ACT NINE
ACT NINE
Scene: Several months later. A terrace on the Evans’ estate on Long Island. In the rear, the terrace overlooks a small harbor with the ocean beyond. On the right is a side entrance of the pretentious villa. On the left is a hedge with an arched gateway leading to a garden. The terrace is paved with rough stone. There is a stone bench at center, a recliner at right, a wicker table and armchair at left.
It is late afternoon, of a day in early fall. Gordon Evans is sitting on the stone bench, his chin propped on his hands, Madeline standing behind him, her arm about his shoulders. Gordon is over six feet tall with the figure of a trained athlete. His sun-bronzed face is extremely handsome after the fashion of the magazine cover American collegian. It is a strong face but of a strength wholly material in quality. He has been too thoroughly trained to progress along a certain groove to success ever to question it or be dissatisfied with its rewards. At the same time, although entirely an unimaginative code-bound gentleman of his groove, he is boyish and likable, of an even, modest, sporting disposition. His expression is boyishly forlorn, but he is making a manly effort to conceal his grief.
Madeline is much the same as in the previous Act except that there is now a distinct maternal older feeling in her attitude toward Gordon as she endeavors to console him.
Madeline
[Tenderly, smoothing his hair]
There, dear! I know how horribly hard it is for you. I loved him, too. He was so wonderful and sweet to me.
Gordon
[His voice trembling]
I didn’t really realize he was gone—until out at the cemetery—
[His voice breaks]
Madeline
[Kissing his hair]
Darling! Please don’t!
Gordon
[Rebelliously]
Damn it, I don’t see why he had to die!
[With a groan]
It was that constant grind at the office! I ought to have insisted on his taking better care of himself. But I wasn’t home enough, that’s the trouble. I couldn’t watch him.
[Then bitterly]
But I can’t see why Mother didn’t!
Madeline
[Reprovingly but showing she shares his feeling]
Now! You mustn’t start feeling bitter toward her.
Gordon
[Contritely]
I know I shouldn’t.
[But returning to his bitter tone]
But I can’t help remembering how unreasonably she’s acted about our engagement.
Madeline
Not since your father was taken sick, she hasn’t, dear. She’s been wonderfully nice.
Gordon
[In the same tone]
Nice? Indifferent, you mean! She doesn’t seem to care a damn one way or the other any more!
Madeline
You could hardly expect her to think of anyone but your father. She’s been with him every minute. I never saw such devotion.
[Thinking]
Will Gordon ever get old and sick like that? . . . oh, I hope we’ll both die before! . . . but I’d nurse him just as she did his father . . . I’ll always love him! . . .
Gordon
[Consoled—proudly]
Yes, she sure was wonderful to him, all right!
[Then coming back to his old tone]
But—this may sound rotten of me—I always had a queer feeling she was doing it as a duty. And when he died, I felt her grief was—not from love for him—at least, only the love of a friend, not a wife’s love.
[As if under some urgent compulsion from within]
I’ve never told you, but I’ve always felt, ever since I was a little kid, that she didn’t really love Dad. She liked him and respected him. She was a wonderful wife. But I’m sure she didn’t love him.
[Blurting it out as if he couldn’t help it]
I’ll tell you, Madeline! I’ve always felt she cared a lot for—Darrell.
[Hastily]
Of course, I might be wrong.
[Then bursting out]
No, I’m not wrong! I’ve felt it too strongly, ever since I was a kid. And then when I was eleven—something happened. I’ve been sure of it since then.
Madeline
[Thinking in amazement, but not without a queer satisfaction]
Does he mean that she was unfaithful to his father? . . . no, he’d never believe that . . . but what else could he mean? . . .
[Wonderingly]
Gordon! Do you mean you’ve been sure that your mother was—
Gordon
[Outraged by something in her tone—jumping to his feet and flinging her hand off—roughly]
Was what? What do you mean, Madeline?
Madeline
[Frightened—placatingly puts her arms around him]
I didn’t mean anything, dear. I simply thought you meant—
Gordon
[Still indignant]
All I meant was that she must have fallen in love with Darrell long after she was married—and then she sent him away for Dad’s sake—and mine, too, I suppose. He kept coming back every couple of years. He didn’t have guts enough to stay away for good! Oh, I suppose I’m unfair. I suppose it was damned hard on him. He fought it down, too, on account of his friendship for Dad.
[Then with a bitter laugh]
I suppose they’ll be getting married now! And I’ll have to wish them good luck. Dad would want me to. He was game.
[With a bitter gloomy air]
Life is damn queer, that’s all I’ve got to say!
Madeline
[Thinking with a sort of tender, loving scorn for his boyish naïveté]
How little he knows her! . . . Mr. Evans was a fine man but . . . Darrell must have been fascinating once . . . if she loved anyone she isn’t the kind who would hesitate . . . any more than I have with Gordon . . . oh, I’ll never be unfaithful to Gordon . . . I’ll love him always! . . .
[She runs her fingers through his hair caressingly—comfortingly]
You must never blame them, dear. No one can help love. We couldn’t, could we?
[She sits beside him. He takes her in his arms. They hiss each other with rising passion. Marsden comes in noiselessly from the garden, a bunch of roses and a pair of shears in his hands. He looks younger, calm and contented. He is dressed in his all black, meticulous, perfectly tailored mourning costume. He stands looking at the two lovers, a queer agitation coming into his face]
Marsden
[Scandalised as an old maid—thinking]
I must say! . . . his father hardly cold in his grave! . . . it’s positively bestial! . . .
[Then struggling with himself—with a defensive self-mockery]
Only it wasn’t his father . . . what is Sam to Darrell’s son? . . . and even if he were Sam’s son, what have the living to do with the dead? . . . his duty is to love that life may keep on living . . . and what has their loving to do with me? . . . my life is cool green shade wherein comes no scorching zenith sun of passion and possession to wither the heart with bitter poisons . . . my life gathers roses, coolly crimson, in sheltered gardens, on late afternoons in love with evening . . . roses heavy with after-blooming of the long day, desiring evening . . . my life is an evening . . . Nina is a rose, my rose, exhausted by the long, hot day, leaning wearily toward peace. . . .
[He kisses one of the roses with a simple sentimental smile—then still smiling, makes a gesture toward the two lovers]
That is on another planet, called the world . . . Nina and I have moved on to the moon. . . .
Madeline
[Passionately]
Dear one! Sweetheart!
Gordon
Madeline! I love you!
Marsden
[Looking at them—gaily mocking—thinking]
Once I’d have felt jealous . . . cheated . . . swindled by God out of joy! . . . I would have thought bitterly, “The Gordons have all the luck!” . . . but now I know that dear old Charlie . . . yes, poor dear old Charlie!—passed beyond desire, has all the luck at last! . . .
[Then matter-of-factly]
But I’ll have to interrupt their biological preparations . . . there are many things still to be done this evening . . . Age’s terms of peace, after the long interlude of war with life, have still to be concluded . . . Youth must keep decently away . . . so many old wounds may have to be unbound, and old scars pointed to with pride, to prove to ourselves we have been brave and noble!
[He lets the shears drop to the ground. They jump startledly and turn around. He smiles quietly]
Sorry to disturb you. I’ve been picking some roses for your mother, Gordon. Flowers really have the power to soothe grief. I suppose it was that discovery that led to their general use at funerals—and weddings!
[He hands a rose to Madeline]
Here, Madeline, here’s a rose for you. Hail, Love, we who have died, salute you!
[He smiles strangely. She takes the rose automatically, staring at him uncomprehendingly]
Madeline
[Thinking suspiciously]
What a queer creature! . . . there’s something uncanny! . . . oh, don’t be silly! . . . it’s only poor old Charlie! . . .
[She makes him a mocking curtsey]
Thank you, Uncle Charlie!
Gordon
[Thinking with sneering pity]
Poor old guy! . . . he means well . . . Dad liked him. . . .
[Pretending an interest in the roses]
They’re pretty.
[Then suddenly]
Where’s Mother—still in the house?
Marsden
She was trying to get rid of the last of the people. I’m going in. Shall I tell her you want to see her? It would give her an excuse to get away.
Gordon
Yes. Will you?
[Marsden goes into the house on right]
Madeline
You’d better see your mother alone. I’ll go down to the plane and wait for you. You want to fly back before dark, don’t you?
Gordon
Yes, and we ought to get started soon.
[Moodily]
Maybe it would be better if you weren’t here. There are some things I feel I ought to say to her—and Darrell. I’ve got to do what I know Dad would have wanted. I’ve got to be fair. He always was to everyone all his life.
Madeline
You dear, you! You couldn’t be unfair to anyone if you tried!
[She kisses him]
Don’t be too long.
Gordon
[Moodily]
You bet I won’t! It won’t be so pleasant I’ll want to drag it out!
Madeline
Good-bye for a while then.
Gordon
So long.
[He looks after her lovingly as she goes out right, rear, around the corner of the house]
[Thinking]
Madeline’s wonderful! . . . I don’t deserve my luck . . . but, God, I sure do love her! . . .
[He sits down on the bench again, his chin on his hands]
It seems rotten and selfish to be happy . . . when Dad . . . oh, he understands, he’d want me to be . . . it’s funny how I got to care more for Dad than for Mother . . . I suppose it was finding out she loved Darrell . . . I can remember that day seeing her kiss him . . . it did something to me I never got over . . . but she made Dad happy . . . she gave up her own happiness for his sake . . . that was certainly damn fine . . . that was playing the game . . . I’m a hell of a one to criticize . . . my own mother! . . .
[Changing the subject of his thoughts abruptly]
Forget it! . . . think of Madeline . . . we’ll be married . . . then two months’ honeymoon in Europe . . . God, that’ll be great! . . . then back and dive into the business . . . Dad relied on me to carry on where he left off . . . I’ll have to start at the bottom but I’ll get to the top in a hurry, I promise you that, Dad! . . .
[Nina and Darrell come out of the house on the right. He hears the sound of the door and looks around]
[Thinking resentfully]
Funny! . . . I can’t stand it even now! . . . when I see him with Mother! . . . I’d like to beat him up! . . .
[He gets to his feet, his face unconsciously becoming older and cold and severe. He stares accusingly at them as they come slowly toward him in silence. Nina looks much older than in the preceding Act. Resignation has come into her face, a resignation that uses no make-up, that has given up the struggle to be sexually attractive and look younger. She is dressed in deep black. Darrell’s deep sunburn of the tropics has faded, leaving his skin a Mongolian yellow. He, too, looks much older. His expression is sad and bitter]
Nina
[Glancing at Gordon searchingly—thinking sadly]
He sent for me to say good-bye . . . really good-bye forever this time . . . he’s not my son now, nor Gordon’s son, nor Sam’s, nor Ned’s . . . he has become that stranger, another woman’s lover. . . .
Darrell
[Also after a quick keen glance at Gordon’s face—thinking]
There’s something up . . . some final accounting . . .
[Thinking resignedly]
Well, let’s get it over . . . then I can go back to work. . . . I’ve stayed too long up here . . . Preston must be wondering if I’ve deserted him. . . .
[Then with a wondering sadness]
Is that my son? . . . my flesh and blood? . . . staring at me with such cold enmity? . . . how sad and idiotic this all is! . . .
Nina
[Putting on a tone of joking annoyance]
Your message was a godsend, Gordon. Those stupid people with their social condolences were killing me. Perhaps I’m morbid but I always have the feeling that they’re secretly glad someone is dead—that it flatters their vanity and makes them feel superior because they’re living.
[She sits wearily on the bench. Darrell sits on side of the recliner at right]
Gordon
[Repelled by this idea—stiffly]
They were all good friends of Dad’s. Why shouldn’t they be sincerely sorry? His death ought to be a loss to everyone who knew him.
[His voice trembles. He turns away and walks to the table]
[Thinking bitterly]
She doesn’t care a damn! . . . she’s free to marry Darrell now! . . .
Nina
[Thinking sadly, looking at his back]
He’s accusing me because I’m not weeping . . . well, I did weep . . . all I could . . . there aren’t many tears left . . . it was too bad Sam had to die . . . living suited him . . . he was so contented with himself . . . but I can’t feel guilty . . . I helped him to live . . . I made him believe I loved him . . . his mind was perfectly sane to the end . . . and just before he died, he smiled at me . . . so gratefully and forgivingly, I thought . . . closing our life together with that smile . . . that life is dead . . . its regrets are dead . . . I am sad but there’s comfort in the thought that now I am free at last to rot away in peace . . . I’ll go and live in Father’s old home . . . Sam bought that back . . . I suppose he left it to me . . . Charlie will come in every day to visit . . . he’ll comfort and amuse me . . . we can talk together of the old days . . . when I was a girl . . . when I was happy . . . before I fell in love with Gordon Shaw and all this tangled mess of love and hate and pain and birth began! . . .
Darrell
[Staring at Gordon’s back resentfully]
It gets under my skin to see him act so unfeelingly toward his mother! . . . if he only knew what she’s suffered for his sake! . . . the Gordon Shaw ideal passed on through Sam has certainly made my son an insensitive clod! . . .
[With disgust]
Bah, what has that young man to do with me? . . . compared to Preston he’s only a well-muscled, handsome fool! . . .
[With a trace of anger]
But I’d like to jolt his stupid self-complacency! . . . if he knew the facts about himself, he wouldn’t be sobbing sentimentally about Sam . . . he’d better change his tune or I’ll certainly be tempted to tell him . . . there’s no reason for his not knowing now . . .
[His face is flushed. He has worked himself into a real anger]
Gordon
[Suddenly, having got back his control, turns to them—coldly]
There are certain things connected with Dad’s will I thought I ought to—
[With a tinge of satisfied superiority]
I don’t believe Dad told you about his will, did he, Mother?
Nina
[Indifferently]
No.
Gordon
Well, the whole estate goes to you and me, of course. I didn’t mean that.
[With a resentful look at Darrell]
But there is one provision that is peculiar, to say the least. It concerns you, Doctor Darrell—a half-million for your Station to be used in biological research work.
Darrell
[His face suddenly flushing with anger]
What’s that? That’s a joke, isn’t it?
[Thinking furiously]
It’s worse! . . . it’s a deliberate insult! . . . a last sneer of ownership! . . . of my life! . . .
Gordon
[Coldly sneering]
I thought it must be a joke myself—but Dad insisted.
Darrell
[Angrily]
Well, I won’t accept it—and that’s final!
Gordon
[Coldly]
It’s not left to you but to the Station. Your supervision is mentioned but I suppose if you won’t carry on, whoever is in real charge down there will be only too glad to accept it.
Darrell
[Stupefied]
That means Preston! But Sam didn’t even know Preston—except from hearing me talk about him! What had Sam to do with Preston? Preston is none of his business! I’ll advise Preston to refuse it!
[Thinking torturedly]
But it’s for science! . . . he has no right to refuse! . . . I have no right to ask him to! . . . God damn Sam! . . . wasn’t it enough for him to own my wife, my son, in his lifetime? . . . now in death he reaches out to steal Preston! . . . to steal my work! . . .
Nina
[Thinking bitterly]
Even in death Sam makes people suffer . . .
[Sympathetically]
It isn’t for you—nor for Preston. It’s for science, Ned. You must look at it that way.
Gordon
[Thinking resentfully]
What a tender tone she takes toward him! . . . she’s forgotten Dad already! . . .
[With a sneer]
You’d better accept. Half-millions aren’t being thrown away for nothing every day.
Nina
[In anguish—thinking]
How can Gordon insult poor Ned like that! . . . his own father! . . . Ned has suffered too much! . . .
[Sharply]
I think you’ve said about enough, Gordon!
Gordon
[Bitterly, but trying to control himself—meaningly]
I haven’t said all I’m going to say, Mother!
Nina
[Thinking—at first frightenedly]
What does he mean? . . . does he know about Ned being . . . ?
[Then with a sort of defiant relief]
Well, what does it matter what he thinks of me? . . . he’s hers now, anyway. . . .
Darrell
[Thinking vindictively]
I hope he knows the truth, for if he doesn’t, by God, I’ll tell him! . . . if only to get something back from Sam of all he’s stolen from me! . . .
[Authoritatively—as Gordon hesitates]
Well, what have you got to say? Your mother and I are waiting.
Gordon
[Furiously, taking a threatening step toward him]
Shut up, you! Don’t take that tone with me or I’ll forget your age—
[Contemptuously]
and give you a spanking!
Nina
[Thinking hysterically]
Spanking! . . . the son spanks the father! . . .
[Laughing hysterically]
Oh, Gordon, don’t make me laugh! It’s all so funny!
Darrell
[Jumps from his chair and goes to her—solicitously]
Nina! Don’t mind him! He doesn’t realize—
Gordon
[Maddened, comes closer]
I realize a lot! I realize you’ve acted like a cur!
[He steps forward and slaps Darrell across the face viciously. Darrell staggers hack from the force of the blow, his hands to his face. Nina screams and flings herself on Gordon, holding his arms]
Nina
[Piteously—hysterically]
For God’s sake, Gordon! What would your father say? You don’t know what you’re doing! You’re hitting your father!
Darrell
[Suddenly breaking down—chokingly]
No—it’s all right, son—all right—you didn’t know—
Gordon
[Crushed, overcome by remorse for his blow]
I’m sorry—sorry—you’re right, Mother—Dad would feel as if I’d hit him—just as bad as if I’d hit him!
Darrell
It’s nothing, son—nothing!
Gordon
[Brokenly]
That’s damn fine, Darrell—damn fine and sporting of you! It was a rotten, dirty trick! Accept my apology, Darrell, won’t you?
Darrell
[Staring at him stupidly—thinking]
Darrell? . . . he calls me Darrell! . . . but doesn’t he know? . . . I thought she told him. . . .
Nina
[Laughing hysterically—thinking]
I told him he hit his father . . . but he can’t understand me! . . . why, of course he can’t! . . . how could he? . . .
Gordon
[Insistently holding out his hand]
I’m damned sorry! I didn’t mean it! Shake hands, won’t you?
Darrell
[Doing so mechanically—stupidly]
Only too glad—pleased to meet you—know you by reputation—the famous oarsman—great race you stroked last June—but I was hoping the Navy would give you a beating.
Nina
[Thinking in desperate hysterical anguish]
Oh, I wish Ned would go away and stay away forever! . . . I can’t bear to watch him suffer any more! . . . it’s too frightful! . . . yes, God the Father, I hear you laughing . . . you see the joke . . . I’m laughing too . . . it’s all so crazy, isn’t it? . . .
[Laughing hysterically]
Oh, Ned! Poor Ned! You were born unlucky!
Gordon
[Making her sit down again—soothing her]
Mother! Stop laughing! Please! It’s all right—all right between us! I’ve apologized!
[As she has grown calmer]
And now I want to say what I was going to say. It wasn’t anything bad. It was just that I want you to know how fine I think you’ve both acted. I’ve known ever since I was a kid that you and Darrell were in love with each other. I hated the idea on Father’s account—that’s only natural, isn’t it?—but I knew it was unfair, that people can’t help loving each other any more than Madeline and I could have helped ourselves. And I saw how fair you both were to Dad—what a good wife you were, Mother—what a true friend you were, Darrell—and how damn much he loved you both! So all I wanted to say is, now he’s dead, I hope you’ll get married and I hope you’ll be as happy as you both deserve—
[Here he breaks down, kissing her and then breaking away]
I’ve got to say good-bye—got to fly back before dark—Madeline’s waiting.
[He takes Darrell’s hand and shakes it again. They have both been staring at him stupidly]
Good-bye, Darrell! Good luck!
Darrell
[Thinking sufferingly]
Why does he keep on calling me Darrell . . . he’s my boy . . . I’m his father . . . I’ve got to make him realize I’m his father! . . .
[Holding Gordon’s hand]
Listen, son. It’s my turn. I’ve got to tell you something—
Nina
[Thinking torturedly]
Oh, he mustn’t! . . . I feel he mustn’t! . . .
[Sharply]
Ned! First, let me ask Gordon a question.
[Then looking her son in the eyes, slowly and impressively]
Do you think I was ever unfaithful to your father, Gordon?
Gordon
[Startled, stares at her—shocked and horrified—then suddenly he blurts out indignantly]
Mother, what do you think I am—as rotten-minded as that!
[Pleadingly]
Please, Mother, I’m not as bad as that! I know you’re the best woman that ever lived—the best of all! I don’t even except Madeline!
Nina
[With a sobbing triumphant cry]
My dear Gordon! You do love me, don’t you?
Gordon
[Kneeling beside her and hissing her]
Of course!
Nina
[Pushing him away—tenderly]
And now go! Hurry! Madeline is waiting! Give her my love! Come to see me once in a while in the years to come! Good-bye, dear!
[Turning to Darrell, who is standing with a sad resigned expression—imploringly]
Did you still want to tell Gordon something, Ned?
Darrell
[Forcing a tortured smile]
Not for anything in the world! Good-bye, son.
Gordon
Good-bye, sir.
[He hurries off around the corner of the house at left, rear, thinking troubledly]
What does she think I am? . . . I’ve never thought that! . . . I couldn’t! . . . my own mother! I’d kill myself if I ever even caught myself thinking . . . !
[He is gone]
Nina
[Turns to Ned, gratefully taking his hand and pressing it]
Poor dear Ned, you’ve always had to give! How can I ever thank you?
Darrell
[With an ironical smile—forcing a joking tone]
By refusing me when I ask you to marry me! For I’ve got to ask you! Gordon expects it! And he’ll be so pleased when he knows you turned me down.
[Marsden comes out of the house]
Hello, here comes Charlie. I must hurry. Will you marry me, Nina?
Nina
[With a sad smile]
No. Certainly not. Our ghosts would torture us to death!
[Then forlornly]
But I wish I did love you, Ned! Those were wonderful afternoons long ago! The Nina of those afternoons will always live in me, will always love her lover, Ned, the father of her baby!
Darrell
[Lifting her hand to his lips—tenderly]
Thank you for that! And that Ned will always adore his beautiful Nina! Remember him! Forget me! I’m going back to work.
[He laughs softly and sadly]
I leave you to Charlie. You’d better marry him, Nina—if you want peace. And after all, I think you owe it to him for his life-long devotion.
Marsden
[Thinking uneasily]
They’re talking about me . . . why doesn’t he go? . . . she doesn’t love him any more . . . even now he’s all heat and energy and the tormenting drive of noon . . . can’t he see she is in love with evening? . . .
[Clearing his throat uneasily]
Do I hear my name taken in vain?
Nina
[Looking at Marsden with a strange yearning]
Peace! . . . yes . . . that is all I desire . . . I can no longer imagine happiness . . . Charlie has found peace . . . he will be tender . . . as my father was when I was a girl . . . when I could imagine happiness . . .
[With a girlish coquettishness and embarrassment—making way for him on the bench beside her—strangely]
Ned’s just proposed to me. I refused him, Charlie. I don’t love him any more.
Marsden
[Sitting down beside her]
I suspected as much. Then whom do you love, Nina Cara Nina?
Nina
[Sadly smiling]
You, Charlie, I suppose. I have always loved your love for me.
[She kisses him—wistfully]
Will you let me rot away in peace?
Marsden
[Strongly]
All my life I’ve waited to bring you peace.
Nina
[Sadly teasing]
If you’ve waited that long, Charlie, we’d better get married tomorrow. But I forgot. You haven’t asked me yet, have you? Do you want me to marry you, Charlie?
Marsden
[Humbly]
Yes, Nina.
[Thinking with a strange ecstasy]
I knew the time would come at last when I would hear her ask that! . . . I could never have said it, never! . . . oh, russet-golden afternoon, you are a mellow fruit of happiness ripely falling! . . .
Darrell
[Amused—with a sad smile]
Bless you, my children!
[He turns to go]
Nina
I don’t suppose we’ll ever see you again, Ned.
Darrell
I hope not, Nina. A scientist shouldn’t believe in ghosts.
[With a mocking smile]
But perhaps we’ll become part of cosmic positive and negative electric charges and meet again.
Nina
In our afternoons—again?
Darrell
[Smiling sadly]
Again. In our afternoons.
Marsden
[Coming out of his day dream]
We’ll be married in the afternoon, decidedly. I’ve already picked out the church, Nina—a gray ivied chapel, full of restful shadow, symbolical of the peace we have found. The crimsons and purples in the windows will stain our faces with faded passion. It must be in the hour before sunset when the earth dreams in afterthoughts and mystic premonitions of life’s beauty. And then we’ll go up to your old home to live. Mine wouldn’t be suitable for us. Mother and Jane live there in memory. And I’ll work in your father’s old study. He won’t mind me.
[From the bay below comes the roaring hum of an airplane motor. Nina and Darrell jump startledly and go to the rear of the terrace to watch the plane ascend from the water, standing side by side. Marsden remains oblivious]
Nina
[With anguish]
Gordon! Good-bye, dear!
[Pointing as the plane climbs higher moving away off to the left—bitterly]
See, Ned! He’s leaving me without a backward look!
Darrell
[Joyfully]
No! He’s circling. He’s coming back!
[The roar of the engine grows steadily nearer now]
He’s going to pass directly over us!
[Their eyes follow the plane as it comes swiftly nearer and passes directly over them]
See! He’s waving to us!
Nina
Oh, Gordon! My dear son!
[She waves frantically]
Darrell
[With a last tortured protest]
Nina! Are you forgetting? He’s my son, too!
[He shouts up at the sky]
You’re my son, Gordon! You’re my—
[He controls himself abruptly—with a smile of cynical self-pity]
He can’t hear! Well, at least I’ve done my duty!
[Then with a grim fatalism—with a final wave of his hand at the sky]
Good-bye, Gordon’s son!
Nina
[With tortured exultance]
Fly up to heaven, Gordon! Fly with your love to heaven! Fly always! Never crash to earth like my old Gordon! Be happy, dear! You’ve got to be happy!
Darrell
[Sardonically]
I’ve heard that cry for happiness before, Nina! I remember hearing myself cry it—once—it must have been long ago! I’ll get back to my cells—sensible unicellular life that floats in the sea and has never learned the cry for happiness! I’m going, Nina.
[As she remains oblivious, staring after the plane—thinking fatalistically]
She doesn’t hear, either. . . .
[He laughs up at the sky]
Oh, God, so deaf and dumb and blind! . . . teach me to be resigned to be an atom! . . .
[He walks off, right, and enters the house]
Nina
[Finally lowering her eyes—confusedly]
Gone. My eyes are growing dim. Where is Ned? Gone, too. And Sam is gone. They’re all dead. Where are Father and Charlie?
[With a shiver of fear she hurries over and sits on the bench beside Marsden, huddling against him]
Gordon is dead, Father. I’ve just had a cable. What I mean is, he flew away to another life—my son, Gordon, Charlie. So we’re alone again—just as we used to be.
Marsden
[Putting his arm around her—affectionately]
Just as we used to be, dear Nina Cara Nina, before Gordon came.
Nina
[Looking up at the shy—strangely]
My having a son was a failure, wasn’t it? He couldn’t give me happiness. Sons are always their fathers. They pass through the mother to become their father again. The Sons of the Father have all been failures! Failing they died for us, they flew away to other lives, they could not stay with us, they could not give us happiness!
Marsden
[Paternally—in her father’s tone]
You had best forget the whole affair of your association with the Gordons. After all, dear Nina, there was something unreal in all that has happened since you first met Gordon Shaw, something extravagant and fantastic, the sort of thing that isn’t done, really, in our afternoons. So let’s you and me forget the whole distressing episode, regard it as an interlude, of trial and preparation, say, in which our souls have been scraped clean of impure flesh and made worthy to bleach in peace.
Nina
[With a strange smile]
Strange interlude! Yes, our lives are merely strange dark interludes in the electrical display of God the Father!
[Resting her head on his shoulder]
You’re so restful, Charlie. I feel as if I were a girl again and you were my father and the Charlie of those days made into one. I wonder is our old garden the same? We’ll pick flowers together in the aging afternoons of spring and summer, won’t we? It will be a comfort to get home—to be old and to be home again at last—to be in love with peace together—to love each other’s peace—to sleep with peace together—!
[She kisses him—then shuts her eyes with a deep sigh of requited weariness]
—to die in peace! I’m so contentedly weary with life!
Marsden
[With a serene peace]
Rest, dear Nina.
[Then tenderly]
It has been a long day. Why don’t you sleep now—as you used to, remember?—for a little while?
Nina
[Murmurs with drowsy gratitude]
Thank you, Father—have I been wicked?—you’re so good—dear old Charlie!
Marsden
[Reacting automatically and wincing with pain—thinking mechanically]
God damn dear old . . . !
[Then with a glance down at Nina’s face, with a happy smile]
No, God bless dear old Charlie . . . who, passed beyond desire, has all the luck at last! . . .
[Nina has fallen asleep. He watches with contented eyes the evening shadows closing in around them]
CURTAIN