THE 'ROSE' ROOM
[The curtains have been taken down. The windows gape into the darkness
outside. The furniture has been covered in brown loose-covers and pulled
forward. The flowers have been taken away, and the large black stove
lit. The MOTHER is standing ironing white curtains by the light of a
single lamp. There is a knock at the door.]
MOTHER. Come in!
STRANGER (doing so). Where's my wife?
MOTHER. Where do you come from?
STRANGER. I think, from hell. But where's my wife?
MOTHER. Which of them do you mean?
STRANGER. The question's justified. Everything is, except to me.
MOTHER. There may be a reason: I'm glad you've seen it. Where have you
been?
STRANGER. Whether in a poorhouse, a madhouse or a hospital, I don't
know. I should like to think it all a feverish dream. I've been ill: I
lost my memory and can't believe three months have passed. But where's
my wife?
MOTHER. I ought to ask you that. When you deserted her, she went
away--to look for you. Whether she's tired of looking, I can't say.
STRANGER. Something's amiss here. Where's the Old Man?
MOTHER. Where there's no more suffering.
STRANGER. You mean he's dead?
MOTHER. Yes. He's dead.
STRANGER. You say it as if you wanted to add him to my victims.
MOTHER. Perhaps I'm right to do so.
STRANGER. He didn't look sensitive: he was capable of steady hatred.
MOTHER. No. He hated only what was evil, in himself and others.
STRANGER. So I'm wrong there, too! (Pause.)
MOTHER. What do you want here?
STRANGER. Charity!
MOTHER. At last! How was it at the hospital! Sit down and tell me.
STRANGER (sitting). I don't want to think of it. I don't even know if it
_was_ a hospital.
MOTHER. Strange. Tell me what happened after you left here.
STRANGER. I fell in the mountains, hurt my hip and lost consciousness.
If you'll speak kindly to me you shall know more.
MOTHER. I will.
STRANGER. When I woke I was in a red iron bedstead. Three men were
pulling a cord that ran through two blocks. Every time they pulled I
felt I grew two feet taller....
MOTHER. They were putting in your hip.
STRANGER. I hadn't thought of that. Then... I lay watching my past life
unroll before me like a panorama, through childhood, youth.... And
when the roll was finished it began again. All the time I heard a mill
grinding.... I can hear it still. Yes, here too!
MOTHER. Those were not pleasant visions.
STRANGER. No. At last I came to the conclusion... that I was a
thoroughgoing scamp.
MOTHER. Why call yourself that?
STRANGER. I know you'd like to hear me say I was a scoundrel. But that
would seem to me like boasting. It would imply a certainty about myself
to which I've not attained.
MOTHER. You're still in doubt?
STRANGER. Of a great deal. But I've begun to have an inkling.
MOTHER. That....?
STRANGER. That there are forces which, till now, I've not believed in.
MOTHER. You've come to see that neither you, nor any other man, directs
your destiny?
STRANGER. I have.
MOTHER. Then you've already gone part of the way.
STRANGER. But I myself have changed. I'm ruined; for I've lost all
aptitude for writing. And I can't sleep at night.
MOTHER. Indeed!
STRANGER. What are called nightmares stop me. Last and worst: I daren't
die; for I'm no longer sure my miseries will end, with _my_ end.
MOTHER. Oh!
STRANGER. Even worse: I've grown so to loathe myself that I'd escape
from myself, if I knew how. If I were a Christian, I couldn't obey the
first commandment, to love my neighbour as myself, for I should have
to hate him as I hate myself. It's true that I'm a scamp. I've always
suspected it; and because I never wanted life to fool me, I've observed
'others' carefully. When I saw they were no better than I, I resented
their trying to browbeat me.
MOTHER. You've been wrong to think it a matter between you and others.
You have to deal with Him.
STRANGER. With whom?
MOTHER. The Invisible One, who guides your destiny.
STRANGER. Would I could see Him.
MOTHER. It would be your death.
STRANGER. Oh no!
MOTHER. Where do you get this devilish spirit of rebellion? If you won't
bow your neck like the rest, you must be broken like a reed.
STRANGER. I don't know where this fearful stubbornness comes from. It's
true an unpaid bill can make me tremble; but if I were to climb Mount
Sinai and face the Eternal One, I should not cover my face.
MOTHER. Jesus and Mary! Don't say such things. You'll make me think
you're a child of the Devil.
STRANGER. Here that seems the general opinion. But I've heard that those
who serve the Evil One get honours, goods and gold as their reward. Gold
especially. Do you think me suspect?
MOTHER. You'll bring a curse on my house.
STRANGER. Then I'll leave it.
MOTHER. And go into the night. Where?
STRANGER. To seek the only one that I don't hate.
MOTHER. Are you sure she'll receive you?
STRANGER. Quite sure.
MOTHER. I'm not.
STRANGER. I am.
MOTHER. Then I must raise your doubts.
STRANGER. You can't.
MOTHER. Yes, I can.
STRANGER. It's a lie.
MOTHER. We're no longer speaking kindly. We must stop. Can you sleep in
the attic?
STRANGER. I can't sleep anywhere.
MOTHER. Still, I'll say good-night to you, whether you think I mean it,
or not.
STRANGER. You're sure there are no rats in the attic? I don't fear
ghosts, but rats aren't pleasant.
MOTHER. I'm glad you don't fear ghosts, for no one's slept a whole night
there... whatever the cause may be.
STRANGER (after a moment's hesitation). Never have I met a more wicked
woman than you. The reason is: you have religion.
MOTHER. Good-night!
Curtain.