ESTERHAZY: [
Stops, faces her, earnestly
] Tell me.
KAY GONDA: [
Looking straight at him, her eyes trusting, her voice a whisper
] Yes, I want to go.
ESTERHAZY: [
Holds her glance for an instant; then, as if deliberately refusing to underscore the earnestness of the moment, glances at his wristwatch and speaks casually again
] We have just a few hours to wait. I’ll make a fire. We’ll be more comfortable. [
He speaks gaily as he proceeds to light the fire
] I’ll pack a few things. . . . You can get what you need aboard ship. . . . I haven’t much money, but I’ll raise a few thousands before morning. . . . I don’t know where, as yet, but I’ll raise it. . . . [
She sits down in an armchair by the fire. He sits down on the floor at her feet, facing her
] The sun is terrible down in Brazil. I hope your face doesn’t get sunburnt.
KAY GONDA: [
Happily, almost girlishly
] It always does.
ESTERHAZY: We’ll build a house somewhere in the jungle. It will be curious to start chopping trees down—that’s another experience I’ve missed. I’ll learn it. And you’ll have to learn to cook.
KAY GONDA: I will. I’ll learn everything we’ll need. We’ll start from scratch, from the beginning of the world—our world.
ESTERHAZY: You’re not afraid?
KAY GONDA: [
Smiling softly
] I’m terribly afraid. I have never been happy before.
ESTERHAZY: The work will ruin your hands . . . your lovely hands. . . . [
He takes her hand, then drops it hurriedly. Speaks with a little effort, suddenly serious
:] I’ll be only your architect, your valet, and your watchdog. And nothing else—until I deserve it.
KAY GONDA: [
Looking at him
] What were you thinking?
ESTERHAZY: [
Absently
] I was thinking about tomorrow and all the days thereafter. . . . They seem such a long way off. . . .
KAY GONDA: [
Gaily
] I’ll want a house by the seashore. Or by a great river.
ESTERHAZY: With a balcony off your room, over the water, facing the sunrise. . . . [
Involuntarily
] And the moonlight streaming in at night. . . .
KAY GONDA: We’ll have no neighbors . . . nowhere . . . not for miles around. . . . No one will look at me . . . no one will pay to look at me. . . .
ESTERHAZY: [
His voice low
] I shall allow no one to look at you. . . . In the morning, you will swim in the sea . . . alone . . . in the green water . . . with the first sun rays on your body. . . . [
He rises, bends over her, whispers
] And then I’ll carry you up to the house . . . up the rocks . . . in my arms . . . [
He seizes her and kisses her violently. She responds. He raises his head and chuckles with a sound of cynical intimacy
] That’s all we’re really after, you and I, aren’t we? Why pretend?
KAY GONDA: [
Not understanding
] What?
ESTERHAZY: Why pretend that we’re important? We’re no better than the others. [
Tries to kiss her again
]
KAY GONDA: Let me go! [
She tears herself away
]
ESTERHAZY: [
Laughing harshly
] Where? You have no place to go! [
She stares at him, wide-eyed, incredulous
] After all, what difference does it make, whether it’s now or later? Why should we take it so seriously? [
She whirls toward the door. He seizes her. She screams, a muffled scream, stopped by his hand on her mouth
] Keep still! You can’t call for help! . . . It’s a death sentence—or this. . . . [
She starts laughing hysterically
] Keep still! . . . Why should I care what you’ll think of me afterwards? . . . Why should I care about tomorrow?
[
She tears herself away, runs to the door, and escapes. He stands still. He hears her laughter, loud, reckless, moving away
]
CURTAIN
SCENE 3
The letter projected on the screen is written in a sharp, uneven handwriting:
Dear Miss Gonda,
This letter is addressed to you, but I am writing it to myself.
I am writing and thinking that I am speaking to a woman who is the only justification for the existence of this earth, and who has the courage to want to be. A woman who does not assume a glory of greatness for a few hours, then return to the children-dinner-friends-football-and-God reality. A woman who seeks that glory in her every minute and her every step. A woman in whom life is not a curse, nor a bargain, but a hymn.
I want nothing except to know that such a woman exists. So I have written this, even though you may not bother to read it, or reading it, may not understand. I do not know what you are. I am writing to what you could have been.
Johnnie Dawes
. . . Main Street
Los Angeles, California
Lights go out, screen disappears, and stage reveals garret of
JOHNNIE DAWES
. It is a squalid, miserable room with a low, slanting ceiling, with dark walls showing beams under cracked plaster. The room is so bare that it gives the impression of being uninhabited, a strange, intangible impression of unreality. A narrow iron cot, at wall Right; a broken table, a few boxes for chairs. A narrow door opens diagonally in the Left upstage corner. The entire wall Center is a long window checkered into small panes. It opens high over the skyline of Los Angeles. Behind the black shadows of skyscrapers, there is a first hint of pink in the dark sky. When the curtain rises, the stage is empty, dark. One barely distinguishes the room and sees only the faintly luminous panorama of the window. It dominates the stage, so that one forgets the room, and it seems as if the setting is only the city and the sky. (Throughout the scene, the sky lightens slowly, the pink band of dawn grows, rising)
Steps are heard coming up the stairs. A quivering light shows in the cracks of the door. The door opens to admit
KAY GONDA
. Behind her,
MRS. MONAGHAN
, an old landlady, shuffles in, with a lighted candle in hand. She puts the candle down on the table, and stands panting as after a long climb, studying
KAY GONDA
with a suspicious curiosity.
MRS. MONAGHAN: Here ye are. This is it.
KAY GONDA: [
Looking slowly over the room
] Thank you. MRS. MONAGHAN: And ye’re a relative of him, ye are?
KAY GONDA: No.
MRS. MONAGHAN: [
Maliciously
] Sure, and I was thinking that.
KAY GONDA: I have never seen him before.
MRS. MONAGHAN: Well, I’m after tellin’ ye he’s no good, that’s what he is, no good. It’s a born bum he is. No rent never. He can’t keep a job more’n two weeks.
KAY GONDA: When will he be back?
MRS. MONAGHAN: Any minute at all—or never, for all I know. He runs around all night, the good Lord only knows where. Just walks the streets like the bum he is, just walks. Comes back drunk like, only he’s not drunk, ’cause I know he don’t drink.
KAY GONDA: I will wait for him.
MRS. MONAGHAN: Suit yerself. [
Looks at her shrewdly
] Maybe ye got a job for him?
KAY GONDA: No. I have no job for him.
MRS. MONAGHAN: He’s got himself kicked out again, three days ago it was. He had a swell job bellhoppin’. Did it last? It did not. Same as the soda counter. Same as the waitin’ at Hamburger Looey’s. He’s no good, I’m tellin’ ye. I know him. Better’n ye do.
KAY GONDA: I do not know him at all.
MRS. MONAGHAN: And I can’t say I blame his bosses, either. He’s a strange one. Never a laugh, never a joke out of him. [
Confidentially
] Ye know what Hamburger Looey said to me? He said, “Stuck up little snot,” said Hamburger Looey, “makes a regular guy feel creepy.”
KAY GONDA: So Hamburger Looey said that?
MRS. MONAGHAN: Faith and he did. [
Confidentially
] And d’ye know? He’s been to college, that boy. Ye’d never believe it from the kind of jobs he can’t keep, but he has. What he learned there the good Lord only knows. It’s no good it done him. And . . . [
Stops, listening. Steps are heard rising up the stairs
] That’s him now! Nobody else’d be shameless enough to come home at this hour of the night. [
At the door
] Ye think it over. Maybe ye could do somethin’ for him. [
Exits
]
[JOHNNIE DAWES
enters. He is a tall, slender boy in his late twenties; a gaunt face, prominent cheekbones, a hard mouth, clear, steady eyes. He sees
KAY GONDA
and stands still. They look at each other for a long moment
]
JOHNNIE: [
Slowly, calmly, no astonishment and no question in his voice
] Good evening, Miss Gonda.
KAY GONDA: [
She cannot take her eyes from him, and it is her voice that sounds astonished
] Good evening. JOHNNIE: Please sit down.
KAY GONDA: You do not want me to stay here.
JOHNNIE: You’re staying.
KAY GONDA: You have not asked me why I came.
JOHNNIE: You’re here. [
He sits down
]
KAY GONDA: [
She approaches him suddenly, takes his face in her hands and raises it
] What’s the matter, Johnnie?
JOHNNIE: Nothing—now.
KAY GONDA: You must not be so glad to see me.
JOHNNIE: I knew you’d come.
KAY GONDA: [
She walks away from him, falls wearily down on the cot. She looks at him and smiles; a smile that is not gay, not friendly
] People say I am a great star, Johnnie.
JOHNNIE: Yes.
KAY GONDA: They say I have everything one can wish for.
JOHNNIE: Have you?
KAY GONDA: No. But how do you know it?
JOHNNIE: How do you know that I know it?
KAY GONDA: You are never afraid when you speak to people, are you, Johnnie?
JOHNNIE: Yes. I am very much afraid. Always. I don’t know what to say to them. But I’m not afraid—now.
KAY GONDA: I am a very bad woman, Johnnie. Everything you’ve heard about me is true. Everything—and more. I came to tell you that you must not think of me what you said in your letter.
JOHNNIE: You came to tell me that everything I said in my letter was true. Everything—and more.
KAY GONDA: [
With a harsh little laugh
] You’re a fool! I’m not afraid of you. . . . Do you know that I get twenty thousand dollars a week?
JOHNNIE: Yes.
KAY GONDA: Do you know that I have fifty pairs of shoes and three butlers?
JOHNNIE: I suppose so.
KAY GONDA: Do you know that my pictures are shown in every town on earth?
JOHNNIE: Yes.
KAY GONDA: [
Furiously
] Stop looking at me like that! . . . Do you know that people pay millions to see me? I don’t need your approval! I have plenty of worshipers! I mean a great deal to them!
JOHNNIE: You mean nothing at all to them. You know it.
KAY GONDA: [
Looking at him almost with hatred
] I thought I knew it—an hour ago. [
Whirling upon him
] Oh, why don’t you ask me for something?
JOHNNIE: What do you want me to ask you?
KAY GONDA: Why don’t you ask me to get you a job in the movies, for instance?
JOHNNIE: The only thing I could ask you, you have given to me already.
KAY GONDA: [
She looks at him, laughs harshly, speaks in a new voice, strange to her, an unnaturally common voice
] Look, Johnnie, let’s stop kidding each other. I’ll tell you something. I’ve killed a man. It’s dangerous, hiding a murderess. Why don’t you throw me out? [
He sits looking at her silently
] No? That one won’t work? Well, then, look at me. I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. Don’t you want to sleep with me? Why don’t you? Right now. I won’t struggle. [
He does not move
] Not that? But listen: do you know that there’s a reward on my head? Why don’t you call the police and turn me over to them? You’d be set for life.
JOHNNIE: [
Softly
] Are you as unhappy as that?
KAY GONDA: [
Walks to him, then falls on her knees at his feet
] Help me, Johnnie!
JOHNNIE: [
Bends down to her, his hands on her shoulders, asks softly
:] Why did you come here?
KAY GONDA: [
Raising her head
] Johnnie. If all of you who look at me on the screen hear the things I say and worship me for them—where do I hear them? Where can I hear them, so that I might go on? I want to see, real, living, and in the hours of my own days, that glory I create as an illusion! I want it real! I want to know that there is someone, somewhere, who wants it, too! Or else what is the use of seeing it, and working, and burning oneself for an impossible vision? A spirit, too, needs fuel. It can run dry.
JOHNNIE: [
He rises, leads her to the cot, makes her sit down, stands before her
] I want to tell you only this: there are a few on earth who see you and understand. These few give life its meaning. The rest—well, the rest are what you see they are. You have a duty. To live. Just to remain on earth. To let them know you do and can exist. To fight, even a fight without hope. We can’t give up the earth to all those others.
KAY GONDA: [
Looking at him, softly
] Who are you, Johnnie?
JOHNNIE: [
Astonished
] I? . . . I’m—nothing.
KAY GONDA: Where do you come from?
JOHNNIE: I’ve had a home and parents somewhere. I don’t remember much about them . . . I don’t remember much about anything that’s ever happened to me. There’s not a day worth remembering.
KAY GONDA: You have no friends?
JOHNNIE: No.
KAY GONDA: You have no work?
JOHNNIE: Yes . . . no, I was fired three days ago. I forgot.
KAY GONDA: Where have you lived before?
JOHNNIE: Many places. I’ve lost count.
KAY GONDA: Do you hate people, Johnnie?