by Ayn Rand
HELEN: [Decisively] Don’t you think we’d better join the others?
INGALLS: No. [She does not move. She stands looking at him. After a moment, he adds:] You know what I’m going to say.
HELEN: No. I don’t know . . . I don’t know. . . . [Involuntarily ] I don’t want to know . . .!
INGALLS: I love you, Helen.
HELEN: [Trying to be amused] Really, Steve, we’re about ten years too late, aren’t we? I’m sure I am. I thought things like that weren’t being said anymore. At least . . . not to me. . . .
BRECKENRIDGE’S VOICE: [Calling from garden] Helen! . . .
INGALLS: I have wanted to say it for more than ten years.
HELEN: It’s too . . . foolish . . . and conventional, isn’t it? My husband’s partner . . . and . . . and I’m the perfect wife who’s always had everything . . . INGALLS: Have you?
HELEN: . . . and you’ve never seemed to notice that I existed. . . .
INGALLS: Even if I know it’s hopeless—
HELEN: Of course it’s hopeless. . . . It . . . it should be hopeless. . . . [There is the sound of voices approaching from the garden. INGALLS moves suddenly to take her in his arms] Steve! . . . Steve, they’re coming back! They’re—
[The voices are closer. He stops her words with a violent kiss. Her first movement is to struggle against him, then her body relaxes in surrender, her arms rise to embrace him—very eagerly—just as ADRIENNE, BRECKENRIDGE , SERGE, and TONY enter from the garden. HELEN and INGALLS step apart, she shocked, he perfectly calm. INGALLS is first to break the silence]
INGALLS: I’ve always wanted to know what one really did at such a moment.
SERGE: [Choking with indignation] This . . . this . . . it is monstrous! . . . It is unspeakable! . . . It is—
BRECKENRIDGE: [With great poise] Now, Serge. No hysterics please. From anyone. Let us act grown-up. [To HELEN, gently] I’m sorry, Helen. I know this is harder for you than for any of us. I shall try to make it easier, if I can. [Notices ADRIENNE, who looks more stunned and crushed than all the others] What’s the matter, Adrienne?
ADRIENNE: [Barely able to answer] Nothing . . . nothing. . . .
BRECKENRIDGE: Steve, I should like to speak to you alone.
INGALLS: I have wanted to speak to you alone, Walter, for a long time.
CURTAIN
SCENE 2
That evening. The room is in semidarkness, with just one lamp burning on a table.
At curtain rise, BRECKENRIDGE is sitting in an armchair, a little slumped, looking tired and dejected. SERGE sits on a low hassock—at a little distance, but almost as if he were sitting at BRECKENRIDGE’s feet.
SERGE: It is terrible. It is too terrible and I am sick. I cannot help that it should make me sick.
BRECKENRIDGE: You’re young, Serge. . . .
SERGE: Is it only the young who have the feeling of decency?
BRECKENRIDGE: It is only the young who condemn. . . .
SERGE: At the dinner . . . you were . . . as if nothing had happened. . . . You were magnificent.
BRECKENRIDGE: There’s Billy to think about.
SERGE: And now? What is to happen now?
BRECKENRIDGE: Nothing.
SERGE: Nothing?
BRECKENRIDGE: Serge, my position does not allow me to make this public. People believe in me. I cannot have scandal attached to my name. Besides, think what it would do to Helen. Do you suppose I’d do that to her?
SERGE: Mrs. Breckenridge she did not think of you.
BRECKENRIDGE: [Slowly] There’s something about it that I can’t understand. It’s unlike Helen. But it’s much more unlike Steve.
SERGE: Mr. Ingalls? Of him I expect anything. BRECKENRIDGE: That’s not what I mean, Serge. It wouldn’t surprise me that Steve should be unscrupulous. But that he should be stupid!
SERGE: Stupid?
BRECKENRIDGE: If Steve had wanted to carry on a secret love affair with Helen, he could have done so for years and years, and none of us would ever guess—if he didn’t want us to guess. He’s clever. He’s too terribly clever. But to start . . . to start an embrace in broad daylight—when he knew we’d be back for her any moment—a fool wouldn’t do that. That’s what I can’t understand.
SERGE: What did he say when you spoke to him?
BRECKENRIDGE: [Evasively] We spoke of . . . many things.
SERGE: I cannot understand that this to you should happen! The gratitude it does not exist in the world.
BRECKENRIDGE: Ah, Serge. We must never think of gratitude. We must do what we think is good for our fellow men—and let kindness be its own reward. [FLASH enters Right, wheeling BILLY in, followed by FLEMING and HELEN. BRECKENRIDGE rises]
BILLY: You wanted me here, Father?
BRECKENRIDGE: Yes, Billy. Not too tired?
BILLY: No.
BRECKENRIDGE: [To HELEN, indicating his chair] Sit down, my dear. This is the most comfortable chair in the room. [HELEN obeys silently. INGALLS enters from the garden and remains standing at the French doors] But why are we sitting in the dark like this? [Turns more lights on] Your dress is so light, Helen. It’s rather chilly tonight for this time of the year. Are you sure you’re not too cold?
HELEN: No.
BRECKENRIDGE: [Offering her a cigarette box] Cigarette, my dear?
HELEN: No, thank you.
INGALLS: [Without moving] You’re exceptionally rotten tonight, Walter. Worse than usual.
BRECKENRIDGE: I beg your pardon? [ADRIENNE enters, coming down the stairs, but stops and stands watching those below]
INGALLS: You know what I’d do if I were you? I’d yell at Helen at the slightest provocation or without any. I’d swear at her. I think I’d slap her. BRECKENRIDGE: You would.
INGALLS: And do you know what the result would be? It would make things easier for her.
HELEN: Please, Steve.
INGALLS: I’m sorry, Helen . . . I’m terribly sorry.
[Silence. ADRIENNE comes down the stairs. At the bottom, she stops: she sees INGALLS looking at her. For a moment they stand face to face, holding the glance. Then she turns sharply and goes to sit down alone in a corner of the room]
FLASH: [Looking helplessly at everybody] What the hell is going on in this house?
BRECKENRIDGE: Flash. You are not to swear in Billy’s presence.
FLASH: Gee, I beg your pardon. But I feel something. You may not know it, but I’m sensitive.
SERGE: By us in Moscow, things like this would not happen.
INGALLS: [Casually] Say, Serge, I heard something interesting today about some compatriots of yours. About the Soviet Culture and Friendship Society.
SERGE: [Looks at him for a distinct moment, then:] So? What did you hear?
INGALLS: That the FBI has caught up with them. Seems they’re just a front for Soviet espionage in this country. One of the biggest fronts. Heard the FBI has cracked down on them and seized their files.
SERGE: When? That is not true!
INGALLS: Today.
SERGE: I do not believe it!
INGALLS: It ought to be in the papers—by now. I got a tip from my old friend Joe Cheeseman of the New York Courier—the Courier was first to get the story—he said it would be on their front page this afternoon.
BRECKENRIDGE: Never knew you had friends among the press.
SERGE: Do you have the today’s Courier?
INGALLS: No.
SERGE: [To the others] Has anybody the—
INGALLS: Why are you so interested, Serge? What do you know about the Soviet Culture and Friendship Society?
SERGE: What do I know! A great deal I know! I know for long time they are the Soviet spies. I knew Makarov, their president, in Moscow. He was one of the worst. When I escaped during the World War Number Two . . . That is why I escaped—because the men like him they betrayed the people. They had the noble ideals, but the so cruel methods! They did not believe in God. They lost the spirit of our Holy Mother Russia. They lost our beautiful dream of the brotherhood
and the equal sharing and the—
BRECKENRIDGE: Don’t talk about it, Serge.
SERGE: All the time I am in this country, I wanted to tell the police what I know about Makarov and the Soviet Culture and Friendship Society. But I could not speak. If I open my mouth . . . [Shudders] You see, my family—they are still in Russia. My mother . . . and my sister.
FLASH: Gee, Mr. Sookin! That’s awful.
SERGE: But if the Soviet Culture and Friendship it got caught now—I’m glad. I’m so glad! . . . Has anyone the today’s Courier here? [All the others answer “No” or shake their heads] But I must see it! Where can I get the New York newspapers?
BRECKENRIDGE: Nowhere around here—at this hour. INGALLS: In Stamford, Serge.
SERGE: Ah, yes? Then I will go to Stamford.
BRECKENRIDGE: Oh, but Serge! It’s a long drive—three quarters of an hour at the least, there and back.
SERGE: But I so much want to read it tonight.
BRECKENRIDGE: You will miss the . . . the surprise.
SERGE: But you will excuse me, Mr. Breckenridge, no? I will try most quick as I can to be back. Would you permit that I take the car?
BRECKENRIDGE: Certainly, if you insist.
SERGE: [To INGALLS] Where do I find the nearest place with the newspapers?
INGALLS: Just follow the road straight to Stamford. The first drugstore you come to—a little place called Law-ton’s, on the corner, near the Breckenridge Laboratories. They have all the papers. Let’s see . . . [Looks at his watch] They get the last city editions at ten o’clock. In fifteen minutes. They’ll have them by the time you get there. Joe Cheeseman said it would be in today’s last edition.
SERGE: Thank you so much. [To BRECKENRIDGE] You will please excuse me?
BRECKENRIDGE: Sure. [SERGE exits Left]
FLASH: [As no one seems inclined to talk] And another thing that bothers me is why nobody ate any dinner tonight. The lobster was wonderful. [There is the distant sound of a small explosion, and far away, beyond the lake, a rocket rises, bursts in the air and vanishes]
BRECKENRIDGE: Our neighbors across the lake are celebrating early.
BILLY: I want to see it.
BRECKENRIDGE: You’ll see something much bigger than this—in a little while.
[FLASH turns the wheelchair toward the French doors. Another rocket goes off in the distance. TONY enters, Left]
TONY: Say, where’s Serge going in such a hurry? Just saw him driving off.
BRECKENRIDGE: To Stamford. To get a newspaper.
INGALLS: You haven’t got today’s Courier by any chance, have you, Tony?
TONY: The Courier? No. [Hesitates, then:] Mr. Breckenridge, could I speak to you? For just a moment. I’ve tried all day—
BRECKENRIDGE: Well, what is it, Tony? What is it?
TONY: It’s . . . about Billy. I didn’t want to—[Looks at BILLY]
FLEMING: About Billy? What?
BRECKENRIDGE: Surely it can’t be a secret. Go ahead.
TONY: If you wish. I saw Professor Doyle this morning.
BRECKENRIDGE: Oh, that? You’re not going to begin again to—
FLEMING: Doyle? That’s the doctor who’s taking care of Billy?
TONY: Yes. He’s my teacher at college.
FLEMING: What did he say?
BRECKENRIDGE: Really, Tony, I thought we had settled—
FLEMING: What did he say?
TONY: [To BRECKENRIDGE] He said that I must speak to you and beg you on my knees if I have to. He said that if you don’t send Billy to Montreal this summer and let Dr. Harlan perform that operation—Billy will never walk again. [FLEMING makes a step forward slowly, ominously]
BRECKENRIDGE: Just a minute, Harvey.
FLEMING: [In a strange, hoarse voice] Why didn’t you tell me about this?
BRECKENRIDGE: Because I didn’t have to.
TONY: Mr. Fleming, it’s Billy’s last chance. He’s almost fifteen now. If we wait longer, the muscles will become atrophied and it will be too late. Professor Doyle said—
BRECKENRIDGE: Did Professor Doyle say also that we’d risk Billy’s life in that operation?
TONY: Yes.
BRECKENRIDGE: That’s my answer.
HELEN: Walter, please. Please let’s reconsider. Professor Doyle said the risk wasn’t too great. It’s a small chance against . . . against the certainty of being a cripple for life!
BRECKENRIDGE: A small chance is too much—where Billy is concerned. I would rather have Billy as he is than take the risk of losing him.
FLEMING: [Screams ferociously] That’s going too far, you lousy bastard! You won’t get away with this! Goddamn you, not with this! I demand, do you hear me?—I demand that you let them do the operation!
BRECKENRIDGE: You demand? By what right? [FLEMING stands looking at him, helplessness coming almost visibly to his gaunt, slumping figure]
INGALLS: [His voice hard] Do you mind if I don’t witness this? [Turns and exits through the French doors] BRECKENRIDGE: I must warn you, Harvey. If we have any more . . . incidents such as this, I shall be forced to forbid you to visit Billy.
HELEN: Oh, no, Walter!
FLEMING: You . . . wouldn’t do that, Walter? You . . . you can’t.
BRECKENRIDGE: You know very well that I can.
BILLY: [It is the first time that his voice is alive—and desperate ] Father! You won’t do that! [As BRECKENRIDGE turns to him] Please, Father. I don’t mind anything else. I don’t have to have the operation. Only you won’t . . . Mr. Fleming, it’s all right about the operation. I don’t mind.
BRECKENRIDGE: Of course, Billy. And I’m sorry that Harvey upsets you so much. You understand. Anything I do is only for your own good. I wouldn’t take a chance on your life with some unproved new method. [As HELEN is about to speak] And so, Helen, we shall consider the matter closed.
[FLEMING turns abruptly. On his way to the stairs, he seizes a bottle from the sideboard and exits up the stairs]
FLASH: Well, I think this is one hell of a birthday party!
BRECKENRIDGE: We mustn’t mind poor Harvey. He is an unfortunate case. [Looks at his watch] And now we’ll turn to a much more cheerful subject. [Rises] Billy, my dear, just watch the lake. You’ll see some-thing interesting in a few minutes. [To the others] Now, please, I don’t want anyone to follow me. I don’t want anyone to see how it’s done. Not till tomor-row. You’ll get the best view from here. [Turns at the French doors] Who knows? Perhaps what you are about to see will be of great importance to all mankind. [Exits through French doors and walks off Right into the garden]
HELEN: [Rises suddenly as if with a decision taken, starts toward the stairs, then stops and says to the others, vaguely, as an afterthought:] You will excuse me, please? . . . [Exits up the stairs]
TONY: I’m sorry, Bill. I’ve tried.
BILLY: It’s all right. . . .When you’ll be a doctor on your own, Tony, I’ll still be . . . like this. And then I’d like you to be my doctor.
TONY: [With an oddly stressed bitterness] When I’ll be . . . a doctor. . . .
BILLY: Everybody says you’ll be a good one. Father says very nice things about you. About your hands, too. He says you have the hands of a great surgeon.
TONY: [Looks at his hands] Yes . . . he does . . . doesn’t he? [Turns abruptly to go]
FLASH: Say, don’t you want to see the fireworks?
TONY: Oh, take your fireworks and shove—[Exits Right]
FLASH: [Looking after him with open mouth] Well, I think he meant . . .
ADRIENNE: Yes, Flash. He meant exactly what you think.
[From offstage Right there comes the sound of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G Minor played on the piano]
BILLY: Don’t go, Miss Knowland. Everybody’s going.
ADRIENNE: I’ll stay, Bill. Let’s open the doors and turn out the light, we’ll see better. [She turns the light off, while FLASH throws the French doors open]
BILLY: Why does Tony always play such sad things?
ADRIENNE: Because he’s very unhappy, Bill.
FLASH: You know, I can’t figure it out. Nobody’s happy in this house.
BILLY: Father is happy. [A magnificent rocket rises over the lake, much closer than the ones we’ve seen, and bursts into showers of stars]
FLASH: There it goes!
BILLY: Oh! . . . [The rockets continue at slow intervals]
FLASH: [Excitedly, between the sounds of the explosions] You see, Billy . . . you see . . . that’s your father’s new invention! . . . It works! . . . Those rockets are set off without any wires . . . without touching them . . . just like that, through space. . . . Imagine? Just some sort of tiny little rays blasting those things to pieces!
ADRIENNE: Lovely precision . . . right on target. . . . What if one chose a larger . . . [Then, suddenly, she gasps; it is almost a stifled scream]
FLASH: What’s the matter?
ADRIENNE: [In a strange voice] I . . . just thought of something. . . . [She is suddenly panicky, as she makes a movement to rush out, stops helplessly before the vast darkness of the garden, whirls around to ask:] Where’s Walter? Where did he go?
FLASH: I don’t know. We’re not supposed to follow him.
ADRIENNE: Where’s Steve?
FLASH: Don’t know. I think he went out.
ADRIENNE: [Screaming into the garden] Steve! . . . Steve! . . .
FLASH: He won’t hear you. This place is so big, there’s miles and miles to the grounds, you can’t find anybody out there at night.
ADRIENNE: I’ve got to—
BILLY: Look, Miss Knowland! Look!
[The fireworks are now forming letters, high over the lake, taking shape gradually, one tiny dot of light after another. The letters spell out: “GOD BLESS . . .”]
ADRIENNE: I’ve got to find Walter!
FLASH: Miss Knowland! Don’t! Mr. Breckenridge will be angry!
[ADRIENNE rushes out and disappears Left into the garden. The fireworks continue to spell: “GOD BLESS AMER . . .” Then, suddenly, the last dot of light flashes on with a jerk, spreads out, the letters tremble, smear, and vanish altogether. There is nothing but darkness and silence]
Well! . . . what’s the matter? . . . What happened? . . . [They wait. Nothing happens] Well, I guess maybe the invention’s not right yet. Something’s gone screwy there. Maybe the great discovery’s not so perfect. . . .
