The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 6

  GUS, looking around: Encyclopedia, furniture, new plumbing. . . . When am I going to see a couple of brats around here!

  DAVID—stops at the landing: What’s the rush, you got some old suits you want ruined?

  GUS: Me? I always pick up babies by the back of the neck, but . . . Idly: without children you wouldn’t have to fix nothin’ in here for twenty years. When nothing breaks it’s boring. He sits, reaches over for an encyclopedia volume.

  DAVID—glances above, comes away from stairs. Quietly: I been wanting to ask you about that.

  GUS: What?

  DAVID—hesitates. In good humor: Did you ever hear of it happening when people didn’t have kids because of the man?

  GUS: Certainly, why not? Why don’t you talk it over with her?

  DAVID—laughs self-consciously: I can’t seem to get around to it. I mean we somehow always took it for granted, kinda, that when the time was right a kid would just naturally come along.

  GUS: You go to the doctor, then you’ll know. . . . Or do you want to know?

  DAVID: Sure I do, but I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem right, especially when we’ve been all set financially for over two years now.

  GUS: Right! What has this got to do with right or wrong? There is no justice in the world.

  DAVID—looks at him, then goes to the landing, stops: I’ll never believe that, Gus. If one way or another a man don’t receive according to what he deserves inside . . . well, it’s a madhouse.

  HESTER, from above: There’s a car stopping in front of the house! Coming down. Did you put your boots away?

  DAVID, slightly annoyed: Yeh, I put ’em away! Goes across to the door.

  HESTER, hurrying downstairs: You didn’t! Hurrying across the room toward the boots. He’ll have the place like a pigsty in a week!

  David opens the door and looks out.

  GUS, to Hester: Get used to it, the place will never be so neat once you have children around.

  David turns to him, quickly, resentment in his face.

  HESTER—stops moving. An eager glow lights up her expression. The boots are in her hand: Don’t you think it is a wonderful house for children?

  DAVID: Hello! Hello, Mr. Dibble! Didn’t expect to see you around here today. Come in, come in.

  Enter Dan Dibble after wiping his feet carefully on the doormat.

  DIBBLE: Had to see J.B. on some business. Thought I’d stop in, say hello. Afternoon, Mrs. Beeves.

  HESTER: Hello, Mr. Dibble. She picks up the boots and goes out.

  DAVID: You know Gus Eberson. He’s with me over at the shop.

  DIBBLE: Sure, how are you, Gus? Say, you look more like a banker than a mechanic.

  DAVID: Best mechanic there is.

  DIBBLE: What I always say—never judge a man by his clothes. A man and his clothes are soon parted. They laugh. Say, J.B. was tellin’ me you used to have a shop of your own here in town—over in Poplar Street was it . . . ?

  DAVID: We amalgamated, Gus and I.

  GUS: Actually, Mr. Dibble, I ran out of money and customers after the first seven months. I am working now for Mr. Beeves since over two years.

  DIBBLE: Well, say, this is the first time I knew a hired man to insist he wasn’t the boss’s partner, and the boss to let on he was.

  GUS, chuckles: Mr. Beeves suffers sometimes from an overdeveloped sense of responsibility.

  DIBBLE: That’s why I spotted him as a natural mink man. Given it any more thought, David?

  DAVID: A lot, Mr. Dibble, a lot—but I’m afraid I haven’t got an answer for you yet.

  DIBBLE: Got time for a few facts today?

  DAVID: Tell you the truth, we’re expecting J.B. and Shory. Goin’ up to Burley for the ball game. You heard about my brother, didn’t you?

  DIBBLE: J.B. said somethin’ about him pitchin’ against that colored team. Say, if he can knock them boys over he really belongs in the Big Leagues.

  DAVID: I guess after today’s game, Amos Beeves will be playin’ for the Detroit Tigers.

  DIBBLE: Well, say, they really took him, eh?

  DAVID: Just about. A Tiger scout’s goin’ to be in the grandstand today.

  DIBBLE: Well, say, it’s about time.

  DAVID: Yep, things even up, I guess in the long run. Why don’t you drop around tonight. Havin’ a big barbecue after the game.

  Enter Hester from the dining room.

  DIBBLE: Thanks, I’d like to but I got to get back and see my mink get fed on time and proper.

  HESTER: David just never stops talkin’ about mink. Sits. Have you still got that tiny one with the white spot on his head?

  DAVID, seeing Hester’s interest kindles a happy liveliness in him: Oh, that one’s probably been in and out of a dozen New York night clubs by this time. They laugh.

  HESTER, disturbed—to Dibble: Oh, you didn’t kill her?

  DAVID, to Gus and Hester: That’s the way you get about mink, they’re like people, little nervous people.

  DIBBLE: I call them my little bankers myself. Pour a dollar’s worth of feed down their gullets and they’ll return you forty percent; best little bankers in the world.

  DAVID: Except when they fall, Mr. Dibble, except when they fall.

  DIBBLE: Mink never fall!

  DAVID: Oh, now, Mr. Dibble . . .

  DIBBLE: They don’t! It’s their keepers fall down on them. When a feller goes broke tryin’ to raise mink it’s mainly because he’s a careless man. From everything I’ve seen, David, you ain’t that kind. You got a farm here clean as a hospital and mink needs a clean place. You’re the first and only man I thought of when I decided to sell off some of my breeders when my doctor told me to ease up.

  DAVID: I been askin’ around lately, and everybody I talked to . . .

  DIBBLE, to Gus too: I’m glad you made the inquiries. It shows you’re a careful man. And now I’ll tell you my answer. Easiest thing in the world is to kill a mink. Mink’ll die of a cold draught; they’ll die of heart failure; indigestion can kill them, a cut lip, a bad tooth or sex trouble. And worse than that, the mink is a temperamental old woman. I wear an old brown canvas coat when I work around them. If I change that coat it might start them to eating their young. A big loud noise like thunder, or a heavy hailstorm comes and the mother’s liable to pick up the litter, put ’em out in the open part of the cage, and then she’ll go back into the nest box and close her eyes. As though they’re out of danger if they’re out of her sight. And when the storm’s over you might have six or eight kits drowned to death out there. I’ve seen mink murder each other, I’ve seen them eat themselves to death and starve themselves to death, and I’ve seen them die of just plain worry. But! Not on my ranch! I’ll show my records to anybody.

  DAVID, to Gus: There’s a business, boy!

  GUS: A business! That’s a slot machine. What do you need with mink?

  DAVID: Oh, there’s a kick in it, Gus. When you send a load of skins to New York you know you did something, you . . .

  GUS: Why, you didn’t do something? Indicates right. A great big shop you built up, a tractor station, how nice you made this farm . . . ?

  DAVID, not too intensely; he enjoys this talk: Yeh, but is a thing really yours because your name is on it? Don’t you have to feel you’re smart enough, or strong enough, or something enough to have won it before it’s really yours? You can’t bluff a mink into staying alive. Turns to Dibble. I tell you, Mr. Dibble . . .

  DIBBLE: Take your time. Think about it . . .

  DAVID: Let me call you. I’ll let you know.

  DIBBLE: Oh, I’ll bide my time. Just remember, in New York they murder people for a mink coat. Women sell their jewels for mink, they sell their . . . them New York women’ll sell damn near anything for mink!

  They laugh, as horns of two cars sound urgently outside.

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nbsp; DAVID, to Dibble: This is my brother!

  GUS, as David opens the door: Look, like two peacocks!

  HESTER, at the door, over her shoulder ecstatically to Dibble: They’ve waited so long!

  DAVID, exuberantly, backing from the door: Here he comes! Christy Mathewson the Second!

  Enter Amos and Patterson followed by J.B.

  HESTER, grabbing Amos’s hand: How’s your arm, Ame!

  AMOS—winds up and pitches: Wham!—He’s out!

  PAT, throwing up his arms: God bless this day! Suddenly: I’m not waiting for anybody! Threatens to go out again.

  J.B., to Hester: Shory’s waiting in the car! Let’s go!

  HESTER: Bring him in. Let’s have a drink!

  Nobody hears her.

  DAVID: What’re you lookin’ so sad about, Dad! Suddenly hugs Pat.

  HESTER: Get some whiskey, Dave!

  PAT, indignantly—he has broken from Dave: You want to suffocate in here? Open the windows in this house! He rushes around throwing windows up.

  DAVID, laughing: We’re going in a minute! Where’s the telegram, Ame! Amos opens his mouth but Pat cuts him off.

  PAT, busy with the windows: Let the day come in! What a day! What a year! What a nation!

  HESTER, rushing after Pat: Did you bring the telegram? She corners him, laughing. Where’s the telegram?

  PAT: I don’t need to bring it. I will never forget that telegram so long as I live. Takes it out of his pocket. “Western Union. Class of Service. This is a full-rate Telegram or Cablegram unless its deferred character is indicated by a suitable symbol . . . ”

  HESTER: What’re you reading that part for? Tries to grab it from him. What did the scout say!

  PAT, grabbing it back: I’m reading it to you just the way I read it when I got it—from the very top, to the very bottom.

  DAVID: Let him read it, Hess!

  They go quiet.

  PAT: I haven’t felt this way since the last time I read the Bible. “Patterson Beeves, 26 Murdock Street. Will be in Burley for the Black Giants game Sunday, July 16th. Looking forward to seeing Amos Beeves’s performance. Best regards, Augie Belfast, Detroit Tigers.” Looks around imperiously. Twenty-one years I have been waiting for this telegram. Training him down the cellar since he was old enough to walk. People laughed when Amos got bad marks in school. Forget the homework, I said. Keep your eye on the ball. Concentration, I said . . .

  J.B., touched and fearing Pat’s continuing indefinitely: For God’s sake, let’s all have a drink!

  DAVID: Comin’ up! Goes out door.

  HESTER, pointing outside. To J.B.: I’ll bring Ellie in! Why don’t you come to the game with us, Mr. Dibble? She starts across to the door.

  J.B., a little embarrassed, stops Hester: Better leave her, baby. You know how she is about alcohol. Let’s not start anything.

  GUS: Shory likes a drink. I’ll bring him in. He goes out left.

  PAT: Plenty of room in Dave’s car, Mr. Dibble. He studies Dibble, automatically massaging Amos’s arm.

  J.B., holds his hand out to Hester: What do you think of this?

  HESTER: A wedding ring! You’re giving Ellie a new ring?

  J.B., warmly: No, this is for me. Since we decided to adopt a baby I been feeling like we’re newlyweds.

  HESTER—flings her arms around him: You’re such a silly man!

  Enter Shory, pushed in by Gus.

  SHORY, to J.B.: Hey, Poppa, don’t start nothin’ you can’t finish.

  Enter David with drinks on a tray.

  HESTER, three-quarters joking, but only that much. To Shory: And you’ve got a filthy mind.

  SHORY: Madam, don’t flatter me. To David, who has been watching Hester since Shory came in: Hey, husband, where’s that drink?

  DAVID: Come on, everybody. Before we go! Gives out the drinks. . . . Raises his glass. A toast! To everybody’s luck—everybody’s!

  All raise their glasses.

  GUS, to Amos: And the next World Series! Starts to drink.

  DAVID: Wait! Make one big toast . . . to all our hearts’ desires. For Amos! For Dad . . .

  GUS: To David and Hester! To their prosperity, their shop, their tractor station, their farm . . .

  DIBBLE, suddenly struck with the idea: And their mink!

  HESTER, quick complaint: No . . .

  DAVID—he looks at Hester. Her face softens toward him: Not the mink now! From today on everything is coming true! To our children.

  GUS: To their children.

  J.B.: Their children.

  HESTER, softly: And in this year. Say that.

  DAVID—their eyes meet for an instant, and hold: In this year . . . everything our hearts desire . . . all of us: in this year.

  All drink.

  PAT—looks at watch: Hey! We’re late! We’re getting drunk and the whole world is waiting for us out there! Come on!

  They all rush out yelling and laughing as . . .

  CURTAIN

  SCENE II

  Living room. About seven o’clock that night.

  The stage is empty. The gentle murmur and occasional laughter of the guests at the barbecue can be heard dimly. Presently, David, followed by Dan Dibble, comes in through the front door. David crosses to the desk and removes a large checkbook. He pauses over it, pen in hand.

  DAVID: It’s a fortune. I never wrote a check this big in my life.

  DIBBLE: You never got so much for so little, David. You’ll have prize stock, the finest breeding mink alive. The rest’s up to you.

  DAVID: Mr. Dibble, I never thought I’d see my hand shaking.

  The door at lower left opens and Pat appears. He closes the door gently behind him.

  DAVID: Still asleep?

  PAT: Shhh, I always make him take a long nap after a game.

  DAVID: Aren’t you going to eat anything?

  PAT: I couldn’t eat anything now. I’ll eat after Belfast gets here. He sits on the couch. I was watchin’ Amos just now asleep on the couch, and it suddenly struck me. Did you ever notice what a powerful face he has?

  DAVID, as he writes check: He’s great. After that game today there ain’t a man in the world can doubt it. He’s just great.

  PAT: Didn’t he look noble out there?

  DAVID: Noble enough to vote for.

  DAVID, as he tears out check: Here’s your check, Mr. Dibble. Dibble takes it.

  DIBBLE: You’ll never regret it, David.

  DAVID: I hope not.

  DIBBLE: Well, I’ll be runnin’ along now. You call me as soon as you get your cages ready and I’ll bring ’em over. David has walked him to the front door. Goodnight.

  DAVID: G’night.

  Dibble exits. David turns back into the room.

  PAT: You know why I’m extra glad? I think you were beginning to take it too hard, Dave. I was going to have a talk with you. Because I never had a doubt he’d scale the heights.

  DAVID: I just didn’t like the idea of me getting everything so steady, and him waiting around like . . . I mean you get to wondering if your own turn isn’t coming.

  PAT: Like what do you mean?

  DAVID: A loss . . . a big unhappiness of some kind. But he’s on his way now. I know it, Pop.

  The door opens and J.B. enters with a grand new valise. He is slightly drunk. In one hand he has a slip of paper.

  J.B.: Surprise!

  Pat springs up with finger to his lips.

  PAT: Shhh!

  J.B., whispers: Surprise! Wake him up. Pointing to valise: Surprise . . .

  PAT: After a game he’s got to sleep an hour or he’s peevish. Pointing at watch: Wait a few minutes.

  DAVID: Wait’ll he sees the initials.

  PAT, violently: Ssh! To J.B. . . . threatening: If he’s peevish . . . !


  The door opens and Amos stands in the doorway.

  J.B.: Hey Amos . . . Holding up valise: Surprise.

  AMOS: Aw . . . ! Amos takes the valise and fingers it happily.

  J.B.: It’s a token of our affection from . . . just a minute now . . . Straightens the slip of paper. Hester, Shory, Gus, Dave, Ellie, and me, and Belle. Indicating upstage.

  AMOS, fondling the valise: Gee, you should’na done it.

  J.B., with growing flourish and sentiment: No, you don’t realize the traveling you’ll do. Looks into the distance. Shibe Park, Comiskey Field, Sportsman’s Park—Boston, Chicago, Cleveland, St. Louis. . . . And when you’re packing up after a nice no-hitter, you’ll give us a thought in the old home town. To clinch it, he taps a buckle. Solid brass.

  AMOS, feverish in glory: Give me that list. Takes it out of J.B.’s hand. When I get my first paycheck I’m gonna send you all a big present! Say . . . ! Starting to take Pat’s wrist to look at his watch: What time . . . ?

  PAT, holding onto his arm: You heard what he said in the locker room. He’s got to finish some long-distance phoning, and then he’ll be here. Come on. I’ll rub you down.

  Hester enters as they start for the stairs.

  HESTER: John, you better go outside. Ellie’s going home.

  J.B., frightened and hurt: Why? To all: Am I so drunk?

  DAVID: Hurry up, maybe you can catch her.

  J.B.: Come with me, Dave . . . tell her . . .

  DAVID: Get washed, Ame . . . you want to look nice now. Be right back.

  David and J.B. go out.

  HESTER, looking at the door: Why must he always do that? To Pat, who is rummaging in his old valise: I’ll get you some towels. Come on up.

  PAT: Oh, no, we carry our own. You never can tell about strange towels. He folds one over his arm. Amos is looking out of the window.

  HESTER, ready to laugh: Well, I wasn’t going to give you a dirty towel, you stupid.

  PAT: For twenty-one years I’ve kept him practically sterilized. I ain’t layin’ him low with an infection now. Come on, Amos, get washed.

  Amos and Pat exit up the stairs as J.B. enters, followed by David. J.B. is drunk, unsteady but not staggering. He barges in, comes directly to Hester and takes her hand, speaks very close to her face, as though to discern her reactions better.