SCENE—CURTIS JAYSON'S study. On the left, forward, a gun rack in which are displayed several varieties of rifles and shotguns. Farther back, three windows looking out on the garden. In the rear wall, an open fireplace with two leather arm-chairs in front of it. To right of fireplace, a door leading into the living-room. In the far right corner, another chair. In the right wall, three windows looking out on the lawn and garden. On this side, front, a typewriting table with machine and chair. Opposite the windows on the right, a bulky leather couch, facing front. In front of the windows on the left, a long table with stacks of paper piled here and there on it, reference books, etc. On the left of table, a swivel chair. Gray oak bookcases are built into the cream rough plaster walls which are otherwise almost hidden from view by a collection of all sorts of hunter's trophies, animal heads of all kinds. The floor is covered with animal skins—tiger, polar bear, leopard, lion, etc. Skins are also thrown over the backs of the chairs. The sections of the bookcase not occupied by scientific volumes have been turned into a specimen case for all sorts of zoological, geological, anthropological oddities.
It is mid-morning, sunny and bright, of the following day.
CURTIS and BIGELOW are discovered. CURTIS is half-sitting on the corner of the table, left, smoking a pipe. BIGELOW is lying sprawled on the couch. Through the open windows on the right come the shouts of children playing. MARTHA's voice joins in with theirs.
BIGELOW—Listen to that rumpus, will you! The kids are having the time of their lives. [He goes to the window and looks out—delightedly.] Your wife is playing hide and seek with them. Come and look.
CURTIS—[With a trace of annoyance.] Oh, I can see well enough from here.
BIGELOW—[With a laugh.] She seems to get as much fun out of it as they do. [As a shriek comes from outside—excitedly.] Ah, Eddy discovered her behind the tree. Isn't he tickled now! [He turns back from the window and lights a cigarette—enthusiastically.] Jove, what a hand she is with children!
CURTIS—[As if the subject bored him.] Oh, Martha gets along well with anyone.
BIGELOW—[Sits on the couch again—with a sceptical smile.] You think so? With everyone?
CURTIS—[Surprised.] Yes—with everyone we've ever come in contact with—even aboriginal natives.
BIGELOW—With the aboriginal natives of Bridgetown? With the well-known Jayson family, for example?
CURTIS—[Getting to his feet—frowning.] Why, everything's all right between Martha and them, isn't it? What do you mean, Big? I certainly imagined—but I'll confess this damn book has had me so preoccupied—
BIGELOW—Too darn preoccupied, if you'll pardon my saying so. It's not fair to leave her to fight it alone.
CURTIS—[Impatiently.] Fight what? Martha has a sense of humor. I'm sure their petty prejudices merely amuse her.
BIGELOW—[Sententiously.] A mosquito is a ridiculous, amusing creature, seen under a microscope; but when a swarm has been stinging you all night—
CURTIS—[A broad grin coming over his face.] You speak from experience, eh?
BIGELOW—[Smiling.] You bet I do. Touch me anywhere and you'll find a bite. This, my native town, did me the honor of devoting its entire leisure attention for years to stinging me to death.
CURTIS—Well, if I am to believe one-tenth of the family letters I used to receive on the subject of my old friend, Bigelow, they sure had just cause.
BIGELOW—Oh, I'll play fair. I'll admit they did—then. But it's exasperating to know they never give you credit for changing—I almost said, reforming, One ought to be above the gossip of a town like this—but say what you like, it does get under your skin.
CURTIS—[With an indulgent smile.] So you'd like to be known as a reformed character, eh?
BIGELOW—[Rather ruefully.] Et tu! Your tone is sceptical. But I swear to you, Curt, I'm an absolutely new man since my wife's death, since I've grown to love the children. Before that I hardly knew them. They were hers, not mine, it seemed. [His face lighting up.] Now we're the best of pals, and I've commenced to appreciate life from a different angle. I've found a career at last—the children—the finest career a man could have, I believe.
CURTIS—[Indifferently.] Yes, I suppose so—if you're made that way.
BIGELOW—Meaning you're not?
CURTIS—Not any more. [Frowning.] I tried that once.
BIGELOW—[After a pause—with a smile.] But we're wandering from the subject of Martha versus the mosquitoes.
CURTIS—[With a short laugh.] Oh, to the deuce with that! Trust Martha to take care of herself. Besides, I'll have her out of this stagnant hole before so very long—six months, to be exact.
BIGELOW—Where do you think of settling her then?
CURTIS—No settling about it. I'm going to take her with me.
BIGELOW—[Surprised.] On the Asian expedition?
CURTIS—Yes. I haven't told her yet but I'm going to to-day. It's her birthday—and I've been saving the news to surprise her with.
BIGELOW—Her birthday? I wish the children and I had known—but it's not too late yet.
CURTIS—[With a grin.] Thirty-nine candles, if you're thinking of baking a cake!
BIGELOW—[Meaningly.] That's not old—but it's not young either, Curt.
CURTIS—[Disgustedly.] You talk like an old woman, Big. What have years to do with it? Martha is young in spirit and always will be. [There is a knock at the door and MARTHA's voice calling: "May I come in, people?"] Sure thing! [BIGELOW jumps to open the door and MARTHA enters. She is flushed, excited, full of the joy of life, panting from her exertions.]
MARTHA—[Laughing.] I've had to run away and leave them with the governess. They're too active for me. [She throws herself on the couch.] Phew! I'm all tired out. I must be getting old.
CURTIS—[With a grin.] Big was just this minute remarking that, Martha. [BIGELOW looks embarrassed.]
MARTHA—[Laughing at him.] Well, I declare! Of all the horrid things to hear—
BIGELOW—[Still embarrassed but forcing a joking tone.] He—prevaricates, Mrs. Jayson.
MARTHA—There now, Curt! I'm sure it was you who said it. It sounds just like one of your horrid facts.
BIGELOW—And how can I offer my felicitations now? But I do, despite your husband's calumny. May your shadow never grow less!
MARTHA—Thank you. [She shakes his proffered hand heartily.]
BIGELOW—And now I'll collect my flock and go home.
CURTIS—So long, Big. Be sure you don't mislay one of your heirs!
BIGELOW—No fear—but they might mislay me. [He goes. CURT sits down on couch. MARTHA goes to the window right, and looks out—after a pause, waving her hand.]
MARTHA—There they go. What darlings they are! [CURTIS grunts perfunctorily. MARTHA comes back and sits beside CURT on the couch—with a sigh.] Whoever did say it was right, Curt, I am getting old.
CURTIS—[Taking one of her hands and patting it.] Nonsense!
MARTHA—[Shaking her head and smiling with a touch of sadness.] No. I feel it.
CURTIS—[Puts his arms around her protectingly.] Nonsense! You're not the sort that ever grows old.
MARTHA—[Nestling up to him.] I'm afraid we're all that sort, dear. Even you. [She touches the white hair about his temples playfully.] Circumstantial evidence. I'll have to dye it when you're asleep some time—and then nobody'll know.
CURTIS—[Looking at her.] You haven't any silver threads. [Jokingly.] Am I to suspect—?
MARTHA—No, I don't. Honest, cross my heart, I wouldn't even conceal that from you, if I did. But gray hairs prove nothing. I am actually older than you, don't forget.
CURTIS—One whole year! That's frightful, isn't it?
MARTHA—I'm a woman, remember; so that one means at least six. Ugh! Let's not talk about it. Do you know, it really fills me with a queer panic sometimes?
CURTIS—[Squeezing her.] Silly girl!
MARTHA—[Snuggling close to him.] Will you always love me—even when I'm old and ugly and feeble and you're still young and strong and handsome?
CURTIS—[Kisses her—tenderly.] Martha! What a foolish question, sweetheart. If we ever have to grow old, we'll do it together just as we've always done everything.
MARTHA—[With a happy sigh.] That's my dream of happiness, Curt. [Enthusiastically.] Oh, it has been a wonderful, strange life we've lived together, Curt, hasn't it? You're sure you've never regretted—never had the weest doubt that it might have been better with—someone else?
CURTIS—[Kisses her again—tenderly reproachful.] Martha!
MARTHA—And I have helped—really helped you, haven't I?
CURTIS—[Much moved.] You've been the best wife a man could ever wish for, Martha. You've been—you are wonderful. I owe everything to you—your sympathy and encouragement. Don't you know I realize that? [She kisses him gratefully.]
MARTHA—[Musing happily.] Yes, it's been a wonderful, glorious life. I'd live it over again if I could, every single second of it—even the terrible suffering—the children.
CURTIS—[Wincing.] Don't. I wouldn't want that over again. [Then changing the subject abruptly.] But why have you been putting all our life into the past tense? It seems to me the most interesting part is still ahead of us.
MARTHA—[Softly.] I mean—together—Curt.
CURTIS—So do I!
MARTHA—But you're going away—and I can't go with you this time.
CURTIS—[Smiling to himself over her head.] Yes, that does complicate matters, doesn't it?
MARTHA—[Hurt—looking up at him.] Curt! How indifferently you say that—as if you didn't care!
CURTIS—[Avoiding her eyes—teasingly.] What do you think you'll do all the time I'm gone?
MARTHA—Oh, I'll be lost—dead—I won't know what to do. I'll die of loneliness—[yearning creeping into her voice] unless—
CURTIS—[Inquisitively.] Unless what?
MARTHA—[Burying her face on his shoulder—passionately.] Oh, Curt, I love you so! Swear that you'll always love me no matter what I do—no matter what I ask—
CURTIS—[Vaguely uneasy now, trying to peer into her face.] But, sweetheart—
MARTHA—[Giving way weakly to her feelings for a moment—entreatingly.] Then don't go!
CURTIS—[Astonished.] Why, I've got to go. You know that.
MARTHA—Yes, I suppose you have. [Vigorously, as if flinging off a weakness.] Of course you have!
CURTIS—But, Martha—you said you'd be lonely unless—unless what?
MARTHA—Unless I— [She hesitates, blushing and confused.] I mean we—oh, I'm so afraid of what you'll—hold me close, very close to you and I'll whisper it. [She pulls his head down and whispers in his ear. A look of disappointment and aversion forces itself on his face.]
CURTIS—[Almost indignantly.] But that's impossible, Martha!
MARTHA—[Pleadingly.] Now don't be angry with me, Curt—not till you've heard everything. [With a trace of defiance.] It isn't impossible, Curt. It's so! It's happened! I was saving it as a secret—to tell you to-day—on my birthday.
CURTIS—[Stunned.] You mean it—is a fact?
MARTHA—Yes. [Then pitifully.] Oh, Curt, don't look that way! You seem so cold—so far away from me. [Straining her arms about him.] Why don't you hold me close to you? Why don't you say you're glad—for my sake?
CURTIS—[Agitatedly.] But Martha—you don't understand. How can I pretend gladness when—[Vehemently.] Why, it would spoil all our plans!
MARTHA—Plans? OUR plans? What do you mean?
CURTIS—[Excitedly.] Why, you're going with me, of course! I've obtained official permission. I've been working for it for months. The letter came yesterday morning.
MARTHA—[Stunned.] Permission—to go with you—
CURTIS—[Excitedly.] Yes. I couldn't conceive going without you. And I knew how you must be wishing—
MARTHA—[In pain.] Oh!
CURTIS—[Distractedly—jumping to his feet and staring at her bewilderedly.] Martha! You don't mean to tell me you weren't!
MARTHA—[In a crushed voice.] I was wishing you would finally decide not to go—to stay at home.
CURTIS—[Betraying exasperation.] But you must realize that's impossible. Martha, are you sure you've clearly understood what I've told you? You can go with me, do you hear? Everything is arranged. And I've had to fight so hard—I was running the risk of losing my own chance by my insistence that I couldn't go without you.
MARTHA—[Weakly and helplessly.] I understand all that, Curt.
CURTIS—[Indignantly.] And yet—you hesitate! Why, this is the greatest thing of its kind ever attempted! There are unprecedented possibilities! A whole new world of knowledge may be opened up—the very origin of Man himself! And you will be the only woman—
MARTHA—I realize all that, Curt.
CURTIS—You can't—and hesitate! And then—think, Martha!—it will mean that you and I won't have to be separated. We can go on living the old, free life together.
MARTHA—[Growing calm now.] You are forgetting—what I told you, Curt. You must face the fact. I cannot go.
CURTIS—[Overwhelmed by the finality of her tone—after a pause.] How long have you known—this?
MARTHA—Two months, about.
CURTIS—But why didn't you tell me before?
MARTHA—I was afraid you wouldn't understand—and you haven't, Curt. But why didn't you tell me before—what you were planning?
CURTIS—[Eagerly.] You mean—then—you would have been glad to go—before this had happened?
MARTHA—I would have accepted it.
CURTIS—[Despairingly.] Martha, how could you ever have allowed this to happen? Oh, I suppose I'm talking foolishness. It wasn't your seeking, I know.
MARTHA—Yes it was, Curt. I wished it. I sought it.
CURTIS—[Indignantly.] Martha! [Then in a hurt tone.] You have broken the promise we made when they died. We were to keep their memories inviolate. They were to be always—our only children.
MARTHA—[Gently.] They forgive me, Curt. And you will forgive me, too—when you see him—and love him.
CURTIS—Him?
MARTHA—I know it will be a boy.
CURTIS—[Sinking down on the couch beside her—dully.] Martha! You have blown my world to bits.
MARTHA—[Taking one of his hands in hers—gently.] You must make allowances for me. Curt, and forgive me. I AM getting old. No, it's the truth. I've reached the turning point. Will you listen to my side of it, Curt, and try to see it—with sympathy—with true understanding—[With a trace of bitterness.]—forgetting your work for the moment?
CURTIS—[Miserably.] That's unfair, Martha. I think of it as OUR work—and I have always believed you did, too.
MARTHA—[Quickly.] I did, Curt! I do! All in the past is our work. It's my greatest pride to think so. But, Curt, I'll have to confess frankly—during the past two years I've felt myself—feeling as if I wasn't complete—with that alone.
CURTIS—Martha! [Bitterly.] And all the time I believed that more and more it was becoming the aim of your life, too.
MARTHA—[With a sad smile.] I'm glad of that, dear. I tried my best to conceal it from you. It would have been so unfair to let you guess while we were still in harness. But oh, how I kept looking forward to the time when we would come back—and rest—in our own home! You know—you said that was your plan—to stay here and write your books—and I was hoping—
CURTIS—[With a gesture of aversion.] I loathe this book-writing. It isn't my part, I realize now. But when I made the plans you speak of, how could I know that then?
MARTHA—[Decisively.] You've got to go. I won't try to stop you. I'll help all in my power—as I've always done. Only—I can't go with you any more. And you must help me—to do my work—by understanding it. [He is silent, frowning, his face agitated, preoccupied. She goes on intensely.] Oh, Curt, I wish I could tell you what I feel, make you feel with me the longing for a child. If you had just the tiniest bit of feminine in you—! [Forcing a smile.] But you're so utterly masculine, dear! That's what has made me love you, I suppose—so I've no right to complain of it. [Intensely.] I don't. I wouldn't have you changed one bit! I love you! And I love the things you love—your work—because it's a part of you. And that's what I want you to do—to reciprocate—to love the creator in me—to desire that I, too, should complete myself with the thing nearest my heart!
CURTIS—[Intensely preoccupied with his own struggle—vaguely.] But I thought—
MARTHA—I know; but, after all, your work is yours, not mine. I have been only a helper, a good comrade, too, I hope, but—somehow—outside of it all. Do you remember two years ago when we were camped in Yunnan, among the aboriginal tribes? It was one night there when we were lying out in our sleeping-bags up in the mountains along the Tibetan frontier. I couldn't sleep. Suddenly I felt oh, so tired—utterly alone—out of harmony with you—with the earth under me. I became horribly despondent—like an outcast who suddenly realizes the whole world is alien. And all the wandering about the world, and all the romance and excitement I'd enjoyed in it, appeared an aimless, futile business, chasing around in a circle in an effort to avoid touching reality. Forgive me, Curt. I meant myself, not you, of course. Oh, it was horrible, I tell you, to feel that way. I tried to laugh at myself, to fight it off, but it stayed and grew worse. It seemed as if I were the only creature alive—who was not alive. And all at once the picture came of a tribeswoman who stood looking at us in a little mountain village as we rode by. She was nursing her child. Her eyes were so curiously sure of herself. She was horribly ugly, poor woman, and yet—as the picture came back to me—I appeared to myself the ugly one while she was beautiful. And I thought of our children who had died—and such a longing for another child came to me that I began sobbing. You were asleep. You didn't hear. [She pauses—then proceeds slowly.] And when we came back here—to have a home at last, I was so happy because I saw my chance of fulfillment—before it was too late. [In a gentle, pleading voice.] Now can you understand, dear? [She puts her hand on his arm.]
CURTIS—[Starting as if awaking from a sleep.] Understand? No, I can't understand, Martha.
MARTHA—[In a gasp of unbearable hurt.] Curt! I don't believe you heard a word I was saying.
CURTIS—[Bursting forth as if releasing all the pent-up struggle that has been gathering within him.] No, I can't understand. I cannot, cannot! It seems like treachery to me.
MARTHA—Curt!
CURTIS—I've depended on you. This is the crucial point—the biggest thing of my life—and you desert me!
MARTHA—[Resentment gathering in her eyes.] If you had listened to me—if you had even tried to feel—
CURTIS—I feel that you are deliberately ruining my highest hope. How can I go on without you? I've been trying to imagine myself alone. I can't! Even with my work—who can I get to take your place? Oh, Martha, why do you have to bring this new element into our lives at this late day? Haven't we been sufficient, you and I together? Isn't that a more difficult, beautiful happiness to achieve than—children? Everyone has children. Don't I love you as much as any man could love a woman? Isn't that enough for you? Doesn't it mean anything to you that I need you so terribly—for myself, for my work—for everything that is best and worthiest in me? Can you expect me to be glad when you propose to introduce a stranger who will steal away your love, your interest—who will separate us and deprive me of you! No, no, I cannot! It's asking the impossible. I am only human.
MARTHA—If you were human you would think of my life as well as yours.
CURTIS—I do! It is OUR life I am fighting for, not mine—OUR life that you want to destroy.
MARTHA—Our life seems to mean your life to you, Curt—and only your life. I have devoted fifteen years to that. Now I must fight for my own.
CURTIS—[Aghast.] You talk as if we were enemies, Martha! [Striding forward and seizing her in his arms.] No, you don't mean it! I love you so, Martha! You've made yourself part of my life, my work—I need you so! I can't share you with anyone! I won't! Martha, my own! Say that you won't, dear? [He kisses her passionately again and again.]
MARTHA—[All her love and tenderness aroused by his kisses and passionate sincerity—weakening.] Curt! Curt! [Pitiably.] It won't separate us, dear. Can't you see he will be a link between us—even when we are away from each other—that he will bring us together all the closer?
CURTIS—But I can't be away from you!
MARTHA—[Miserably.] Oh, Curt, why won't you look the fact in the face—and learn to accept it with joy? Why can't you for my sake? I would do that for you.
CURTIS—[Breaking away from her—passionately.] You will not do what I have implored you—for me! And I am looking the fact in the face—the fact that there must be no fact! [Avoiding her eyes—as if defying his own finer feelings.] There are doctors who—
MARTHA—[Shrinking back from him.] Curt! You propose that—to me! [With overwhelming sorrow.] Oh, Curt! When I feel him—his life within me—like a budding of my deepest soul—to flower and continue me—you say what you have just said! [Grief-stricken.] Oh, you never, never, never will understand!
CURTIS—[Shamefacedly.] Martha, I—[Distractedly.] I don't know what I'm saying! This whole situation is so unbearable! Why, why does it have to happen now?
MARTHA—[Gently.] It must be now—or not at all—at my age, dear. [Then after a pause—staring at him frightenedly—sadly.] You have changed, Curt. I remember it used to be your happiness to sacrifice yourself for me.
CURTIS—I had no work then—no purpose beyond myself. To sacrifice oneself is easy. But when your only meaning becomes as a searcher for knowledge—you cannot sacrifice that, Martha. You must sacrifice everything for that—or lose all sincerity.
MARTHA—I wonder where your work leaves off and you begin. Hasn't your work become you?
CURTIS—Yes and no. [Helplessly.] You can't understand, Martha! ...
MARTHA—Nor you.
CURTIS—[With a trace of bitter irony.] And you and your work? Aren't they one and the same?
MARTHA—So you think mine is selfish, too? [After a pause—sadly.] I can't blame you, Curt. It's all my fault. I've spoiled you by giving up my life so completely to yours. You've forgotten I have one. Oh, I don't mean that I was a martyr. I know that in you alone lay my happiness and fulfillment in those years—after the children died. But we are no longer what we were then. We must, both of us, relearn to love and respect—what we have become.
CURTIS—[Violently.] Nonsense! You talk as if love were an intellectual process—[Taking her into his arms—passionately.] I love you—always and forever! You are me and I am you. What use is all this vivisecting? [He kisses her fiercely. They look into each other's eyes for a second—then instinctively fall back from one another.]
MARTHA—[In a whisper.] Yes, you love me. But who am I? There is no recognition in your eyes. You don't know.
CURTIS—[Frightenedly.] Martha! Stop! This is terrible! [They continue to be held by each other's fearfully questioning eyes.]
[The Curtain Falls]
SCENE—Same as Act II. As the curtain rises, JAYSON is discovered sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, in which a log fire is burning fitfully. He is staring into the flames, a strained, expectant expression on his face. It is about three o'clock in the morning. There is no light but that furnished by the fire which fills the room with shifting shadows. The door in the rear is opened and RICHARD appears, his face harried by the stress of unusual emotion. Through the opened doorway, a low, muffled moan of anguish sounds from the upper part of the house. JAYSON and RICHARD both shudder. The latter closes the door behind him quickly as if anxious to shut out the noise.
JAYSON—[Looking up anxiously.] Well?
RICHARD—[Involuntarily straightening up as if about to salute and report to a superior officer.] No change, sir. [Then, as if remembering himself, comes to the fireplace and slumps down in a chair—agitatedly.] God, Dad, I can't stand her moaning and screaming! It's got my nerves shot to pieces. I thought I was hardened. I've heard them out in No Man's Land—dying by inches—when you couldn't get to them or help—but this is worse—a million times! After all, that was war—and they were men—
JAYSON—Martha is having an exceptionally hard ordeal.
RICHARD—Since three o'clock this morning—yesterday morning, I should say. It's a wonder she isn't dead.
JAYSON—[After a pause.] Where is Curt?
RICHARD—[Harshly.] Still out in the garden, walking around bareheaded in the cold like a lunatic.
JAYSON—Why didn't you make him come in?
RICHARD—Make him! It's easy to say. He's in a queer state, Dad, I can tell you! There's something torturing him besides her pain—
JAYSON—[After a pause.] Yes, there's a lot in all this we don't know about.
RICHARD—I suppose the reason he's so down on the family is because we've rather cut her since that tea affair.
JAYSON—He shouldn't blame us. She acted abominably and has certainly caused enough talk since then—always about with Bigelow—
RICHARD—[With a sardonic laugh.] And yet he keeps asking everyone to send for Bigelow—says he wants to talk to him—not us. WE can't understand! [He laughs bitterly.]
JAYSON—I'm afraid Curt knows we understand too much. [Agitatedly.] But why does he want Bigelow, in God's name? In his present state—with the suspicions he must have—there's liable to be a frightful scene.
RICHARD—Don't be afraid of a scene. [With pitying scorn.] The hell of it is he seems to regard Bigelow as his best friend. Damned if I can make it out.
JAYSON—I gave orders that they were always to tell Curt Bigelow was out of town and couldn't be reached. [With a sigh.] What a frightful situation for all of us! [After a pause.] It may sound cruel of me—but—I can't help wishing for all our sakes that this child will never—
RICHARD—Yes, Dad, I know what you're thinking. It would be the best thing for it, too—although I hate myself for saying it. [There is a pause. Then the door in rear is opened and LILY appears. She is pale and agitated. Leaving the door open behind her she comes forward and flings herself on the lounge.]
JAYSON—[Anxiously.] Well?
LILY—[Irritably, getting up and switching on the lights.] Isn't everything gloomy enough? [Sits down.] I couldn't bear it upstairs one second longer. Esther and Emily are coming down, too. It's too much for them—and they've had personal experience. [Trying to mask her agitation by a pretense at flippancy.] I hereby become a life-member of the birth-control league. Let's let humanity cease—if God can't manage its continuance any better than that!
RICHARD—[Seriously.] Second the motion.
JAYSON—[Peevishly.] You're young idiots. Keep your blasphemous nonsense to yourself, Lily!
LILY—[Jumping up and stamping her foot—hysterically.] I can't stand it. Take me home, Dick, won't you? We're doing no good waiting here. I'll have a fit—or something—if I stay.
RICHARD—[Glad of the excuse to go himself—briskly.] That's how I feel. I'll drive you home. Come along. [ESTHER and EMILY enter, followed by JOHN.]
LILY—[Excitedly.] I'll never marry or have a child! Never, never! I'll go into Mark's office to-morrow and make myself independent of marriage.
ESTHER—Sssh! Lily! Don't you know you're shouting? And what silly talk!
LILY—I'll show you whether it's silly! I'll—
RICHARD—[Impatiently.] Are you coming or not?
LILY—[Quickly.] Yes—wait—here I am. [She pushes past the others and follows RICHARD out rear. ESTHER and EMILY sit on couch—JOHN on chair, right rear.]
ESTHER—[With a sigh.] I thought I went through something when mine were born—but this is too awful.
EMILY—And, according to John, Curt actually says he hates it! Isn't that terrible? [After a pause—meaningly.] It's almost as if her suffering was a punishment, don't you think?
ESTHER—If it is, she's being punished enough, Heaven knows. It can't go on this way much longer or something dreadful will happen.
EMILY—Do you think the baby—
ESTHER—I don't know. I shouldn't say it but perhaps it would be better if—
EMILY—That's what I think.
ESTHER—Oh, I wish I didn't have such evil suspicions—but the way Curt goes on—how can you help feeling there's something wrong?
JAYSON—[Suddenly.] How is Curt?
EMILY—John just came in from the garden. [Turning around to where JOHN is dozing in his chair—sharply.] John! Well I never! If he isn't falling asleep! John! [He jerks up his head and stares at her, blinking stupidly. She continues irritably.] A nice time to pick out for a nap, I must say.
JOHN—[Surlily.] Don't forget I have to be at the bank in the morning.
JAYSON—[Testily.] I have to be at the bank, too—and you don't notice me sleeping. Tell me about Curt. You just left him, didn't you?
JOHN—[Irritably.] Yes, and I've been walking around that damned garden half the night watching over him. Isn't that enough to wear anyone out? I can feel I've got a terrible cold coming on—
ESTHER—[Impatiently.] For goodness sake, don't you start to pity yourself!
JOHN—[Indignantly.] I'm not. I think I've showed my willingness to do everything I could. If Curt was only the least bit grateful! He isn't. He hates us all and wishes we were out of his home. I would have left long ago if I didn't want to do my part in saving the family name from disgrace.
JAYSON—[Impatiently.] Has he quieted down, that's what I want to know?
JOHN—[Harshly.] Not the least bit. He's out of his head—and I'd be out of mine if a child was being born to my wife that—
JAYSON—[Angrily.] Keep that to yourself! Remember you have no proof. [Morosely.] Think all you want—but don't talk.
EMILY—[Pettishly.] The whole town knows it, anyway; I'm sure they must.
JAYSON—There's only been gossip—no real scandal. Let's do our united best to keep it at that. [After a pause.] Where's Aunt Elizabeth? We'll have to keep an eye on her, too, or she's quite liable to blurt out the whole business before all comers.
ESTHER—You needn't be afraid. She's forgotten all about the scandalous part. No word of it has come to her out in the country and she hasn't set foot in town since that unfortunate tea, remember. And at present she's so busy wishing the child will be a boy, that she hasn't a thought for another thing. [The door in the rear is opened and MARK SHEFFIELD enters. He comes up to the fire to warm himself. The others watch him in silence for a moment.]
JAYSON—[Impatiently.] Well, Mark? Where's Curt?
SHEFFIELD—[Frowning.] Inside. I think he'll be with us in a minute. [With a scornful smile.] Just now he's 'phoning to Bigelow. [The others gasp.]
JAYSON—[Furiously.] For God's sake, couldn't you stop him?
SHEFFIELD—Not without a scene. Your Aunt persuaded him to come into the house—and he rushed for the 'phone. I think he guessed we had been lying to him—
JAYSON—[After a pause.] Then he—Bigelow will be here soon?
SHEFFIELD—[Drily.] It depends on his sense of decency. As he seems lacking in that quality, I've no doubt he'll come.
JOHN—[Rising to his feet—pompously.] Then I, for one, will go. Come, Emily. Since Curt seems bound to disgrace everyone concerned, I want it thoroughly understood that we wash our hands of the whole disgraceful affair.
EMILY—[Snappishly.] Go if you want to! I won't! [Then with a sacrificing air.] I think it is our duty to stay.
JAYSON—[Exasperated.] Sit down. Wash your hands indeed! Aren't you as much concerned as any of us?
SHEFFIELD—[Sharply.] Sshh! I think I hear Curt now. [JOHN sits down abruptly. All stiffen into stony attitudes. The door is opened and CURT enters. He is incredibly drawn and haggard, a tortured, bewildered expression in his eyes. His hair is dishevelled, his boots caked with mud. He stands at the door staring from one to the other of his family with a wild, contemptuous scorn and mutters.]
CURTIS—Liars! Well, he's coming now. [Then bewilderedly.] Why didn't you want him to come, eh? He's my oldest friend. I've got to talk to someone—and I can't to you. [Wildly.] What do you want here, anyway? Why don't you go? [A scream of MARTHA's is heard through the doorway. CURT shudders violently, slams the door to with a crash, putting his shoulders against it as if to bar out the sound inexorably—in anguish.] God, why must she go through such agony? Why? Why? [He goes to the fireplace as MARK makes way for him, flings himself exhaustedly on a chair, his shoulders bowed, his face hidden in his hands. The others stare at him pityingly. There is a long silence. Then the two women whisper together, get up and tiptoe out of the room, motioning for the others to follow them. JOHN does so. SHEFFIELD starts to go, then notices the preoccupied JAYSON who is staring moodily into the fire.]
SHEFFIELD—Sstt! [As JAYSON looks up—in a whisper.] Let's go out and leave him alone. Perhaps he'll sleep.
JAYSON—[Starting to follow SHEFFIELD, hesitates and puts a hand on his son's shoulder.] Curt. Remember I'm your father. Can't you confide in me? I'll do anything to help.
CURTIS—[Harshly.] No, Dad. Leave me alone.
JAYSON—[Piqued.] As you wish. [He starts to go.]
CURTIS—And send Big in to me as soon as he comes.
JAYSON—[Stops, appears about to object—then remarks coldly.] Very well—if you insist. [He switches off the lights. He hesitates at the door uncertainly, then opens it and goes out. There is a pause. Then CURT lifts his head and peers about the room. Seeing he is alone he springs to his feet and begins to pace back and forth, his teeth clenched, his features working convulsively. Then, as if attracted by an irresistible impulse, he goes to the closed door and puts his ear to the crack. He evidently hears his wife's moans for he starts away—in agony.]
CURTIS—Oh, Martha, Martha! Martha, darling! [He flings himself in the chair by the fireplace—hides his face in his hands and sobs bitterly. There is a ring from somewhere in the house. Soon after there is a knock at the door. CURTIS doesn't hear at first but when it is repeated he mutters huskily.] Come in. [BIGELOW enters. CURT looks up at him.] Close that door, Big, for God's sake!
BIGELOW—[Does so—then taking off his overcoat, hat, and throwing them on the lounge comes quickly over to CURT.] I got over as soon as I could. [As he sees CURT's face he starts and says sympathetically.] By Jove, old man, you look as though you'd been through hell!
CURTIS—[Grimly.] I have. I am.
BIGELOW—[Slapping his back.] Buck up! [Then anxiously.] How's Martha?
CURTIS—She's in hell, too—
BIGELOW—[Attempting consolation.] You're surely not worrying, are you? Martha is so strong and healthy there's no doubt of her pulling through in fine shape.
CURTIS—She should never have attempted this. [After a pause.] I've a grudge against you, Big. It was you bringing your children over here that first planted this in her mind.
BIGELOW—[After a pause.] I've guessed you thought that. That's why you haven't noticed me—or them—over here so much lately. I'll confess that I felt you—[Angrily.] And the infernal gossip—I'll admit I thought that you—oh, damn this rotten town, anyway!
CURTIS—[Impatiently.] Oh, for God's sake! [Bitterly.] I didn't want you here to discuss Bridgetown gossip.
BIGELOW—I know, old man, forgive me. [In spite of the closed door one of MARTHA's agonized moans is heard. They both shudder.]
CURTIS—[In a dead, monotonous tone.] She has been moaning like that hour after hour. I shall have those sounds in my ears until the day I die. Nothing can ever make me forget—nothing.
BIGELOW—[Trying to distract him.] Deuce take it, Curt, what's the matter with you? I never thought you'd turn morbid.
CURTIS—[Darkly.] I've changed, Big—I hardly know myself any more.
BIGELOW—Once you're back on the job again, you'll be all right. You're still determined to go on this expedition, aren't you?
CURTIS—Yes. I was supposed to join them this week in New York but I've arranged to catch up with them in China—as soon as it's possible for us to go.
BIGELOW—Us? You mean you still plan to take—
CURTIS—[Angrily aggressive.] Yes, certainly! Why not? Martha ought to be able to travel in a month or so.
BIGELOW—Yes, but—do you think it would be safe to take the child?
CURTIS—[With a bitter laugh.] Yes—I was forgetting the child, wasn't I? [Viciously.] But perhaps—[Then catching himself with a groan.] Oh, damn all children, Big!
BIGELOW—[Astonished.] Curt!
CURTIS—[In anguish.] I can't help it—I've fought against it. But it's there—deep down in me—and I can't drive it out. I can't!
BIGELOW—[Bewildered.] What, Curt?
CURTIS—Hatred! Yes, hatred! What's the use of denying it? I must tell someone and you're the only one who might understand. [With a wild laugh.] For you—hated your wife, didn't you?
BIGELOW—[Stunned.] Good God, you don't mean you hate—Martha?
CURTIS—[Raging.] Hate Martha? How dare you, you fool! I love Martha—love her with every miserable drop of blood in me—with all my life—all my soul! She is my whole world—everything! Hate Martha! God, man, have you gone crazy to say such a mad thing? [Savagely.] No. I hate it. It!
BIGELOW—[Shocked.] Curt! Don't you know you can't talk like that—now—when—CURTIS— [Harshly.] It has made us both suffer torments—not only now—every day, every hour, for months and months. Why shouldn't I hate it, eh?
BIGELOW—[Staring at his friend's wild, distorted face with growing horror.] Curt! Can't you realize how horrible—
CURTIS—Yes, it's horrible. I've told myself that a million times. [With emphasis.] But it's true!
BIGELOW—[Severely.] Shut up! You're not yourself. Come, think for a moment. What would Martha feel if she heard you going on this way? Why—it would kill her!
CURTIS—[With a sobbing groan.] Oh, I know, I know! [After a pause.] She read it in my eyes. Yes, it's horrible, but when I saw her there suffering so frightfully—I couldn't keep it out of my eyes. I tried to force it back—for her sake—but I couldn't. I was holding her hands and her eyes searched mine with such a longing question in them—and she read only my hatred there, not my love for her. And she screamed and seemed to try to push me away. I wanted to kneel down and pray for forgiveness—to tell her it was only my love for her—that I couldn't help it. And then the doctors told me to leave—and now the door is locked against me—[He sobs.]
BIGELOW—[Greatly moved.] This is only your damned imagination. They put you out because you were in their way, that's all. And as for Martha, she was probably suffering so much—
CURTIS—No. She read it in my eyes. I saw that look in hers—of horror—horror of me!
BIGELOW—[Gruffly.] You're raving, damn it!
CURTIS—[Unheeding.] It came home to her then—the undeniable truth. [With a groan.] Isn't it fiendish that I should be the one to add to her torture—in spite of myself—in spite of all my will to conceal it! She will never forgive me, never! And how can I forgive myself?
BIGELOW—[Distractedly.] For God's sake, don't think about it! It's absurd—ridiculous!
CURTIS—[Growing more calm—in a tone of obsession.] She's guessed it ever since that day when we quarreled—her birthday. Oh, you can have no idea of the misery there has been in our lives since then. You haven't seen or guessed the reason. No one has. It has been—the thought of IT.
BIGELOW—Curt!
CURTIS—[Unheeding.] For years we had welded our lives together so that we two were sufficient, each to each. There was no room for a third. And it was a fine, free life we had made—a life of new worlds, of discovery, of knowledge invaluable to mankind. Isn't such a life worth all the sacrifice it must entail?
BIGELOW—But that life was your life, Curt—
CURTIS—[Vehemently.] No, it was her life, too—her work as well as mine. She had made the life, our life—the work, our work. Had she the right to repudiate what she had built because she suddenly has a fancy for a home, children, a miserable ease! I had thought I was her home, her children. I had tried to make my life worthy of being that to her. And I had failed. I was not enough.
BIGELOW—Curt!
CURTIS—Oh, I tried to become reconciled. I tried my damnedest. I tried to love this child as I had loved those that died. But I couldn't. And so, this being estranged us. We loved as intensely as ever but IT pushed us apart. I grew to dread the idea of this intruder. She saw this in me. I denied it—but she knew. There was something in each of us the other grew to hate. And still we loved as never before, perhaps, for we grew to pity each other's helplessness.
BIGELOW—Curt! Are you sure you ought to tell anyone this?
CURTIS—[Waving his remark aside.] One day, when I was trying to imagine myself without her, and finding nothing but hopelessness—yet knowing I must go—a thought suddenly struck me—a horrible but fascinating possibility that had never occurred to me before. [With feverish intensity.] Can you guess what it was?
BIGELOW—No. And I think you've done enough morbid raving, if you ask me.
CURTIS—The thought that came to me was that if a certain thing happened, Martha could still go with me. And I knew, if it did happen, that she would want to go, that she would fling herself into the spirit of our work to forget, that she would be mine more than ever.
BIGELOW—[Afraid to believe the obvious answer.] Curt!
CURTIS—Yes. My thought was that the child might be born dead.
BIGELOW—[Repelled—sternly.] Damn it, man, do you know what you're saying? [Relentingly.] No, Curt, old boy, do stop talking. If you don't I'll send for a doctor, damned if I won't. That talk belongs in an asylum. God, man, can't you realize this is your child—yours as well as hers?
CURTIS—I've tried. I cannot. There is some inexorable force in me—
BIGELOW—[Coldly.] Do you realize how contemptible this confession makes you out? [Angrily.] Why, if you had one trace of human kindness in you—one bit of unselfish love for your wife—one particle of pity for her suffering—
CURTIS—[Anguished.] I have—all the love and pity in the world for her! That's why I can't help hating—the cause of her suffering.
BIGELOW—Have you never thought that you might repay Martha for giving up all her life to you by devoting the rest of yours to her?
CURTIS—[Bitterly.] She can be happy without me. She will have this child—to take my place. [Intensely.] You think I would not give up my work for her? But I would! I will stay here—do anything she wishes—if only we can make a new beginning again—together—ALONE!
BIGELOW—[Agitated.] Curt, for God's sake, don't return to that! Why, good God, man—even now—while you're speaking—don't you realize what may be happening? And you can talk as if you were wishing—
CURTIS—[Fiercely.] I can't help but wish it!
BIGELOW—[Distractedly.] For the love of God, if you have such thoughts, keep them to yourself. I won't listen! You make me despise life!
CURTIS—And would you have me love life? [The door in the rear is opened and JAYSON enters, pale and unnerved. A succession of quick, piercing shrieks is heard before he can close the door behind him. Shuddering.] My God! My God! [With a fierce cry.] Will—this—never—end!
JAYSON—[Tremblingly.] Sh-h-h, they say this is the crisis. [Puts his arm around CURT.] Bear up, my boy, it will soon be over now. [He sits down in the chair BIGELOW has vacated, pointedly ignoring the latter. The door is opened again and EMILY, ESTHER, JOHN and SHEFFIELD file in quickly as if escaping from the cries of the woman upstairs. They are all greatly agitated. CURT groans, pressing his clenched fists against his ears. The two women sit on the lounge. MARK comes forward and stands by JAYSON'S chair, JOHN sits by the door as before. BIGELOW retreats behind CURT's chair, aware of their hostility. There is a long pause.]
ESTHER—[Suddenly.] She has stopped—[They all listen.]
JAYSON—[Huskily.] Thank God, it's over at last. [The door is opened and MRS. DAVIDSON enters. The old lady is radiant, weeping tears of joy.]
MRS. DAVIDSON—[Calls out exultantly between sobs.] A son, Curt—a son. [With rapt fervor—falling on her knees.] Let us all give thanks to God!
CURTIS—[In a horrible cry of rage and anguish.] No! No! You lie! [They all cry out in fright and amazement: "CURT!" The door is opened and the NURSE appears.]
NURSE—[Looking at CURTIS, in a low voice.] Mr. Jayson, your wife is asking for you.
BIGELOW—[Promptly slapping CURT on the back.] There! What did I tell you? Run, you chump!
CURTIS—[With a gasp of joy.] Martha! Darling, I'm coming—[He rushes out after the NURSE.]
BIGELOW—[Comes forward to get his hat and coat from the sofa—coldly.] Pardon me, please. [They shrink away from him.]
EMILY—[As he goes to the door—cuttingly.] Some people seem to have no sense of decency!
BIGELOW—[Stung, stops at the door and looks from one to the other of them—bitingly.] No, I quite agree with you. [He goes out, shutting the door. They all gasp angrily.]
JOHN—Scoundrel!
JAYSON—[Testily—going to MRS. D., who is still on her knees praying.] Do get up, Aunt Elizabeth! How ridiculous! What a scene if anyone should see you like that. [He raises her to her feet and leads her to a chair by the fire. She obeys unresistingly, seemingly unaware of what she is doing.]
ESTHER—[Unable to restrain her jealousy.] So it's a boy.
EMILY—Did you hear Curt—how he yelled out "No"? It's plain as the nose on your face he didn't want—
ESTHER—How awful!
JOHN—Well, can you blame him?
EMILY—And the awful cheek of that Bigelow person—coming here—
ESTHER—They appeared as friendly as ever when we came in.
JOHN—[Scornfully.] Curt is a blind simpleton—and that man is a dyed-in-the-wool scoundrel.
JAYSON—[Frightenedly.] Shhh! Suppose we were overheard!
EMILY—When Curt leaves we can put her in her proper place. I'll soon let her know she hasn't fooled me, for one. [While she is speaking MRS. D. has gotten up and is going silently toward the door.]
JAYSON—[Testily.] Aunt Elizabeth, where are you going?
MRS. D.—[Tenderly.] I must see him again, the dear! [She goes out.]
ESTHER—[Devoured by curiosity—hesitatingly.] I think I—come on, Emily. Let's go up and see—
EMILY—Not I! I never want to lay eyes on it.
JOHN—Nor I.
ESTHER—I was only thinking—everyone will think it funny if we don't.
JAYSON—[Hastily.] Yes, yes. We must keep up appearances. [Getting to his feet.] Yes, I think we had better all go up—make some sort of inquiry about Martha, you know. It's expected of us and—[They are all standing, hesitating, when the door in the rear is opened and the NURSE appears, supporting CURT. The latter is like a corpse. His face is petrified with grief, his body seems limp and half-paralyzed.]
NURSE—[Her eyes flashing, indignantly.] It's a wonder some of you wouldn't come up—here, help me! Take him, can't you? I've got to run back!
[JAYSON and SHEFFIELD spring forward and lead CURT to a chair by the fire.]
JAYSON—[Anxious.] Curt! Curt, my boy! What is it, son?
EMILY—[Catching the NURSE as she tries to go.] Nurse! What is the matter?
NURSE—[Slowly.] His wife is dead. [They are all still, stunned.] She lived just long enough to recognize him.
EMILY—And—the baby?
NURSE—[With a professional air.] Oh, it's a fine, healthy baby—eleven pounds—that's what made it so difficult. [She goes. The others all stand in silence.]
ESTHER—[Suddenly sinking on the couch and bursting into tears.] Oh, I'm so sorry I said—or thought—anything wrong about her. Forgive me, Martha!
SHEFFIELD—[Honestly moved but unable to resist this opportunity for Latin—solemnly.] De mortuis nil nisi bonum.
JAYSON—[Who has been giving all his attention to his son.] Curt! Curt! EMILY—Hadn't the doctor better—
JAYSON—Shhh! He begins to recognize me. Curt!
CURTIS—[Looking around him bewilderedly.] Yes. [Suddenly remembrance comes and a spasm of intolerable pain contracts his features. He presses his hands to the side of his head and groans brokenly.] Martha! Gone! Dead! Oh! [He appeals wildly to the others.] Her eyes—she knew me—she smiled—she whispered—forgive me, Curt,—forgive her—when it was I who should have said forgive me—but before I could—she—[He falters brokenly.]
EMILY—[Looking from one to the other meaningly as if this justified all their suspicions.] Oh!
CURTIS—[A sudden triumph in his voice.] But she loved me again—only me—I saw it in her eyes! She had forgotten—IT. [Raging.] Never let me see it! Never let it come near me! It has murdered her! [Springing to his feet.] I hate it from the bottom of my soul—I will never see it—never—never—I take my oath! [As his father takes his arm—shaking him off.] Let me go! I am going back to her! [He strides out of the door in a frenzy of grief and rage. They all stand transfixed, looking at each other bewilderedly.]
EMILY—[Putting all her venomous gratification into one word.] Well!
[The Curtain Falls]