CLAIRE
That sound incomplete to you, Toby?
TOBIAS (Stern)
Somewhat.
AGNES
Julia has been through a trying time, Tobias. …
HARRY (A little apologetic)
I suppose we did upset her some. …
EDNA (Consoling)
Of course!
TOBIAS
(To AGNES; a kind of wondrous bewilderment)
Don’t you think you should go tend to her?
(The others all look to AGNES)
AGNES (Shakes her head; lightly)
No. She will be down or she will not. She will stop, or she will … go on.
TOBIAS (Spluttering)
Well, for God’s sake, Agnes …!
AGNES (An end to it; hard)
I haven’t the time, Tobias.
(Gentler)
I haven’t time for the four-hour talk, the soothing recapitulation. You don’t go through it, my love: the history. Nothing is calmed by a pat on the hand, a gentle massage, or slowly, slowly combing the hair, no: the history. Teddy’s birth, and how she felt unwanted, tricked; his death, and was she more relieved than lost …? All the schools we sent her to, and did she fail in them through hate … or love? And when we come to marriage, dear: each one of them, the fear, the happiness, the sex, the stopping, the infidelities …
TOBIAS (Nodding; speaks softly)
All right, Agnes.
AGNES (Shakes her head)
Oh, my dear Tobias … my life is gone through more than hers. I see myself … growing old each time, see my own life passing. No, I haven’t time for it now. At midnight, maybe …
(Sad smile)
when you’re all in your beds … safely sleeping. Then I will comfort our Julia, and lose myself once more.
CLAIRE
(To break an uncomfortable silence)
I tell ya, there are so many martyrdoms here.
EDNA (Seeing a hangnail)
One to a person.
AGNES (Dry)
That is the usual,
(A glance at CLAIRE)
though I do believe there are some with none, and others who have known Job. The helpless are the cruelest lot of all: they shift their burdens so.
CLAIRE
If you interviewed a camel, he’d admit he loved his load.
EDNA (Giving up on the hangnail)
I wish you two would stop having at each other.
HARRY
Hell, yes! Let’s have a drink, Tobias?
TOBIAS (From deep in thought)
Hm?
HARRY
What can I make yuh, buddy?
CLAIRE (Rather pleased)
Why, Edna; you’ve actually spoken your mind.
TOBIAS (Confused as to where he is)
What can you make me?
EDNA
I do … sometimes.
HARRY
Well, sure; I’m here.
EDNA (Calm)
When an environment is not all that it might be.
TOBIAS
Oh. Yeah; Scotch.
AGNES (Strained smile)
Is that for you to say?
CLAIRE (A chord; then)
Here we come!
AGNES
Stop it, Claire, dear.
(To EDNA)
I said: Is that for you to say?
EDNA (To AGNES; calm, steady)
We must be helpful when we can, my dear; that is the … responsibility, the double demand of friendship … is it not?
AGNES (Slightly schoolteacherish)
But, when we are asked.
EDNA
(Shakes her head, smiles gently)
No. Not only.
(This heard by all)
It seemed to me, to us, that since we were living here …
(Silence, AGNES and TOBIAS look from EDNA to HARRY)
CLAIRE
That’s my cue!
(A chord, then begins to yodel, to an ump-pah base. JULIA appears in the archway, unseen by the others; her hair is wild, her face is tear-streaked; she carries TOBIAS’ pistol, but not pointed; awkwardly and facing down)
JULIA (Solemnly and tearfully)
Get them out of here, Daddy, getthemoutofheregetthemoutofheregetthemoutofheregetthemoutofheregetthemoutofhere. …
(They all see JULIA and the gun simultaneously; EDNA gasps but does not panic; HARRY retreats a little; TOBIAS moves slowly toward JULIA)
AGNES
Julia!
JULIA
Get them out of here, Daddy!
TOBIAS
(Moving toward her, slowly, calmly, speaking in a quiet voice)
All right, Julia, baby; let’s have it now. …
JULIA
Get them out of here, Daddy. …
TOBIAS (As before)
Come on now, Julia.
JULIA
(Calmly, she hands the gun to TOBIAS, nods)
Get them out of here, Daddy.
AGNES (Soft intensity)
You ought to be horsewhipped, young lady.
TOBIAS
(meant for both JULIA and AGNES)
All right, now …
JULIA
Do it, Daddy? Or give it back?
AGNES (Turns on JULIA; withering)
How dare you come into this room like that! How dare you embarrass me and your father! How dare you frighten Edna and Harry! How dare you come into this room like that!
JULIA
(To HARRY and EDNA; venom)
Are you going?
AGNES
Julia!
TOBIAS (Pleading)
Julia, please. …
JULIA
ARE YOU!?
(Silence, all eyes on HARRY and EDNA)
EDNA
(Finally; curiously unconcerned)
Going? No, we are not going.
HARRY
No.
JULIA (To all)
YOU SEE!?
HARRY
Coming down here with a gun like that …
EDNA (Becoming AGNES)
You return to your nest from your latest disaster, dispossessed, and suddenly dispossessing; screaming the house down, clawing at order …
JULIA
STOP HER!
EDNA
… willful, wicked, wretched girl …
JULIA
You are not my … YOU HAVE NO RIGHTS!
EDNA
We have rights here. We belong.
JULIA
MOTHER!
AGNES (Tentative)
Julia …
EDNA
We belong here, do we not?
JULIA (Triumphant distaste)
FOREVER!!
(Small silence)
HAVE YOU COME TO STAY FOREVER??
(Small silence)
EDNA
(Walks over to her, calmly slaps her)
If need be.
(To TOBIAS and AGNES, calmly)
Sorry; a godmother’s duty.
(This next calm, almost daring addressed at, rather than to the others)
If we come to the point … we are at home one evening, and the … terror comes … descends … if all at once we … NEED … we come where we are wanted, where we know we are expected, not only where we want; we come where the table has been laid for us in such an event … where the bed is turned down … and warmed … and has been ready should we need it. We are not … transients … like some.
JULIA
NO!
EDNA (To JULIA)
You must … what is the word? … coexist, my dear.
(To the others)
Must she not?
(Silence; calm)
Must she not. This is what you have meant by friendship … is it not?
AGNES (Pause; finally, calmly)
You have come to live with us, then.
EDNA (After a pause; calm)
Why, yes; we have.
AGNES (Dead calm; a sigh)
/> Well, then.
(Pause)
Perhaps it is time for bed, Julia? Come upstairs with me.
JULIA (A confused child)
M-mother?
AGNES
Ah-ah; let me comb your hair, and rub your back.
(Arm over JULIA’s shoulder, leads her out. Exiting)
And we shall soothe … and solve … and fall to sleep. Tobias?
(Exits with JULIA. Silence)
EDNA
Well, I think it’s time for bed.
TOBIAS (Vague, preoccupied)
Well, yes; yes, of course.
EDNA
(She and HARRY have risen; a small smile)
We know the way.
(Pauses as she and HARRY near the archway)
Friendship is something like a marriage, is it not, Tobias? For better and for worse?
TOBIAS (Ibid.)
Sure.
EDNA (Something of a demand here)
We haven’t come to the wrong place, have we?
HARRY (Pause; shy)
Have we, Toby?
TOBIAS (Pause; gentle, sad)
No.
(Sad smile)
No; of course you haven’t.
EDNA
Good night, dear Tobias. Good night, Claire.
CLAIRE (A half smile)
Good night, you two.
HARRY
(A gentle pat at TOBIAS as he passes)
Good night, old man.
TOBIAS (Watches as the two exit)
Good … good night, you two.
(CLAIRE and TOBIAS alone; TOBIAS still holds the pistol)
CLAIRE (After an interval)
Full house, Tobias, every bed and every cupboard.
TOBIAS (Not moving)
Good night, Claire.
CLAIRE (Rising leaving her accordion)
Are you going to stay up, Tobias? Sort of a nightwatch, guarding? I’ve done it. The breathing, as you stand in the quiet halls, slow and heavy? And the special … warmth, and … permeation … of a house … asleep? When the house is sleeping? When the people are asleep?
TOBIAS
Good night, Claire.
CLAIRE (Near the archway)
And the difference? The different breathing and the cold, when every bed is awake … all night … very still, eyes open, staring into the dark? Do you know that one?
TOBIAS
Good night, Claire.
CLAIRE (A little sad)
Good night, Tobias.
(Exit as the curtain falls)
ACT THREE
(Seven-thirty the next morning; same set. TOBIAS alone, in a chair, wearing pajamas and a robe, slippers. Awake. AGNES enters, wearing a dressing gown which could pass for a hostess gown. Her movements are not assertive, and her tone is gentle)
AGNES (Seeing him)
Ah; there you are.
TOBIAS
(Not looking at her, but at his watch; there is very little emotion in his voice)
Seven-thirty A.M., and all’s well … I guess.
AGNES
So odd.
TOBIAS
Hm?
AGNES
There was a stranger in my room last night.
TOBIAS
Who?
AGNES
You.
TOBIAS
Ah.
AGNES
It was nice to have you there.
TOBIAS (Slight smile)
Hm.
AGNES
Le temps perdu. I’ve never understood that; perdu means lost, not merely … past, but it was nice to have you there, though I remember, when it was a constancy, how easily I would fall asleep, pace my breathing to your breathing, and if we were touching! ah, what a splendid cocoon that was. But last night—what a shame, what sadness—you were a stranger, and I stayed awake.
TOBIAS
I’m sorry.
AGNES
Were you asleep at all?
TOBIAS
No.
AGNES
I would go half, then wake—your unfamiliar presence, sir. I could get used to it again.
TOBIAS
Yes?
AGNES
I think.
TOBIAS
You didn’t have your talk with Julia—your all-night lulling.
AGNES
No; she wouldn’t let me stay. “Look to your own house,” is what she said. You stay down long?
TOBIAS
When?
AGNES
After … before you came to bed.
TOBIAS
Some.
(Laughs softly, ruefully)
I almost went into my room … by habit … by mistake, rather, but then I realized that your room is my room because my room is Julia’s because Julia’s room is …
AGNES
… yes.
(Goes to him, strokes his temple)
And I was awake when you left my room again.
TOBIAS (Gentle reproach)
You could have said.
AGNES (Curious at the truth)
I felt shy.
TOBIAS (Pleased surprise)
Hm!
AGNES
Did you go to Claire?
TOBIAS
I never go to Claire.
AGNES
Did you go to Claire to talk?
TOBIAS
I never go to Claire.
AGNES
We must always envy someone we should not, be jealous of those who have so much less. You and Claire make so much sense together, talk so well.
TOBIAS
I never go to Claire at night, or talk with her alone—save publicly.
AGNES (Small smile)
In public rooms … like this.
TOBIAS
Yes.
AGNES
Have never.
TOBIAS
Please?
AGNES
Do we dislike happiness? We manufacture such a portion of our own despair … such busy folk.
TOBIAS
We are a highly moral land: we assume we have done great wrong. We find the things.
AGNES
I shall start missing you again—when you move from my room … if you do. I had stopped, I believe.
TOBIAS (Grudging little chuckle)
Oh, you’re an honest woman.
AGNES
Well, we need one … in every house.
TOBIAS
It’s very strange … to be downstairs, in a room where everyone has been, and is gone … very late, after the heat has gone—the furnace and the bodies: the hour or two before the sun comes up, the furnace starts again. And tonight especially: the cigarettes still in the ashtrays—odd, metallic smell. The odors of a room don’t mix, late, when there’s no one there, and I think the silence helps it … and the lack of bodies. Each … thing stands out in its place.
AGNES
What did you decide?
TOBIAS
And when you do come down … if you do, at three, or four, and you’ve left a light or two—in case someone should come in late, I suppose, but who is there left? The inn is full—it’s rather … Godlike, if I may presume: to look at it all, reconstruct, with such … detachment, see yourself you, Julia … Look at it all … play it out again, watch.
AGNES
Judge?
TOBIAS
No; that’s being in it. Watch. And if you have a drink or two …
AGNES (Mild surprise)
Did you?
TOBIAS (Nods)
And if you have a drink or two, very late, in the quiet, tired, the mind … lets loose.
AGNES
Yes?
TOBIAS
And you watch it as it reasons, all with a kind of … grateful delight, at the same time sadly, ’cause you know that when the daylight comes the pressures will be on, and all the insight won’t be worth a damn.
AGNES
What did you decide?
TOBIAS
/> You can sit and watch. You can have … so clear a picture, see everybody moving through his own jungle … an insight into all the reasons, all the needs.
AGNES
Good. And what did you decide?
TOBIAS (No complaint)
Why is the room so dirty? Can’t we have better servants, some help who … help?
AGNES
They keep far better hours than we, that’s all. They are a comment on our habits, a reminder that we are out of step—that is why we pay them … so very, very much. Neither a servant nor a master be. Remember?
TOBIAS
I remember when …
AGNES (Picking it right up)
… you were very young and lived at home, and the servants were awake whenever you were: six A.M. for your breakfast when you wanted it, or five in the morning when you came home drunk and seventeen, washing the vomit from the car, and you, telling no one; stealing just enough each month, by arrangement with the stores, to keep them in a decent wage; generations of them: the laundress, blind and always dying, and the cook, who did a better dinner drunk than sober. Those servants? Those days? When you were young, and lived at home?
TOBIAS (Memory)
Hmmm.
AGNES (Sweet; sad)
Well, my darling, you are not young now, and you do not live at home.
TOBIAS (Sad question)
Where do I live?
AGNES (An answer of sorts)
The dark sadness. Yes?
TOBIAS (Quiet, rhetorical)
What are we going to do?
AGNES
What did you decide?
TOBIAS (Pause; they smile)
Nothing.
AGNES
Well, you must. Your house is not in order, sir. It’s full to bursting.
TOBIAS
Yes. You’ve got to help me here.
AGNES
No. I don’t think so.
TOBIAS (Some surprise)
No?
AGNES
No. I thought a little last night, too: while you were seeing everything so clearly here. I lay in the dark, and I … revisited—our life, the years and years. There are many things a woman does: she bears the children—if there is that blessing. Blessing? Yes, I suppose, even with the sadness. She runs the house, for what that’s worth: makes sure there’s food, and not just anything, and decent linen; looks well; assumes whatever duties are demanded—if she is in love, or loves; and plans.
TOBIAS
(Mumbled; a little embarrassed)
I know, I know. …
AGNES
And plans. Right to the end of it; expects to be alone one day, abandoned by a heart attack or the cancer, prepares for that. And prepares earlier, for the children to become adult strangers instead of growing ones, for that loss, and for the body chemistry, the end of what the Bible tells us is our usefulness. The reins we hold! It’s a team of twenty horses, and we sit there, and we watch the road and check the leather … if our … man is so disposed. But there are things we do not do.