A Play in One Act
Cast: She, a wife
He, a husband
Darwin, a butler
Nicholas De Ville, a politician
As the curtain rises, He and She are seen at a glass-topped tea table in the midst of a lovely garden. Evidently, they have been eating or ⎯ rather ⎯ snacking, for He is settled back in his chair with his legs spread out and He looks very warm. He is puffy, red of face, middle-aged, dressed in flesh-pink tights and a white dinner jacket.
She looks cool in comparison. She, too, is dressed in pink tights. About her neck is a string of pearls. She is younger than He, blonde and rather elegant.
Upon the table there is fruit, a plate of olives, and a tea service. The sunlight is very bright.
She. Have another olive, dear. A ripe one this time. You’ve eaten all of the green ones, (petulantly) and I like the pimentos so much, too.
He. Oh, for heaven’s sake. Don’t act as though I’d eaten you out of household and pantry. Order another plateful for yourself. I don’t want any more. I’m stuffed.
She. Where did the butler go? (She rings a silver bell.) He’s never around when you want him. (She rings again and waits, frowning. Again She rings. An ape appears, swinging in on a vine, and lands beside the table. He is dressed in a white dickey and tails.) Finally! More olives, please. (The ape takes the empty plate and swings out.)
He. It’s a trifle warm today, isn’t it?
She. Yes, I suppose it is, but I like it a bit warm. You’re always so hot-blooded.
He (shifting a bit, uncomfortably). I swear you have reptile blood somewhere in your family tree. Won’t you turn down the air- conditioning just a little? I’m about to melt.
She. Oh, all right, if you’ll get my sweater from the house.
She rises elegantly and walks to a sundial nearby. She turns a switch on its face. The sunlight dims perceptibly. He sighs and gets up ponderously, disappears offstage and returns with a sweater just as She is reseating herself at the table. He hands her the sweater and returns to his own seat. She drapes the sweater about her shoulders just as the butler appears with the plate of green olives. He places them on the table, bows, and swings offstage.
He. What’s in the news today, my dear?
She. I don’t know. I haven’t seen the paper. Would you like it? (She reaches under her chair.) Here it is. (She hands him the paper and eyes the olives doubtfully.) I don’t think I want any olives after all.
Just as He is about to take the paper from her She absent-mindedly withdraws it and puts it in her lap.
He. Yes. Would you hand it to me?
She. What, the olives?
He. No, the paper.
She. Oh, yes. Here it is. I guess I’ll do some knitting.
He (opens the paper and begins to read). Good idea.
She. What shall I knit?
He. Ah! that’s wonderful (chuckles).
She. You’re not listening to me!
He. True, true! Oh, so true!
The newspaper jiggles merrily. She lifts her teacup, drains it, and puts it down on the table with a clatter.
She. What’s so funny, dear? (He peers at her over the top of the paper.)
He. Nothing, nothing at all.
She. Well, you must have been laughing at something.
He. It was just a quip the vice-president made on his campaign trip through the South.
She. What did he say?
He. Just that the Liberals all could go to Hell.
She. What’s so funny about that? I think it’s just awful for a person in such a high place to make such a comment.
He. For Pete’s sake! It’s a very witty remark. Very ironical, don’t you see? He didn’t really swear, after all, did he?
She. Well, no. But I still think it was in poor taste. What else is in the paper?
He. All the polls have the Conservatives winning again this election.
She. Whom will you vote for today?
He. The Conservatives have never lost. I’ve never boon on the losing side.
She. Well, I’m not sure that I’ll vote Conservative this year.
He. What!
She. Please don’t shout. I’ve a perfectly good mind and can make my own decision. And I’m not at all sure that what’s good for big business is good for everyone.
He. But, for Goodness’ sake, what brought this on all of a sudden?
He crumples up the paper and angrily leans forward towards her.
She. Nothing. I just keep thinking of all those poor souls down South who haven’t a thing: terrible living conditions, poor land, bad government....
He. Well, it serves them right. They shouldn’t have tried to secede. They lost the war, now let them suffer for it.
She (huffily). In my opinion they’ve suffered quite long enough. It’s time they were let back into society.
He (throwing up his hands). You have no conception at all of the nature of politics.
She. Oh, haven’t I?
The Butler swings in once more.
Butler. A visitor to see you, Madame.
He. Who is it?
She. A gentleman named Dominic De Ville, sir ⎯ the representative of the Liberal Party, I believe. Here is his card, sir.
He. Send him away.
She. Send him in, please, Darwin.
The Butler looks from one to the other.
He. Send him away, I said!
Butler. Yes, sir.
She. Just a moment, Darwin. Would you ask him to wait for a few minutes? We’d like to discuss this question. I’ll ring for you when we are ready.
Butler. Yes, ma’am (exits).
He. There’s nothing to discuss.
She. Oh, I see. You’re not open to outside opinions. You’re perfectly self-contained. There’s nothing you don’t know.
He (rising and pacing). Of course there are things I don’t know. Don’t be absurd. It so happens that I like things as they are and don’t relish the thought of great change at this stage in world affairs. Things are better left as they are.
She. Still, your mind is not open, is it?
He. Certainly it’s open. I’m a reasonable man.
She. Then what harm can come of simply hearing this Mr. DeVille’s arguments?
He. None, of course. I just don’t care to waste the time.
She (sarcastically). You have a mind like a steel trap ⎯ snaps shut and stays shut.
He. Please, dear, let’s not fight. It’s too hot. Did you turn on the air conditioning?
He seats himself and mops his brow with a handkerchief.
She, Yes.
He. Well, it must be broken. Remind me later to speak to the custodian about it.
She. All right. But how about Mr. DeVille? He’s still waiting. We’ve kept him long enough. Will you let me see him?
He. All right, all right! Send him in.
She rises and goes over to his chair. She kisses him on the top of his head.
She. Thank you, dear. You can be very sweet at times. (She rings her bell. The Butler swings in.) Darwin, send in the gentleman.
Butler. Yes, ma’am. (The Butler swings out for a moment, then returns with the visitor. Not bothering to dismount from his vine, the Butler, as he swings in, announces ⎯ ) Mr. Dominic DeVille, Madame. ( ⎯ and swings back out again).
She (rising). Welcome, Mr. DeVille. Dear, this is Mr. Dominic DeVille; Mr. DeVille, my husband. Won’t you sit down?
Mr. DeVille is tall, good looking. He wears a neat business suit. He shakes hands with the husband, who rises slightly, grudgingly; DeVille takes the proffered chair.
DeVille. I’m pleased to meet you, sir.
He. How do.
She. Won’t you have some tea?
DeVille. Thank you. Good tea is hard to come by in my section of the country. Trade has fallen off since the war, you know.
She. Oh, that’s too bad. Please help yourself to the fruit, won’t you?
DeVille. No, thank you. I’ve been smoking too much lately. Most fruit doesn’t seem to taste quite right to me.
She. Oh, I’m so sorry.
He. What can we do for you, sir?
DeVille. That’s coming right to the point, isn’t it? (He laughs politely).
She. My husband is a blunt man. He doesn’t mean to be rude.
DeVille. Not at all, not at all. I like a sharp, no-nonsense approach. Let’s get down to brass tacks. I’m here to present my party’s case and ask you to vote for us this fall.
He. Humph!
DeVille. Briefly, my party believes that the hope of this country lies n a vigorous two-part system. At present, the South lies in wretched poverty and ruins. In the North there are stagnation and lack of imagination. Only by a concerted effort, derived partly from a rejuvenated Establishment and partly from a militant, but loyal, Opposition, can life be injected into the government.
This speech had been delivered earnestly and with animation, primarily directed toward the lady. Indignant now, He leaps to his feet and menacingly approaches DeVille.
He. Indeed! If that’s the case, why did you and your party do your utmost to sunder this great nation of ours? We, sir, didn’t start the war, you know. We didn’t advocate and attempt the violent overthrow of a righteous, benevolent Administration. Why, then, do you now come begging for mercy and votes? What have you done to earn justice under the laws you broke?
She. Oh, dear. I do beg your pardon, Mr. DeVille. My husband hasn’t been feeling very well lately....
DeVille. Not at all, my dear lady. Would you like a biscuit? I’m glad your husband brought these points out into the open, so that there will be no misunderstandings among us. First, sir, let me point out the war occurred a long time ago. A very long time ago. I myself can hardly recall my parents talking about it. What I can recall is the Depression. I can recall living in a great slum. I remember having to walk about...(DeVille rises and begins passionately to pace back and forth, gesticulating fervently.)...the sulfur works looking for clinkers and coals to bring home for my father to hoard till there were enough to sell to the local black marketer who, in turn, sold them to the ferry line for fuel. For a long while half-starved refugees poured across the river and settled in shanties on the flats.
The refugees have long since stopped, but the shanties are still there. There is no work still in the South. The Depression still takes its toll in suffering. Meanwhile, in the North there are orchards and gardens, but there is no one to pick the fruit. It rots on the branches for want of a market and a labor supply. We have the labor and the market. It’s only necessary to make the economy viable once again. We, the Liberals, feel that we can do this. We feel, also, that the vindictive complacency of the old guard needs to be shaken up. After all, why must all the sins of our fathers be visited n the children? Let’s get this country moving again!
She. Oh, that’s true, that’s so true! I feel this is the correct course of action, don’t you, dear?
He (uncertainly). Well, I....
She. Thank you, Mr. DeVille , so much, for coming. Are you sure you won’t have some fruit?
DeVille. No, thank you. My taster’s still out of kilter. I’m afraid the citrus would only agitate my salivary ducts.
She. Oh, I’m sure we must have non-citrus fruits on hand, haven’[t we, dear?
He. I’m not sure. Perhaps the grapes are ripe by now.
DeVille. Grapes would be fine. They’d be a rare treat for me. You’re very lucky, ma’am, to have such a fine garden.
She. Yes, we know. We like it very much. Are there no gardens in the South?
DeVille. Very few. The soil is too ash.
She. Let me ring (does so).
He. What would you do with such a garden, Mr. DeVille, if I may ask?
DeVille. I would do as my party would do. I would experiment with ways and means of extending the fruits of such a place to all the people. It can be done, sir. It can be done.
Butler (swinging in). You rang, Madame?
She. Darwin, have we any fruit on hand other than citrus?
Butler. No, Madame. Nothing else is in season.
He. I thought I saw a tree that had a lot of fruit in its branches in the southeastern corner of the lot.
She. Oh, yes. Which tree was that, Darwin?
Butler. The apple tree, Madame.
He. What are those?
Butler. A round, red fruit, sir, said to be poisonous.
She. Poisonous!
DeVille. Not a word of truth in it, dear lady. It’s purely a superstition. I’ve eaten them myself occasionally. They are, on my word, delicious.
She. You’re sure, Mr. DeVille?
DeVille. Perfectly.
She. Very well, then. Would you get us some, please, Darwin?
Butler. Yes, ma’am (swings out).
She. Now, Mr. DeVille ⎯
DeVille. Please call me Nicholas.
She. If you will call me Eve. We’re all being too formal, don’t you think? My husband’s name is Adam (He glares at her, clears his throat, settles back in his chair). Where were we? Oh, yes. I think you’ve convinced me. How about you, dear?
He. I’m not sure these ideas are quite sound, though I’ll admit they are exciting to think about.
She. Well, at least you’ve won one more supporter. I’ll vote Liberal today.
DeVille. I thank you, Eve. I hope your husband, too, can be persuaded.
She. I’m sure he can be. Oh, here’s the fruit. (The Butler swings in once more, places a bowl of apples on the table and swings out.) They look divine. Won’t you help yourself, Mr. DeVille?
DeVille. After you, madam.
She. Thank you. Dear?
He. None for me, thanks.
She. Oh, go ahead. I’m sure they’re quite all right.
DeVille. Perfectly all right.
She (smiles sweetly). We must try new things now and then, mustn’t we?
DeVille. Absolutely. (Addresses the husband.) Here, allow me to select one for you. This is small, but it will be sweet.
He. Well, I don’t want to appear a coward.
She. Good. Here’s to good government at last.
They eat. The husband begins to choke and cough violently.
She. Heavens, what’s the matter.
DeVille. He swallowed it whole. It seems to be stuck in his throat. I’ll get some water.
DeVille jumps up and rushes out. She runs over to her husband who is doubled up over his chair. She begins to thump him on the back.
She. Darwin, Darwin, where are you? Come quickly! Oh, where can that butler have gone?
DeVille (re-entering). Here’s some water.
She (administering it) Drink it, dear. (He drinks, stops coughing. To DeVille she says,) Have you seen Darwin ?
DeVille. No, I’m afraid I haven’t.
She. Why, here’s his uniform draped over this bush. Where can he have gone?
DeVille (to his host). How do you feel now, sir?
He. All right, thanks.
DeVille. You shouldn’t have swallowed it whole, you know. You should have chewed it well.
She. This is very strange.
DeVille. May I drive you to the polls? They close in an hour.
She. Are you all right now, dear?
He. Fine, fine.
DeVille. Shall we go, then?
She. I’ll get my coat.
He. A coat? But it’s warmer than ever, now.
She (laughs). You silly. I want to look nice in public.
He. You look fine as you are.
She. I’ll only be a minute. (She begins to walk out, shaking her head bemusedly.) I wonder where Darwin is (exit).
He. We’ll have to wait, I guess. So you like our green little oasis, Mr. DeVille.
DeVille. Very much.
He. It seems to look a bit unkempt today. I’ll have to get after the gardener. Have another apple, Mr. DeVille?
DeVille. Don’t mind if I do.
They sit down comfortably, begin contentedly to munch on apples. As they chew, the sunlight rapidly diminishes.
He. Good, aren’t they?
DeVille. Quite.
He. I wonder where in Hell that butler went?
Blackout.
Curtain.
This play was originally published in Polemic, Vol. vi, 1961.
