Plays by Susan Glaspell Part 11

d.i.c.k: Anyway, I think he might have some idea that we can't very well reach each other.

HARRY: d.a.m.n nonsense. What have we got intelligence for?

d.i.c.k: To let each other alone, I suppose. Only we haven't enough to do it.

(TOM _is now knocking on the door with a revolver_. HARRY _half turns, decides to be too intelligent to turn_.)

HARRY: Don't tell me I'm getting nerves. But the way some of you people talk is enough to make even an aviator jumpy. Can't reach each other!

Then we're fools. If I'm here and you're there, why can't we reach each other?

d.i.c.k: Because I am I and you are you.

HARRY: No wonder your drawing's queer. A man who can't reach another man--(TOM _here reaches them by pointing the revolver in the air and firing it_. d.i.c.k _digs his hand into the dirt_. HARRY _jumps to one side, fearfully looks around_. TOM, _with a pleased smile to see he at last has their attention, moves the handle to indicate he would be glad to come in_.)

HARRY: Why--it's Tom! What the--? (_going to the door_) He's locked out.

And Claire's got the key. (_goes to the inner door, tries it_) And she's locked in! (_trying to see her in there_) Claire! Claire! (_returning to the outer door_) Claire's got the key--and I can't get to Claire.

(_makes a futile attempt at getting the door open without a key, goes back to inner door--peers, pounds_) Claire! Are you there? Didn't you hear the revolver? Has she gone down the cellar? (_tries the trap-door_) Bolted! Well, I love the way she keeps people locked out!

d.i.c.k: And in.

HARRY: (_getting angry, shouting at the trap-door_) Didn't you hear the revolver? (_going to_ TOM) Awfully sorry, old man, but--(_in astonishment to_ d.i.c.k) He can't hear me. (TOM, _knocking with the revolver to get their attention, makes a gesture of inquiry with it_) No--no--no! Is he asking if he shall shoot himself? (_shaking his head violently_) Oh, no--no! Um--_um_!

d.i.c.k: Hardly seems a man would shoot himself because he can't get to his breakfast.

HARRY: I'm coming to believe people would do anything! (TOM _is making another inquiry with the revolver_) No! not here. Don't shoot yourself.

(_trying hard to get the word through_) _Shoot_ yourself. I mean--don't, (_petulantly to_ d.i.c.k) It's ridiculous that you can't make a man understand you when he looks right at you like that. (_turning back to_ TOM) Read my lips. Lips. I'm saying--Oh d.a.m.n. Where is Claire? All right--I'll explain it with motions. We wanted the salt ... (_going over it to himself_) and Claire wouldn't let us go out for it on account of the temperature. Salt. Temperature. (_takes his egg-cup to the door, violent motion of shaking in salt_) But--no (_shakes his head_) No salt.

(_he then takes the thermometer, a flower pot, holds them up to_ TOM) On account of the temperature. Tem-per-a--(TOM _is not getting it_) Oh--well, what can you do when a man don't _get_ a thing? (TOM _seems to be preparing the revolver for action_. HARRY _pounds on the inner door_) Claire! Do you want Tom to shoot himself?

(_As he looks in there, the trap-door lifts, and CLAIRE comes half-way up._)

CLAIRE: Why, what is Tom doing out there, with a revolver?

HARRY: He is about to shoot himself because you've locked him out from his breakfast.

CLAIRE: He must know more interesting ways of destroying himself.

(_bowing to_ TOM) Good morning. (_from his side of the gla.s.s_ TOM _bows and smiles back_) Isn't it strange--our being in here--and he being out there?

HARRY: Claire, have you no ideas of hospitality? Let him in!

CLAIRE: In? Perhaps that isn't hospitality.

HARRY: Well, whatever hospitality is, what is out there is snow--and wind--and our guest--who was asked to come here for his breakfast. To think a man has to _such_ things.

CLAIRE: I'm going to let him in. Though I like his looks out there.

(_she takes the key from her pocket_)

HARRY: Thank heaven the door's coming open. Somebody can go for salt, and we can have our eggs.

CLAIRE: And open the door again--to let the salt in? No. If you insist on salt, tell Tom now to go back and get it. It's a stormy morning and there'll be just one opening of the door.

HARRY: How can we tell him what we can't make him hear? And why does he think we're holding this conversation instead of letting him in?

CLAIRE: It would be interesting to know. I wonder if he'll tell us?

HARRY: Claire! Is this any time to wonder anything?

CLAIRE: Give up the idea of salt for your egg and I'll let him in.

(_holds up the key to _TOM_ to indicate that for her part she is quite ready to let him in_)

HARRY: I want my egg!

CLAIRE: Then ask him to bring the salt. It's quite simple.

(HARRY _goes through another pantomime with the egg-cup and the missing shaker._ CLAIRE, _still standing half-way down cellar, sneezes._ HARRY, _growing all the while less amiable, explains with thermometer and flower-pot that there can only be one opening of the door._ TOM _looks interested, but unenlightened. But suddenly he smiles, nods, vanishes._)

HARRY: Well, thank heaven (_exhausted_) that's over.

CLAIRE: (_sitting on the top step_) It was all so queer. He locked out on his side of the door. You locked in on yours. Looking right at each other and--

HARRY: (_in mockery_) And me trying to tell him to kindly fetch the salt!

CLAIRE: Yes.

HARRY: (_to_ d.i.c.k) Well, I didn't do so bad a job, did I? Quite an idea, explaining our situation with the thermometer and the flower-pot. That was really an apology for keeping him out there. Heaven knows--some explanation was in order, (_he is watching, and sees_ TOM _coming_) Now there he is, Claire. And probably pretty well fed up with the weather.

(CLAIRE _goes to the door, stops before it. She and_ TOM _look at each other through the gla.s.s. Then she lets him in._)

TOM: And now I am in. For a time it seemed I was not to be in. But after I got the idea that you were keeping me out there to see if I could get the idea--it would be too humiliating for a wall of gla.s.s to keep one from understanding. (_taking it from his pocket_) So there's the other thermometer. Where do you want it? (CLAIRE _takes it_)

CLAIRE: And where's the pepper?

TOM: (_putting it on the table_) And here's the pepper.

HARRY: Pepper?

TOM: When Claire sneezed I knew--

CLAIRE: Yes, I knew if I sneezed you would bring the pepper.

TOM: Funny how one always remembers the salt, but the pepper gets overlooked in preparations. And what is an egg without pepper?

HARRY: (_nastily_) There's your egg, Edgeworth. (_pointing to it on the floor_) Claire decided it would be a good idea to smash everything, so she began with your egg.

TOM: (_looking at his egg_) The idea of smas.h.i.+ng everything is really more intriguing than an egg.

HARRY: Nice that you feel that way about it.

CLAIRE: (_giving_ TOM _his coffee_) You want to hear something amusing?

I married Harry because I thought he would smash something.