Eugene O'Neill

“ ROBERT—Andy! Don't! You're only making it worse.
ANDREW— [Sulkily.] I don't care. I've done my share of work here. I've earned my right to quit when I want to. [Suddenly overcome with anger and grief; with rising intensity.] I'm sick and tired of the whole damn business. I hate the farm and every inch of ground in it. I'm sick of digging in the dirt and sweating in the sun like a slave without getting a word of thanks for it. [Tears of rage starting to his eyes—hoarsely.] I'm through, through for good and all; and if Uncle Dick won't take me on his ship, I'll find another. ”

“ Would you have a fine girl the like of Anna lying down at nights with a muddy scut stinking of pigs and dung? Or would you have her tied for life to the like of them skinny, shrivelled swabs does be working in cities?
CHRIS--Dat's lie, you fool!
BURKE--'Tis not. 'Tis your own mad notions I'm after telling. But you know the truth in your heart, if great fear of the sea has made you a liar and coward itself. [Pounding the table.] The sea's the only life for a man with guts in him isn't afraid of his own shadow! ”

“ Oh, Ruth, you are right! Our love is sweeter than any distant dream. It is the meaning of all life, the whole world. The kingdom of heaven is within—us! [He kisses her passionately and steps to the ground, lifting RUTH in his arms and carrying her to the road where he puts her down.]
RUTH— [With a happy laugh.] My, but you're strong!
ROBERT—Come! We'll go and tell them at once.
RUTH— [Dismayed.] Oh, no, don't, Rob, not 'til after I've gone. Then you can tell your folks and I'll tell Ma when I get her home. There'd be bound to be such a scene with them all together. ”

“ MURRAY. I'm sorry, Eileen. It wasn't that I didn't mean to—but—in New York it's so hard. You start to do one thing and something else interrupts you. You never seem to get any one thing done when it ought to be. You can understand that, can't you, Eileen?
EILEEN (sadly) . Yes. I understand everything now.
MURRAY (offended) . What do you mean by everything? You said that so strangely. You mean you don't believe—— (But she remains silent with her eyes shut. He frowns and takes to pacing up and down beside the bed.) Why have they got you stuck out here on this isolation porch, Eileen? ”

“ And when she christened the schooner—jest to the minute, mind ye!—a fair breeze sprung up and come down out o’ the land to blow her out to sea—like a sign o’ good luck.
Sue— [Aroused to angry indignation.] What kind of a man have you become—to think of such things now! Oh, I can’t believe you’re the same man who used to be my father!
Bartlett—Sue!
Sue—To talk cold-bloodedly of sailing away on a long voyage when Ma’s inside—dying for all you seem to know or care! Oh, I hate you when you’re like this! You’re not the father I love! ”

“ They use the shovels to throw open the furnace doors. Then from these fiery round holes in the black a flood of terrific light and heat pours full upon the men who are outlined in silhouette in the crouching, inhuman attitudes of chained gorillas. The men shovel with a rhythmic motion, swinging as on a pivot from the coal which lies in heaps on the floor behind to hurl it into the flaming mouths before them. There is a tumult of noise—the brazen clang of the furnace doors as they are flung open or slammed shut, the grating, teeth-gritting grind of steel against steel, of crunching coal. ”

“ MARTHA— [Snuggling close to him.] Will you always love me—even when I'm old and ugly and feeble and you're still young and strong and handsome?
CURTIS— [Kisses her—tenderly.] Martha! What a foolish question, sweetheart. If we ever have to grow old, we'll do it together just as we've always done everything.
MARTHA— [With a happy sigh.] That's my dream of happiness, Curt. [Enthusiastically.] Oh, it has been a wonderful, strange life we've lived together, Curt, hasn't it? You're sure you've never regretted—never had the weest doubt that it might have been better with—someone else? ”

“ Why do you want to hire a man to oversee things? Seems as if now that you’re back it wouldn’t be needful.
ANDREW. Oh, of course I’ll attend to everything while I’m here. I mean after I’m gone.
RUTH. (as if she couldn’t believe her ears) Gone!
ANDREW. Yes. When I leave for the Argentine again.
RUTH. (aghast) You’re going away to sea!
ANDREW. Not to sea, no; I’m through with the sea for good as a job. I’m going down to Buenos Aires to get in the grain business.
RUTH. But—that’s far off—isn’t it?
ANDREW. (easily) Six thousand miles more or less. It’s quite a trip. ”

“ Rob! [He clenches his fists in an impotent rage against fate.] God! God! [RUTH sobs brokenly and wipes ROBERT'S lips with her handkerchief.]
ROBERT— [In a voice which is suddenly ringing with the happiness of hope.] You mustn't feel sorry for me. It's ridiculous! Don't you see I'm happy at last—because I'm making a start to the far-off places—free—free!—freed from the farm—free to wander on and on—eternally! Even the hills are powerless to shut me in now. [He raises himself on his elbow, his face radiant, and points to the horizon.] Look! Isn't it beautiful beyond the hills? ”

“ RUTH— [Her repressed voice trembling.] You needn't make fun of Andy.
ROBERT—Perhaps I am too hard on him; but when I think—but what's the use? You know I wasn't making fun of Andy personally. No one loves him better than I do, the old chump! But his attitude toward things is—is rank, in my estimation.
RUTH— [Her eyes flashing—bursting into uncontrollable rage.] You was too making fun of him! And I ain't going to stand for it! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! A fine one you be! [ROBERT stares at her in amazement. She continues furiously.] ”

“ It is so! Don't lie to me. It's useless and it irritates me. After Ruth put me to bed before you came, I saw it clearly for the first time. [Bitterly.] I'd been making plans for our future—Ruth's and mine—so it came hard at first—the realization. Then when the doctor examined me, I knew—although he tried to lie about it. And then to make sure I listened at the door to what he told you. So, for my sake, don't mock me with fairy tales about Arizona, or any such rot as that. Because I'm dying is no reason you should treat me as an imbecile or a coward. ”

“ CARMODY. It's the dead spit and image of your sister Eileen you are, with your nose always in a book; and you're like your mother, too, God rest her soul. (He crosses himself with pious unction and Mary also does so.) It's Nora and Tom has the high spirits in them like their father; and Billy, too,—if he is a lazy, shiftless divil—has the fightin' Carmody blood like me. You're a Cullen like your mother's people. They always was dreamin' their lives out. (He lights his pipe and shakes his head with ponderous gravity.) There's no good in too many books, I'll tell you. ”

“ RUTH—Let's go, then. [She takes his hand, and they start to go off left. ROBERT suddenly stops and turns as though for a last look at the hills and the dying sunset flush.]
ROBERT— [Looking upward and pointing.] See! The first star. [He bends down and kisses her tenderly.] Our star!
RUTH— [In a soft murmur.] Yes. Our very own star. [They stand for a moment looking up at it, their arms around each other. Then RUTH takes his hand again and starts to lead him away.] Come, Rob, let's go. [His eyes are fixed again on the horizon as he half turns to follow her. RUTH urges.] ”

“ Glory be to God, it's bold talk you have for a stumpy runt of a man!
CHRIS— [Threateningly.] Vell—you see!
BURKE— [With grinning defiance.] I'll see, surely! I'll see myself and Anna married this day, I'm telling you! [Then with contemptuous exasperation.] It's quare fool's blather you have about the sea done this and the sea done that. You'd ought to be shamed to be saying the like, and you an old sailor yourself. I'm after hearing a lot of it from you and a lot more that Anna's told me you do be saying to her, and I'm thinking it's a poor weak thing you are, and not a man at all! ”

“ ANDREW— [Stares at her for a moment, his rage ebbing away, an expression of deep pity gradually coming over his face. Then he glances down at his brother and speaks brokenly in a compassionate voice.] Forgive me, Ruth—for his sake. I know he was right—and I'll remember what he said. [RUTH lets her hands fall from her face and looks at him uncomprehendingly. He lifts his eyes to hers and forces out falteringly:] I—you—we've both made such a mess of things! We must try to help each other—and—in time—we'll come to know what's right to do—— [Desperately.] ”

“ Why, this is the greatest thing of its kind ever attempted! There are unprecedented possibilities! A whole new world of knowledge may be opened up—the very origin of Man himself! And you will be the only woman—
MARTHA—I realize all that, Curt.
CURTIS—You can't—and hesitate! And then—think, Martha!—it will mean that you and I won't have to be separated. We can go on living the old, free life together.
MARTHA— [Growing calm now.] You are forgetting—what I told you, Curt. You must face the fact. I cannot go.
CURTIS— [Overwhelmed by the finality of her tone—after a pause.] ”

“ Yes, Rob, I see; but won’t you go back to bed now and rest?
ROBERT. No. I’m going to see the sun rise. It’s an augury of good fortune. (He goes quickly to the window in the rear left, and pushing the curtains aside, stands looking out. RUTH springs to her feet and comes quickly to the table, left, where she remains watching ROBERT in a tense, expectant attitude. As he peers out his body seems gradually to sag, to grow limp and tired. His voice is mournful as he speaks) No sun yet. It isn’t time. All I can see is the black rim of the damned hills outlined against a creeping grayness. ”

“ A moment later the door is flung open and MAT BURKE appears in the doorway. He is in bad shape—his clothes torn and dirty, covered with sawdust as if he had been grovelling or sleeping on barroom floors. There is a red bruise on his forehead over one of his eyes, another over one cheekbone, his knuckles are skinned and raw—plain evidence of the fighting he has been through on his "bat." His eyes are bloodshot and heavy-lidded, his face has a bloated look. ”

“ After a pause.] He asked me to promise—what am I going to do?
RUTH—You can promise—so's it'll ease his mind—and not mean anything.
ANDREW—What? Lie to him now—when he's dying? Can you believe I'd descend as low as that? And there's no sense in my lying. He knows I don't love you. [Determinedly.] No! It's you who'll have to do the lying, since it must be done. You're the cause of all this. You've got to! You've got a chance now to undo some of all the suffering you've brought on Rob. Go in to him! Tell him you never loved me—it was all a mistake. ”

“ As the curtain rises, Eileen is discovered lying in the bed on the porch, propped up into a half-sitting position by pillows under her back and head. She seems to have grown much thinner. Her face is pale and drawn, with deep hollows under her cheek-bones. Her eyes are dull and lustreless. She gazes straight before her into the wood with the unseeing stare of apathetic indifference. The door from the hall in the room behind her is opened, and Miss Howard enters, followed by Bill Carmody, Mrs. Brennan, and Mary. Carmody's manner is unwontedly sober and subdued. ”

“ The sky to the east is already alight with bright color and a thin, quivering line of flame is spreading slowly along the horizon rim of the dark hills. The roadside, however, is still steeped in the grayness of the dawn, shadowy and vague. The field in the foreground has a wild uncultivated appearance as if it had been allowed to remain fallow the preceding summer. Parts of the snake-fence in the rear have been broken down. The apple tree is leafless and seems dead. ”

“ Perhaps after all Andy was right—righter than he knew—when he said I could find all the things I was seeking for here, at home on the farm. The mystery and the wonder—our love should bring them home to us. I think love must have been the secret—the secret that called to me from over the world's rim—the secret beyond every horizon; and when I did not come, it came to me. [He clasps RUTH to him fiercely.] ”

“ Bartlett does not seem to hear, nor to notice Sue and Drew when they enter. Sue is a slender, pretty girl of about twenty, with large blue eyes, reddish-brown hair, and a healthy, sun-tanned, out-of-door complexion. In spite of the slightness of her figure there is a suggestion of great vitality and nervous strength about her. Drew is a well-set-up, tall young fellow of thirty. Not in any way handsome, his boyish face, tanned to a deep brown, possesses an engaging character of healthy, cheerful forcefullness that has its compelling charm. ”