Read Broken Glass Online

Authors: Arthur Miller

Broken Glass (3 page)

HYMAN: Whether to grant a mortgage...
 
GELLBURG: And how big a one and the terms.
 
HYMAN: How's the Depression hit you?
 
GELLBURG: Well, it's no comparison with '32 to '36, let's say—we were foreclosing left and right in those days. But we're on our feet and running.
 
HYMAN: And you head the department ...
 
GELLBURG: Above me is only Mr. Case. Stanton Wylie Case; he's chairman and president. You're not interested in boat racing.
 
HYMAN: Why?
 
GELLBURG: His yacht won the America's Cup two years ago. For the second time. The
Aurora?
 
 
HYMAN: Oh yes! I think I read about ...
 
GELLBURG: He's had me aboard twice.
 
 
HYMAN: Really.
 
GELLBURG,
the grin:
The only Jew ever set foot on that deck.
 
HYMAN: Don't say.
GELLBURG: In fact, I'm the only Jew ever worked for Brooklyn Guarantee in their whole history.
 
HYMAN: That so.
 
 
GELLBURG: Oh yes. And they go back to the 1890s. Started right out of accountancy school and moved straight up. They've been wonderful to me; it's a great firm.
 
A long moment as Hyman stares at Gellburg, who is proudly positioned now, absorbing his poise from the evoked memories of his success. Gradually Gellburg turns to him.
 
How could this be a mental condition?
 
 
HYMAN: It's unconscious; like... well take yourself; I notice you're all in black. Can I ask you why?
 
GELLBURG: I've worn black since high school.
 
HYMAN: No particular reason.
 
GELLBURG,
shrugs:
Always liked it, that's all.
 
HYMAN: Well it's a similar thing with her; she doesn't know why she's doing this, but some very deep, hidden part of her mind is directing her to do it. You don't agree.
 
GELLBURG: I don't know.
HYMAN: You think she knows what she's doing?
 
GELLBURG: Well I always liked black for business reasons.
 
HYMAN: It gives you authority?
 
GELLBURG: Not exactly authority, but I wanted to look a little older. See, I graduated high school at fifteen and I was only twenty-two when I entered the firm. But I knew what I was doing.
 
HYMAN: Then you think she's doing this on purpose?
 
GELLBURG:—Except she's numb; nobody can purposely do that, can they?
 
HYMAN: I don't think so.—I tell you, Phillip, not really knowing your wife, if you have any idea why she could be doing this to herself ...
 
GELLBURG: I told you, I don't know.
 
HYMAN: Nothing occurs to you.
 
GELLBURG,
an edge of irritation:
I can't think of anything.
 
HYMAN: I tell you a funny thing, talking to her, she doesn't seem all that unhappy.
GELLBURG: Say!—yes, that's what I mean. That's exactly what I mean. It's like she's almost... I don't know ... enjoying herself. I mean in a way.
 
HYMAN
: How could that be possible?
 
GELLBURG: Of course she apologizes for it, and for making it hard for me—you know, like I have to do a lot of the cooking now, and tending to my laundry and so on ... I even shop for groceries and the butcher ... and change the sheets ...
 
 
He breaks off with some realization. Hyman doesn't speak. A long pause.
 
You mean ... she's doing it against me?
 
HYMAN: I don't know, what do you think?
 
Stares for a long moment, then makes to rise, obviously deeply disturbed.
 
GELLBURG: I'd better be getting home. Lost in his own
thought.
I don't know whether to ask you this or not.
 
HYMAN: What's to lose, go ahead.
 
GELLBURG: My parents were from the old country, you know,—I don't know if it was in Poland someplace or Russia—but there was this woman who they say was ... you know ... gotten into by a ... like the ghost of a dead person...
 
HYMAN: A dybbuk.
 
GELLBURG: That's it. And it made her lose her mind and so forth. -You believe in that? They had to get a rabbi to pray it out of her body. But you think that's possible?
 
HYMAN: Do I think so? No. Do you?
 
GELLBURG: Oh no. It just crossed my mind.
 
HYMAN: Well I wouldn't know how to pray it out of her, so ...
 
GELLBURG: Be straight with me—is she going to come out of this?
 
 
HYMAN: Well, let's talk again after I see her tomorrow. Maybe I should tell you ... I have this unconventional approach to illness, Phillip. Especially where the mental element is involved. I believe we get sick in twos and threes and fours, not alone as individuals. You follow me? I want you to do me a favor, will you?
 
GELLBURG: What's that.
 
 
HYMAN: You won't be offended, okay?
GELLBURG,
tensely:
Why should I be offended?
 
HYMAN: I'd like you to give her a lot of loving.
Fixing Gellburg in his gaze.
Can you? It's important now.
 
GELLBURG: Say, you're not blaming this on me, are you?
 
HYMAN: What's the good of blame?—from here on out,
tuchas offen tisch,
okay? And Phillip?
 
GELLBURG: Yes?
 
 
HYMAN,
a light chuckle:
Try not to let yourself get mad.
 
Gellburg turns and goes out. Hyman returns to his desk, makes some notes. Margaret enters.
 
MARGARET: That's one miserable little pisser.
 
He writes, doesn't look up.
 
He's a dictator, you know. I was just remembering when I went to the grandmother's funeral? He stands outside the funeral parlor and decides who's going to sit with who in the limousines for the cemetery. “You sit with him, you sit with her...” And they obey him like he owned the funeral!
 
 
HYMAN: Did you find out what's playing?
MARGARET: At the Beverly they've got Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. Jimmy Cagney's at the Rialto but it's another gangster story.
 
HYMAN: I have a sour feeling about this thing. I barely know my way around psychiatry. I'm not completely sure I ought to get into it.
 
MARGARET: Why not?-She's a very beautiful woman.
 
HYMAN,
matching her wryness:
Well, is that a reason to turn her away?
He laughs, grasps her hand.
Something about it fascinates me—no disease and she's paralyzed. I'd really love to give it a try. I mean I don't want to turn myself into a post office, shipping all the hard cases to specialists, the woman's sick and I'd like to help.
 
MARGARET: But if you're not getting anywhere in a little while you'll promise to send her to somebody.
 
HYMAN: Absolutely.
Committed now: full enthusiasm.
I just feel there's something about it that I understand.—Let's see Cagney.
 
MARGARET: Oh, no Fred Astaire.
 
HYMAN: That's what I meant. Come here.
 
 
MARGARET, as he
embraces her:
We should leave now ...
HYMAN
: You're the best, Margaret.
 
MARGARET: A lot of good it does me.
 
HYMAN: If it really bothers you I'll get someone else to take the case.
 
MARGARET: You won't, you know you won't.
 
He is lifting her skirt
 
Don't, Harry. Come on.
 
She frees her skirt, he kisses her breasts.
 
HYMAN: Should I tell you what I'd like to do with you?
 
MARGARET: Tell me, yes, tell me. And make it wonderful.
 
HYMAN: We find an island and we strip and go riding on this white horse...
 
MARGARET: Together.
 
HYMAN: You in front.
 
MARGARET: Naturally.
 
HYMAN
: And then we go swimming ...
 
MARGARET: Harry, that's lovely.
HYMAN: And I hire this shark to swim very close and we just manage to get out of the water, and we're so grateful to be alive we fall down on the beach together and...
 
MARGARET,
pressing his lips shut:
Sometimes you're so good.
She kisses him.
 
Blackout.
SCENE TWO
The Lone Cellist plays. Then lights go down ...
Next evening. The Gellburg bedroom. Sylvia Gellburg is seated in a wheelchair reading a newspaper. She is in her mid-forties, a buxom, capable, and warm woman. Right now her hair is brushed down to her shoulders, and she is in a nightgown and robe.
 
She reads the paper with an intense, almost haunted interest, looking up now and then to visualize.
Her sister Harriet, a couple of years younger, is straightening up the bedcover.
 
HARRIET: So what do you want, steak or chicken? Or maybe he'd like chops for a change.
 
SYLVIA: Please, don't put yourself out, Phillip doesn't mind a little shopping.
 
HARRIET: What's the matter with you, I'm going anyway, he's got enough on his mind.
 
SYLVIA: Well all right, get a couple of chops.
HARRIET: And what about you. You have to start eating!
 
SYLVIA: I'm eating.
 
HARRIET: What, a piece of cucumber? Look how pale you are. And what is this with newspapers night and day?
 
SYLVIA: I like to see what's happening.
 
HARRIET: I don't know about this doctor. Maybe you need a specialist.
 
SYLVIA: He brought one two days ago, Doctor Sherman. From Mount Sinai.
 
 
HARRIET: Really? And?
 
SYLVIA: We're waiting to hear. I like Doctor Hyman.
 
HARRIET: Nobody in the family ever had anything like this. You feel
something,
though, don't you?
 
SYLVIA,
pause, she lifts her face:
Yes ... but inside, not on the skin.
Looks at her legs.
I can harden the muscles but I can't lift them.
Strokes her thighs.
I seem to have an ache. Not only here but...
She runs her hands down her trunk.
My whole body seems ... I can't describe it. It's like I was just born and I ... didn't want to come out yet. Like a deep, terrible aching...
HARRIET: Didn't want to come out yet! What are you talking about?
 
SYLVIA,
sighs gently, knowing Harriet can never understand:
Maybe if he has a nice duck. If not, get the chops. And thanks, Harriet, it's sweet of you.—By the way, what did David decide?
 
HARRIET: He's not going to college.
 
SYLVIA,
shocked:
I don't believe it! With a scholarship and he's not going?
 
HARRIET: What can we do?
Resignedly.
He says college wouldn't help him get a job anyway.
 
SYLVIA: Harriet, that's terrible!-Listen, tell him I have to talk to him.
 
 
HARRIET: Would you! I was going to ask you but with this happening.
Indicates her legs.
I didn't think you'd...
 
SYLVIA: Never mind, tell him to come over. And you must tell Murray he's got to put his foot down—you've got a brilliant boy! My God ...
Picks up the newspaper.
If I'd had a chance to go to college I'd have had a whole different life, you can't let this happen.
 
HARRIET: I'll tell David ... I wish I knew what is suddenly so interesting in a newspaper. This is not normal, Sylvia, is it?
SYLVIA,
pause, she stares ahead:
They are making old men crawl around and clean the sidewalks with toothbrushes.
 
HARRIET: Who is?
 
 
SYLVIA: In Germany. Old men with beards!
 
HARRIET: So why are you so interested in that? What business of yours is that?
 
SYLVIA,
slight pause; searches within:
I don't really know. A slight pause. Remember Grandpa? His eyeglasses with the bent sidepiece? One of the old men in the paper was his spitting image, he had the same exact glasses with the wire frames. I can't get it out of my mind. On their knees on the sidewalk, two old men. And there's fifteen or twenty people standing in a circle laughing at them scrubbing with toothbrushes. There's three women in the picture; they're holding their coat collars closed, so it must have been cold...
 
 
HARRIET: Why would they make them scrub with toothbrushes?
 
 
SYLVIA,
angered:
To humiliate them, to make fools of them!
 
HARRIET: Oh!
 
 
SYLVIA: How can you be so ... so ... ? Breaks off before she
goes too far.
Harriet, please... leave me alone, will you?
HARRIET: This is not normal. Murray says the same thing. I swear to God, he came home last night and says, “She's got to stop thinking about those Germans.” And you know how he loves current events.
Sylvia is staring ahead.
I'll see if the duck looks good, if not I'll get chops. Can I get you something now?
 
SYLVIA: No, I'm fine, thanks.
 
HARRIET,
moves upstage of Sylvia, turns:
I'm going.
 
SYLVIA: Yes.
 
 
She returns to her paper. Harriet watches anxiously for a moment, out of Sylvia's sight line, then exits. Sylvia turns a page, absorbed in the paper. Suddenly she turns in shock—Phillip is standing behind her. He holds a small paper bag.

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