situation. And as time passed they got it confused and . . . I ended up a detective. Laughs.

  MOTHER: Except that they didn’t get it confused. To Ann:
He hands out police badges from the Post Toasties boxes. They laugh.

  ANN, wondrously at them, happily. She rises and comes to Keller, putting her arm around his shoulder: Gosh, it’s wonderful to hear you laughing about it.

  CHRIS: Why, what’d you expect?

  ANN: The last thing I remember on this block was one word—“Murderers!” Remember that, Kate? . . . Mrs. Hammond standing in front of our house and yelling that word . . . She’s still around, I suppose?

  MOTHER: They’re all still around.

  KELLER: Don’t listen to her. Every Saturday night the whole gang is playin’ poker in this arbor. All the ones who yelled murderer takin’ my money now.

  MOTHER: Don’t, Joe, she’s a sensitive girl, don’t fool her. To Ann: They still remember about Dad. It’s different with him— Indicates Joe: —he was exonerated, your father’s still there. That’s why I wasn’t so enthusiastic about your coming. Honestly, I know how sensitive you are, and I told Chris, I said . . .

  KELLER: Listen, you do like I did and you’ll be all right. The day I come home, I got out of my car;—but not in front of the house . . . on the corner. You should’ve been here, Annie, and you too, Chris; you’d-a seen something. Everybody knew I was getting out that day; the porches were loaded. Picture it now; none of them believed I was innocent. The story was, I pulled a fast one getting myself exonerated. So I get out of my car, and I walk down the street. But very slow. And with a smile. The beast! I was the beast; the guy who sold cracked cylinder heads to the Army Air Force; the guy who made twenty-one P-40’s crash in Australia. Kid, walkin’ down the street that day I was guilty as hell. Except I wasn’t, and there was a court paper in my pocket to prove I wasn’t, and I walked . . . past . . . the porches. Result? Fourteen months later I had one of the best shops in the state again, a respected man again; bigger than ever.

  CHRIS, with admiration: Joe McGuts.

  KELLER, now with great force: That’s the only way you lick ’em is guts! To Ann: The worst thing you did was to move away from here. You made it tough for your father when he gets out. That’s why I tell you, I like to see him move back right on this block.

  MOTHER, pained: How could they move back?

  KELLER: It ain’t gonna end till they move back! To Ann: Till people play cards with him again, and talk with him, and smile with him—you play cards with a man you know he can’t be a murderer. And the next time you write him I like you to tell him just what I said. Ann simply stares at him. You hear me?

  ANN, surprised: Don’t you hold anything against him?

  KELLER: Annie, I never believed in crucifying people.

  ANN, mystified: But he was your partner, he dragged you through the mud . . .

  KELLER: Well, he ain’t my sweetheart, but you gotta forgive, don’t you?

  ANN: You, either, Kate? Don’t you feel any . . . ?

  KELLER, to Ann: The next time you write Dad . . .

  ANN: I don’t write him.

  KELLER, struck: Well every now and then you . . .

  ANN, a little ashamed, but determined: No, I’ve never written to him. Neither has my brother. To Chris: Say, do you feel this way, too?

  CHRIS: He murdered twenty-one pilots.

  KELLER: What the hell kinda talk is that?

  MOTHER: That’s not a thing to say about a man.

  ANN: What else can you say? When they took him away I followed him, went to him every visiting day. I was crying all the time. Until the news came about Larry. Then I realized. It’s wrong to pity a man like that. Father or no father, there’s only one way to look at him. He knowingly shipped out parts that would crash an airplane. And how do you know Larry wasn’t one of them?

  MOTHER: I was waiting for that. Going to her: As long as you’re here, Annie, I want to ask you never to say that again.

  ANN: You surprise me. I thought you’d be mad at him.

  MOTHER: What your father did had nothing to do with Larry. Nothing.

  ANN: But we can’t know that.

  MOTHER, striving for control: As long as you’re here!

  ANN, perplexed: But, Kate . . .

  MOTHER: Put that out of your head!

  KELLER: Because . . .

  MOTHER, quickly to Keller: That’s all, that’s enough. Places her hand on her head. Come inside now, and have some tea with me. She turns and goes up steps.

  KELLER, to Ann: The one thing you . . .

  MOTHER, sharply: He’s not dead, so there’s no argument! Now come!

  KELLER, angrily: In a minute! Mother turns and goes into house. Now look, Annie . . .

  CHRIS: All right, Dad, forget it.

  KELLER: No, she dasn’t feel that way. Annie . . .

  CHRIS: I’m sick of the whole subject, now cut it out.

  KELLER: You want her to go on like this? To Ann: Those cylinder heads went into P-40’s only. What’s the matter with you? You know Larry never flew a P-40.

  CHRIS: So who flew those P-40’s, pigs?

  KELLER: The man was a fool, but don’t make a murderer out of him. You got no sense? Look what it does to her! To Ann: Listen, you gotta appreciate what was doin’ in that shop in the war. The both of you! It was a madhouse. Every half hour the Major callin’ for cylinder heads, they were whippin’ us with the telephone. The trucks were hauling them away hot, damn near. I mean just try to see it human, see it human. All of a sudden a batch comes out with a crack. That happens, that’s the business. A fine, hairline crack. All right, so . . . so he’s a little man, your father, always scared of loud voices. What’ll the Major say?—Half a day’s production shot. . . . What’ll I say? You know what I mean? Human. He pauses. So he takes out his tools and he . . . covers over the cracks. All right . . . that’s bad, it’s wrong, but that’s what a little man does. If I could have gone in that day I’d a told him—junk ’em, Steve, we can afford it. But alone he was afraid. But I know he meant no harm. He believed they’d hold up a hundred percent. That’s a mistake, but it ain’t murder. You mustn’t feel that way about him. You understand me? It ain’t right.

  ANN—she regards him a moment: Joe, let’s forget it.

  KELLER: Annie, the day the news came about Larry he was in the next cell to mine . . . Dad. And he cried, Annie . . . he cried half the night.

  ANN, touched: He shoulda cried all night. Slight pause.

  KELLER, almost angered: Annie, I do not understand why you . . . !

  CHRIS, breaking in—with nervous urgency: Are you going to stop it?!

  ANN: Don’t yell at him. He just wants everybody happy.

  KELLER, clasps her around waist, smiling: That’s my sentiments. Can you stand steak?

  CHRIS: And champagne!

  KELLER: Now you’re operatin’! I’ll call Swanson’s for a table! Big time tonight, Annie!

  ANN: Can’t scare me.

  KELLER, to Chris, pointing at Ann: I like that girl. Wrap her up. They laugh. Goes up porch. You got nice legs, Annie! . . . I want to see everybody drunk tonight. Pointing to Chris: Look at him, he’s blushin’! He exits, laughing, into house.

  CHRIS, calling after him: Drink your tea, Casanova. He turns to Ann. Isn’t he a great guy?

  ANN: You’re the only one I know who loves his parents!

  CHRIS: I know. It went out of style, didn’t it?

  ANN, with a sudden touch of sadness: It’s all right. It’s a good thing. She looks about. You know? It’s lovely here. The air is sweet.

  CHRIS, hopefully: You’re not sorry you came?

  ANN: Not sorry, no. But I’m . . . not going to stay . . .

  CHRIS: Why?

  ANN: In the first place, your mother as much as told me to go.

  CHRIS: Well . . .

  ANN: You saw that . . . and then you . . . you’ve been kind of . . .

  CHRIS: What?

  ANN: Well . .
. kind of embarrassed ever since I got here.

  CHRIS: The trouble is I planned on kind of sneaking up on you over a period of a week or so. But they take it for granted that we’re all set.

  ANN: I knew they would. Your mother anyway.

  CHRIS: How did you know?

  ANN: From her point of view, why else would I come?

  CHRIS: Well . . . would you want to? Ann studies him. I guess you know this is why I asked you to come.

  ANN: I guess this is why I came.

  CHRIS: Ann, I love you. I love you a great deal. Finally: I love you. Pause. She waits. I have no imagination . . . that’s all I know to tell you. Ann, waiting, ready. I’m embarrassing you. I didn’t want to tell it to you here. I wanted some place we’d never been; a place where we’d be brand new to each other. . . . You feel it’s wrong here, don’t you? This yard, this chair? I want you to be ready for me. I don’t want to win you away from anything.

  ANN, putting her arms around him: Oh, Chris, I’ve been ready a long, long time!

  CHRIS: Then he’s gone forever. You’re sure.

  ANN: I almost got married two years ago.

  CHRIS: . . . Why didn’t you?

  ANN: You started to write to me . . . Slight pause.

  CHRIS: You felt something that far back?

  ANN: Every day since!

  CHRIS: Ann, why didn’t you let me know?

  ANN: I was waiting for you, Chris. Till then you never wrote. And when you did, what did you say? You sure can be ambiguous, you know.

  CHRIS—he looks towards house, then at her, trembling: Give me a kiss, Ann. Give me a . . . They kiss. God, I kissed you, Annie, I kissed Annie. How long, how long I’ve been waiting to kiss you!

  ANN: I’ll never forgive you. Why did you wait all these years? All I’ve done is sit and wonder if I was crazy for thinking of you.

  CHRIS: Annie, we’re going to live now! I’m going to make you so happy. He kisses her, but without their bodies touching.

  ANN, a little embarrassed: Not like that you’re not.

  CHRIS: I kissed you . . .

  ANN: Like Larry’s brother. Do it like you, Chris. He breaks away from her abruptly. What is it, Chris?

  CHRIS: Let’s drive some place . . . I want to be alone with you.

  ANN: No . . . what is it, Chris, your mother?