The Penguin Arthur Miller

by Arthur Miller

  CHRIS, with growing anger: The same Joe Keller.

  GEORGE: The same man who knows how many minutes a day his workers spend in the toilet.

  CHRIS: The same man.

  GEORGE: And my father, that frightened mouse who’d never buy a shirt without somebody along—that man would dare do such a thing on his own?

  CHRIS: On his own. And because he’s a frightened mouse this is another thing he’d do;—throw the blame on somebody else because he’s not man enough to take it himself. He tried it in court but it didn’t work, but with a fool like you it works!

  GEORGE: Oh, Chris, you’re a liar to yourself!

  ANN, deeply shaken: Don’t talk like that!

  CHRIS, sits facing George: Tell me, George. What happened? The court record was good enough for you all these years, why isn’t it good now? Why did you believe it all these years?

  GEORGE, after a slight pause: Because you believed it. . . . That’s the truth, Chris. I believed everything, because I thought you did. But today I heard it from his mouth. From his mouth it’s altogether different than the record. Anyone who knows him, and knows your father, will believe it from his mouth. Your Dad took everything we have. I can’t beat that. But she’s one item he’s not going to grab. He turns to Ann. Get your things. Everything they have is covered with blood. You’re not the kind of a girl who can live with that. Get your things.

  CHRIS: Ann . . . you’re not going to believe that, are you?

  ANN—she goes to him: You know it’s not true, don’t you?

  GEORGE: How can he tell you? It’s his father. To Chris: None of these things ever even cross your mind?

  CHRIS: Yes, they crossed my mind. Anything can cross your mind!

  GEORGE: He knows, Annie. He knows!

  CHRIS: The Voice of God!

  GEORGE: Then why isn’t your name on the business? Explain that to her!

  CHRIS: What the hell has that got to do with . . . ?

  GEORGE: Annie, why isn’t his name on it?

  CHRIS: Even when I don’t own it!

  GEORGE: Who’re you kidding? Who gets it when he dies? To Ann: Open your eyes, you know the both of them, isn’t that the first thing they’d do, the way they love each other?—J. O. Keller & Son? Pause. Ann looks from him to Chris. I’ll settle it. Do you want to settle it, or are you afraid to?

  CHRIS: . . . What do you mean?

  GEORGE: Let me go up and talk to your father. In ten minutes you’ll have the answer. Or are you afraid of the answer?

  CHRIS: I’m not afraid of the answer. I know the answer. But my mother isn’t well and I don’t want a fight here now.

  GEORGE: Let me go to him.

  CHRIS: You’re not going to start a fight here now.

  GEORGE, to Ann: What more do you want!!!

  There is a sound of footsteps in the house.

  ANN, turns her head suddenly toward house: Someone’s coming.

  CHRIS, to George, quietly: You won’t say anything now.

  ANN: You’ll go soon. I’ll call a cab.

  GEORGE: You’re coming with me.

  ANN: And don’t mention marriage, because we haven’t told her yet.

  GEORGE: You’re coming with me.

  ANN: You understand? Don’t . . . George, you’re not going to start anything now! She hears footsteps. Shsh!

  Mother enters on porch. She is dressed almost formally, her hair is fixed. They are all turned toward her. On seeing George she raises both hands, comes down toward him.

  MOTHER: Georgie, Georgie.

  GEORGE—he has always liked her: Hello, Kate.

  MOTHER—she cups his face in her hands: They made an old man out of you. Touches his hair: Look, you’re gray.

  GEORGE—her pity, open and unabashed, reaches into him, and he smiles sadly: I know, I . . .

  MOTHER: I told you when you went away, don’t try for medals.

  GEORGE—he laughs, tiredly: I didn’t try, Kate. They made it very easy for me.

  MOTHER, actually angry: Go on. You’re all alike. To Ann: Look at him, why did you say he’s fine? He looks like a ghost.

  GEORGE, relishing her solicitude: I feel all right.

  MOTHER: I’m sick to look at you. What’s the matter with your mother, why don’t she feed you?

  ANN: He just hasn’t any appetite.

  MOTHER: If he ate in my house he’d have an appetite. To Ann: I pity your husband! To George: Sit down. I’ll make you a sandwich.

  GEORGE, sits with an embarrassed laugh: I’m really not hungry.

  MOTHER: Honest to God, it breaks my heart to see what happened to all the children. How we worked and planned for you, and you end up no better than us.

  GEORGE, with deep feeling for her: You . . . you haven’t changed at all, you know that, Kate?

  MOTHER: None of us changed, Georgie. We all love you. Joe was just talking about the day you were born and the water got shut off. People were carrying basins from a block away—a stranger would have thought the whole neighborhood was on fire! They laugh. She sees the juice. To Ann: Why didn’t you give him some juice!

  ANN, defensively: I offered it to him.

  MOTHER, scoffingly: You offered it to him! Thrusting glass into George’s hand: Give it to him! To George, who is laughing: And now you’re going to sit here and drink some juice . . . and look like something!

  GEORGE, sitting: Kate, I feel hungry already.

  CHRIS, proudly: She could turn Mahatma Gandhi into a heavyweight!

  MOTHER, to Chris, with great energy: Listen, to hell with the restaurant! I got a ham in the icebox, and frozen strawberries, and avocados, and . . .

  ANN: Swell, I’ll help you!

  GEORGE: The train leaves at eight-thirty, Ann.

  MOTHER, to Ann: You’re leaving?

  CHRIS: No, Mother, she’s not . . .

  ANN, breaking through it, going to George: You hardly got here; give yourself a chance to get acquainted again.

  CHRIS: Sure, you don’t even know us any more.

  MOTHER: Well, Chris, if they can’t stay, don’t . . .

  CHRIS: No, it’s just a question of George, Mother, he planned on . . .

  GEORGE—he gets up politely, nicely, for Kate’s sake: Now wait a minute, Chris . . .

  CHRIS, smiling and full of command, cutting him off: If you want to go, I’ll drive you to the station now, but if you’re staying, no arguments while you’re here.

  MOTHER, at last confessing the tension: Why should he argue? She goes to him, and with desperation and compassion, stroking his hair: Georgie and us have no argument. How could we have an argument, Georgie? We all got hit by the same lightning, how can you . . . ? Did you see what happened to Larry’s tree, Georgie? She has taken his arm, and unwillingly he moves across stage with her. Imagine? While I was dreaming of him in the middle of the night, the wind came along and . . .

  Lydia enters on porch. As soon as she sees him.

  LYDIA: Hey, Georgie! Georgie! Georgie! Georgie! Georgie!

  She comes down to him eagerly. She has a flowered hat in her hand, which Kate takes from her as she goes to George.

  GEORGE—they shake hands eagerly, warmly: Hello, Laughy. What’d you do, grow?

  LYDIA: I’m a big girl now.

  MOTHER, taking hat from her: Look what she can do to a hat!

  ANN, to Lydia, admiring the hat: Did you make that?

  MOTHER: In ten minutes! She puts it on.

  LYDIA, fixing it on her head: I only rearranged it.

  GEORGE: You still make your own clothes?

  CHRIS, of Mother: Ain’t she classy! All she needs now is a Russian wolfhound.

  MOTHER, moving her head from left to right: It feels like somebody is sitting on my head.

  ANN: No, it’s beautiful, Kate.

&nb
sp; MOTHER, kisses Lydia—to George: She’s a genius! You should’ve married her. They laugh. This one can feed you!

  LYDIA, strangely embarrassed: Oh, stop that, Kate.

  GEORGE, to Lydia: Didn’t I hear you had a baby?

  MOTHER: You don’t hear so good. She’s got three babies.

  GEORGE, a little hurt by it—to Lydia: No kidding, three?

  LYDIA: Yeah, it was one, two, three— You’ve been away a long time, Georgie.

  GEORGE: I’m beginning to realize.

  MOTHER, to Chris and George: The trouble with you kids is you think too much.

  LYDIA: Well, we think, too.

  MOTHER: Yes, but not all the time.

  GEORGE, with almost obvious envy: They never took Frank, heh?

  LYDIA, a little apologetically: No, he was always one year ahead of the draft.

  MOTHER: It’s amazing. When they were calling boys twenty-seven Frank was just twenty-eight, when they made it twenty-eight he was just twenty-nine. That’s why he took up astrology. It’s all in when you were born, it just goes to show.

  CHRIS: What does it go to show?

  MOTHER, to Chris: Don’t be so intelligent. Some superstitions are very nice! To Lydia: Did he finish Larry’s horoscope?

  LYDIA: I’ll ask him now, I’m going in. To George, a little sadly, almost embarrassed: Would you like to see my babies? Come on.

  GEORGE: I don’t think so, Lydia.

  LYDIA, understanding: All right. Good luck to you, George.

  GEORGE: Thanks. And to you . . . And Frank. She smiles at him, turns and goes off right to her house. George stands staring after her.

  LYDIA, as she runs off: Oh, Frank!

  MOTHER, reading his thoughts: She got pretty, heh?

  GEORGE, sadly: Very pretty.

  MOTHER, as a reprimand: She’s beautiful, you damned fool!

  GEORGE, looks around longingly; and softly, with a catch in his throat: She makes it seem so nice around here.

  MOTHER, shaking her finger at him: Look what happened to you because you wouldn’t listen to me! I told you to marry that girl and stay out of the war!

  GEORGE, laughs at himself: She used to laugh too much.

  MOTHER: And you didn’t laugh enough. While you were getting mad about Fascism Frank was getting into her bed.

  GEORGE, to Chris: He won the war, Frank.

  CHRIS: All the battles.

  MOTHER, in pursuit of this mood: The day they started the draft, Georgie, I told you you loved that girl.

  CHRIS, laughs: And truer love hath no man!

  MOTHER: I’m smarter than any of you.

  GEORGE, laughing: She’s wonderful!

  MOTHER: And now you’re going to listen to me, George. You had big principles, Eagle Scouts the three of you; so now I got a tree, and this one—indicating Chris—when the weather gets bad he can’t stand on his feet; and that big dope—pointing to Lydia’s house—next door who never reads anything but Andy Gump has three children and his house paid off. Stop being a philosopher, and look after yourself. Like Joe was just saying—you move back here, he’ll help you get set, and I’ll find you a girl and put a smile on your face.

  GEORGE: Joe? Joe wants me here?

  ANN, eagerly: He asked me to tell you, and I think it’s a good idea.

  MOTHER: Certainly. Why must you make believe you hate us? Is that another principle?—that you have to hate us? You don’t hate us, George, I know you, you can’t fool me, I diapered you. Suddenly to Ann: You remember Mr. Marcy’s daughter?

  ANN, laughing, to George: She’s got you hooked already! George laughs, is excited.

  MOTHER: You look her over, George; you’ll see she’s the most beautiful . . .

  CHRIS: She’s got warts, George.

  MOTHER, to Chris: She hasn’t got warts! To George: So the girl has a little beauty mark on her chin . . .

  CHRIS: And two on her nose.

  MOTHER: You remember. Her father’s the retired police inspector.

  CHRIS: Sergeant, George.

  MOTHER: He’s a very kind man!

  CHRIS: He looks like a gorilla.

  MOTHER, to George: He never shot anybody. They all burst out laughing, as Keller appears in doorway. George rises abruptly, stares at Keller, who comes rapidly down to him.

  KELLER—the laughter stops. With strained joviality: Well! Look who’s here! Extending his hand: Georgie, good to see ya.

  GEORGE, shakes hands—somberly: How’re you, Joe?

  KELLER: So-so. Gettin’ old. You comin’ out to dinner with us?

  GEORGE: No, got to be back in New York.

  ANN: I’ll call a cab for you. She goes up into the house.

  KELLER: Too bad you can’t stay, George. Sit down. To Mother: He looks fine.

  MOTHER: He looks terrible.

  KELLER: That’s what I said, you look terrible, George. They laugh. I wear the pants and she beats me with the belt.

  GEORGE: I saw your factory on the way from the station. It looks like General Motors.

  KELLER: I wish it was General Motors, but it ain’t. Sit down, George. Sit down. Takes cigar out of his pocket. So you finally went to see your father, I hear?

  GEORGE: Yes, this morning. What kind of stuff do you make now?

  KELLER: Oh, little of everything. Pressure cookers, an assembly for washing machines. Got a nice, flexible plant now. So how’d you find Dad? Feel all right?

  GEORGE, searching Keller, he speaks indecisively: No, he’s not well, Joe.

  KELLER, lighting his cigar: Not his heart again, is it?

  GEORGE: It’s everything, Joe. It’s his soul.

  KELLER, blowing out smoke: Uh huh—

  CHRIS: How about seeing what they did with your house?

  KELLER: Leave him be.

  GEORGE, to Chris, indicating Keller: I’d like to talk to him.

  KELLER: Sure, he just got here. That’s the way they do, George. A little man makes a mistake and they hang him by the thumbs; the big ones become ambassadors. I wish you’d-a told me you were going to see Dad.

  GEORGE, studying him: I didn’t know you were interested.

  KELLER: In a way, I am. I would like him to know, George, that as far as I’m concerned, any time he wants, he’s got a place with me. I would like him to know that.

  GEORGE: He hates your guts, Joe. Don’t you know that?

  KELLER: I imagined it. But that can change, too.

  MOTHER: Steve was never like that.

  GEORGE: He’s like that now. He’d like to take every man who made money in the war and put him up against a wall.

  CHRIS: He’ll need a lot of bullets.

  GEORGE: And he’d better not get any.

  KELLER: That’s a sad thing to hear.

  GEORGE, with bitterness dominant: Why? What’d you expect him to think of you?

  KELLER, the force of his nature rising, but under control: I’m sad to see he hasn’t changed. As long as I know him, twenty-five years, the man never learned how to take the blame. You know that, George.

  GEORGE—he does: Well, I . . .

  KELLER: But you do know it. Because the way you come in here you don’t look like you remember it. I mean like in 1937 when we had the shop on Flood Street. And he damn near blew us all up with that heater he left burning for two days without water. He wouldn’t admit that was his fault, either. I had to fire a mechanic to save his face. You remember that.

  GEORGE: Yes, but . . .

  KELLER: I’m just mentioning it, George. Because this is just another one of a lot of things. Like when he gave Frank that money to invest in oil stock.

  GEORGE, distressed: I know that, I . . .

  KELLER, driving in, but restrained: But it’s good to remember those things, kid. The way he cursed Frank because the
stock went down. Was that Frank’s fault? To listen to him Frank was a swindler. And all the man did was give him a bad tip.

  GEORGE, gets up, moves away: I know those things . . .

  KELLER: Then remember them, remember them. Ann comes out of house. There are certain men in the world who rather see everybody hung before they’ll take blame. You understand me, George? They stand facing each other, George trying to judge him.

  ANN, coming downstage: The cab’s on its way. Would you like to wash?

  MOTHER, with the thrust of hope: Why must he go? Make the midnight, George.

  KELLER: Sure, you’ll have dinner with us!

  ANN: How about it? Why not? We’re eating at the lake, we could have a swell time.

  GEORGE—long pause, as he looks at Ann, Chris, Keller, then back to her: All right.

  MOTHER: Now you’re talking.

  CHRIS: I’ve got a shirt that’ll go right with that suit.

  MOTHER: Size fifteen and a half, right, George?

  GEORGE: Is Lydia . . . ? I mean—Frank and Lydia coming?

  MOTHER: I’ll get you a date that’ll make her look like a . . . She starts upstage.

  GEORGE, laughs: No, I don’t want a date.

  CHRIS: I know somebody just for you! Charlotte Tanner! He starts for the house.

  KELLER: Call Charlotte, that’s right.

  MOTHER: Sure, call her up. Chris goes into house.

  ANN: You go up and pick out a shirt and tie.

  GEORGE—he stops, looks around at them and the place: I never felt at home anywhere but here. I feel so . . . He nearly laughs, and turns away from them. Kate, you look so young, you know? You didn’t change at all. It . . . rings an old bell. Turns to Keller. You too, Joe, you’re amazingly the same. The whole atmosphere is.

  KELLER: Say, I ain’t got time to get sick.

  MOTHER: He hasn’t been laid up in fifteen years. . . .

  KELLER: Except my flu during the war.

  MOTHER: Huhh?

  KELLER: My flu, when I was sick during . . . the war.

  MOTHER: Well, sure . . . To George: I meant except for that flu. George stands perfectly still. Well, it slipped my mind, don’t look at me that way. He wanted to go to the shop but he couldn’t lift himself off the bed. I thought he had pneumonia.

  GEORGE: Why did you say he’s never . . . ?