SOLOMON: That’s not nice.
VICTOR: Don’t shame me, will ya?—What do you say? You don’t need to look any more, you know what I’ve got here.
Solomon is clearly at the end of his delaying resources. He looks about slowly; the furniture seems to loom over him like a threat or a promise. His eyes climb up to the edges of the ceiling, his hands grasping one another.
What are you afraid of? It’ll keep you busy.
Solomon looks at him, wanting even more reassurance.
SOLOMON: You don’t think it’s foolish?
VICTOR: Who knows what’s foolish? You enjoy it—
SOLOMON: Listen, I love it—
VICTOR: —so take it. You plan too much, you end up with nothing.
SOLOMON, intimately: I would like to tell you something. The last few months, I don’t know what it is—she comes to me. You see, I had a daughter, she should rest in peace, she took her own life, a suicide. . . .
VICTOR: When was this?
SOLOMON: It was . . . 1916—the latter part. But very beautiful, a lovely face, with large eyes—she was pure like the morning. And lately, I don’t know what it is—I see her clear like I see you. And every night practically, I lay down to go to sleep, so she sits there. And you can’t help it, you ask yourself—what happened? What happened? Maybe I could have said something to her . . . maybe I did say something . . . it’s all . . . He looks at the furniture. It’s not that I’ll die, you can’t be afraid of that. But . . . I’ll tell you the truth—a minute ago I mentioned I had three wives . . . Slight pause. His fear rises. Just this minute I realize I had four. Isn’t that terrible? The first time was nineteen, in Lithuania. See, that’s what I mean—it’s impossible to know what is important. Here I’m sitting with you . . . and . . . and . . . He looks around at the furniture. What for? Not that I don’t want it, I want it, but . . . You see, all my life I was a terrible fighter—you could never take nothing from me; I pushed, I pulled, I struggled in six different countries, I nearly got killed a couple times, and it’s . . . It’s like now I’m sitting here talking to you and I tell you it’s a dream, it’s a dream! You see, you can’t imagine it because—
VICTOR: I know what you’re talking about. But it’s not a dream—it’s that you’ve got to make decisions before you know what’s involved, but you’re stuck with the results anyway. Like I was very good in science—I loved it. But I had to drop out to feed the old man. And I figured I’d go on the Force temporarily, just to get us through the Depression, then go back to school. But the war came, we had the kid, and you turn around and you’ve racked up fifteen years on the pension. And what you started out to do is a million miles away. Not that I regret it all—we brought up a terrific boy, for one thing; nobody’s ever going to take that guy. But it’s like you were saying—it’s impossible to know what’s important. We always agreed, we stay out of the rat race and live our own life. That was important. But you shovel the crap out the window, it comes back in under the door—it all ends up she wants, she wants. And I can’t really blame her—there’s just no respect for anything but money.
SOLOMON: What’ve you got against money?
VICTOR: Nothing, I just didn’t want to lay down my life for it. But I think I laid it down another way, and I’m not even sure any more what I was trying to accomplish. I look back now, and all I can see is a long, brainless walk in the street. I guess it’s the old story; do anything, but just be sure you win. Like my brother; years ago I was living up here with the old man, and he used to contribute five dollars a month. A month! And a successful surgeon. But the few times he’d come around, the expression on the old man’s face—you’d think God walked in. The respect, you know what I mean? The respect! And why not? Why not?
SOLOMON: Well, sure, he had the power.
VICTOR: Now you said it—if you got that you got it all. You’re even lovable! He laughs. Well, what do you say? Give me the price.
SOLOMON—slight pause: I’ll give you eleven hundred dollars.
VICTOR—slight pause: For everything?
SOLOMON, in a breathless way: Everything.
Slight pause. Victor looks around at the furniture.
I want it so I’m giving you a good price. Believe me, you will never do better. I want it; I made up my mind.
Victor continues staring at the stuff. Solomon takes out a common envelope and removes a wad of bills.
Here . . . I’ll pay you now. He readies a bill to start counting it out.
VICTOR: It’s that I have to split it, see—
SOLOMON: All right . . . so I’ll make out a receipt for you and I’ll put down six hundred dollars.
VICTOR: No-no . . . He gets up and moves at random, looking at the furniture.
SOLOMON: Why not? He took from you so take from him. If you want, I’ll put down four hundred.
VICTOR: No, I don’t want to do that. Slight pause. I’ll call you tomorrow.
SOLOMON, smiling: All right; with God’s help if I’m there tomorrow I’ll answer the phone. If I wouldn’t be . . . Slight pause. Then I wouldn’t be.
VICTOR, annoyed, but wanting to believe: Don’t start that again, will you?
SOLOMON: Look, you convinced me, so I want it. So what should I do?
VICTOR: I convinced you?
SOLOMON, very distressed: Absolutely you convinced me. You saw it—the minute I looked at it I was going to walk out!
VICTOR, cutting him off, angered at his own indecision: Ah, the hell with it. He holds out his hand. Give it to me.
SOLOMON, wanting Victor’s good will: Please, don’t be blue.
VICTOR: Oh, it all stinks. Jabbing forth his hand: Come on.
SOLOMON, with a bill raised over Victor’s hand—protesting: What stinks? You should be happy. Now you can buy her a nice coat, take her to Florida, maybe—
VICTOR, nodding ironically: Right, right! We’ll all be happy now. Give it to me.
Solomon shakes his head and counts bills into his hand. Victor turns his head and looks at the piled walls of furniture.
SOLOMON: There’s one hundred; two hundred; three hundred; four hundred . . . Take my advice, buy her a nice fur coat your troubles’ll be over—
VICTOR: I know all about it. Come on.
SOLOMON: So you got there four, so I’m giving you—five, six, seven—I mean it’s already in the Bible, the rat race. The minute she laid her hand on the apple, that’s it.
VICTOR: I never read the Bible. Come on.
SOLOMON: If you’ll read it you’ll see—there’s always a rat race, you can’t stay out of it. So you got there seven, so now I’m giving you . . .
A man appears in the doorway. In his mid-fifties, well-barbered; hatless, in a camel’s-hair coat, very healthy complexion. A look of sharp intelligence on his face.
Victor, seeing past Solomon, starts slightly with shock, withdrawing his hand from the next bill which Solomon is about to lay in it.
VICTOR, suddenly flushed, his voice oddly high and boyish: Walter!
WALTER—enters the room, coming to Victor with extended hand and with a reserve of warmth but a stiff smile: How are you, kid?
Solomon has moved out of their line of sight.
VICTOR—shifts the money to his left hand as he shakes: God, I never expected you.
WALTER, of the money—half-humorously: Sorry I’m late. What are you doing?
VICTOR, fighting a treason to himself, thus taking on a strained humorous air: I . . . I just sold it.
WALTER: Good! How much?
VICTOR, as though absolutely certain now he has been had: Ah . . . eleven hundred.
WALTER, in a dead voice shorn of comment: Oh. Well, good. He turns rather deliberately—but not overly so—to Solomon: For everything?
SOLOMON—comes to Walter, his hand extended; with an energized voice that braves ever
ything: I’m very happy to meet you, Doctor! My name is Gregory Solomon.
WALTER—the look on his face is rather amused, but his reserve has possibilities of accusation: How do you do?
He shakes Solomon’s hand, as Victor raises his hand to smooth down his hair, a look of near-alarm for himself on his face.
CURTAIN
ACT TWO
The action is continuous. As the curtain rises Walter is just releasing Solomon’s hand and turning about to face Victor. His posture is reserved, stiffened by traditional control over a nearly fierce curiosity. His grin is disciplined and rather hard, but his eyes are warm and combative.
WALTER: How’s Esther?
VICTOR: Fine. Should be here any minute.
WALTER: Here? Good! And what’s Richard doing?
VICTOR: He’s at M.I.T.
WALTER: No kidding! M.I.T.!
VICTOR, nodding: They gave him a full scholarship.
WALTER, dispelling his surprise: What do you know. With a wider smile, and embarrassed warmth: You’re proud.
VICTOR: I guess so. They put him in the Honors Program.
WALTER: Really. That’s wonderful.—You don’t mind my coming, do you?
VICTOR: No! I called you a couple of times.
WALTER: Yes, my nurse told me. What’s Richard interested in?
VICTOR: Science. So far, anyway. With security: How’re yours?
WALTER—moving, he breaks the confrontation: I suppose Jean turned out best—but I don’t think you ever saw her.
VICTOR: I never did, no.
WALTER: The Times gave her quite a spread last fall. Pretty fair designer.
VICTOR: Oh? That’s great. And the boys? They in school?
WALTER: They often are. Abruptly laughs, refusing his own embarrassment: I hardly see them, Vic. With all the unsolved mysteries in the world they’re investigating the guitar. But what the hell . . . I’ve given up worrying about them. He walks past Solomon, glancing at the furniture: I’d forgotten how much he had up here. There’s your radio!
VICTOR, smiling with him: I know, I saw it.
WALTER, looking down at the radio, then upward to the ceiling through which the battery once exploded. Both laugh. Then he glances with open feeling at Victor: Long time.
VICTOR, fending off the common emotion: Yes. How’s Dorothy?
WALTER, cryptically: She’s all right, I guess. He moves, glancing at the things, but again with suddenness turns back. Looking forward to seeing Esther again. She still writing poetry?
VICTOR: No, not for years now.
SOLOMON: He’s got a very nice wife. We met.
WALTER, surprised; as though at something intrusive: Oh? He turns back to the furniture. Well. Same old junk, isn’t it?
VICTOR, downing a greater protest: I wouldn’t say that. Some of it isn’t bad.
SOLOMON: One or two very nice things, Doctor. We came to a very nice agreement.
VICTOR, with an implied rebuke: I never thought you’d show up; I guess we’d better start all over again—
WALTER: Oh, no-no, I don’t want to foul up your deal.
SOLOMON: Excuse me, Doctor—better you should take what you want now than we’ll argue later. What did you want?
WALTER, surprised, turning to Victor: Oh, I didn’t want anything. I came by to say hello, that’s all.
VICTOR: I see. Fending off Walter’s apparent gesture with an over-quick movement toward the oar: I found your oar, if you want it.
WALTER: Oar?
Victor draws it out from behind furniture. A curved-blade sweep.
Hah! He receives the oar, looks up its length, and laughs, hefting it. I must have been out of my mind!
SOLOMON: Excuse me, Doctor; if you want the oar—
WALTER, standing the oar before Solomon, whom he leaves holding on to it: Don’t get excited, I don’t want it.
SOLOMON: No. I was going to say—a personal thing like this I have no objection.
WALTER, half-laughing: That’s very generous of you.
VICTOR, apologizing for Solomon: I threw in everything—I never thought you’d get here.
WALTER, with a strained over-agreeableness: Sure, that’s all right. What are you taking?
VICTOR: Nothing, really. Esther might want a lamp or something like that.
SOLOMON: He’s not interested, you see; he’s a modern person, what are you going to do?
WALTER: You’re not taking the harp?
VICTOR, with a certain guilt: Well, nobody plays . . . You take it, if you like.
SOLOMON: You’ll excuse me, Doctor—the harp, please, that’s another story . . .
WALTER—laughs—archly amused and put out: You don’t mind if I make a suggestion, do you?
SOLOMON: Doctor, please, don’t be offended, I only—
WALTER: Well, why do you interrupt? Relax, we’re only talking. We haven’t seen each other for a long time.
SOLOMON: Couldn’t be better; I’m very sorry. He sits, nervously pulling his cheek.
WALTER, touching the harp: Kind of a pity—this was Grandpa’s wedding present, you know.
VICTOR, looking with surprise at the harp: Say—that’s right!
WALTER, to Solomon: What are you giving him for this?
SOLOMON: I didn’t itemize—one price for everything. Maybe three hundred dollars. That sounding board is cracked, you know.
VICTOR, to Walter: You want it?
SOLOMON: Please, Victor, I hope you’re not going to take that away from me. To Walter: Look, Doctor, I’m not trying to fool you. The harp is the heart and soul of the deal. I realize it was your mother’s harp, but like I tried to tell—to Victor—you before—to Walter—with used furniture you cannot be emotional.
WALTER: I guess it doesn’t matter. To Victor: Actually, I was wondering if he kept any of Mother’s evening gowns, did he?
VICTOR: I haven’t really gone through it all—
SOLOMON, raising a finger, eagerly: Wait, wait, I think I can help you. He goes to an armoire he had earlier looked into, and opens it.
WALTER, moving toward the armoire: She had some spectacular—
SOLOMON, drawing out the bottom of a gown elaborately embroidered in gold: Is this what you mean?
WALTER: Yes, that’s the stuff!
Solomon blows dust off and hands him the bottom of the gown.
Isn’t that beautiful! Say, I think she wore this at my wedding! He takes it out of the closet, holds it up. Sure! You remember this?
VICTOR: What do you want with it?
WALTER, drawing out another gown off the rack: Look at this one! Isn’t that something? I thought Jeannie might make something new out of the material, I’d like her to wear something of Mother’s.
VICTOR—a new, surprising idea: Oh! Fine, that’s a nice idea.
SOLOMON: Take, take—they’re beautiful.
WALTER, suddenly glancing about as he lays the gowns across a chair: What happened to the piano?
VICTOR: Oh, we sold that while I was still in school. We lived on it for a long time.
WALTER, very interestedly: I never knew that.
VICTOR: Sure. And the silver.
WALTER: Of course! Stupid of me not to remember that. He half-sits against the back of a couch. His interest is avid, and his energy immense. I suppose you know—you’ve gotten to look a great deal like Dad.
VICTOR: I do?
WALTER: It’s very striking. And your voice is very much like his.
VICTOR: I know. It has that sound to me, sometimes.
SOLOMON: So, gentlemen . . . He moves the money in his hand.
VICTOR, indicating Solomon: Maybe we’d better settle this now.
WALTER: Yes, go ahead! He walks off, looking at the furniture.
SOLOMON, indicating the
money Victor holds: You got there seven—
WALTER, oblivious of Solomon; unable, so to speak, to settle for the status quo: Wonderful to see you looking so well.
VICTOR—the new interruption seems odd; observing more than speaking: You do too, you look great.
WALTER: I ski a lot; and I ride nearly every morning. . . . You know, I started to call you a dozen times this year—He breaks off. Indicating Solomon: Finish up, I’ll talk to you later.
SOLOMON: So now I’m going to give you—A bill is poised over Victor’s hand.
VICTOR, to Walter: That price all right with you?
WALTER: Oh, I don’t want to interfere. It’s just that I dealt with these fellows when I split up Dorothy’s and my stuff last year, and I found—
VICTOR, from an earlier impression: You’re not divorced, are you?
WALTER, with a nervous shot of laughter: Yes!
Esther enters on his line; she is carrying a suit in a plastic wrapper.
ESTHER, surprised: Walter! For heaven’s sake!
WALTER, eagerly jumping up, coming to her, shaking her hand: How are you, Esther!
ESTHER, between her disapproval and fascinated surprise: What are you doing here?
WALTER: You’ve hardly changed!
ESTHER, with a charged laugh, conflicted with herself: Oh, go on now! She hangs the suit on a chest handle.
WALTER, to Victor: You son of a gun, she looks twenty-five!
VICTOR, watching for Esther’s reaction: I know!
ESTHER, flattered, and offended, too: Oh stop it, Walter! She sits.
WALTER: But you do, honestly; you look marvelous.
SOLOMON: It’s that suit, you see? What did I tell you, it’s a very beautiful suit.
Victor laughs a little as Esther looks conflicted by Solomon’s compliment.
ESTHER, with mock-affront—to Victor: What are you laughing at? It is. She is about to laugh.
VICTOR: You looked so surprised, that’s all.
ESTHER: Well, I’m not used to walking into all these compliments! She bursts out laughing.
WALTER, suddenly recalling—eagerly: Say! I’m sorry I didn’t know I’d be seeing you when I left the house this morning—I’d have brought you some lovely Indian bracelets. I got a whole boxful from Bombay.
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 75
