Long Day's Journey into Night (Yale Nota Bene) (6 page)

With a defensive air of weary indifference again.

All right. I did put Edmund wise to things, but not until I saw he’d started to raise hell, and knew he’d laugh at me if I tried the good advice, older brother stuff. All I did was make a pal of him and be absolutely frank so he’d learn from my mistakes that—

He shrugs his shoulders—cynically.

Well, that if you can’t be good you can at least be careful.

His father snorts contemptuously. Suddenly Jamie becomes really moved.

That’s a rotten accusation, Papa. You know how much the Kid means to me, and how close we’ve always been—not like the usual brothers! I’d do anything for him.

Impressed
—
mollifyingly.

I know you may have thought it was for the best, Jamie. I didn’t say you did it deliberately to harm him.

Besides it’s damned rot! I’d like to see anyone influence Edmund more than he wants to be. His quietness fools people into thinking they can do what they like with him. But he’s stubborn as hell inside and what he does is what he wants to do, and to hell with anyone else! What had I to do with all the crazy stunts he’s pulled in the last few years—working his way all over the map as a sailor and all that stuff. I thought that was a damned fool idea, and I told him so. You can’t imagine me getting fun out of being on the beach in South America, or living in filthy dives, drinking rotgut, can you? No, thanks! I’ll stick to Broadway, and a room with a bath, and bars that serve bonded Bourbon.

You and Broadway! It’s made you what you are!

With a touch of pride.

Whatever Edmund’s done, he’s had the guts to go off on his own, where he couldn’t come whining to me the minute he was broke.

Stung into sneering jealousy.

He’s always come home broke finally, hasn’t he? And what did his going away get him? Look at him now!

He is suddenly shamefaced.

Christ! That’s a lousy thing to say. I don’t mean that.

Decides to ignore this.

He’s been doing well on the paper. I was hoping he’d found the work he wants to do at last.

Sneering jealously again.

A hick town rag! Whatever bull they hand you, they tell me he’s a pretty bum reporter. If he weren’t your son—

Ashamed again.

No, that’s not true! They’re glad to have him, but it’s the special stuff that gets him by. Some of the poems and parodies he’s written are damned good.

Grudgingly again.

Not that they’d ever get him anywhere on the big time.

Hastily.

But he’s certainly made a damned good start.

Yes. He’s made a start. You used to talk about wanting to become a newspaper man but you were never willing to start at the bottom. You expected—

Oh, for Christ’s sake, Papa! Can’t you lay off me!

Stares at him—then looks away—after a pause.

It’s damnable luck Edmund should be sick right now. It couldn’t have come at a worse time for him.

He adds, unable to conceal an almost furtive uneasiness.

Or for your mother. It’s damnable she should have this to upset her, just when she needs peace and freedom from worry. She’s been so well in the two months since she came home.

His voice grows husky and trembles a little.

It’s been heaven to me. This home has been a home again. But I needn’t tell you, Jamie.

His son looks at him, for the first time with an understanding sympathy. It is as if suddenly a deep bond of common feeling existed between them in which their antagonisms could be forgotten.

Almost gently.

I’ve felt the same way, Papa.

Yes, this time you can see how strong and sure of herself she is. She’s a different woman entirely from the other times. She has control of her nerves—or she had until Edmund got sick. Now you can feel her growing tense and frightened underneath. I wish to God we could keep the truth from her, but we can’t if he has to be sent to a sanatorium. What makes it worse is her father died of consumption. She worshiped him and she’s never forgotten. Yes, it will be hard for her. But she can do it! She has the will power now! We must help her, Jamie, in every way we can!

Moved.

Of course, Papa.

Hesitantly.

Outside of nerves, she seems perfectly all right this morning.

With hearty confidence now.

Never better. She’s full of fun and mischief.

Suddenly he frowns at Jamie suspiciously.

Why do you say, seems? Why shouldn’t she be all right? What the hell do you mean?

Don’t start jumping down my throat! God, Papa, this ought to be one thing we can talk over frankly without a battle.

I’m sorry, Jamie.

Tensely.

But go on and tell me—

There’s nothing to tell. I was all wrong. It’s just that last night—Well, you know how it is, I can’t forget the past. I can’t help being suspicious. Any more than you can.

Bitterly.

That’s the hell of it. And it makes it hell for Mama! She watches us watching her—

Sadly.

I know.

Tensely.

Well, what was it? Can’t you speak out?

Nothing, I tell you. Just my damned foolishness. Around three o’clock this morning, I woke up and heard her moving around in the spare room. Then she went to the bathroom. I pretended to be asleep. She stopped in the hall to listen, as if she wanted to make sure I was.

With forced scorn.

For God’s sake, is that all? She told me herself the foghorn kept her awake all night, and every night since Edmund’s been sick she’s been up and down, going to his room to see how he was.

Eagerly.

Yes, that’s right, she did stop to listen outside his room.

Hesitantly again.

It was her being in the spare room that scared me. I couldn’t help remembering that when she starts sleeping alone in there, it has always been a sign—

It isn’t this time! It’s easily explained. Where else could she go last night to get away from my snoring?

He gives way to a burst of resentful anger.

By God, how you can live with a mind that sees nothing but the worst motives behind everything is beyond me!

Stung.

Don’t pull that! I’ve just said I was all wrong. Don’t you suppose I’m as glad of that as you are!

Mollifyingly.

I’m sure you are, Jamie.

A pause. His expression becomes somber. He speaks slowly with a superstitious dread.

It would be like a curse she can’t escape if worry over Edmund—It was in her long sickness after bringing him into the world that she first—

She didn’t have anything to do with it!

I’m not blaming her.

Bitingly.

Then who are you blaming? Edmund, for being born?

You damned fool! No one was to blame.

The bastard of a doctor was! From what Mama’s said, he was another cheap quack like Hardy! You wouldn’t pay for a first-rate—

That’s a lie!

Furiously.

So I’m to blame! That’s what you’re driving at, is it? You evil-minded loafer!

Warningly as he hears his mother in the dining room.

Ssh!

Tyrone gets hastily to his feet and goes to look out the windows at right. Jamie speaks with a complete change of tone.

Well, if we’re going to cut the front hedge today, we’d better go to work.

Mary comes in from the back parlor. She gives a quick, suspicious glance from one to the other, her manner nervously self-conscious.

Turns from the window—with an actor’s heartiness.

Yes, it’s too fine a morning to waste indoors arguing. Take a look out the window, Mary. There’s no fog in the harbor. I’m sure the spell of it we’ve had is over now.

Going to him.

I hope so, dear.

To Jamie, forcing a smile.

Did I actually hear you suggesting work on the front hedge, Jamie? Wonders will never cease! You must want pocket money badly.

Kiddingly.

When don’t I?

He winks at her, with a derisive glance at his father.

I expect a salary of at least one large iron man at the end of the week—to carouse on!

Does not respond to his humor—her hands fluttering over the front of her dress.

What were you two arguing about?

Shrugs his shoulders.

The same old stuff.

I heard you say something about a doctor, and your father accusing you of being evil-minded.

Quickly.

Oh, that. I was saying again Doc Hardy isn’t my idea of the world’s greatest physician.

Knows he is lying— vaguely.

Oh. No, I wouldn’t say he was, either.

Changing the subject—forcing a smile.

That Bridget! I thought I’d never get away. She told me all about her second cousin on the police force in St. Louis.

Then with nervous irritation.

Well, if you’re going to work on the hedge why don’t you go?

Hastily.

I mean, take advantage of the sunshine before the fog comes back.

Strangely, as if talking aloud to herself.

Because I know it will.

Suddenly she is self-consciously aware that they are both staring fixedly at her—flurriedly, raising her hands.

Or I should say, the rheumatism in my hands knows. It’s a better weather prophet than you are, James.

She stares at her hands with fascinated repulsion.

Ugh! How ugly they are! Who’d ever believe they were once beautiful?

They stare at her with a growing dread.

Takes her hands and gently pushes them down.

Now, now, Mary. None of that foolishness. They’re the sweetest hands in the world.

She smiles, her face lighting up, and kisses him gratefully. He turns to his son.

Come on Jamie. Your mother’s right to scold us. The way to start work is to start work. The hot sun will sweat some of that booze fat off your middle.

He opens the screen door and goes out on the porch and disappears down a flight of steps leading to the ground. Jamie rises from his chair and, taking off his coat, goes to the door. At the door he turns back but avoids looking at her, and she does not look at him.

With an awkward, uneasy tenderness.

We’re all so proud of you, Mama, so darned happy.

She stiffens and stares at him with a frightened defiance. He flounders on.

But you’ve still got to be careful. You mustn’t worry so much about Edmund. He’ll be all right.

With a stubborn, bitterly resentful look.

Of course, he’ll be all right. And I don’t know what you mean, warning me to be careful.

Rebuffed and hurt, shrugs his shoulders.

All right, Mama. I’m sorry I spoke.

He goes out on the porch. She waits rigidly until he disappears down the steps. Then she sinks down in the chair he had occupied, her face betraying a frightened, furtive desperation, her hands roving over the table top, aimlessly moving objects around. She hears Edmund descending the stairs in the front hall. As he nears the bottom he has a fit of coughing. She springs to her feet, as if she wanted to run away from the sound, and goes quickly to the windows at right. She is looking out, apparently calm, as he enters from the front parlor, a book in one hand. She turns to him, her lips set in a welcoming, motherly smile.