Plays Part 47

MADELINE: She-wants me to go with her. This is Professor Holden, father.

HOLDEN: How do you do, Mr Morton?

IRA: (nods, not noticing HOLDEN's offered hand) How'do. When is she coming back?

MADELINE: Soon.

IRA: And then you're going with her?

MADELINE: I-don't know.

IRA: I say you go with her. You want them all to come down on us? (to HOLDEN) What are you here for?

MADELINE: Aunt Isabel brought Professor Holden, father.

IRA: Oh. Then you-you tell her what to do. You make her do it. (he goes into the room at left)

MADELINE: (sadly, after a silence) Father's like something touched by an early frost.

HOLDEN: Yes. (seeing his opening and forcing himself to take it) But do you know, Madeline, there are other ways of that happening-'touched by an early frost'. I've seen it happen to people I know-people of fine and daring mind. They do a thing that puts them apart-it may be the big, brave thing-but the apartness does something to them. I've seen it many times-so many times-so many times, I fear for you. You do this thing and you'll find yourself with people who in many ways you don't care for at all; find yourself apart from people who in most ways are your own people. You're many-sided, Madeline. (moves her tennis racket) I don't know about it's all going to one side. I hate to see you, so young, close a door on so much life. I'm being just as honest with you as I know how. I myself am making compromises to stay within. I don't like it, but there are-reasons for doing it. I can't see you leave that main body without telling you all it is you are leaving. It's not a clean-cut case-the side of the world or the side of the angels. I hate to see you lose the-fullness of life.

MADELINE: (a slight start, as she realizes the pause. As one recalled from far) I'm sorry. I was listening to what you were saying-but all the time-something else was happening. Grandfather Morton, big and-oh, terrible. He was here. And we went to that walled-up hole in the ground-(rising and pointing down at the chalked cell)-where they keep Fred Jordan on bread and water because he couldn't be a part of nations of men killing each other-and Silas Morton-only he was all that is back of us, tore open that cell-it was his voice tore it open-his voice as he cried, 'G.o.d d.a.m.n you, this is America!' (sitting down, as if rallying from a tremendous experience) I'm sorry-it should have happened, while you were speaking. Won't you-go on?

HOLDEN: That's a pretty hard thing to go on against. (after a moment) I can't go on.

MADELINE: You were thinking of leaving the college, and then-decided to stay? (he nods) And you feel there's more-fullness of life for you inside the college than outside?

HOLDEN: No-not exactly. (again a pause) It's very hard for me to talk to you.

MADELINE: (gently) Perhaps we needn't do it.

HOLDEN: (something in him forcing him to say it) I'm staying for financial reasons.

MADELINE: (kind, but not going to let the truth get away) You don't think that-having to stay within-or deciding to, rather, makes you think these things of the-blight of being without?

HOLDEN: I think there is danger to you in-so young, becoming alien to society.

MADELINE: As great as the danger of staying within-and becoming like the thing I'm within?

HOLDEN: You wouldn't become like it.

MADELINE: Why wouldn't I? That's what it does to the rest of you. I don't see it-this fullness of life business. I don't see that Uncle Felix has got it-or even Aunt Isabel, and you-I think that in buying it you're losing it.

HOLDEN: I don't think you know what a cruel thing you are saying.

MADELINE: There must be something pretty rotten about Morton College if you have to sell your soul to stay in it!

HOLDEN: You don't 'sell your soul'. You persuade yourself to wait.

MADELINE: (unable to look at him, as if feeling shame) You have had a talk with Uncle Felix since that day in the library you stepped aside for me to pa.s.s.

HOLDEN: Yes; and with my wife's physician. If you sell your soul-it's to love you sell it.

MADELINE: (low) That's strange. It's love that-brings life along, and then it's love-holds life back.

HOLDEN: (and all the time with this effort against hopelessness) Leaving me out of it, I'd like to see you give yourself a little more chance for detachment. You need a better intellectual equipment if you're going to fight the world you find yourself in. I think you will count for more if you wait, and when you strike, strike more maturely.

MADELINE: Detachment. (pause) This is one thing they do at this place. (she moves to the open door) Chain them up to the bars-just like this. (in the doorway where her two grandfathers once pledged faith with the dreams of a million years, she raises clasped hands as high as they will go) Eight hours a day-day after day. Just hold your arms up like this one hour then sit down and think about-(as if tortured by all who have been so tortured, her body begins to give with sobs, arms drop, the last word is a sob) detachment.

HOLDEN is standing helplessly by when her father comes in.

IRA: (wildly) Don't cry. No! Not in this house! I can't-Your aunt and uncle will fix it up. The law won't take you this time-and you won't do it again.

MADELINE: Oh, what does that matter-what they do to me?

IRA: What are you crying about then?

MADELINE: It's-the world. It's-

IRA: The world? If that's all you've got to cry about! (to HOLDEN) Tell her that's nothing to cry about. What's the matter with you. Mad'line? That's crazy-cryin' about the world! What good has ever come to this house through carin' about the world? What good's that college? Better we had that hill. Why is there no one in this house to-day but me and you? Where's your mother? Where's your brother? The world.

HOLDEN: I think your father would like to talk to you. I'll go outside-walk a little, and come back for you with your aunt. You must let us see you through this, Madeline. You couldn't bear the things it would bring you to. I see that now. (as he pa.s.ses her in the doorway his hand rests an instant on her bent head) You're worth too much to break.

IRA: (turning away) I don't want to talk to you. What good comes of talking? (In moving, he has stepped near the sack of corn. Takes hold of it.) But not with Emil Johnson! That's not-what your mother died for.

MADELINE: Father, you must talk to me. What did my mother die for? No one has ever told me about her-except that she was beautiful-not like other people here. I got a feeling of-something from far away. Something from long ago. Rare. Why can't Uncle Felix talk about her? Why can't you? Wouldn't she want me to know her? Tell me about her. It's my birthday and I need my mother.

IRA: (as if afraid he is going to do it) How can you touch-what you've not touched in nineteen years? Just once-in nineteen years-and that did no good.

MADELINE: Try. Even though it hurts. Didn't you use to talk to her? Well, I'm her daughter. Talk to me. What has she to do with Emil Johnson?

IRA: (the pent-up thing loosed) What has she to do with him? She died so he could live. He lives because she's dead, (in anguish) And what is he alongside her? Yes. Something from far away. Something from long ago. Rare. How'd you know that? Finding in me-what I didn't know was there. Then she came-that ignorant Swede-Emil Johnson's mother-running through the cornfield like a crazy woman-'Miss Morton! Miss Morton! Come help me! My children are choking!' Diphtheria they had-the whole of 'em-but out of this house she ran-my Madeline, leaving you-her own baby-running as fast as she could through the cornfield after that immigrant woman. She stumbled in the rough field-fell to her knees. That was the last I saw of her. She choked to death in that Swede's house. They lived.

MADELINE: (going to him) Oh-father, (voice rich) But how lovely of her.

IRA: Lovely? Lovely to leave you without a mother-leave me without her after I'd had her? Wasn't she worth more than them.

MADELINE: (proudly) Yes. She was worth so much that she never stopped to think how much she was worth.

IRA: Ah, if you'd known her you couldn't take it like that. And now you cry about the world! That's what the world is-all coming to nothing. My father used to sit there at the table and talk about the world-my father and her father. They thought 'twas all for something-that what you were went on into something more than you. That's the talk I always heard in this house. But it's just talk. The rare thing that came here was killed by the common thing that came here. Just happens-and happens cruel. Look at your brother! Gone-(snaps his fingers) like that. I told him not to go to war. He didn't have to go-they'd been glad enough to have him stay here on the farm. But no,-he must-make the world safe for democracy! Well, you see how safe he made it, don't you? Now I'm alone on the farm and he-buried on some Frenchman's farm. That is, I hope they buried him-I hope they didn't just-(tormented)

MADELINE: Oh, father-of course not. I know they did.

IRA: How do you know? What do you care-once they got him? He talked about the world-better world-end war. Now he's in his grave-I hope he is-and look at the front page of the paper! No such thing-war to end war!

MADELINE: But he thought there was, father. Fred believed that-so what else could he do?

IRA: He could 'a' minded his own business.