The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 15

HILDA (_shocked_). Volunteered!

WALLACE. Yes. I leave for training-camp to-night.

HILDA. To-night?

WALLACE. Yes, mother. Once I made up my mind, I couldn't wait to be drafted. I wanted to offer myself. I didn't want to be made to go.

HILDA (_hardly grasping it_). But you are too young.

WALLACE. I lied about my age. You and father can stop me if you tell the truth. That's why I've come back. I want you to promise you won't tell.

HILDA. _You_ ask me to aid you in what I don't believe?

WALLACE. But you said you'd stick by me if _I_ thought it was right.

HILDA. But--

WALLACE (_with fervor_). And I tell you, mother, I do feel it was right for America to go in. I see now we ought to have declared war when they crushed Belgium. Yes; we ought to have gone in when the Lusitania was sunk. But we've been patient. The President tried to keep us out of it until we _had_ to go in to save our self-respect. We had to go in to show we were men of honor, not p.u.s.s.y-cats. We had to go in to show the world the Stars and Stripes wasn't a dish-rag on which the Germans could dry their b.l.o.o.d.y hands!

HILDA (_gazing at him incredulously_). You hate them as much as that?

WALLACE. Hate? No, mother, no. (_As if questioning himself_) I really haven't any hate for the German _people_. People are just people everywhere, I suppose, and they're tricked and fooled by their rotten government, as the President says.

HILDA. Then why fight them?

WALLACE. Because they're standing back of their government, doing what it says. And they've got to be licked to show them what kind of a government they have.

HILDA. At least you have no hate in your heart--that's something.

WALLACE. Oh, yes, I have, mother. But it isn't for the poor devils I've got to shoot. It's for the stay-at-home fellow here in America who sits in a comfortable armchair, who applauds patriotic sentiment, cheers the flag, and does nothing for his country but hate and hate--while we fight for him. That's the fellow I'll hate all right when I sit in the trenches. And that's why I couldn't look myself in the face if I stayed out a day longer; why I've got to go in; why I'm going to die if I must, because _everybody_ ought to be willing to die for what he believes.

HILDA. You are my son, _too_! For I would willingly have died if it could have kept us out of this war.

WALLACE. Yes. I am your son, too. And that's why you wouldn't respect me if I didn't go through.

HILDA. No. I wouldn't have respected you. But--but--(_She breaks a bit, then controls herself._) You are quite sure you're doing what's right?

WALLACE (_tenderly_). Would I have been willing to hurt you like this?

HILDA (_holding him close to her_). My boy; my boy!

WALLACE. It'll be all right, mother.

HILDA. Ah, yes. It will be all right. Nothing matters in time: it's only the moments that hurt.

WALLACE (_after a pause_). Then you won't tell my real age, or interfere?

HILDA. I respect your right to decide your own life.

WALLACE (_joyed_). Mother!

HILDA. I respect your dedication; your willingness to sacrifice for your beliefs. Why, Wallace, it would be a crime for me to stand in your way--even with my mother's love. (_He kisses her._) Do it all as cleanly as you can. I'll hope and pray that you'll come back to me. (_Half breaking down and taking him in her arms_).

Oh, my boy; my boy. Let me hold you. You'll never know how hard it is for a mother.

WALLACE (_gently_). But other mothers send their boys.

HILDA. Most of them believe in what their sons are fighting for.

Mothers have got to believe in it; or else how could they stand the thought of bayonets stuck into the bodies they brought forth in their own blood? (_There is a pause till she controls herself._) I'll help you get your things together.

WALLACE. And father?

HILDA. He will be angry.

WALLACE. But you will make him understand?

HILDA. I'll try. Yet you must be patient with him if he doesn't understand. Don't ever forget his long fight against all kinds of Prussianism when you hear him reviled by those who have always hated his radicalism and who, now, under the guise of patriotism, are trying to render him useless for further attacks on them after the war. He's been persecuted so by them--even back in the days when our press was praising Germany and our distinguished citizens were dining at the Emperor's table. Don't forget all this, my boy. These days are hard for him--and me--harder perhaps than for you who go out to die in glory and praise. There are no flags for us, no music that stirs, no applause; but we too suffer in silence for what we believe. And it is only the strongest who can survive.--Now call your father.

WALLACE (_goes to door_). Dad! (_He leaves door open and turns to his mother._) I'll be getting my things together. (_There is a pause._ WHITE _enters._) Dad, mother has something to ask you. (_He looks from father to mother._) Thanks, little mother.

(_He kisses her and goes out, taking the valise. His father and mother stand facing each other._)

HILDA. Wallace has volunteered. (_He looks at her keenly._) He has lied about his age. He wants us to let him go.

WHITE. Volunteered?

HILDA. Yes; he leaves to-night.

WHITE (_after a pause_). And what have you told him?

HILDA. That he must go.

WHITE. You can say that?

HILDA. It is the way he sees it.

WHITE (_going to her sympathetically_). Hilda.

HILDA (_looking up at him tenderly_). O Will, do you remember when he was born? (_He soothes her._) And all we nursed him through afterwards; and all we taught him; all we tried to show him about war. (_With a shrug of her shoulders_) None of it has mattered.

WHITE. War is stronger than all that.

HILDA. So we mustn't blame him. You won't blame him?

WHITE. He fears I will?

HILDA. He has always feared you a little, though he loves you deeply. You mustn't oppose him, dear. You won't?

WHITE (_wearily_). Is there any use opposing anybody or anything these days?