# Strange Interlude/Act 2

Layout 2
ACT TWO
ACT TWO
Scene: The same as Scene One, Professor Leeds’ study. It is about nine o’clock of a night in early fall, over a year later. The appearance of the room is unchanged except that all the shades, of the color of pale flesh, are drawn down, giving the windows a suggestion of lifeless closed eyes and making the room seem more withdrawn from life than before. The reading lamp on the table is lit. Everything on the table, papers, pencils, pens, etc., is arranged in meticulous order.
Marsden is seated on the chair at center. He is dressed carefully in an English made suit of blue serge so dark as to seem black, and which, combined with the gloomy brooding expression of his face, strongly suggests one in mourning. His tall, thin body sags wearily in the chair, his head is sunk forward, the chin almost touching his chest, his eyes stare sadly at nothing.
Marsden
[His thoughts at ebb, without emphasis, sluggish and melancholy]
Prophetic Professor! . . . I remember he once said . . . shortly after Nina went away . . . “some day, in here, . . . you’ll find me” . . . did he foresee? . . . no . . . everything in life is so contemptuously accidental! . . . God’s sneer at our self-importance! . . .
[Smiling grimly]
​Poor Professor! he was horribly lonely . . . tried to hide it . . . always telling you how beneficial the training at the hospital would be for her . . . poor old chap! . . .
[His voice grows husky and uncertain—he controls it—straightens himself]
What time is it? . . .
[He takes out his watch mechanically and looks at it]
Ten after nine. . . . Nina ought to be here. . . .
[Then with sudden bitterness]
Will she feel any real grief over his death, I wonder? . . . I doubt it! . . . but why am I so resentful? . . . the two times I’ve visited the hospital she’s been pleasant enough . . . pleasantly evasive! . . . perhaps she thought her father had sent me to spy on her . . . poor Professor! . . . at least she answered his letters . . . he used to show them to me . . . pathetically overjoyed . . . newsy, loveless scripts, telling nothing whatever about herself . . . well, she won’t have to compose them any more . . . she never answered mine . . . she might at least have acknowledged them. . . . Mother thinks she’s behaved quite inexcusably . . .
[Then jealously]
I suppose every single damned inmate has fallen in love with her! . . . her eyes seemed cynical . . . sick with men . . . as though I’d looked into the eyes of a prostitute . . . not that I ever have . . . except that once . . . the dollar house . . . hers were like patent leather buttons in a saucer of blue milk! . . .
[Getting up with a movement of impatience]
The devil! . . . what beastly incidents our memories insist on cherishing! . . . the ugly and disgusting . . . the beautiful things we have to keep diaries to remember! . . .
​[He smiles with a wry amusement for a second—then bitterly]
That last night Nina was here . . . she talked so brazenly about giving herself . . . I wish I knew the truth of what she’s been doing in that house full of men . . . particularly that self-important young ass of a doctor! . . . Gordon’s friend! . . .
[He frowns at himself, determinedly puts an end to his train of thought and comes and sits down again in the chair—in sneering, conversational tones as if he were this time actually addressing another person]
Really, it’s hardly a decent time, is it, for that kind of speculation . . . with her father lying dead upstairs? . . .
[A silence as if he had respectably squelched himself—then he pulls out his watch mechanically and stares at it. As he does so a noise of a car is heard approaching, stopping at the curb beyond the garden. He jumps to his feet and starts to go to door—then hesitates confusedly]
No, let Mary go . . . I wouldn’t know what to do . . . take her in my arms? . . . kiss her? . . . right now? . . . or wait until she? . . .
[A bell rings insistently from the back of the house. From the front voices are heard, first Nina’s, then a man’s. Marsden starts, his face suddenly angry and dejected]
Someone with her! . . . a man! . . . I thought she’d be alone! . . .
[Mary is heard shuffling to the front door which is opened. Immediately, as Mary sees Nina, she breaks down and there is the sound of her uncontrolled sobbing and choking, incoherent words drowning out Nina’s voice, soothing her]
Nina
[As Mary’s grief subsides a trifle, her voice is heard, flat and toneless]
Isn’t Mr. Marsden here, Mary?
[She calls]
Charlie!
Marsden
[Confused—huskily]
In here—I’m in the study, Nina.
[He moves uncertainly toward the door]
Nina
[Comes in and stands just inside the doorway. She is dressed in a nurse’s uniform with cap, a raglan coat over it. She appears older than in the previous scene, her face is pale and much thinner, her cheek bones stand out, her mouth is taut in hard lines of a cynical scorn. Her eyes try to armor her wounded spirit with a defensive stare of disillusionment. Her training has also tended to coarsen her fiber a trifle, to make her insensitive to suffering, to give her the nurse’s professionally callous attitude. In her fight to regain control of her nerves she has over-striven after the cool and efficient poise, but she is really in a more highly strung, disorganized state than ever, although she is now more capable of suppressing and concealing it. She remains strikingly handsome and her physical appeal is enhanced by her pallor and the mysterious suggestion about her of hidden experience. She stares at Marsden blankly and speaks in queer flat tones]
Hello, Charlie. He’s dead, Mary says.
Marsden
[Nodding his head several times—stupidly]
Yes.
Nina
[In same tones]
It’s too bad. I brought Doctor Darrell. I thought there might be a chance.
[She pauses and looks about the room]
[Thinking confusedly]
His books . . . his chair . . . he always sat there . . . there’s his table . . . little Nina was never allowed to touch anything . . . she used to sit on his lap . . . cuddle against him . . . dreaming into the dark beyond the windows . . . warm in his arms before the fireplace . . . dreams like sparks soaring up to die in the cold dark . . . warm in his love, safe-drifting into sleep . . .“Daddy’s girl, aren’t you?” . . .
[She looks around and then up and down]
His home . . . my home . . . he was my father . . . he’s dead . . .
[She shakes her head]
Yes, I hear you, little Nina, but I don’t understand one word of it. . . .
[She smiles with a cynical self-contempt]
I’m sorry, Father! . . . you see you’ve been dead for me a long time . . . when Gordon died, all men died . . . what did you feel for me then? . . . nothing . . . and now I feel nothing . . . it’s too bad . . .
Marsden
[Thinking woundedly]
I hoped she would throw herself in my arms . . . weeping . . . hide her face on my shoulder . . . “Oh, Charlie, you’re all I’ve got left in the world . . .”
​[Then angrily]
Why did she have to bring that Darrell with her?
Nina
[Flatly]
When I said good-bye that night I had a premonition I’d never see him again.
Marsden
[Glad of this opening for moral indignation]
You’ve never tried to see him, Nina!
[Then overcome by disgust with himself—contritely]
Forgive me! It was rotten of me to say that!
Nina
[Shaking her head—flatly]
I didn’t want him to see what he would have thought was me.
[Ironically]
That’s the other side of it you couldn’t dissect into words from here, Charlie!
[Then suddenly asking a necessary question in her nurse’s cool, efficient tones]
Is he upstairs?
[Marsden nods stupidly]
I’ll take Ned up. I might as well.
[She turns and walks out briskly]
Marsden
[Staring after her—dully]
That isn’t Nina. . . .
[Indignantly]
They’ve killed her soul down there! . . .
[Tears come to his eyes suddenly and he pulls out his handkerchief and wipes them, muttering huskily]
Poor old Professor! . . .
​[Then suddenly jeering at himself]
For God’s sake, stop acting! . . . it isn’t the Professor! . . . dear old Charlie is crying because she didn’t weep on his shoulder . . . as he had hoped! . . .
[He laughs harshly—then suddenly sees a man outside the doorway and stares—then calls sharply]
Who’s that?
Evans
[His voice embarrassed and hesitating comes from the hall]
It’s all right.
[He appears in the doorway, grinning bashfully]
It’s me—I, I mean—Miss Leeds told me to come in here.
[He stretches out his hand awkwardly]
Guess you don’t remember me, Mr. Marsden. Miss Leeds introduced us one day at the hospital. You were leaving just as I came in. Evans is my name.
Marsden
[Who has been regarding him with waning resentment, forces a cordial smile and shakes hands]
Oh, yes. At first I couldn’t place you.
Evans
[Awkwardly]
I sort of feel I’m butting in.
Marsden
[Beginning to be taken by his likable boyish quality]
Not at all. Sit down.
[He sits in the rocker at center as Evans goes to the bench at right]
​[Evans sits uncomfortably hunched forward, twiddling his hat in his hands. He is above the medium height, very blond, with guileless, diffident blue eyes, his figure inclined to immature lumbering outlines. His face is fresh and red-cheeked, handsome in a boyish fashion. His manner is bashful with women or older men, coltishly playful with his friends. There is a lack of self-confidence, a lost and strayed appealing air about him, yet with a hint of some unawakened obstinate force beneath his apparent weakness. Although he is twenty-five and has been out of college three years, he still wears the latest in collegiate clothes and as he looks younger than he is, he is always mistaken for an undergraduate and likes to be. It keeps him placed in life for himself]
Marsden
[Studying him keenly—amused]
This is certainly no giant intellect . . . overgrown boy . . . likable quality though . . .
Evans
[Uneasy under Marsden’s eyes]
Giving me the once-over . . . seems like good egg . . . Nina says he is . . . suppose I ought to say something about his books, but I can’t even remember a title of one . . .
[He suddenly blurts out]
You’ve known Nina—Miss Leeds—ever since she was a kid, haven’t you?
Marsden
[A bit shortly]
Yes. How long have you known her?
Evans
Well—really only since she’s been at the hospital, although I met her once years ago at a Prom with Gordon Shaw.
Marsden
[Indifferently]
Oh, you knew Gordon?
Evans
[Proudly]
Sure thing! I was in his class!
[With admiration amounting to hero-worship]
He sure was a wonder, wasn’t he?
Marsden
[Cynically]
Gordon über alles and forever! . . . I begin to appreciate the Professor’s viewpoint . . .
[Casually]
A fine boy! Did you know him well?
Evans
No. The crowd he went with were mostly fellows who were good at sports—and I always was a dud.
[Forcing a smile]
I was always one of the first to get bounced off the squad in any sport.
[Then with a flash of humble pride]
But I never quit trying, anyway!
Marsden
[Consolingly]
Well, the sport hero usually doesn’t star after college.
Evans
Gordon did!
[Eagerly—with intense admiration]
In the war! He was an ace! And he always fought just as cleanly as he’d played football! Even the Huns respected him!
Marsden
[Thinking cynically]
This Gordon worshipper must be the apple of Nina’s eye!. . .
[Casually]
Were you in the army?
Evans
[Shamefacedly]
Yes—infantry—but I never got to the front—never saw anything exciting.
[Thinking glumly]
Won’t tell him I tried for flying service . . . wanted to get in Gordon’s outfit . . . couldn’t make the physical exam. . . . never made anything I wanted . . . suppose I’ll lose out with Nina, too . . .
[Then rallying himself]
Hey, you! . . . what’s the matter with you? . . . don’t quit! . . .
Marsden
[Who has been staring at him inquisitively]
How did you happen to come out here tonight?
Evans
I was calling on Nina when your wire came. Ned thought I better come along, too—might be of some use.
Marsden
[Frowning]
You mean Doctor Darrell?
[Evans nods]
Is he a close friend of yours?
Evans
[Hesitatingly]
Well, sort of. Roomed in the same dorm with me at college. He was a senior when I was a freshman. Used to help me along in lots of ways. Took pity on me, I was so green. Then about a year ago when I went to the hospital to visit a fellow who’d been in my outfit I ran into him again.
[Then with a grin]
But I wouldn’t say Ned was close to anyone. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool doc. He’s only close to whatever’s the matter with you!
[He chuckles—then hastily]
But don’t get me wrong about him. He’s the best egg ever! You know him, don’t you?
Marsden
[Stiffly]
Barely. Nina introduced us once.
[Thinking bitterly]
He’s upstairs alone with her . . . I hoped it would be I who . . .
Evans
Don’t want him to get the wrong idea of Ned . . . Ned’s my best friend . . . doing all he can to help me with Nina . . . he thinks she’ll marry me in the end . . . God, if she only would! . . . I wouldn’t expect her to ​love me at first . . . be happy only to take care of her . . . cook her breakfast . . . bring it up to her in bed . . . tuck the pillows behind her . . . comb her hair for her . . . I’d be happy just to kiss her hair! . . .
Marsden
[Agitated—thinking suspiciously]
What are Darrell’s relations with Nina? . . . close to what’s the matter with her? . . . damned thoughts! . . . why should I care? . . . I’ll ask this Evans . . . pump him while I have a chance . . .
[With forced indifference]
Is your friend, the Doctor, “close” to Miss Leeds? She’s had quite a lot the matter with her since her breakdown, if that’s what interests him!
[He smiles casually]
Evans
[Gives a start, awakening from his dream]
Oh—er—yes. He’s always trying to bully her into taking better care of herself, but she only laughs at him.
[Soberly]
It’d be much better if she’d take his advice.
Marsden
[Suspiciously]
No doubt.
Evans
[Pronounces with boyish solemnity]
She isn’t herself, Mr. Marsden. And I think nursing all those poor guys keeps the war before her when she ought to forget it. She ought to give up nursing and be nursed for a change, that’s my idea.
Marsden
[Struck by this—eagerly]
Exactly my opinion.
[Thinking]
If she’d settle down here . . . I could come over every day . . . I’d nurse her . . . Mother home . . . Nina here . . . how I could work then! . . .
Evans
[Thinking]
He certainly seems all for me . . . so far! . . .
[Then in a sudden flurry]
Shall I tell him? . . . he’ll be like her guardian now . . . I’ve got to know how he stands . . .
[He starts with a solemn earnestness]
Mr. Marsden, I—there’s something I ought to tell you, I think. You see, Nina’s talked a lot about you. I know how much she thinks of you. And now her old man—
[He hesitates in confusion]
I mean, her father’s dead—
Marsden
[In a sort of panic—thinking]
What’s this? . . . proposal? . . . in form? . . . for her hand? . . . to me? . . . Father Charlie now, eh? . . . ha! . . . God, what a fool! . . . does he imagine she’d ever love him? . . . but she might . . . not bad looking . . . likable, innocent . . . something to mother . . .
Evans
[Blundering on regardless now]
I know it’s hardly the proper time—
Marsden
[Interrupting—dryly]
Perhaps I can anticipate. You want to tell me you’re in love with Nina?
Evans
Yes, sir, and I’ve asked her to marry me.
Marsden
What did she say?
Evans
[Sheepishly]
Nothing. She just smiled.
Marsden
[With relief]
Ah.
[Then harshly]
Well, what could you expect? Surely you must know she still loves Gordon?
Evans
[Manfully]
Sure I know it—and I admire her for it! Most girls forget too easily. She ought to love Gordon for a long time yet. And I know I’m an awful wash-out compared to him—but I love her as much as he did, or anyone could! And I’ll work my way up for her—I know I can!—so I can give her everything she wants. And I wouldn’t ask for anything in return except the right to take care of her.
[Blurts out confusedly]
I never think of her—that way—she’s too beautiful and ​wonderful — not that I don’t hope she’d come to love me in time—
Marsden
[Sharply]
And just what do you expect me to do about all this?
Evans
[Taken aback]
Why—er—nothing, sir. I just thought you ought to know.
[Sheepishly he glances up at ceiling, then down at floor, twiddling his hat]
Marsden
[Thinking—at first with a grudging appreciation and envy]
He thinks he means that . . . pure love! . . . it’s easy to talk . . . he doesn’t know life . . . but he might be good for Nina . . . if she were married to this simpleton would she be faithful? . . . and then I? . . . what a vile thought! . . . I don’t mean that! . . .
[Then forcing a kindly tone]
You see, there’s really nothing I can do about it.
[With a smile]
If Nina will, she will—and if she won’t, she won’t. But I can wish you good luck.
Evans
[Immediately all boyish gratitude]
Thanks! That’s darn fine of you, Mr. Marsden!
Marsden
But I think we’d better let the subject drop, don’t you? We’re forgetting that her father—
Evans
[Guiltily embarrassed]
Yes—sure—I’m a damn fool! Excuse me!
[There is the noise of steps from the hall and Doctor Edmund Darrell enters. He is twenty-seven, short, dark, wiry, his movements rapid and sure, his manner cool and observant, his dark eyes analytical. His head is handsome and intelligent. There is a quality about him, provoking and disturbing to women, of intense passion which he has rigidly trained himself to control and set free only for the objective satisfaction of studying his own and their reactions; and so he has come to consider himself as immune to love through his scientific understanding of its real sexual nature. He sees Evans and Marsden, nods at Marsden silently, who returns it coldly, goes to the table and taking a prescription pad from his pocket, hastily scratches on it]
Marsden
[Thinking sneeringly]
Amusing, these young doctors! . . . perspire with the effort to appear cool! . . . writing a prescription . . . cough medicine for the corpse, perhaps! . . . good-looking? . . . more or less . . . attractive to women, I dare say. . . .
Darrell
[Tears it off—hands it to Evans]
Here, Sam. Run along up the street and get this filled.
Evans
[With relief]
Sure. Glad of the chance for a walk.
[He goes out, rear]
Darrell
[Turning to Marsden]
It’s for Nina. She’s got to get some sleep tonight.
[He sits down abruptly in the chair at center. Marsden unconsciously takes the Professor’s place behind the table. The two men stare at each other for a moment, Darrell with a frank probing, examining look that ruffles Marsden and makes him all the more resentful toward him]
This Marsden doesn’t like me . . . that’s evident . . . but he interests me . . . read his books . . . wanted to know his bearing on Nina’s case . . . his novels just well-written surface . . . no depth, no digging underneath . . . why? . . . has the talent but doesn’t dare . . . afraid he’ll meet himself somewhere . . . one of those poor devils who spend their lives trying not to discover which sex they belong to! . . .
Marsden
Giving me the fishy, diagnosing eye they practice at medical school . . . like freshmen from Ioway cultivating broad A’s at Harvard! . . . what is his specialty? . . . neurologist, I think . . . I hope not psychoanalyst . . . a lot to account for, Herr Freud! . . . punishment to fit his crimes, be forced to listen eternally during breakfast while innumerable plain ones tell him dreams about snakes . . . pah, what an easy cure-all! . . . sex the philosopher’s stone . . . “O Oedipus, O my king! The world is adopting you!” . . .
Darrell
Must pitch into him about Nina . . . have to have his help . . . damn little time to convince him . . . he’s the kind you have to explode a bomb under to get them to ​move . . . but not too big a bomb . . . they blow to pieces easily . . .
[Brusquely]
Nina’s gone to pot again! Not that her father’s death is a shock in the usual sense of grief. I wish to God it were! No, it’s a shock because it’s finally convinced her she can’t feel anything any more. That’s what she’s doing upstairs now—trying to goad herself into feeling something!
Marsden
[Resentfully]
I think you’re mistaken. She loved her father—
Darrell
[Shortly and dryly]
We can’t waste time being sentimental, Marsden! She’ll be down any minute, and I’ve got a lot to talk over with you.
[As Marsden seems again about to protest]
Nina has a real affection for you and I imagine you have for her. Then you’ll want as much as I do to get her straightened out. She’s a corking girl. She ought to have every chance for a happy life.
[Then sharply driving his words in]
But the way she’s conditioned now, there’s no chance. She’s piled on too many destructive experiences. A few more and she’ll dive for the gutter just to get the security that comes from knowing she’s touched bottom and there’s no farther to go!
Marsden
[Revolted and angry, half-springs to his feet]
Look here, Darrell, I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to such a ridiculous statement!
Darrell
[Curtly—with authority]
How do you know it’s ridiculous? What do you know of Nina since she left home? But she hadn’t been nursing with us three days before I saw she really ought to be a patient; and ever since then I’ve studied her case. So I think it’s up to you to listen.
Marsden
[Freezingly]
I’m listening.
[With apprehensive terror]
Gutter . . . has she . . . I wish he wouldn’t tell me! . . .
Darrell
[Thinking]
How much need I tell him? . . . can’t tell him the raw truth about her promiscuity . . . he isn’t built to face reality . . . no writer is outside of his books . . . have to tone it down for him . . . but not too much! . . .
Nina has been giving way more and more to a morbid longing for martyrdom. The reason for it is obvious. Gordon went away without—well, let’s say marrying her. The war killed him. She was left suspended. Then she began to blame herself and to want to sacrifice herself and at the same time give happiness to various fellow war-victims by pretending to love them. It’s a pretty idea but it hasn’t worked out. Nina’s a bad actress. She hasn’t convinced the men of her love—or herself of her good intentions. And each experience of this kind has only left her more a prey to a guilty conscience than before and more determined to punish herself!
Marsden
[Thinking]
What does he mean? . . . how far did she? . . . how many? . . .
[Coldly and sneeringly]
May I ask on what specific actions of hers this theory of yours is based?
Darrell
[Coldly in turn]
On her evident craving to make an exhibition of kissing, necking, petting—whatever you call it—spooning in general—with any patient in the institution who got a case on her!
[Ironically—thinking]
Spooning! . . . rather a mild word for her affairs . . . but strong enough for this ladylike soul. . . .
Marsden
[Bitterly]
He’s lying! . . . what’s he trying to hide? . . . was he one of them? . . . her lover? . . . I must get her away from him . . . get her to marry Evans! . . .
[With authority]
Then she mustn’t go back to your hospital, that’s certain!
Darrell
[Quickly]
You’re quite right. And that brings me to what I want you to urge her to do.
Marsden
[Thinking suspiciously]
He doesn’t want her back . . . I must have been ​wrong . . . but there might be many reasons why he’d wish to get rid of her . . .
[Coldly]
I think you exaggerate my influence.
Darrell
[Eagerly]
Not a bit. You’re the last link connecting her with the girl she used to be before Gordon’s death. You’re closely associated in her mind with that period of happy security, of health and peace of mind. I know that from the way she talks about you. You’re the only person she still respects—and really loves.
[As Marsden starts guiltily and glances at him in confusion—with a laugh]
Oh, you needn’t look frightened. I mean the sort of love she’d feel for an uncle.
Marsden
[Thinking in agony]
Frightened? . . . was I? . . . only person she loves . . . and then he said “love she’d feel for an uncle” . . . Uncle Charlie now! . . . God damn him! . . .
Darrell
[Eyeing him]
Looks damnably upset . . . wants to evade all responsibility for her, I suppose . . . he’s that kind . . . all the better! . . . he’ll be only too anxious to get her safely married. . . .
[Bluntly]
And that’s why I’ve done all this talking. You’ve got to help snap her out of this.
Marsden
[Bitterly]
And how, if I may ask?
Darrell
There’s only one way I can see. Get her to marry Sam Evans.
Marsden
[Astonished]
Evans?
[He makes a silly gesture toward the door]
[Thinking confusedly]
Wrong again . . . why does he want her married to . . . it’s some trick. . . .
Darrell
Yes, Evans. He’s in love with her. And it’s one of those unselfish loves you read about. And she is fond of him. In a maternal way, of course—but that’s just what she needs now, someone she cares about to mother and boss and keep her occupied. And still more important, this would give her a chance to have children. She’s got to find normal outlets for her craving for sacrifice. She needs normal love objects for the emotional life Gordon’s death blocked up in her. Now marrying Sam ought to do the trick. Ought to. Naturally, no one can say for certain. But I think his unselfish love, combined with her real liking for him, will gradually give her back a sense of security and a feeling of being worth something to life again, and once she’s got that, she’ll be saved!
[He has spoken with persuasive feeling. He asks anxiously]
Doesn’t that seem good sense to you?
Marsden
[Suspicious—dryly non-committal]
I’m sorry but I’m in no position to say. I don’t know anything about Evans, for one thing.
Darrell
[Emphatically]
Well, I do. He’s a fine healthy boy, clean and unspoiled. You can take my word for that. And I’m convinced he’s got the right stuff in him to succeed, once he grows up and buckles down to work. He’s only a big kid now, but all he needs is a little self-confidence and a sense of responsibility. He’s holding down a fair job, too, considering he’s just started in the advertising game—enough to keep them living.
[With a slight smile]
I’m prescribing for Sam, too, when I boost this wedding.
Marsden
[His snobbery coming out]
Do you know his family—what sort of people?—
Darrell
[Bitingly]
I’m not acquainted with their social qualifications, if that’s what you mean! They’re upstate country folks—fruit ​growers and farmers, well off, I believe. Simple, healthy people, I’m sure of that although I’ve never met them.
Marsden
[A bit shamefacedly—changing the subject hastily]
Have you suggested this match to Nina?
Darrell
Yes, a good many times lately in a half-joking way. If I were serious she wouldn’t listen, she’d say I was prescribing. But I think what I’ve said has planted it in her mind as a possibility.
Marsden
[Thinking suspiciously]
Is this Doctor her lover? . . . trying to pull the wool over my eyes? . . . use me to arrange a convenient triangle for him? . . .
[Harshly—but trying to force a joking tone]
Do you know what I’m inclined to suspect, Doctor? That you may be in love with Nina yourself!
Darrell
[Astonished]
The deuce you do! What in the devil makes you think that? Not that any man mightn’t fall in love with Nina. Most of them do. But I didn’t happen to. And what’s more I never could. In my mind she always belongs to Gordon. It’s probably a reflection of her own silly fixed idea about him.
[Suddenly, dryly and harshly]
And I couldn’t share a woman—even with a ghost!
[Thinking cynically]
​Not to mention the living who have had her! . . . Sam doesn’t know about them . . . and I’ll bet he couldn’t believe it of her even if she confessed! . . .
Marsden
[Thinking baffledly]
Wrong again! . . . he isn’t lying . . . but I feel he’s hiding something . . . why does he speak so resentfully of Gordon’s memory? . . . why do I sympathize? . . .
[In a strange mocking ironic tone]
I can quite appreciate your feeling about Gordon. I wouldn’t care to share with a ghost-lover myself. That species of dead is so invulnerably alive! Even a doctor couldn’t kill one, eh?
[He forces a laugh—then in a friendly confidential tone]
Gordon is too egregious for a ghost. That was the way Nina’s father felt about him, too.
[Suddenly reminded of the dead man—in penitently sad tones]
You didn’t know her father, did you? A charming old fellow!
Darrell
[Hearing a noise from the hall—warningly]
Sstt!
[Nina enters slowly. She looks from one to the other with a queer, quick, inquisitive stare, but her face is a pale expressionless mask drained of all emotional response to human contacts. It is as if her eyes were acting on their own account as restless, prying, recording instruments. The two men have risen and stare at her anxiously. Darrell moves back and to one side until he is standing in relatively the same place as Marsden had occupied ​in the previous scene while Marsden is in her father’s place and she stops where she had been. There is a pause. Then just as each of the men is about to speak, she answers as if they had ashed a question]
Nina
[In a queer flat voice]
Yes, he’s dead—my father—whose passion created me—who began me—he is ended. There is only his end living—his death. It lives now to draw nearer me, to draw me nearer, to become my end!
[Then with a strange twisted smile]
How we poor monkeys hide from ourselves behind the sounds called words!
Marsden
[Thinking frightenedly]
How terrible she is! . . . who is she? . . . not my Nina! . . .
[As if to reassure himself—timidly]
Nina!
[Darrell makes an impatient gesture for him to let her go on. What she is saying interests him and he feels talking it out will do her good. She looks at Marsden for a moment startledly as if she couldn’t recognize him]
Nina
What?
[Then placing him—with real affection that is like a galling goad to him]
Dear old Charlie!
Marsden
Dear damned Charlie! . . . She loves to torture! . . .
[Then forcing a smile—soothingly]
Yes, Nina Cara Nina! Right here!
Nina
[Forcing a smile]
You look frightened, Charlie. Do I seem queer? It’s because I’ve suddenly seen the lies in the sounds called words. You know—grief, sorrow, love, father—those sounds our lips make and our hands write. You ought to know what I mean. You work with them. Have you written another novel lately? But, stop to think, you’re just the one who couldn’t know what I mean. With you the lies have become the only truthful things. And I suppose that’s the logical conclusion to the whole evasive mess, isn’t it? Do you understand me, Charlie? Say lie—
[She says it, drawing it out]
L-i-i-e! Now say life. L-i-i-f-e! You see! Life is just a long drawn out lie with a sniffling sigh at the end!
[She laughs]
Marsden
[In strange agony]
She’s hard! . . . like a whore! . . . tearing your heart with dirty finger nails! . . . my Nina! . . . cruel bitch! . . . some day I won’t bear it! . . . I’ll scream out the truth about every woman! . . . no kinder at heart than dollar tarts! . . .
[Then in a passion of remorse]
Forgive me, Mother! . . . I didn’t mean all! . . .
Darrell
[A bit worried himself now—persuasively]
Why not sit down, Nina, and let us two gentlemen sit down?
Nina
[Smiling at him swiftly and mechanically]
Oh, all right, Ned.
[She sits at center. He comes and sits on the bench. Marsden sits by the table. She continues sarcastically]
Are you prescribing for me again, Ned? This is my pet doctor, Charlie. He couldn’t be happy in heaven unless God called him in because He’d caught something! Did you ever know a young scientist, Charlie? He believes if you pick a lie to pieces, the pieces are the truth! I like him because he’s so inhuman. But once he kissed me—in a moment of carnal weakness! I was as startled as if a mummy had done it! And then he looked so disgusted with himself! I had to laugh!
[She smiles at him with a pitying scorn]
Darrell
[Good-naturedly smiling]
That’s right! Rub it in!
[Ruffled but amused in spite of it]
I’d forgotten about that kiss . . . I was sore at myself afterwards . . . she was so damned indifferent! . . .
Nina
[Wanderingly]
Do you know what I was doing upstairs? I was trying to pray. I tried hard to pray to the modern science God. I ​thought of a million light years to a spiral nebula—one other universe among innumerable others. But how could that God care about our trifling misery of death-born-of-birth? I couldn’t believe in Him, and I wouldn’t if I could! I’d rather imitate His indifference and prove I had that one trait at least in common!
Marsden
[Worriedly]
Nina, why don’t you lie down?
Nina
[Jeeringly]
Oh, let me talk, Charlie! They’re only words, remember! So many many words have jammed up into thoughts in my poor head! You’d better let them overflow or they’ll burst the dam! I wanted to believe in any God at any price—a heap of stones, a mud image, a drawing on a wall, a bird, a fish, a snake, a baboon—or even a good man preaching the simple platitudes of truth, those Gospel words we love the sound of but whose meaning we pass on to spooks to live by!
Marsden
[Again—half-rising—frightenedly]
Nina! You ought to stop talking. You’ll work yourself into—
[He glances angrily at Darrell as if demanding that, as a doctor, he do something]
Nina
[With bitter hopelessness]
Oh, all right!
Darrell
[Answering his look—thinking]
You poor fool! . . . it’ll do her good to talk this out of her system . . . and then it’ll be up to you to bring her around to Sam . . .
[Starts toward the door]
Think I’ll go out and stretch my legs.
Marsden
[Thinking—in a panic]
I don’t want to be alone with her! . . . I don’t know her! . . . I’m afraid! . . .
[Protestingly]
Well—but—hold on—I’m sure Nina would rather—
Nina
[Dully]
Let him go. I’ve said everything I can ever say—to him. I want to talk to you, Charlie.
[Darrell goes out noiselessly with a meaning look at Marsden—a pause]
Marsden
[Thinking tremblingly]
Here . . . now . . . what I hoped . . . she and I alone . . . she will cry . . . I will comfort her . . . why am I so afraid? . . . whom do I fear? . . . is it she? . . . or I? . . .
Nina
[Suddenly, with pity yet with scorn]
Why have you always been so timid, Charlie? Why are you always afraid? What are you afraid of?
Marsden
[Thinking in a panic]
She sneaked into my soul to spy! . . .
[Then boldly]
Well then, a little truth for once in a way! . . .
[Timidly]
I’m afraid of—of life, Nina.
Nina
[Nodding slowly]
I know.
[After a pause—queerly]
The mistake began when God was created in a male image. Of course, women would see Him that way, but men should have been gentlemen enough, remembering their mothers, to make God a woman! But the God of Gods—the Boss—has always been a man. That makes life so perverted, and death so unnatural. We should have imagined life as created in the birth-pain of God the Mother. Then we would understand why we, Her children, have inherited pain, for we would know that our life’s rhythm beats from Her great heart, torn with the agony of love and birth. And we would feel that death meant reunion with Her, a passing back into Her substance, blood of Her blood again, peace of Her peace!
[Marsden has been listening to her fascinatedly. She gives a strange little laugh]
​Now wouldn’t that be more logical and satisfying than having God a male whose chest thunders with egotism and is too hard for tired heads and thoroughly comfortless? Wouldn’t it, Charlie?
Marsden
[With a strange passionate eagerness]
Yes! It would, indeed! It would, Nina!
Nina
[Suddenly jumping to her feet and going to him—with a horrible moaning desolation]
Oh, God, Charlie, I want to believe in something! I want to believe so I can feel! I want to feel that he is dead—my father! And I can’t feel anything, Charlie! I can’t feel anything at all!
[She throws herself on her knees beside him and hides her face in her hands on his knees and begins to sob—stifled torn sounds]
Marsden
[Bends down, pats her head with trembling hands, soothes her with uncertain trembling words]
There—there—don’t—Nina, please—don’t cry—you’ll make yourself sick—come now—get up—do!
[His hands grasping her arms he half raises her to her feet, but, her face still hidden in her hands, sobbing, she slips on to his lap like a little girl and hides her face on his shoulder. His expression becomes transported with a great happiness]
[In an ecstatic whisper]
As I dreamed . . . with a deeper sweetness! . . .
[He kisses her hair with a great reverence]
​There . . . this is all my desire . . . I am this kind of lover . . . this is my love . . . she is my girl . . . not woman . . . my little girl . . . and I am brave because of her little girl’s pure love . . . and I am proud . . . no more afraid . . . no more ashamed of being pure! . . .
[He kisses her hair again tenderly and smiles at himself]
[Then soothingly with a teasing incongruous gaiety]
This will never do, Nina Cara Nina—never, never do, you know—I can’t permit it!
Nina
[In a muffled voice, her sobbing beginning to ebb away into sighs—in a young girl’s voice]
Oh, Charlie, you’re so kind and comforting! I’ve wanted you so!
Marsden
[Immediately disturbed]
Wanted? . . . wanted? . . . not that kind of wanted . . . can she mean? . . .
[Questioning hesitatingly]
You’ve wanted me, Nina?
Nina
Yes,—awfully! I’ve been so homesick. I’ve wanted to run home and ’fess up, tell how bad I’ve been, and be punished! Oh, I’ve got to be punished, Charlie, out of mercy for me, so I can forgive myself! And now Father dead, there’s only you. You will, won’t you—or tell me how to punish myself? You’ve simply got to, if you love me!
Marsden
[Thinking intensely]
​If I love her! . . . oh, I do love her!
[Eagerly]
Anything you wish, Nina—anything!
Nina
[With a comforted smile, closing her eyes and cuddling up against him]
I knew you would. Dear old Charlie!
[As he gives a wincing start]
What is it?
[She looks up into his face]
Marsden
[Forcing a smile—ironically]
Twinge—rheumatics—getting old, Nina.
[Thinking with wild agony]
Dear old Charlie! . . . descended again into hell! . . .
[Then in a flat voice]
What do you want to be punished for, Nina?
Nina
[In a strange, far-away tone, looking up not at him but at the ceiling]
For playing the silly slut, Charlie. For giving my cool clean body to men with hot hands and greedy eyes which they called love! Ugh!
[A shiver runs over her body]
Marsden
[Thinking with sudden agony]
Then she did! . . . the little filth! . . .
​[In his flat voice]
You mean you—
[Then pleadingly]
But not—Darrell?
Nina
[With simple surprise]
Ned? No, how could I? The war hadn’t maimed him. There would have been no point in that. But I did with others—oh, four or five or six or seven men, Charlie. I forget—and it doesn’t matter. They were all the same. Count them all as one, and that one a ghost of nothing. That is, to me. They were important to themselves, if I remember rightly. But I forget.
Marsden
[Thinking in agony]
But why? . . . the dirty little trollop! . . . why?
[In his flat voice]
Why did you do this, Nina?
Nina
[With a sad little laugh]
God knows, Charlie! Perhaps I knew at the time but I’ve forgotten. It’s all mixed up. There was a desire to be kind. But it’s horribly hard to give anything, and frightful to receive! And to give love—oneself—not in this world! And men are difficult to please, Charlie. I seemed to feel Gordon standing against a wall with eyes bandaged and these men were a firing squad whose eyes were also bandaged—and only I could see! No, I was the blindest! I would ​not see! I knew it was a stupid, morbid business, that I was more maimed than they were, really, that the war had blown my heart and insides out! And I knew too that I was torturing these tortured men, morbidly super-sensitive already, that they loathed the cruel mockery of my gift! Yet I kept on, from one to one, like a stupid, driven animal until one night not long ago I had a dream of Gordon diving down out of the sky in flames and he looked at me with such sad burning eyes, and all my poor maimed men, too, seemed staring out of his eyes with a burning pain, and I woke up crying, my own eyes burning. Then I saw what a fool I’d been—a guilty fool! So be kind and punish me!
Marsden
[Thinking with bitter confusion]
I wish she hadn’t told me this . . . it has upset me terribly! . . . I positively must run home at once . . . Mother is waiting up . . . oh, how I’d love to hate this little whore! . . . then I could punish! . . . I wish her father were alive . . . “now he’s dead there’s only you,” she said . . . “I’ve wanted you,” . . .
[With intense bitterness]
Dear old Father Charlie now! . . . ha! . . . that’s how she wants me! . . .
[Then suddenly in a matter-of-fact tone that is mockingly like her father’s]
Then, under the circumstances, having weighed the pros and cons, so to speak, I should say that decidedly the most desirable course—
Nina
[Drowsily—her eyes shut]
You sound so like Father, Charlie.
Marsden
[In the tone like her father’s]
—is for you to marry that young Evans. He is a splendid chap, clean and boyish, with real stuff in him, too, to make a career for himself if he finds a helpmeet who will inspire him to his best efforts and bring his latent ability to the surface.
Nina
[Drowsily]
Sam is a nice boy. Yes, it would be a career for me to bring a career to his surface. I would be busy—surface life—no more depths, please God! But I don’t love him, Father.
Marsden
[Blandly—in the tone like her father’s]
But you like him, Nina. And he loves you devotedly. And it’s time you were having children—and when children come, love comes, you know.
Nina
[Drowsily]
I want children. I must become a mother so I can give myself. I am sick of sickness.
Marsden
[Briskly]
Then it’s all settled?
Nina
[Drowsily]
Yes.
[Very sleepily]
Thank you, Father. You’ve been so kind. You’ve let me off too easily. I don’t feel as if you’d punished me hardly at all. But I’ll never, never do it again, I promise—never, never!—
[She falls asleep and gives a soft little snore]
Marsden
[Still in her father’s tones—very paternally—looking down]
She’s had a hard day of it, poor child! I’ll carry her up to her room.
[He rises to his feet with Nina sleeping peacefully in his arms. At this moment Sam Evans enters from the right with the package of medicine in his hand]
Evans
[Grinning respectfully]
Here’s the—
[As he sees Nina]
Oh!
[Then excitedly]
Did she faint?
Marsden
[Smiling kindly at Evans—still in her father’s tones]
Sssh! She’s asleep. She cried and then she fell asleep—like a little girl.
[Then benignantly]
But first we spoke a word about you, Evans, and I’m sure you have every reason to hope.
Evans
[Overcome, his eyes on his shuffling feet and twiddling cap]
Thanks—I—I really don’t know how to thank—
Marsden
[Going to door—in his own voice now]
I’ve got to go home. My mother is waiting up for me. I’ll just carry Nina upstairs and put her on her bed and throw something over her.
Evans
Can’t I help you, Mr. Marsden?
Marsden
[Dully]
No. I cannot help myself.
[As Evans looks puzzled and startled he adds with an ironical, self-mocking geniality]
You’d better call me just Charlie after this.
[He smiles bitterly to himself as he goes out]
Evans
[Looks after him for a moment—then cannot restrain a joyful, coltish caper—gleefully]
Good egg! Good old Charlie!
[As if he had heard or guessed, Marsden’s bitter laugh comes back from the end of the hallway]
CURTAIN