Home > Authors Index > William Vaughn Moody > Faith Healer: A Play in Three Acts > This page
The Faith Healer: A Play in Three Acts, a play by William Vaughn Moody |
||
Act 2 |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ ACT II [Late afternoon of the same day.] [Mrs. Beeler sits in a low chair near the window. She has ceased reading the Testament, which lies open in her lap.] [Uncle Abe sits on the floor with Annie. They are playing with building blocks, piling up and tearing down various ambitious structures. Rhoda enters from outside, with hat and cloak, carrying a large bunch of Easter lilies.]
Still sitting up! You're not strong enough yet to do this. See, I've brought you some Easter lilies. [She hands one to Mrs. Beeler. As she takes off her things, she sees the old Negro gazing at her.] Well, Uncle Abe? UNCLE ABE. [He turns again to the child, shaking his head as at some unspoken thought, while Rhoda arranges the flowers in a vase.] MRS. BEELER. RHODA. MRS. BEELER. [Rhoda approaches. Mrs. Beeler speaks low, with suppressed excitement.] What is the news, outside? RHODA. MRS. BEELER. RHODA. MRS. BEELER. RHODA. MRS. BEELER. RHODA. [Martha enters from kitchen, with bonnet and shawl on, and a large basket in her hand.] MARTHA. [She takes off her bonnet and shawl, and deposits the basket.] I saw your doctor down in the village, and he allowed he'd come up to see you this afternoon. He was all on end about your bein' able to walk. RHODA. MRS. BEELER. MARTHA. You better finish packin' the basket. There's a lot o' hungry mouths to feed out yonder. [Exit by hall door. Rhoda continues the preparation of the basket, taking articles from the cupboard and packing them. Annie has climbed on a chair by the picture of Pan and the Pilgrim. She points at the figure of Pan.] ANNIE. UNCLE ABE. H'sh! ANNIE. UNCLE ABE. [He tries to draw her away; she resists.] ANNIE. Uncle Abe! Who is it? UNCLE ABE. That thah's Ole Nick, that's who that thah is! That thah's de Black Man! [Annie, terror-stricken, jumps down and retreats to her mother's chair. Mrs. Beeler rouses from her revery and strokes her child's head.] MRS. BEELER. ANNIE. Forget what? MRS. BEELER. ANNIE. MRS. BEELER. [Annie retreats to Uncle Abe, who bends over the child and whispers in her ear. She grows amused, and begins to sway as to a tune, then chants.] ANNIE. "Mary an' a' Martha's jus' gone along,
UNCLE ABE. MRS. BEELER. UNCLE ABE. Dunno, Mis' Beeler. I's jes' a ole fool colored pusson, been waitin' fer de great day what de 'Postle done promise. En hyah's de great day 'bout to dawn, an' de Lawd's Chosen 'bout to show Hisse'f in clouds o' glory 'fore de worl', an' lo 'n' behol'-- [He leans closer and whispers.] de Lawd's Chosen One, he's done got a spell on 'im! MRS. BEELER. Uncle Abe! UNCLE ABE. Why do you keep that thah pictuh nail up thah fur? MRS. BEELER. UNCLE ABE. MRS. BEELER. UNCLE ABE. RHODA. UNCLE ABE. [He leans nearer, more mysteriously.] En what you s'pose I heerd him whis'lin', for all de worl' lak dem scan'lous bluejays? [Chants in a high, trilling voice.] "Chillun, chillun, they ain' no Gawd, they ain' no sin nor no jedgment, they's jes' springtime an' happy days, and folks carryin' on. Whar's yo' lil gal, Abe Johnson? Whar's yo' lil sweet-heart gal?" An' me on'y got religion wintah befo', peekin' roun' pie-eyed, skeered good. En fo' you could say "De Lawd's my Shepherd," kerchunk goes de Black Man in de mud-puddle, change' into a big green bullfrog! MRS. BEELER. UNCLE ABE. Jes' 'magine! Don' I know de Devil when I sees him, near 'nough to say "Howdy"? MRS. BEELER. UNCLE ABE. Ain't no Devil? MRS. BEELER. [Uncle Abe goes, with puzzled headshakings, towards the kitchen door. He stops to smell the Easter lilies, then raises his head and looks at her again, with puzzled scrutiny.] UNCLE ABE. MRS. BEELER. Only here, Uncle Abe. [The old negro stares at her and Rhoda, and goes into the kitchen, feeling his own breast and shaking his head dubiously. Mrs. Beeler looks at the picture.] Do you think your Uncle Mat would mind if we took that picture down? [Rhoda unpins the picture from the wall, rolls it up, and lays it on the bookshelf. Her aunt goes on, hesitatingly.] Do you know, Rhoda, I have sometimes thought--You won't be hurt? RHODA. MRS. BEELER. RHODA. Yes. MRS. BEELER. RHODA. MRS. BEELER. [Rhoda comes to her aunt and stands a moment in silence.] RHODA. MRS. BEELER. RHODA. MRS. BEELER. Go away? Why? RHODA. MRS. BEELER. There, you have taken what I said too seriously. It was only a sick woman's imagination. RHODA. MRS. BEELER. [She hesitates.] You mean--because of you?--Rhoda, look at me. [Rhoda avoids her aunt's gaze; Mrs. Beeler draws down the girl's face and gazes at it.] Is there anything--that I don't know--between you and him? RHODA. MRS. BEELER. RHODA. Say it, say it! What am I? MRS. BEELER. [Rhoda breaks away from her aunt, and takes her hat and cloak. Mrs. Beeler rises with perturbation, and crosses to detain her.] What are you going to do? RHODA. [Martha enters from the hall.] MRS. BEELER. Promise me you won't! Promise me! MARTHA. MRS. BEELER. You promise? [Rhoda bows her head as in assent.] MARTHA. MRS. BEELER. [She walks unsteadily. The others try to help her, but she motions them back.] No. It's so good to feel that I can walk alone! MARTHA. MRS. BEELER. [Mr. Beeler enters from the kitchen and crosses to help his wife. The others give place to him.] Oh Mat, our good days are coming back! I shall be strong and well for you again. BEELER. MRS. BEELER. Not even--them? [He goes to the alcove, takes the books from the shelf, raises the lid of the window-seat, and throws them in.] [Mrs. Beeler points to the pictures of Darwin and Spencer.] Nor them? [He unpins the pictures, lays them upon the heap of books, and returns to her.] You don't know how happy that makes me! [They go out by the hall door, Martha, as she lowers the lid of the window-seat, points derisively at the heap.] MARTHA. [She comes to the table and continues packing the basket.] You'd better help me with this basket. Them folks will starve to death, if the neighborhood round don't give 'em a bite to eat. [Rhoda fetches other articles from the cupboard.] I'd like to know what they think we are made of, with butter at twenty-five cents a pound and flour worth its weight in diamonds! RHODA. MARTHA. [She takes the bread from Rhoda and scrapes the butter thin.] RHODA. It's time for Aunt Mary to have her tea. Shall I make it? MARTHA. [As she flounces out, Annie enters from the hall. She points with one hand at the retreating Martha, with the other toward her mother's room.] ANNIE.
RHODA. ANNIE. I've been peeping through mamma's keyhole. RHODA. ANNIE. RHODA. Who? ANNIE. RHODA. What does he look like? ANNIE. [Exhausted by her efforts at description.] Oh, I don't know! [She sings as she climbs down, and goes out by the kitchen door.]
LITTLEFIELD. [Looking for something, he approaches Rhoda, who has her back turned.] Beg pardon. Have you seen a pocket thermometer I left here? [She faces him. He starts back in surprise.] Bless my soul and body! Rhoda Williams! [He closes the hall door, returns to her, and stands somewhat disconcerted.] Here, of all places! RHODA. LITTLEFIELD. RHODA. LITTLEFIELD. RHODA. LITTLEFIELD. RHODA. LITTLEFIELD. RHODA. LITTLEFIELD. You're a queer bundle of goods. Always were. Head full of solemn notions about life, and at the same time, when it came to a lark,--Oh, I'm no grandmother, but when you got on your high horse--well! [He waves his hands expressively.] RHODA. The great town, the people, the noise, and the lights--after seventeen years of life on a dead prairie, where I'd hardly heard a laugh or seen a happy face!--All the same, the prairie had me still. LITTLEFIELD. RHODA. [She breaks off, with a weary gesture.] There's no use going into that. You wouldn't understand. LITTLEFIELD. RHODA. You know very well why I went. LITTLEFIELD.
RHODA. LITTLEFIELD. RHODA. [As he stares at her, his astonishment changes to amusement; he chuckles to himself, then bursts out laughing, as in humorous reminiscence.] LITTLEFIELD. [The stair door opens. Michaelis appears. His face in flushed, his hair disordered, and his whole person expresses a feverish and precarious exaltation.] MICHAELIS. Excuse me, I am very thirsty. I came down for a glass of water. [Rhoda goes to the kitchen door, where she turns. The doctor puts on a pair of nose-glasses and scans Michaelis with interest. He holds out his hand, which Michaelis takes.] LITTLEFIELD. MICHAELIS. LITTLEFIELD. [Exit Rhoda.] You seem to have the call on us professionals, to judge by the number of your clients out yonder. [He points out of the window.] To say nothing of Exhibit One! [He points to the hall door.] MICHAELIS. I--I don't know that I-- [Rhoda enters from the kitchen, with water, which he takes.] Thank you. [He drinks thirstily. Mr. Beeler appears in the hall door; he looks at the group, taken aback.] BEELER. LITTLEFIELD. BEELER. LITTLEFIELD. What's up? BEELER. [Door closes. Michaelis, who has followed Littlefield with his eyes, sets down the glass, and turns slowly to Rhoda.] MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. [He turns away, lifting his hands, speaking half to himself.] That these lives of ours should be poured like a jelly, from one mould into another, until God Himself cannot remember what they were two years ago, or two hours ago! RHODA. [He does not answer, but walks nervously about. Rhoda, watching him, speaks, after a silence.] Last month--out West--were there many people there? MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. [He has stopped before the map and stands gazing at it.] RHODA. [She comes closer.] --Has your time come now? MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. It is written there! RHODA. MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. It seems to me to be written in fire. RHODA. MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. [He points at the map, his manner transformed with excitement and exaltation.] It is written there. It is written in letters of fire. My eyes are opened, and I see! RHODA. What is it that you see? MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. [He places his finger at various points on the map; these points lie in two transverse lines, between the Mississippi and the Pacific; one line runs roughly north and south, the other east and west.] Look! There was such a place, and there another, and there, and there. And there was one, and there, and there.--Do you see? RHODA. MICHAELIS. [He begins again to pace the room.] --And that crowd of stricken souls out yonder, raised up as by miracle, their broken bodies crying to be healed,--do you see what they mean? RHODA. They mean what my aunt said this morning. They mean that your great hour has come. MICHAELIS. [He comes nearer, and speaks in a quieter tone.] I knew a young Indian once, a Hopi boy, who made songs and sang them to his people. One evening we sat on the roof of the chief's house and asked him to sing. He shook his head, and went away in the starlight. The next morning, I found him among the rocks under the mesa, with an empty bottle by his side.--He never sang again! Drunkenness had taken him. He never sang again, or made another verse. RHODA. MICHAELIS. RHODA. What--"stronger drink"? MICHAELIS. The wine of this world! The wine-bowl that crowns the feasting table of the children of this world. RHODA. MICHAELIS. [He points out of the window, at the sky flushed with sunset color.] Out there, at this moment, in city and country, souls, thousands upon thousands of souls, are dashing in pieces the cup that holds the wine of heaven, the wine of God's shed blood, and lifting the cups of passion and of love, that crown the feasting table of the children of this earth! Look! The very sky is blood-red with the lifted cups. And we two are in the midst of them. Listen what I sing there, on the hills of light in the sunset: "Oh, how beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of my beloved!" [A song rises outside, loud and near at hand--Michaelis listens, his expression gradually changing from passionate excitement to brooding distress.] [Vaguely, as the music grows fainter and dies away.] I--we were saying--. [He grasps her arm in nervous apprehension.] For God's sake, tell me.--Are there many people--waiting--out there? RHODA. MICHAELIS. Thousands.--Thousands of thousands!-- [He stops beside her.] You won't leave me alone? RHODA. No. MICHAELIS. Thousands of thousands! [The hall door opens, Dr. Littlefield and a Clergyman, the Rev. John Culpepper, enter. The latter stares inquiringly from Michaelis to the Doctor, who nods affirmatively, and adjusts his glasses.] CULPEPPER. Nonsense! Sacrilegious nonsense! LITTLEFIELD. I've done my best. [Behind them comes Mrs. Beeler, supported by her Husband. At the same moment Martha enters from the kitchen, with tea; Uncle Abe and Annie follow.] BEELER. Mary, take another minute to consider. [Mrs. Beeler, as if without hearing this protest, gazes at Michaelis, and advances into the room with a gesture of the arms which causes her supporter to loosen his hold, though he follows slightly behind, to render aid if necessary.] MRS. BEELER. Tell me that I may go out, and stand before them for a testimony! LITTLEFIELD. CULPEPPER. MRS. BEELER. Speak to them! Explain to them! I am too weak. [There is a sound of excited voices outside, near at hand, then a sudden trample of footsteps at the entrance door. As Beeler goes hurriedly to the door it bursts open and a young woman with a baby in her arms crowds past him, and stands looking wildly about the room.] BEELER. You can't come in here, my friends! Stand back! [The woman gazes from one to another of the men. The old negro points at Michaelis. She advances to him, holding out the child.] MOTHER. [He examines the child's face, touches the mother's head tenderly, and signs to Rhoda to take them into the inner room.] MICHAELIS. RHODA. Come with me. [She leads the woman out through the hall door.] MICHAELIS. Tell them to wait until to-morrow at sunrise. [Mr. and Mrs. Beeler move toward the entrance door; some of the others start after, some linger, curious to know what will happen to the child. Michaelis turns upon them with a commanding gesture.] Go, all of you! [The room is cleared except for Littlefield, who goes last, stops in the doorway, closes the door, and approaches Michaelis. He speaks in a friendly and reasonable tone.] LITTLEFIELD. MICHAELIS. LITTLEFIELD. MICHAELIS. LITTLEFIELD. MICHAELIS. LITTLEFIELD. MICHAELIS. LITTLEFIELD. MICHAELIS. He whom I serve, and whom you blaspheme! LITTLEFIELD. MICHAELIS. LITTLEFIELD. [Touches his brain and heart.] and she did the rest. But you can't do the same to everybody. Above all, you can't do it to a baby in arms. There's nothing either here or here, [Touches brain and heart.] to get hold of. I'm a modest man, and as I say, in your own field you're a wonder. But in a case like this one-- [He points to the hall door.] I'm worth a million of you. MICHAELIS. Try! LITTLEFIELD. Not much! The woman wouldn't listen to me. And if she did, and I failed--oh, I'm no miracle worker!--they'd make short work of me, out there. [He points out and adds significantly.] They're in no mood for failures, out there. [Michaelis's gaze, as if in spite of himself, goes to the window. He rests his hand on the table, to stop its trembling. Littlefield goes on, watching him with interest.] Nervously speaking, you are a high power machine. The dynamo that runs you is what is called "faith," "religious inspiration," or whatnot. It's a dynamo which nowadays easily gets out of order. Well, my friend, as a doctor, I warn you that your little dynamo is out of order.--In other words, you've lost your grip. You're in a funk. [Rhoda opens the hall door and looks anxiously at the two. Michaelis approaches her with averted eyes. As he is about to pass out, she speaks timidly.] RHODA. MICHAELIS. No. [She watches him until the inner door shuts. She and Littlefield confront each other in silence for a moment across the width of the room.] RHODA. Please go. LITTLEFIELD. You make up well as one of the Wise Virgins, whose lamps are trimmed and burning for the bridegroom to pass by. I hope that personage won't disappoint you, nor the several hundred others, out yonder, whose lamps are trimmed and burning. [The outer door opens. Mrs. Beeler enters, supported by her husband, and accompanied by Martha and the Rev. Culpepper, with Uncle Abe following in the rear. Rhoda hastens to her aunt's side.] MRS. BEELER. [She turns to the minister.] Wasn't it a wonderful thing to see? CULPEPPER. MRS. BEELER. [To Rhoda.] Where is he now? [Rhoda points in the direction of her own room.] How happy that young mother's heart will be to-night! UNCLE ABE. Amen! CULPEPPER. We will hope so. [They move to the hall door, where Beeler resigns his wife to Rhoda. The two pass out.] [Culpepper, Littlefield, and Beeler remain. During the following conversation, Martha lights the lamp, after directing Uncle Abe, by a gesture, to take the provision basket into the kitchen. He does so.] LITTLEFIELD. They're just laying siege to you, ain't they? I guess they won't let your man give them the slip, this time--even though you do let him run loose. BEELER. You have seen my wife walk alone to-day, the first time in five years. LITTLEFIELD. [Martha goes out into the kitchen.] And even if it proves to be only temporary-- BEELER. LITTLEFIELD. BEELER. Just like it? LITTLEFIELD. BEELER. LITTLEFIELD. BEELER. LITTLEFIELD. [Moves his hands in a wide circle.] Tight as a drum, no air-holes.--Devilish queer, though--pardon me, Mr. Culpepper--really amazing, the power of the mind over the body. CULPEPPER. LITTLEFIELD. Don't have to go to professional medicine for cases. They're lying around loose. Why, when I was at Ann Arbor--in a fraternity initiation--we bared a chap's shoulders, showed him a white-hot poker, blindfolded him, told him to stand steady, and--touched him with a piece of ice. A piece of ice, I tell you! What happened? Damned if it--pardon me, Mr. Culpepper--blessed if it didn't burn him--carries the scars to this day. Then there was that case in Denver. Ever hear about that? A young girl, nervous patient. Nails driven through the palms of her hands,--tenpenny nails,--under the hypnotic suggestion that she wasn't being hurt. Didn't leave a cicatrice as big as a bee sting! Fact! BEELER. LITTLEFIELD. [He points outside.] They're getting ready for Kingdom-come over it, out yonder, dear Dr. Culpepper. BEELER. LITTLEFIELD. CULPEPPER. I take it you are the late Dr. Martin's successor. LITTLEFIELD. CULPEPPER. LITTLEFIELD. [With relish.] As far as that goes, I'm afraid yours is, too. CULPEPPER. Am I to understand that you countenance these proceedings? BEELER. If your wife had spent five years helpless in that chair, I guess you'd countenance any proceedings that set her on her feet. CULPEPPER. If your wife is the woman she was, she would rather sit helpless forever beside the Rock of Ages, than dance and flaunt herself in the house of idols! BEELER. O, I guess she ain't doin' much flauntin' of herself in any house of idols.--You've heard Doctor here say it's all natural enough. Maybe this kind of cure is the coming thing. LITTLEFIELD. [Sucks at his cigarette deliberately.] lucky for us, he can't keep it up. BEELER. LITTLEFIELD. CULPEPPER. Miracles, indeed! LITTLEFIELD. Oh, wait for me, Doctor; we're both in the same boat! BEELER. [Points towards the hall.] LITTLEFIELD. BEELER. And you? CULPEPPER. [Beeler closes the door after them.] [Martha enters from the kitchen, with a pan of dough, which she sets before the fire to raise.] BEELER. MARTHA. BEELER. MARTHA. BEELER. MARTHA. [Beeler goes out by the kitchen. Martha takes up mechanically her eternal task of setting things to rights--gathering up Annie's toys and arranging the furniture in more precise order. Meanwhile, Rhoda enters from the hall with the mother of the sick child, a frail young woman of nervous type. She clings to Rhoda feverishly.] MOTHER. RHODA. [Rhoda sinks in a low easy chair before the fire, and the woman kneels beside her, her face hidden on the chair arm.] You must keep up your courage and your trust. That will help more than anything. MOTHER. RHODA. Think of those others out there, who are waiting too, without the glimpse of comfort you've had. MOTHER. I ain't had no comfort! When I heard him pray for my child, I--I don't know--I kept sayin' to myself--"O God, it's me that's stretchin' out my hands to you, not him. Don't punish me for his cold words!" [Martha, who has been listening, shakes her head significantly.] RHODA. MOTHER. [The woman rises. Rhoda kisses her.] RHODA. [The mother goes out. Distant singing is heard. Martha comes to the mantelpiece with matches, which she arranges in the match tray. She looks at Rhoda, who sits with closed eyes.] MARTHA. RHODA. MARTHA. [The hall door opens, and Annie enters. She comes to Martha, and clings nervously to her skirts.] ANNIE. MARTHA. ANNIE. MARTHA. ANNIE. MARTHA. ANNIE. I don't want her to be cured! MARTHA. ANNIE. [She bursts out crying and clings feverishly to Martha.] Oh, what's going to happen to us? MARTHA. [She looks at Rhoda, throws a cover over her knees, and draws Annie away, speaking low.] Come out in the kitchen, and I'll give you your supper. [Exeunt. The singing grows louder and nearer. Michaelis enters from the hall. His hair is dishevelled, his collar open, his manner feverish and distraught. He looks closely at Rhoda, sees she is sleeping, then paces the floor nervously, gazing out of the window in the direction of the singing. At length he comes to Rhoda again, and bends over her, studying her face. She starts up, confused and terror-stricken, from her doze.] RHODA. [Michaelis turns away without answering.] What has happened? Why are you here? MICHAELIS. RHODA. I was dreaming--such a strange dream. MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. Go on! What happened? RHODA. MICHAELIS. You must remember! Did I--succeed? RHODA. I--it's all a blur in my mind. MICHAELIS. You don't want me to know that, in your dream, I failed. RHODA. [Pause. She speaks with hesitation.] Perhaps this is not the time. Perhaps you are not ready. MICHAELIS. [He points at the map.] RHODA. You will succeed! You must succeed! [He paces the room. She stops him, pointing toward the hall door.] How is the child? [He hesitates. She repeats the words anxiously.] How is the child? [He shakes his head gloomily for answer.] It will get well, I am sure. MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. I am weighed in the balance and found wanting! RHODA. MICHAELIS. RHODA. MICHAELIS. [Another song rises outside, distant.] RHODA. Tell me this. Speak plainly to me. Is it because of me that your weakness and unfaith have come upon you? Is it because of me? MICHAELIS. Yes.-- [He comes nearer.] Before creation, beyond time, God not yet risen from His sleep, you stand and call to me, and I listen in a dream that I dreamed before Eden. RHODA. You must not say such things to me.--You must not think of me so.--You must not! [He follows her, his passion mounting.] MICHAELIS. RHODA. [She makes another attempt to escape. He presses upon her until she stands at bay.] MICHAELIS. [He takes her, feebly resisting, into his arms.] I know a place out there, high in the great mountains. Heaven-piercing walls of stone, a valley of trees and sweet water in the midst--grass and flowers, such flowers as you have never dreamed could grow.--There we will take our happiness. A year--a month--a day--what matter? We will make a lifetime of each hour! RHODA. Don't talk. Don't think. Only--love me. A little while. A little while. [The deep hush of their embrace is broken by a cry from within. The young mother opens the hall door, in a distraction of terror and grief.] MOTHER. [Michaelis and Rhoda draw apart. He stares at the woman, as if not remembering who she is.] I can't rouse him! My baby's gone. Oh, my God, he's dead! [She disappears. Rhoda follows, drawing Michaelis, dazed and half resisting, with her. The room remains vacant for a short time, the stage held by distant singing. Beeler enters from the kitchen. There is a knock at the outer door, which he opens. Littlefield, Culpepper, and Uncle Abe enter.] LITTLEFIELD. BEELER. Alone? UNCLE ABE. 'Lone. 'Spec' he was alone. Didn't even have his own flesh and bones wif 'im! BEELER. UNCLE ABE. Put dis hyar han' right frough him!--Shore's you're bo'n. Right plum' frough 'im whar he lives. CULPEPPER. LITTLEFIELD. CULPEPPER. LITTLEFIELD. [Wickedly.] Yours too, you know. [Mrs. Beeler enters, alone, from the hall. She is in a state of vague alarm. Her husband hastens to help her.] MRS. BEELER. [She breaks off, as a murmur of voices rises outside. There is a sound of stumbling and crowding on the outer steps, and violent knocking. The outer door is forced open, and a crowd of excited people is about to pour into the room. Beeler, the Doctor, and the Preacher are able to force the crowd back only after several have made an entrance.] BEELER. [As he pushes them roughly back, excited voices speak together.] VOICES IN THE CROWD. BEELER. [Rhoda has entered from the hall, and Martha from the kitchen. The two women support Mrs. Beeler, who remains standing, the fear deepening in her face.] A VOICE. Where's he gone to? BEELER. [Michaelis appears in the hall door. There is a low murmur of excitement, expectation, and awe among the people crowded in the entrance. Beeler crosses to help his wife, and the other men step to one side, leaving Michaelis to confront the crowd alone. Confused, half-whispered exclamations: VOICES IN THE CROWD. A NEGRO. A WOMAN. "He hath arisen, and His enemies are scattered." MICHAELIS. [A woman, obscurely seen in the crowd, lifts her hands and cries again, this time in a voice ecstatic and piercing.] A WOMAN. MICHAELIS. [He advances into the room, with a gesture backward through the open door.] In yonder room a child lies dead on its mother's knees, and the mother's eyes follow me with curses. [At the news of the child's death, Mrs. Beeler has sunk with a low moan into a chair, where she lies white and motionless. Michaelis turns to her.] And here lies one who rose at my call, and was as one risen; but now-- [He breaks off, raises his hand to her, and speaks in a voice of pleading.] Arise, my sister! [She makes a feeble gesture of the left hand.] Rise up once more, I beseech you! [She attempts to rise, but falls back helpless.] BEELER. Can't you get up, Mother? [She shakes her head.] MICHAELIS. Despair not, for another will come, and another and yet another, to show you the way. But as for me-- [He sinks down by the table, and gazes before him, muttering in a tragic whisper.] Broken! Broken! Broken!
|
||