The Penguin Arthur Miller, Page 3

  AMOS: You sold it all today? Joyously to Pat: I told you he’d sell it all!

  DAVID: Don’t go making a genius out of your brother. Salesman hooked him. He bought alcohol in April when the sun was shining hot as hell.

  AMOS: Yeah, but look how it froze up today!

  SHORY: He didn’t know it was going to freeze.

  J.B.: Maybe he did know. To Dave: Did you, Dave?

  DAVID, stares into his memory: Well, I . . . I kinda thought . . .

  PAT, breaking in: Speaking of geniuses, most people didn’t know that there are two kinds; physical and mental. Take pitchers like Christy Mathewson now. Or Walter Johnson. There you have it in a nutshell. Am I right, J.B.?

  SHORY: What’ve you got in a nutshell?

  PAT—the beginnings of confusion, his desire to protect Amos and himself against everyone, tremble in him: Just what I said. People simply refuse to concentrate. They don’t know what they’re supposed to be doing in their lives.

  SHORY, pointing to David: Example number one.

  PAT, rises to a self-induced froth of a climax: I always left David to concentrate for himself. But take Amos then. When I got back from the sea I came home and what do I find? An infant in his mother’s arms. I felt his body and I saw it was strong. And I said to myself, this boy is not going to waste out his life being seventeen different kind of things and ending up nothing. He’s going to play baseball. And by ginger he’s been throwin’ against the target down the cellar seven days a week for twelve solid years! That’s concentration. That’s faith! That’s taking your life in your own hands and molding it to fit the thing you want. That’s bound to have an effect . . . and don’t you think they don’t know it!

  SHORY: Who knows it?

  PAT, with a cry: I don’t like everybody’s attitude! Silence an instant. All staring at him. It’s still winter! Can he play in the winter?

  SHORY: Who are you talking about?

  DAVID, going away—toward the right—bored and disgusted: Dad, he didn’t say . . .

  PAT: He doesn’t have to say it. You people seem to think he’s going to go through life pitching Sundays in the sand lots. To all: Pitching’s his business; it’s a regular business like . . . like running a store, or being a mechanic or anything else. And it happens that in the winter there is nothing to do in his business but sit home and wait!

  J.B.: Well, yeh, Pat, that’s just what he ought to be doing.

  PAT: Then why does everybody look at him as though . . . ?

  He raises his hand to his head, utterly confused and ashamed for his outburst. A long pause like this.

  DAVID, unable to bear it, he goes to Pat: Sit down, Dad. Sit down. He gets a barrel under Pat, who sits, staring, exhausted.

  PAT: I can’t understand it. Every paper in the country calls him a phenomenon.

  As he speaks, David, feeling Pat’s pain, goes right a few yards and stands looking away.

  Undefeated. He’s ready for the big leagues. Been ready for three years. Who can explain a thing like that? Why don’t they send a scout?

  DAVID: I been thinking about that, Dad. Maybe you ought to call the Detroit Tigers again.

  AMOS, peevishly. This has been in him a long time: He never called them in the first place.

  PAT: Now, Amos . . .

  DAVID, reprimanding: Dad . . .

  AMOS: He didn’t. He didn’t call them. To Pat: I want him to know!

  DAVID, to Pat: But last summer you said . . .

  PAT: I’ve picked up the phone a lot of times . . . but I . . . I wanted it to happen . . . naturally. It ought to happen naturally, Dave.

  SHORY: You mean you don’t want to hear them say no.

  PAT: Well . . . yes, I admit that. To David: If I call now and demand an answer, maybe they’ll have to say no. I don’t want to put that word in their head in relation to Amos. It’s a great psychological thing there. Once they refuse it’s twice as hard to get them to accept.

  DAVID: But, Dad, maybe . . . maybe they forgot to send a scout. Maybe they even thought they’d sent one and didn’t, and when you call they’ll thank you for reminding them. To all: I mean . . . can you just wait for something to happen?

  SHORY, claps: Pinochle? Let’s go. Come on, John! Pat!

  They start for the store door.

  J.B., glancing at his watch: My wife’ll murder me.

  SHORY: Why? Pinochle leaves no odor on the breath.

  PAT, turning at ramp: I want you to watch us, Amos. Pinochle is very good for the figuring sense. Help you on base play. Open your coat.

  Pat follows Shory and J.B. into the store. Amos dutifully starts to follow, hesitates at the door, then closes it behind them and comes to David.

  AMOS: Dave, I want to ask you something. He glances toward the door, then quietly: Take me over, will ya? Dave just looks at him. Do something for me. I’m standing still. I’m not going anywhere. I swear I’m gettin’ ashamed.

  DAVID: Ah, don’t, don’t, Ame.

  AMOS: No, I am. Since I started to play everybody’s been saying, Mimics: “Amos is goin’ someplace, Amos is goin’ someplace.” I been out of high school five years and I’m still taking spending money. I want to find a girl. I want to get married. I want to start doing things. You’re movin’ like a daisy cutter, Dave, you know how to do. Take me over.

  DAVID: But I don’t know half what Pop knows about baseball . . . about training or . . .

  AMOS: I don’t care, you didn’t know anything about cars either, and look what you made here.

  DAVID: What’d I make? I got nothin’. I still don’t know anything about cars.

  AMOS: But you do. Everybody knows you know . . .

  DAVID: Everybody’s crazy. Don’t envy me, Ame. If every car I ever fixed came rolling in here tomorrow morning and the guys said I did it wrong I wouldn’t be surprised. I started on Shory’s Ford and I got another one and another, and before I knew what was happening they called me a mechanic. But I ain’t a trained man. You are. You got something . . . Takes his arm, with deepest feeling: and you’re going to be great. Because you deserve it. You know something perfect. Don’t look to me, I could be out on that street tomorrow morning, and then I wouldn’t look so smart. . . . Don’t laugh at Pop. You’re his whole life, Ame. You hear me? You stay with him.

  AMOS: Gee, Dave . . . you always make me feel so good. Suddenly like Pat, ecstatic: When I’m in the Leagues I’m gonna buy you . . . a . . . a whole goddam garage!

  Enter Hester from the right. She is a full-grown girl, a heartily developed girl. She can run fast, swim hard, and lift heavy things—not stylishly—with the most economical and direct way to run, swim and lift. She has a loud, throaty laugh. Her femininity dwells in one fact—she loves David with all her might, always has, and she doesn’t feel she’s doing anything when he’s not around. The pallor of tragedy is nowhere near her. She enters breathless, not from running but from expectation.

  HESTER: David, he’s home. Goes to David and cups his face in her hands. He just came back! You ready? Looks around David’s shoulder at Amos. Hullo, Ame, how’s the arm?

  AMOS: Good as ever.

  HESTER: You do that long division I gave you?

  AMOS: Well, I been working at it.

  HESTER: There’s nothing better’n arithmetic to sharpen you up. You’ll see, when you get on the diamond again, you’ll be quicker on base play. We better go, David.

  AMOS, awkwardly: Well . . . good luck to ya. He goes to the store door.

  DAVID: Thanks, Ame.

  Amos waves, goes through the door and closes it behind him.

  HESTER: What’re you looking so pruney about? Don’t you want to go?

  DAVID: I’m scared, Hess. I don’t mind tellin’ you. I’m scared.

  HESTER: Of a beatin’?

  DAVID: You know I was never scared of a b
eatin’.

  HESTER: We always knew we’d have to tell him, didn’t we?

  DAVID: Yeh, but I always thought that by the time we had to, I’d be somebody. You know . . .

  HESTER: But you are somebody . . .

  DAVID: But just think of it from his side. He’s a big farmer, a hundred and ten of the best acres in the county. Supposing he asks me—I only got three hundred and ninety-four dollars, counting today . . .

  HESTER: But we always said, when you had three fifty we’d ask him.

  DAVID: God, if I was a lawyer, or a doctor, or even a bookkeeper . . .

  HESTER: A mechanic’s good as a bookkeeper!

  DAVID: Yeh . . . but I don’t know if I am a mechanic. Takes her hand. Hess, listen, in a year maybe I could build up some kind of a real business, something he could look at and see.

  HESTER: A year! Davey, don’t . . . don’t you . . . ?

  DAVID: I mean . . . let’s get married now, without asking him.

  HESTER: I told you, I can’t . . .

  DAVID: If we went away . . . far, far away . . .

  HESTER: Wherever we went, I’d always be afraid he’d knock on the door. You don’t know what he can do when he’s mad. He roared my mother to her grave. . . . We have to face him with it, Davey. It seems now that I’ve known it since we were babies. When I used to talk to you at night through the kitchen window, when I’d meet you to ride around the quarry in Shory’s car; even as far back as The Last of the Mohicans in 6B. I always knew we’d have to sit in the house together and listen to him roaring at us. We have to, Davey. She steps away, as though to give him a choice.

  DAVID—he smiles, a laugh escapes him: You know, Hess, I don’t only love you. You’re my best friend.

  Hester springs at him and kisses him. They are locked in the embrace when a figure enters from the right. It is Dan Dibble, a little sun-dried farmer, stolidly dressed—a mackinaw, felt hat. He hesitates a moment, then . . .

  DIBBLE: Excuse me . . . J.B. Feller . . . is J.B. Feller in here?

  DAVID: J.B.? Sure. Points at back door. Go through there . . . he’s in the store.

  DIBBLE: Much obliged.

  DAVID: That’s all right, sir.

  Dibble tips his hat slightly to Hester, goes a few yards toward the door, turns.

  DIBBLE: You . . . you Dave Beeves? Mechanic?

  DAVID: Yes, sir, that’s me.

  Dibble nods, turns, goes up the ramp and into the store, closing door behind him. David looks after him.

  HESTER: Come, Davey.

  DAVID: Yeh. I’ll get my coat. He goes to rail at back where it hangs, starts to put it on. Gosh, I better change my shirt. Shory grabbed my clean one before. I guess he took it into the store with him.

  HESTER, knowingly: He doesn’t think you ought to go.

  DAVID: Well . . . he was just kiddin’ around. I’ll only be a minute.

  Dave starts for the store door when it opens and J.B. surges out full of excitement. Dibble follows him, then Amos, then Pat, and finally Shory who looks on from his wheelchair above the ramp.

  J.B.: Hey, Dave! Dave, come here. To Dan: You won’t regret it, Dan . . . Dave . . . want you to meet my brother-in-law from up in Burley. Dan Dibble.

  DAVID: Yes, sir, how de do.

  J.B.: Dan’s got a brand new Marmon . . . he’s down here for a funeral, see, and he’s staying at my house . . .

  DAVID, to J.B. A note of faltering: Marmon, did you say?

  J.B.: Yeh, Marmon. Imperatively: You know the Marmon, Dave.

  DAVID: Sure, ya . . . To Dan: Well, bring it around. I’ll be glad to work on her. I’ve got to go right now . . .

  J.B.: Dan, will you wait in my car? Just want to explain a few things. I’ll be right out and we’ll go.

  DIBBLE: Hurry up. It’s cold out there. I’d like him to get it fixed up by tomorrow. It’s shakin’ me up so, I think I’m gettin’ my appendix back.

  J.B., jollying him to the door: I don’t think they grow back once they’re cut out . . .

  DIBBLE: Well it feels like it. Be damned if I’ll ever buy a Marmon again. Dibble goes out.

  J.B.—he comes back to Dave: This idiot is one of the richest farmers in the Burley district. . . . He’s got that mink ranch I was tellin’ you about.

  DAVID: Say, I don’t know anything about a Marmon . . .

  J.B.: Neither does he. He’s got two vacuum cleaners in his house and never uses nothin’ but a broom. Now listen. He claims she ain’t hitting right. I been tryin’ the past two weeks to get him to bring her down here to you. Now get this. Besides the mink ranch he’s got a wheat farm with five tractors.

  HESTER: Five tractors!

  J.B.: He’s an idiot, but he’s made a fortune out of mink. Now you clean up this Marmon for him and you’ll open your door to the biggest tractor farms in the state. There’s big money in tractor work, you know that. He’s got a thousand friends and they follow him. They’ll follow him here.

  DAVID: Uh, huh. But I don’t know anything about tractors.

  HESTER: Oh, heck, you’ll learn!

  DAVID: Yeah, but I can’t learn on his tractors.

  HESTER: Yeah, but . . .

  J.B.: Listen! This could be the biggest thing that ever happened to you. The Marmon’s over at my house. He’s afraid to drive her any further on the snow. I’ll bring her over and you’ll go to work. All right?

  DAVID: Yeah, but look, John, I . . .

  J.B.: You better get in early and start on her first thing in the morning. All right?

  HESTER, with a loud bubble of laughter: David, that’s wonderful!

  DAVID, quickly: See, if we waited, Hess. In six months, maybe less, I’d have something to show!

  HESTER: But I’m going to Normal in a week if we don’t do it now!

  SHORY: You’re pushing him, Hester.

  HESTER—a sudden outburst at Shory: Stop talking to him! A person isn’t a frog, to wait and wait for something to happen!

  SHORY: He’ll fight your father if you drag him there tonight! And your father can kill him!

  DAVID, takes her hand. Evenly: Come on, Hess. We’ll go. To J.B.: Bring the car over, I’ll be back later . . .

  But J.B. is staring off right, down the driveway. Dave turns, with Hester and all to follow his stare. She steps a foot away from him. Enter Andrew Falk, a tall, old man, hard as iron, nearsighted, slightly stooped. Sound of idling motor outside.

  J.B., after a moment: I’ll bring the car, Dave. Five minutes.

  DAVID, affecting a businesslike, careless flair: Right, J.B., I’ll fix him up. As J.B. goes out: And thanks loads, John!

  Falk has been looking at Hester, who dares every other moment to look up from the floor at him. David turns to Falk, desperately controlling his voice. Pat enters from Shory’s store.

  Evening, Mr. Falk. You want to go in to Shory’s store? There’s chairs there. . . . Falk turns deliberately, heavily looks at him. You left your engine running. Stay awhile. Let me shut it off.

  FALK: You willin’ to push it?

  DAVID: Oh, battery run down?

  FALK, caustically: I don’t know what else would prevent her from turnin’ over without a push. To Hester: I’ll see you home.

  HESTER, smiling, she goes to him, but does not touch him: We were just comin’ to the house, Daddy.

  FALK: Go on home, Hester.

  DAVID: We’d like to talk to you, Mr. Falk. Indicating the store: We could all go . . .

  FALK, in reply: Go on home, Hester.

  DAVID, with a swipe at indignation: I’d like for her to be here, Mr. Falk . . .

  FALK—he does not even look at David: I’ll be home right away. He takes her arm and moves her to the right. She digs her heels in.

  HESTER—a cry: Daddy, why . . . !

  She breaks off, looking i
nto his face. With a sob she breaks from him and runs off right. He turns slowly to David, takes a breath.

  DAVID, angering: That ain’t gonna work any more, Mr. Falk. We’re old enough now.

  PAT, reasonably: Look, Falk, why don’t we . . . ?

  FALK, to David, without so much as a glance at Pat: This is the last time I’m ever goin’ to talk to you, Beeves. You . . .

  DAVID: Why is it you’re the only man who hates me like this? Everybody else . . .

  FALK: Nobody but me knows what you are.

  SHORY, from the store doorway: What is he? What are you blowin’ off about?

  FALK, his first rise of voice. He points at Shory: The good God gave you your answer long ago! Keep your black tongue in your head when I’m here.

  SHORY, nervously. To David: His brains are swimmin’, don’t you see? What are you botherin’ with him for . . . !

  FALK—roaring, he takes a stride toward Shory: Shut up, you . . . you whoremonger! You ruined your last woman on this earth! The good God saw to that.

  SHORY, with a screech of fury: You don’t scare me, Falk. You been dead twenty years, why don’t you bury yourself?

  Falk strangely relaxes, walks away from Shory’s direction, raising his shoulder to run his chin on his coat collar. The motor outside stalls. His head cocks toward right.

  DAVID, pointing to the right: Your car stalled. I’ll start her up for you.

  FALK: Don’t touch anything I own! Pause. What were you doin’ that night I caught you with her by the river? You got backbone enough to tell me that?

  DAVID, recalls: Oh . . . we were kids then . . . just talkin’, that’s all.

  FALK: You never come and ask me if she could talk to you. You come sneakin’ every time, like a rat through the fences.

  DAVID: Well . . . Hess was always scared to ask you, and I . . . I guess I got it from her.

  FALK: You’re scared of me now too, and you know why, Beeves? Nobody but me knows what you are.

  DAVID: Why, what am I?

  FALK: You’re a lost soul, a lost man. You don’t know the nights I’ve watched you, sittin’ on the river ice, fishin’ through a hole—alone, alone like an old man with a boy’s face. Or makin’ you a fire in Keldon’s woods where nobody could see. And that Sunday night you nearly burned down the church . . .