Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 300

HINDES. Absurd!

f.a.n.n.y [_resolutely_]. I know what I'm talking about, and I know what to do.

[_Silence._]

HINDES [_regarding her closely. With blunt emphasis_]. You're thinking now over what death you shall choose.

f.a.n.n.y [_motionless_].

HINDES [_taking a seat_]. Let me tell you a story. There was once upon a time a man who--not through doubt and misfortune, but rather through good times and pleasures, came to the conclusion that life wasn't worth living. So he went off to buy a revolver. On his way a great clamor arose in the street. A house had caught fire and in a moment was in flames. Suddenly, at one of the windows in the top story there appeared a woman. The firemen had placed their highest ladders against the building and a man began to climb up. That man was none other than our candidate for suicide. He took the woman out of the window, gave her to the firemen who had followed him up, and then went through the window into the house. The surrounding crowd trembled with fear lest the house should cave in at the very last moment. Flames already appeared at the window, and people were sure that the hero had been burned to death inside. But he had not been burned; he soon appeared on the roof, with a small child in his arms. The ladders could not reach to this height, so the firemen threw him a rope. He tied the rope about the child and lowered it to the firemen. But he himself was beyond rescue. He folded his hands over his heart, and tears trickled from his eyes. He, who but a moment before had sought death, now desired not to die. No, he wanted to live, for in that moment he had found a purpose: to live and to do good.

f.a.n.n.y [_angrily_]. To do good! I'm tired of doing good!

HINDES. Don't sin against yourself, f.a.n.n.y!

f.a.n.n.y. Do good! I have done good; I have lived for others, not myself; and now you can see for yourself that I have not fulfilled my life. I feel as wretched as the most miserable, as the most wicked, and I long for death even as the most unhappy!

HINDES [_looking at her from under his spectacles_]. Does Olga know of your feelings toward Berman?

f.a.n.n.y [_angrily_]. I don't know what she knows.

HINDES. Can't you give me any better reply than that?

f.a.n.n.y. What can I know? I used to write her letters just full of Berman.

HINDES. Could Olga have gathered from them that you were not indifferently disposed toward him?

f.a.n.n.y. What do you mean by this cross-examination?

HINDES. I have a notion that if you were to do what you have in your mind at present,--a thing I cannot bring myself to name,--then Olga would not accept Berman's love. Rather she would take her own life, since she would look upon herself as the cause of your death.

f.a.n.n.y. What's this you've thought up?

HINDES. Just what you heard.

f.a.n.n.y. And you mean--?

HINDES. --That you know your sister and ought to realize what she's liable to do.

f.a.n.n.y [_in a fit of anger_]. First she takes away my life, and now she will not let me die!

[_Her head sinks to the table._]

HINDES. There spoke the true f.a.n.n.y, the f.a.n.n.y of yore.

f.a.n.n.y [_weeps bitterly_].

HINDES. Well may you weep. Weep, f.a.n.n.y, weep until the tears come no more. But when that is over, then dry your eyes and never weep again.

Dry forever the source of all your tears. That's exactly what I did, do you understand? Such people as you and I, robbed of personal happiness, must either weep forever, or never weep at all. I chose the latter course. Harden yourself, f.a.n.n.y, and then fold your arms on your breast and look fearlessly forward into life, fulfilling it as your heart dictates.

f.a.n.n.y [_continues weeping_].

HINDES [_noticing Berman's letter on the table, takes it up and throws it down angrily_]. Such a botched, idiotic sentence! And he's a poet!

f.a.n.n.y [_raising her head_]. If things are as you say, then Olga will in any case reject Berman. She will imagine that she is taking him away from me, and such a thing she would never do.

HINDES. Perhaps. [_Suddenly, bluntly._] And what will be the effect of all this upon you?

f.a.n.n.y [_brokenly_]. Who's thinking of self? I mean that I want her to have him.

HINDES. There's the old f.a.n.n.y again!

f.a.n.n.y. Ah! Enough of that! Better help me with some suggestion.

HINDES. Some suggestion? Be her matchmaker.

f.a.n.n.y. And suppose she should turn the tables and want to be my matchmaker?

HINDES. We've got to think that over.

[_Silence._]

f.a.n.n.y [_brokenly_]. Hindes!

HINDES. What?

f.a.n.n.y. I have an idea.

HINDES. Good.

f.a.n.n.y. But I need your aid.

HINDES. Count on me, if I'm able.

f.a.n.n.y. Do you promise?

HINDES. Blindly?

f.a.n.n.y. Blindly.

HINDES [_looks at her_]. Why must I promise you blindly? If I'm able, you may be sure I'll help.

f.a.n.n.y [_brokenly, yet in embarra.s.sment_]. Take me.... Marry me.

HINDES [_for a moment he looks at her, then picks up his crutch, his books and the packages_].

f.a.n.n.y [_beseechingly_]. Hindes! If I should marry, Olga wouldn't have any obstacle in her way.