Strange Interlude/Act 4
ACT FOUR
ACT FOUR
Scene: An evening early in the following winter about seven months later. The Professor’s study again. The books in the cases have never been touched, their austere array shows no gaps, but the glass separating them from the world is gray with dust, giving them a blurred ghostly quality. The table, although it is the same, is no longer the Professor’s table, just as the other furniture in the room, by its disarrangement, betrays that the Professor’s well-ordered mind no longer trims it to his personality. The table has become neurotic. Volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica mixed up with popular treatises on Mind Training for Success, etc., looking startlingly modern and disturbing against the background of classics in the original, are slapped helter-skelter on top of each other on it. The titles of these books face in all directions, no one volume is placed with any relation to the one beneath it—the effect is that they have no connected meaning. The rest of the table is littered with an ink bottle, pens, pencils, erasers, a box of typewriting paper, and a typewriter at the center before the chair, which is pushed back, setting the rug askew. On the floor beside the table are an overflowing wastepaper basket, a few sheets of paper and the rubber cover for the typewriter like a collapsed tent. The rocking chair is no longer at center but has been pulled nearer the table, directly faces it with its back to the bench. This bench in turn has been drawn much closer, but is now placed more to the rear and half-faces front, its back squarely to the door in the corner.
Evans is seated in the Professor’s old chair. He has evidently been typing, or is about to type, for a sheet of paper can be seen in the machine. He smokes a pipe, which he is always relighting whether it needs it or not, and which he bites and shifts about and pulls in and out and puffs at nervously. His expression is dispirited, his eyes shift about, his shoulders are collapsed submissively. He seems much thinner, his face drawn and sallow. The collegiate clothes are no longer natty, they need pressing and look too big for him.
Evans
[Turns to his typewriter and pounds out a few words with a sort of aimless desperation—then tears the sheet out of the machine with an exclamation of disgust, crumples it up and throws it violently on the floor, pushing his chair back and jumping to his feet]
Hell!
[He begins pacing up and down the room, puffing at his pipe, thinking tormentedly]
No use . . . can’t think of a darn thing . . . well, who could dope out a novel ad on another powdered milk, anyway? . . . all the stuff been used already . . . Tartars conquering on dried mare’s milk . . . Metchnikoff, eminent scientist . . . been done to death . . . but simply got to work out something or . . . Cole said, what’s been the matter with you lately? . . . you started off so well . . . I thought you were a real find, but your work’s fallen off to nothing . . .
[He sits down on the edge of the bench nearby, his shoulders hunched—despondently]
Couldn’t deny it . . . been going stale ever since we came back from that trip home . . . no ideas . . . I’ll get fired . . . sterile . . .
[With a guilty terror]
in more ways than one, I guess! . . .
[He springs to his feet as if this idea were a pin stuck in him—lighting his already lighted pipe, walks up and down again, forcing his thoughts into other channels]
Bet the old man turns over in his grave at my writing ads in his study . . . maybe that’s why I can’t . . . bum influence . . . try tomorrow in my bedroom . . . sleeping alone . . . since Nina got sick . . . some woman’s sickness . . . wouldn’t tell me . . . too modest . . . still, there are some things a husband has a right to know . . . especially when we haven’t . . . in five months . . . doctor told her she mustn’t, she said . . . what doctor? . . . she’s never said . . . what the hell’s the matter with you, do you think Nina’s lying? . . . no . . . but . . .
[Desperately]
If I was only sure it was because she’s really sick . . . not just sick of me! . . .
[He sinks down in the rocking chair despondently]
Certainly been a big change in her . . . since that visit home . . . what happened between Mother and her? . . . she says nothing . . . they seemed to like each other . . . both of them cried when we left . . . still, Nina insisted on going that same day and Mother seemed anxious to get rid of us . . . can’t make it out . . . next few weeks Nina couldn’t be loving enough . . . I never was so happy . . . then she crashed . . . strain of waiting and hoping she’d get pregnant . . . and nothing happening . . . that’s what did it . . . my fault! . . . how d’you know? . . . you can’t tell that! . . .
[He jumps to his feet again—walks up and down again distractedly]
God, if we’d only have a kid! . . . then I’d show them all what I could do! . . . Cole always used to say I had the stuff, and Ned certainly thought so. . . .
[With sudden relieved excitement]
By gosh, I was forgetting! . . . Ned’s coming out to-night . . . forgot to tell Nina . . . mustn’t let her get wise I got him to come to look her over . . . she’d hate me for swallowing my pride after he’s never been to see us . . . but I had to . . . this has got my goat . . . I’ve got to know what’s wrong . . . and Ned’s the only one I can trust . . .
[He flings himself on chair in front of desk and, picking up a fresh sheet of paper, jams it into the machine]
Gosh, I ought to try and get a new start on this before it’s time . . .
[He types a sentence or two, a strained frown of concentration on his face. Nina comes silently through the door and stands just inside it looking at him. She has grown thin again, her face is pale and drawn, her movements are those of extreme nervous tension]
Nina
[Before she can stifle her immediate reaction of contempt and dislike]
How weak he is! . . . he’ll never do anything . . . never give me my desire . . . if he’d only fall in love with someone else . . . go away . . . not be here in my father’s room . . . I even have to give him a home . . . if he’d disappear . . . leave me free . . . if he’d die . . .
[Checking herself—remorsefully]
I must stop such thoughts . . . I don’t mean it . . . poor Sam! . . . trying so hard . . . loving me so much . . . I give so little in return . . . he feels I’m always watching him with scorn . . . I can’t tell him it’s with pity . . . how can I help watching him? . . . help worrying over his worry because of what it might lead to . . . after what his mother . . . how horrible life is! . . . he’s worried now . . . he doesn’t sleep . . . I hear him tossing about . . . I must sleep with him again soon . . . he’s only home two nights a week . . . it isn’t fair of me . . . I must try . . . I must! . . . he suspects my revulsion . . . it’s hurting him. . . oh, poor dead baby I dared not bear, how I might have loved your father for your sake! . . .
Evans
[Suddenly feeling her presence, jerks himself to his feet—with a diffident guilty air which is noticeable about him now whenever he is in her presence]
Hello, dear. I thought you were lying down.
[Guiltily]
Did the noise of my typing bother you? I’m terribly sorry!
Nina
[Irritated in spite of herself]
Why is he always cringing? . . .
[She comes forward to the chair at center and sits down—forcing a smile]
But there’s nothing to be terribly sorry about!
[As he stands awkward and confused, like a schoolboy who has been called on to recite and cannot and is being “bawled out” before the class, she forces a playful tone]
Goodness, Sam, how tragic you can get about nothing at all!
Evans
[Still forced to justify himself—contritely]
I know it isn’t pleasant for you having me drag my work out here, trying to pound out rotten ads.
[With a short laugh]
Trying to is right!
[Blurts out]
I wouldn’t do it except that Cole gave me a warning to buck up—or get out.
Nina
[Stares at him, more annoyed, her eyes hardening, thinking]
Yes! . . . he’ll always be losing one job, getting another, starting with a burst of confidence each time, then . . .
[Cutting him with a careless sneering tone]
Well, it isn’t a job to worry much about losing, is it?
Evans
[Wincing pitiably]
No, not much money. But I used to think there was a fine chance to rise there—but of course that’s my fault, I haven’t made good—
[He finishes miserably]
somehow.
Nina
[Her antagonism giving way to remorseful pity]
What makes me so cruel? . . . he’s so defenseless . . . his mother’s baby . . . poor sick baby! . . . poor Sam!
[She jumps to her feet and goes over to him]
Evans
[As she comes—with a defensive, boastful bravery]
Oh, I can get another job just as good, all right—maybe a lot better.
Nina
[Reassuringly]
Certainly, you can! And I’m sure you’re not going to lose this one. You’re always anticipating trouble.
[She kisses him and sits on the arm of his chair, putting an arm around his neck and pulling his head on to her breast]
And it isn’t your fault, you big goose, you! It’s mine. I know how hard it makes everything for you, being tied to a wife who’s too sick to be a wife. You ought to have married a big strapping, motherly—
Evans
[In the seventh heaven now—passionately]
Bunk! All the other women in the world aren’t worth your little finger! It’s you who ought to have married someone worth while, not a poor fish like me! But no one could love you more than I do, no matter what he was!
Nina
[Presses his head on her breast, avoiding his eyes, kisses him on the forehead]
And I love you, Sam.
[Staring out over his head—with loving pity, thinking]
I almost do . . . poor unfortunate boy! . . . at these moments . . . as his mother loves him. . . but that isn’t enough for him . . . I can hear his mother saying, “Sammy’s got to feel sure you love him . . . to be happy.” . . . I must try to make him feel sure . . .
[Speaking gently]
I want you to be happy, Sam.
Evans
[His face transformed with happiness]
I am—a hundred times more than I deserve!
Nina
[Presses his head down on her breast so he cannot see her eyes—gently]
Ssshh.
[Thinking sadly]
I promised her . . . but I couldn’t see how hard it would be to let him love me . . . after his baby . . . was gone . . . it was hard even to keep on living . . . after that operation . . . Gordon’s spirit followed me from room to room . . . poor reproachful ghost! . . .
[With bitter mockery]
Oh, Gordon, I’m afraid this is a deeper point of honor than any that was ever shot down in flames! . . . what would your honor say now? . . . “Stick to him! . . . play the game!” . . . oh, yes, I know . . . I’m sticking . . . but he isn’t happy . . . I’m trying to play the game . . . then why do I keep myself from him? . . . but I was really sick . . . for a time after . . . since then, I couldn’t . . . but . . . oh, I’ll try . . . I’ll try soon . . .
[Tenderly—but having to force herself to say it]
Doesn’t my boy want to sleep with me again—sometime soon?
Evans
[Passionately—hardly able to believe his ears]
Oh, it’d be wonderful, Nina ! But are you sure you really want me to—that you’ll feel well enough?
Nina
[Repeats his words as if she were memorizing a lesson]
Yes, I want you to. Yes, I’ll feel well enough.
[He seizes her hand and kisses it in a passionately grateful silence]
[She thinks with resigned finality]
There, Sammy’s mother and Gordon . . . I’ll play the game . . . it will make him happy for a while . . . as he was in those weeks after we’d left his mother . . . when I gave myself with a mad pleasure in torturing myself for his pleasure! . . .
[Then with weary hopelessness]
He’ll be happy until he begins to feel guilty again because I’m not pregnant . . .
[With a grim bitter smile]
Poor Sam, if he only knew the precautions . . . as if I wouldn’t die rather than take the slightest chance of that happening! . . . ever again . . . what a tragic joke it was on both of us! . . . I wanted my baby so! . . . oh, God! . . . his mother said . . . “You’ve got to have a healthy baby . . . sometime . . . it’s your rightful duty”. . . that seemed right then . . . but now . . . it seems cowardly . . . to betray poor Sam . . . and vile to give myself . . . without love or desire . . . and yet I’ve given myself to men before without a thought just to give them a moment’s happiness . . . can’t I do that again? . . . when it’s a case of Sam’s happiness? . . . and my own? . . .
[She gets up from beside him with a hunted movement]
It must be half past eight. Charlie’s coming to bring his suggestions on my outline for Gordon’s biography.
Evans
[His bliss shattered—dejectedly]
Always happens . . . just as we get close . . . something comes between . . .
[Then confusedly]
Say, I forgot to tell you Ned’s coming out tonight.
Nina
[Astonished]
Ned Darrell?
Evans
Sure. I happened to run into him the other day and invited him and he said Saturday evening. He couldn’t tell what train. Said never mind meeting him.
Nina
[Excitedly]
Why didn’t you tell me before, you big booby!
[She kisses him]
There, don’t mind. But it’s just like you. Now someone’ll have to go down to the store. And I’ll have to get the spare room ready.
[She hurries to the doorway. He follows her]
Evans
I’ll help you.
Nina
You’ll do nothing of the kind! You’ll stay right downstairs and bring them in here and cover up my absence. Thank heavens, Charlie won’t stay long if Ned is here.
[The doorbell rings—excitedly]
There’s one of them now. I’ll run upstairs. Come up and tell me if it’s Ned—and get rid of Charlie.
[She kisses him playfully and hurries out]
Evans
[Looking after her—thinks]
She seems better tonight . . . happier . . . she seems to love me . . . if she’ll only get all well again, then everything will . . .
[The bell rings again]
I must give Ned a good chance to talk to her . . .
[He goes out to the outer door—returns a moment later with Marsden. The latter’s manner is preoccupied and nervous. His face has an expression of anxiety which he tries to conceal. He seems a prey to some inner fear he is trying to hide even from himself and is resolutely warding off from his consciousness. His tall, thin body stoops as if a part of its sustaining will had been removed]
Evans
[With a rather forced welcoming note]
Come on in, Charlie. Nina’s upstairs lying down.
Marsden
[With marked relief]
Then by all means don’t disturb her. I just dropped in to bring back her outline with the suggestions I’ve made.
[He has taken some papers out of his pocket and hands them to Evans]
I couldn’t have stayed but a minute in any event. Mother is a bit under the weather these days.
Evans
[Perfunctorily]
Too bad.
[Thinking vindictively]
Serve her right, the old scandal-monger, after the way she’s gossiped about Nina! . . .
Marsden
[With assumed carelessness]
Just a little indigestion. Nothing serious but it annoys her terribly.
[Thinking frightenedly]
That dull pain she complains of . . . I don’t like it . . . and she won’t see anyone but old Doctor Tibbetts . . . she’s sixty-eight . . . I can’t help fearing . . . no! . . .
Evans
[Bored—vaguely]
Well, I suppose you’ve got to be careful of every little thing when you get to her age.
Marsden
[Positively bristling]
Her age? Mother isn’t so old!
Evans
[Surprised]
Over sixty-five, isn’t she?
Marsden
[Indignantly]
You’re quite out there! She’s still under sixty-five—and in health and spirits she isn’t more than fifty! Everyone remarks that!
[Annoyed at himself]
Why did I lie to him about her age? . . . I must be on edge . . . Mother is rather difficult to live with these days, getting me worried to death, when it’s probably nothing . . .
Evans
[Annoyed in his turn—thinking]
Why all the fuss? . . . as if I gave a damn if the old girl was a million! . . .
[Indicating the papers]
I’ll give these to Nina first thing in the morning.
Marsden
[Mechanically]
Righto. Thank you.
[He starts to go toward door—then turns—fussily]
But you’d better take a look while I’m here and see if it’s clear. I’ve written on the margins. See if there’s anything you can’t make out.
[Evans nods helplessly and begins reading the sheets, going back beneath the lamp]
Marsden
[Looking around him with squeamish disapproval]
What a mess they’ve made of this study . . . poor Professor! . . . dead and forgotten . . . and his tomb desecrated . . . does Sam write his ads here of a week-end now? . . . the last touch! . . . and Nina labors with love at Gordon’s biography . . . whom the Professor hated! . . . “life is so full of a number of things!” . . . why does everyone in the world think they can write? . . . but I’ve only myself to blame . . . why in the devil did I ever suggest it to her? . . . because I hoped my helping her while Sam was in the city would bring us alone together? . . . but I made the suggestion before she had that abortion performed! . . . how do you know she did? . . . because I know! . . . there are psychic affinities . . . her body confessed . . . and since then, I’ve felt an aversion . . . as if she were a criminal . . . she is! . . . how could she? . . . why? . . . I thought she wanted a child . . . but evidently I don’t know her . . . I suppose, afraid it would spoil her figure . . . her flesh . . . her power to enslave men’s senses . . . mine . . . and I had hoped . . . looked forward to her becoming a mother . . . for my peace of mind. . . .
[Catching himself—violently]
Shut up! . . . what a base creature I’m becoming! . . . to have such thoughts when Mother is sick and I ought to be thinking only of her! . . . and it’s none of my damn business, anyway! . . .
[Glaring at Evans resentfully as if he were to blame]
Look at him! . . . he’ll never suspect anything! . . . what a simple-simon! . . . he adored Gordon as a newsboy does a champion pugilist! . . . and Nina writes of Gordon as if he had been a demi-god! . . . when actually he came from the commonest people! . . .
[He suddenly speaks to Evans with a really savage satisfaction]
Did I tell you I once looked up Gordon’s family in Beachampton? A truly deplorable lot! When I remembered Gordon and looked at his father I had either to suspect a lover in the wood pile or to believe in an Immaculate Conception . . . that is, until I saw his mother! Then a stork became the only conceivable explanation!
Evans
[Who has only half-heard and hasn’t understood, says vaguely]
I never saw his folks.
[Indicating the papers]
I can make this all out all right.
Marsden
[Sarcastically]
I’m glad it’s understandable!
Evans
[Blunderingly]
I’ll give it to Nina—and I hope your mother is feeling better tomorrow.
Marsden
[Piqued]
Oh, I’m going. Why didn’t you tell me if I was interrupting—your writing!
Evans
[Immediately guilty]
Oh, come on, Charlie, don’t get peevish, you know I didn’t mean—
[The bell rings. Evans stammers in confusion, trying at a nonchalant air]
Hello! That must be Ned. You remember Darrell. He’s coming out for a little visit. Excuse me.
[He blunders out of the door]
Marsden
[Looking after him with anger mixed with alarmed suspicion and surprise]
Darrell? . . . what’s he doing here? . . . have they been meeting? . . . perhaps he was the one who performed the . . . no, his idea was she ought to have a child . . . but if she came and begged him? . . . but why should Nina beg not to have a baby? . . .
[Distractedly]
Oh, I don’t know! . . . it’s all a sordid mess! . . . I ought to be going home! . . . I don’t want to see Darrell! . . .
[He starts for the door—then struck by a sudden thought, stops]
Wait . . . I could ask him about Mother . . . yes . . . good idea . . .
[He comes back to the middle of the room, front, and is standing there when Darrell enters, followed by Evans. Darrell has not changed in appearance except that his expression is graver and more thoughtful. His manner is more convincingly authoritative, more mature. He takes in Marsden from head to foot with one comprehensive glance]
Evans
[Awkwardly]
Ned, you remember Charlie Marsden?
Marsden
[Holding out his hand, urbanely polite]
How are you, Doctor?
Darrell
[Shaking his hand—briefly]
Hello.
Evans
I’ll go up and tell Nina you’re here, Ned.
[He goes, casting a resentful glance at Marsden]
Marsden
[Awkwardly, as Darrell sits down in the chair at center, goes over and stands by the table]
I was on the point of leaving when you rang. Then I decided to stop and renew our acquaintance.
[He stoops and picks up one sheet of paper, and puts it back carefully on the table]
Darrell
[Watching him—thinking]
Neat . . . suspiciously neat . . . he’s an old maid who seduces himself in his novels . . . so I suspect . . . I’d like a chance to study him more closely. . . .
Marsden
[Thinking resentfully]
What a boor! . . . he might say something! . . .
[Forcing a smile]
And I wanted to ask a favor of you, a word of advice as to the best specialist, the very best, it would be possible to consult—
Darrell
[Sharply]
On what?
Marsden
[Almost naïvely]
My mother has a pain in her stomach.
Darrell
[Amused—dryly]
Possibly she eats too much.
Marsden
[As he bends and carefully picks another sheet from the floor to place it as carefully on the table]
She doesn’t eat enough to keep a canary alive. It’s a dull, constant pain, she says. She’s terribly worried. She’s terrified by the idea of cancer. But, of course, that’s perfect rot, she’s never been sick a day in her life and—
Darrell
[Sharply]
She’s showing more intelligence about her pain than you are.
Marsden
[Bending down for another sheet, his voice trembling with terror]
I don’t understand—quite. Do you mean to say you think—?
Darrell
[Brutally]
It’s possible.
[He has pulled out his pen and a card and is writing]
[Thinking grimly]
Explode a bomb under him, as I did once before . . . only way to get him started doing anything. . . .
Marsden
[Angrily]
But—that’s nonsense!
Darrell
[With satisfaction—unruffledly]
People who are afraid to face unpleasant possibilities until it’s too late commit more murders and suicides than—
[Holds out card]
Doctor Schultz is your man. Take her to see him—tomorrow!
Marsden
[Bursting out in anger and misery]
Damn it, you’re condemning her without—!
[He breaks down chokingly]
You’ve no damn right!—
[He bends down, trembling all over, to pick up another piece of paper]
Darrell
[Genuinely astonished and contrite]
And I thought he was so ingrown he didn’t care a damn about anyone! . . . his mother . . . now I begin to see him . . .
[He jumps from his chair and going to Marsden puts a hand on his shoulder—kindly]
I beg your pardon, Marsden. I only wanted to drive it in that all delay is dangerous. Your mother’s pain may be due to any number of harmless causes, but you owe it to her to make sure. Here.
[He hands out the card]
Marsden
[Straightens up and takes it, his eyes grateful now—humbly]
Thank you. I’ll take her to see him tomorrow.
[Evans comes in]
Evans
[To Marsden, blunderingly]
Say, Charlie, I don’t want to hurry you but Nina wants some things at the store before it closes, and if you’d give me a lift—
Marsden
[Dully]
Of course. Come along.
[He shakes hands with Darrell]
Good night, Doctor—and thank you.
Darrell
Good night.
[Marsden goes, followed by Evans]
Evans
[Turns in the doorway and says meaningly]
Nina’ll be right down. For Pete’s sake, have a good heart-to-heart talk with her, Ned!
Darrell
[Frowning—impatiently]
Oh—all right! Run along.
[Evans goes]
[Darrell remains standing near the table looking after them, thinking about Marsden]
Queer fellow, Marsden . . . mother’s boy still . . . if she dies what will he do? . . .
[Then dismissing Marsden with a shrug of his shoulders]
Oh, well, he can always escape life in a new book. . . .
[He moves around the table examining its disorder critically, then sits down in armchair—amused]
Evidences of authorship . . . Sam’s ads? . . . isn’t making good, he said . . . was I wrong in thinking he had stuff in him? . . . hope not . . . always liked Sam, don’t know why exactly . . . said Nina’d gotten into a bad state again . . . what’s happened to their marriage? . . . I felt a bit sorry for myself at their wedding . . . not that I’d ever fallen . . . but I did envy him in a way . . . she always had strong physical attraction for me . . . that time I kissed her . . . one reason I’ve steered clear since . . . take no chances on emotional didos . . . need all my mind on my work . . . got rid of even that slight suspicion . . . I’d forgotten all about her . . . she’s a strange girl . . . interesting case . . . I should have kept in touch on that account . . . hope she’ll tell me about herself . . . can’t understand her not having child . . . it’s so obviously the sensible thing . . .
[Cynically]
Probably why . . . to expect common sense of people proves you’re lacking in it yourself! . . .
Nina
[Enters silently. She has fixed herself up, put on her best dress, arranged her hair, rouged, etc.—but it is principally her mood that has changed her, making her appear a younger, prettier person for the moment. Darrell immediately senses her presence, and, looking up, gets to his feet with a smile of affectionate admiration. She comes quickly over to him saying with frank pleasure]
Hello, Ned. I’m certainly glad to see you again—after all these years!
Darrell
[As they shake hands—smiling]
Not as long as all that, is it?
[Thinking admiringly]
Wonderful-looking as ever . . . Sam is a lucky devil! . . .
Nina
[Thinking]
Strong hands like Gordon’s . . . take hold of you . . . not like Sam’s . . . yielding fingers that let you fall back into yourself . . .
[Teasingly]
I ought to cut you dead after the shameful way you’ve ignored us!
Darrell
[A bit embarrassedly]
I’ve really meant to write.
[His eyes examining her keenly]
Been through a lot since I saw her . . . face shows it . . . nervous tension pronounced . . . hiding behind her smile . . .
Nina
[Uneasy under his glance]
I hate that professional look in his eyes . . . watching symptoms . . . without seeing me . . .
[With resentful mockery]
Well, what do you suspect is wrong with the patient now, Doctor?
[She laughs nervously]
Sit down, Ned. I suppose you can’t help your diagnosing stare.
[She turns from him and sits down in the rocker at center]
Darrell
[Quickly averting his eyes—sits down—jokingly]
Same old unjust accusation! You were always reading diagnosis into me, when what I was really thinking was what fine eyes you had, or what a becoming gown, or—
Nina
[Smiling]
Or what a becoming alibi you could cook up! Oh, I know you!
[With a sudden change of mood she laughs gaily and naturally]
But you’re forgiven—that is, if you can explain why you’ve never been to see us.
Darrell
Honestly, Nina, I’ve been so rushed with work I haven’t had a chance to go anywhere.
Nina
Or an inclination!
Darrell
[Smiling]
Well—maybe.
Nina
Do you like the Institute so much?
[He nods gravely]
Is it the big opportunity you wanted?
Darrell
[Simply]
I think it is.
Nina
[With a smile]
Well, you’re the taking kind for whom opportunities are made!
Darrell
[Smiling]
I hope so.
Nina
[Sighing]
I wish that could be said of more of us—
[Then quickly]
—meaning myself.
Darrell
[Thinking with a certain satisfaction]
Meaning Sam . . . that doesn’t look hopeful for future wedded bliss! . . .
[Teasingly]
But I heard you were “taking an opportunity” to go in for literature—collaborating with Marsden.
Nina
No, Charlie is only going to advise. He’d never deign to appear as co-author. And besides, he never appreciated the real Gordon. No one did except me.
Darrell
[Thinking caustically]
Gordon myth strong as ever . . . root of her trouble still . . .
[Keenly inquisitive]
Sam certainly appreciated him, didn’t he?
Nina
[Not remembering to hide her contempt]
Sam? Why, he’s the exact opposite in every way!
Darrell
[Caustically thinking]
These heroes die hard . . . but perhaps she can write him out of her system. . . .
[Persuasively]
Well, you’re going ahead with the biography, aren’t you? I think you ought to.
Nina
[Dryly]
For my soul, Doctor?
[Listlessly]
I suppose I will. I don’t know. I haven’t much time. The duties of a wife—
[Teasingly]
By the way, if it isn’t too rude to inquire, aren’t you getting yourself engaged to some fair lady or other?
Darrell
[Smiling—but emphatically]
Not on your life! Not until after I’m thirty-five, at least!
Nina
[Sarcastically]
Then you don’t believe in taking your own medicine? Why, Doctor! Think of how much good it would do you!—
[Excitedly with a hectic sarcasm]
—if you had a nice girl to love—or was it learn to love?—and take care of—whose character you could shape and whose life you could guide and make what you pleased, in whose unselfish devotion you could find peace!
[More and more bitterly sarcastic]
And you ought to have a baby, Doctor! You will never know what life is, you’ll never be really happy until you’ve had a baby, Doctor—a fine, healthy baby!
[She laughs a bitter, sneering laugh]
Darrell
[After a quick, keen glance, thinking]
Good! . . . she’s going to tell . . .
[Meekly]
I recognize my arguments. Was I really wrong on every point, Nina?
Nina
[Harshly]
On every single point, Doctor!
Darrell
[Glancing at her keenly]
But how? You haven’t given the baby end of it a chance yet, have you?
Nina
[Bitterly]
Oh, haven’t I?
[Then bursts out with intense bitterness]
I’ll have you know I’m not destined to bear babies, Doctor!
Darrell
[Startledly]
What’s that? . . . why not? . . .
[Again with a certain satisfaction]
Can she mean Sam? . . . that he . . .
[Soothingly—but plainly disturbed]
Why don’t you begin at the beginning and tell me all about it? I feel responsible.
Nina
[Fiercely]
You are!
[Then wearily]
And you’re not. No one is. You didn’t know. No one could know.
Darrell
[In same tone]
Know what?
[Thinking with the same eagerness to believe something he hopes]
She must mean no one could know that Sam wasn’t . . . but I might have guessed it . . . from his general weakness . . . poor unlucky devil . . .
[Then as she remains silent—urgingly]
Tell me. I want to help you, Nina.
Nina
[Touched]
It’s too late, Ned.
[Then suddenly]
I’ve just thought—Sam said he happened to run into you. That isn’t so, is it? He went to see you and told you how worried he was about me and asked you out to see me, didn’t he?
[As Darrell nods]
Oh, I don’t mind! It’s even rather touching.
[Then mockingly]
Well, since you’re out here professionally, and my husband wants me to consult you, I might as well give you the whole case history!
[Wearily]
I warn you it isn’t pretty, Doctor! But then life doesn’t seem to be pretty, does it? And, after all, you aided and abetted God the Father in making this mess. I hope it’ll teach you not to be so cocksure in future.
[More and more bitterly]
I must say you proceeded very unscientifically, Doctor!
[Then suddenly starts her story in a dull monotonous tone recalling that of Evans’ mother in the previous Act]
When we went to visit Sam’s mother I’d known for two months that I was going to have a baby.
Darrell
[Startled—unable to hide a trace of disappointment]
Oh, then you actually were?
[Thinking disappointedly and ashamed of himself for being disappointed]
All wrong, what I thought . . . she was going to . . . then why didn’t she? . . .
Nina
[With a strange happy intensity]
Oh, Ned, I loved it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life—even Gordon! I loved it so it seemed at times that Gordon must be its real father, that Gordon must have come to me in a dream while I was lying asleep beside Sam! And I was happy! I almost loved Sam then! I felt he was a good husband!
Darrell
[Instantly repelled—thinking with scornful jealousy]
Ha! . . . the hero again! . . . comes to her bed! . . . puts horns on poor Sam! . . . becomes the father of his child! . . . I’ll be damned if hers isn’t the most idiotic obsession I ever . . .
Nina
[Her voice suddenly becoming flat and lifeless]
And then Sam’s mother told me I couldn’t have my baby. You see, Doctor, Sam’s great-grandfather was insane, and Sam’s grandmother died in an asylum, and Sam’s father had lost his mind for years before he died, and an aunt who is still alive is crazy. So of course I had to agree it would be wrong—and I had an operation.
Darrell
[Who has listened with amazed horror—profoundly shocked and stunned]
Good God! Are you crazy, Nina? I simply can’t believe! It would be too hellish! Poor Sam, of all people!
[Bewilderedly]
Nina! Are you absolutely sure?
Nina
[Immediately defensive and mocking]
Absolutely, Doctor! Why? Do you think it’s I who am crazy? Sam looks so healthy and sane, doesn’t he? He fooled you completely, didn’t he? You thought he’d be an ideal husband for me! And poor Sam’s fooling himself too because he doesn’t know anything about all this—so you can’t blame him, Doctor!
Darrell
[Thinking in a real panic of horror—and a flood of protective affection for her]
God, this is too awful! . . . on top of all the rest! . . . how did she ever stand it! . . . she’ll lose her mind too! . . . and it’s my fault! . . .
[Getting up, comes to her and puts his hands on her shoulders, standing behind her—tenderly]
Nina! I’m so damn sorry! There’s only one possible thing to do now. You’ll have to make Sam give you a divorce.
Nina
[Bitterly]
Yes? Then what do you suppose would be his finish? No, I’ve enough guilt in my memory now, thank you! I’ve got to stick to Sam!
[Then with a strange monotonous insistence]
I’ve promised Sam’s mother I’d make him happy! He’s unhappy now because he thinks he isn’t able to give me a child. And I’m unhappy because I’ve lost my child. So I must have another baby—somehow—don’t you think, Doctor?—to make us both happy?
[She looks up at him pleadingly. For a moment they stare into each other’s eyes—then both turn away in guilty confusion]
Darrell
[Bewilderedly thinking]
That look in her eyes . . . what does she want me to think? . . . why does she talk so much about being happy? . . . am I happy? . . . I don’t know . . . what is happiness? . . .
[Confusedly]
Nina, I don’t know what to think.
Nina
[Thinking strangely]
That look in his eyes . . . what did he mean? . . .
[With the same monotonous insistence]
You must know what to think. I can’t think it out myself any more. I need your advice—your scientific advice this time, if you please, Doctor. I’ve thought and thought about it. I’ve told myself it’s what I ought to do. Sam’s own mother urged me to do it. It’s sensible and kind and just and good. I’ve told myself this a thousand times and yet I can’t quite convince something in me that’s afraid of something. I need the courage of someone who can stand outside and reason it out as if Sam and I were no more than guinea pigs. You’ve got to help me, Doctor! You’ve got to show me what’s the sane—the truly sane, you understand!—thing I must do for Sam’s sake, and my own.
Darrell
[Thinking confusedly]
What do I have to do? . . . this was all my fault . . . I owe her something in return . . . I owe Sam something . . . I owe them happiness! . . .
[Irritably]
Damn it, there’s a humming in my ears! . . . I’ve caught some fever . . . I swore to live coolly . . . let me see. . . .
[In a cold, emotionless professional voice, his face like a mask of a doctor]
A doctor must be in full possession of the facts, if he is to advise. What is it precisely that Sam’s wife has thought so much of doing?
Nina
[In the same insistent tone]
Of picking out a healthy male about whom she cared nothing and having a child by him that Sam would believe was his child, whose life would give him confidence in his own living, who would be for him a living proof that his wife loved him.
[Confusedly, strangely and purposefully]
This doctor is healthy. . . .
Darrell
[In his ultra-professional manner—like an automaton of a doctor]
I see. But this needs a lot of thinking over. It isn’t easy to prescribe—
[Thinking]
I have a friend who has a wife . . . I was envious at his wedding . . . but what has that to do with it? . . . damn it, my mind won’t work! . . . it keeps running away to her . . . it wants to mate with her mind . . . in the interest of Science? . . . what damned rot I’m thinking! . . .
Nina
[Thinking as before]
This doctor is nothing to me but a healthy male . . . when he was Ned he once kissed me . . . but I cared nothing about him . . . so that’s all right, isn’t it, Sam’s Mother?
Darrell
[Thinking]
Let me see. . . . I am in the laboratory and they are guinea pigs . . . in fact, in the interest of science, I can be for the purpose of this experiment, a healthy guinea pig myself and still remain an observer . . . I observe my pulse is high, for example, and that’s obviously because I am stricken with a recurrence of an old desire . . . desire is a natural male reaction to the beauty of the female . . . her husband is my friend. . . . I have always tried to help him . . .
[Coldly]
I’ve been considering what Sam’s wife told me and her reasoning is quite sound. The child can’t be her husband’s.
Nina
Then you agree with Sam’s mother? She said: “Being happy is the nearest we can ever come to knowing what good is!”
Darrell
I agree with her decidedly. Sam’s wife should find a healthy father for Sam’s child at once. It is her sane duty to her husband.
[Worriedly thinking]
Have I ever been happy? . . . I have studied to cure the body’s unhappiness . . . I have watched happy smiles form on the lips of the dying . . . I have experienced pleasure with a number of women I desired but never loved . . . I have known a bit of honor and a trifle of self-satisfaction . . . this talk of happiness seems to me extraneous . . .
Nina
[Beginning to adopt a timid, diffident, guilty tone]
This will have to be hidden from Sam so he can never know! Oh, Doctor, Sam’s wife is afraid!
Darrell
[Sharply professional]
Nonsense! This is no time for timidity! Happiness hates the timid! So does Science! Certainly Sam’s wife must conceal her action! To let Sam know would be insanely cruel of her—and stupid, for then no one could be the happier for her act!
[Anxiously thinking]
Am I right to advise this? . . . yes, it is clearly the rational thing to do . . . but this advice betrays my friend! . . . no, it saves him! . . . it saves his wife . . . and if a third party should know a little happiness . . . is he any poorer, am I any the less his friend because I saved him? . . . no, my duty to him is plain . . . and my duty as an experimental searcher after truth . . . to observe these three guinea pigs, of which I am one . . .
Nina
[Thinking determinedly]
I must have my baby! . . .
[Timidly—gets from her chair and half-turns toward him—pleadingly]
You must give his wife courage, Doctor. You must free her from her feeling of guilt.
Darrell
There can only be guilt when one deliberately neglects one’s manifest duty to life. Anything else is rot! This woman’s duty is to save her husband and herself by begetting a healthy child!
[Thinking guiltily and instinctively moving away from her]
I am healthy . . . but he is my friend . . . there is such a thing as honor! . . .
Nina
[Determinedly]
I must take my happiness! . . .
[Frightenedly—comes after him]
But she is ashamed. It’s adultery. It’s wrong.
Darrell
[Moving away again—with a cold sneering laugh of impatience]
Wrong! Would she rather see her husband wind up in an asylum? Would she rather face the prospect of going to pot mentally, morally, physically herself through year after year of devilling herself and him? Really, Madame, if you can’t throw overboard all such irrelevant moral ideas, I’ll have to give up this case here and now!
[Thinking frightenedly]
Who is talking? . . . is he suggesting me? . . . but you know very well I can’t be the one, Doctor! . . . why not, you’re healthy and it’s a friendly act for all concerned . . .
Nina
[Thinking determinedly]
I must have my baby! . . .
[Going further toward him—she can now touch him with her hand]
Please, Doctor, you must give her strength to do this right thing that seems to her so right and then so wrong!
[She puts out her hand and takes one of his]
Darrell
[Thinking frightenedly]
Whose hand is this? . . . it burns me . . . I kissed her once . . . her lips were cold . . . now they would burn with happiness for me! . . .
Nina
[Taking his other hand and slowly pulling him around to face her, although he does not look at her—pleadingly]
Now she feels your strength. It gives her the courage to ask you, Doctor, to suggest the father. She has changed, Doctor, since she became Sam’s wife. She can’t bear the thought now of giving herself to any man she could neither desire nor respect. So each time her thoughts come to the man she must select they are afraid to go on! She needs your courage to choose!
Darrell
[As if listening to himself]
Sam is my friend . . . well, and isn’t she your friend? . . . her two hands are so warm! . . . I must not even hint at my desire! . . .
[Judicially calm]
Well, the man must be someone who is not unattractive to her physically, of course.
Nina
Ned always attracted her.
Darrell
[Thinking frightenedly]
What’s that she said? . . . Ned? . . . attracts? . . .
[In same tone]
And the man should have a mind that can truly understand—a scientific mind superior to the moral scruples that cause so much human blundering and unhappiness.
Nina
She always thought Ned had a superior mind.
Darrell
[Thinking frightenedly]
Did she say Ned? . . . she thinks Ned . . . ?
[In same tone]
The man should like and admire her, he should be her good friend and want to help her, but he should not love her—although he might, without harm to anyone, desire her.
Nina
Ned does not love her—but he used to like her and, I think, desire her. Does he now, Doctor?
Darrell
[Thinking]
Does he? . . . who is he? . . . he is Ned! . . . Ned is I! . . . I desire her! . . . I desire happiness! . . .
[Tremblingly now—gently]
But, Madame, I must confess the Ned you are speaking of is I, and I am Ned.
Nina
[Gently]
And I am Nina, who wants her baby.
[Then she reaches out and turns his head until his face faces hers but he keeps his eyes down—she bends her head meekly and submissively—softly]
I should be so grateful, Ned.
[He starts, looks up at her wildly, makes a motion as though to take her in his arms, then remains fixed for a moment in that attitude, staring at her bowed head as she repeats submissively]
I should be so humbly grateful.
Darrell
[Suddenly falling on his knees and taking her hand in both of his and kissing it humbly—with a sob]
Yes—yes, Nina—yes—for your happiness—in that spirit!
[Thinking—fiercely triumphant]
I shall be happy for a while! . . .
Nina
[Raising her head—thinking—proudly triumphant]
I shall be happy! . . . I shall make my husband happy! . . .
CURTAIN