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Thank heaven the fog is gone.

I... I do feel out of sorts this morning.

I wasn't able to get much sleep

with that awful foghorn
going all night long.

Yes, it's like having
a sick whale in the backyard.

- Kept me awake, too.
- Did it?

You had a strange way
of showing your restlessness.

You were snoring so hard,
I couldn't tell which was the foghorn.

Ten foghorns couldn't disturb you.
You haven't a nerve in you.

- You never had.
- Nonsense.

You always exaggerate about my snoring.

I couldn't.

If you could only hear yourself once.

What's the joke, I wonder.

It's on me, I'll bet that much.
It's always on the old man.

Yes, it's terrible
the way we all pick on you, isn't it?

You're so abused.

Never mind.

No matter what the joke is,
it's a relief to hear Edmund laugh.

He's been so down in the mouth lately.

Some joke of Jamie's, I'll wager.

He's forever making sneering fun
at somebody, that one.

Now, don't start in on poor Jamie, dear.

He'll turn out all right in the end.
You wait and see.

He'd better start soon, then.
He's nearly 34.

Good heavens!

Are they going to stay
in the dining room all day?

Jamie! Edmund! Come out on the porch.

Give Cathleen a chance to clear the table.

You would make excuses for him
no matter what he did.

I've been teasing your father
about his snoring.

I'll leave it to the boys, James.
They must have heard you.

No, not you, Jamie.
I could hear you down the hall.

Almost as bad as your father.
You're like him.

As soon as your head
touches the pillow, you're off,

and 10 foghorns couldn't wake you.

Why are you staring, Jamie?

Is my hair coming down or something?

It's hard for me to do it up properly now.

My eyes are getting so bad,
and I can never find my glasses.

No, your hair's all right, Mama.
I was just thinking how well you look.

Just as I was telling her, Jamie.

She's so fat and sassy,
there'll soon be no holding her.

Yes, you certainly look grand, Mama.

And I'll back you up about Papa's snoring.

Gosh, what a racket.

I heard him, too.
"The moor, I know his trumpet."

If it takes my snoring
to make you remember Shakespeare

instead of the dope sheet on the ponies,

- I hope I keep on with it.
- James, you mustn't be so touchy.

Yes, for Pete's sake, Papa,
the first thing after breakfast.

Give it a rest, can't you?

Your father wasn't finding fault with you.

You don't have to always
take Jamie's part.

You'd think you were the one
10 years older.

- Let's forget it.
- That's right.

Forget everything and face nothing.
It's a convenient philosophy in life.

- If you've no other ambitions, the...
- James, be quiet.

What were you two grinning about
like Cheshire Cats

when you came out? What was the joke?

Yes, let us in on it, lad.

You remember, Papa,
the ice pond on Harker's estate

is right next to the farm,

and you remember Shaughnessy keeps pigs?

Well, it seems
there's a break in the fence,

and the pigs have been bathing
in the millionaire's ice pond.

Good heaven!

"The poor pigs," Shaughnessy yelled,
"had caught their death of cold.

"Many of them were dyin' of pneumonia,

"and several others
had been taken down with cholera

"from drinkin' the poisoned water."

He told Harker he was hiring a lawyer
to sue him for damages,

and then he wound up by saying,

he had to put up
with potato bugs and ticks

and poison ivy and snakes
and skunks on his farm.

But he was an honest man
who had to draw the line somewhere,

and he'd be damned if he'd stand
for a standard oil thief trespassin'.

So would Harker kindly remove
his dirty feet from the premises

before he sicced the dog on him?
And Harker did.

Heavens!
What a terrible tongue that man has.

That damned old scoundrel.
My God, you can't beat him.

That dirty blackguard!
He'll get me into serious trouble yet.

I hope you've told him
I'll be mad as hell.

I told him you'd be tickled to death

over the great Irish victory,
and so you are.

- Stop faking, Papa.
- Well, I'm not tickled to death.

You are, too, James.
You're simply delighted.

What are you laughing at?
There's nothing funny.

A fine son you are to help
that blackguard get me into a lawsuit.

Now, James, don't lose your temper.

Yes, I suppose you're regretting
you weren't there

to prompt Shaughnessy with
a few nastier insults.

You've a fine talent for that,
if for nothing else.

James! There's no reason to scold Jamie.

For God's sake, Papa!

If you're gonna start that stuff,
I'll beat it.

God, Papa! I should think
you'd get sick of hearing yourself.

You mustn't mind Edmund, James.

Remember, he isn't well.

A summer cold makes anyone irritable.

It's not just a cold he's got.

The kid is damn sick.

Why do you say that?

It is just a cold. Anyone can tell that.
You always imagine things.

All Jamie meant was he might
have a touch of something else,

- which makes his cold worse.
- Sure, Mama. That's all I meant.

Yes, Dr. Hardy thinks it might be
a bit of malarial fever

he caught when he was in the tropics.

Dr. Hardy!

I wouldn't believe a thing he said
if he swore it on a stack of Bibles.

I know what doctors are...
They're all alike.

Anything... They don't care what...
To keep you coming to them.

What is it? What are you looking at?

Is my hair coming down or something?

There's nothing wrong with your hair.

The fatter and healthier you get
the vainer you become.

You'll soon spend half the day
primping before the mirror.

My eyes are so bad now.

I really should have new glasses.

Your eyes are beautiful,
and well ya know it!

James, you mustn't be so silly!

And right in front of Jamie!

He's onto you now, too.

He knows all this fuss about eyes and hair

is only fishing for compliments.
Eh, Jamie?

Yes. You can't kid us, Mama.

Get along with both of you.

But I... I did truly have...

Have beautiful hair once. Didn't I, James?

The most beautiful in the world.

It... It was a rare shade
of reddish-brown,

and so long it came down below my knees.

Well, you ought to remember it,
too, Jamie.

It wasn't until after Edmund was born
that I had a single gray hair.

And that made it prettier than ever.

Will you listen to your father, Jamie?

After 35 years of marriage.

He isn't a great actor for nothing, is he?

What's come over you, James?

Are you pouring coals of fire on my head
for teasing you about your snoring?

Well, then I take it all back.
It must've been only the foghorn I heard.

Well, I can't stay here any longer,
even to hear compliments.

I have to see the cook about dinner
and the day's marketing.

That Bridget is so lazy and so sly,

she begins telling me about her relatives,

so I can't get a word in edge-ways
to scold her.

Well, I may as well get it over with.

Don't make Edmund work on the
grounds with you, James, remember.

Not that he isn't strong enough,
but he'd perspire,

and he might catch more cold.

You're a fine lunkhead!
Haven't you any sense?

Don't you know the one thing to avoid
is saying anything

that would get her more upset over Edmund?

All right. Have it your way.

I still think it's the wrong idea
to let Mama go on kidding herself.

It will only make the shock worse
when she has to face it.

Anyway, you can see
she's deliberately fooling herself

with that summer cold talk.

She knows better.

Knows? Nobody knows yet.

Well, I do.

I was with Edmund when he went
to see Doc Hardy on Monday.

I heard him pull that
"touch of malaria" stuff.

He was stalling.

That isn't what he thinks anymore.

Well, you know it as well as I do.

You talked to him when you went
uptown yesterday, didn't you?

He can't say anything for sure yet.

He's to phone me today
before Edmund goes to him.

He thinks it's consumption,
doesn't he, Papa?

He said it might be.

That poor kid.

Goddamn it.

It might never have happened
if you'd sent him to a real doctor

when he first got sick.

What's the matter with Hardy?
He's always been our doctor up here.

Hardy only charges a dollar.

That's what makes you think
he's a fine doctor.

You mean I can't afford
one of the fine society doctors

who prey on the rich summer people?

Can't afford? You're one of the biggest
property owners around here.

That doesn't mean I'm rich.

If Edmund was a lousy acre of land
you wanted,

the sky would be the limit.

That's a lie!

And your sneers against Dr. Hardy
are lies, too.

I reckon I'm a fool to argue.
You can't change the leopard's spots.

No, you can't.
You taught me that lesson only too well.

I've lost all hope
you'll ever change yours.

You dare tell me what I can afford?

You've never known
the value of a dollar in your life,

and you never will.

At the end of each season
you're penniless.

You've thrown your salary away
every week on whores and whiskey.

My salary? God!

It's more than you're worth.

And you couldn't get that
if it wasn't for me.

If you weren't my son,

there's not a manager in the business
would give you a part,

your reputation stinks so.

As it is, I have to humble my pride
and beg for you,

say you've turned over a new leaf,
although I know it's a lie.

I never wanted to be an actor.

You forced me on the stage.

That's a lie!
You left it to me to get you a job,

and I've no influence
except in the theater.

Forced you?

You never wanted to do anything
except loaf in barrooms.

After all the money I'd wasted
on your education,

and all you did was get fired in disgrace
from every college you went to.

Well, for God's sake,
don't drag up that ancient history!

It's not ancient history

that you have to come back
every summer to live on me.

I earn my board and lodging
working on the grounds.

It saves you hiring a man.

But you have to be driven even
to do that much.

I wouldn't give a damn if you ever
displayed the slightest sign of gratitude.

The only thanks is to have you
sneer at me for a dirty miser,

sneer at my profession,

sneer at every damn thing in the world
except yourself.

It's not true, Papa.

You can't hear me talking to myself.
That's all.

"Ingratitude, the vilest weed that grows."

God, I could see that line coming.

God! How many thousands of times?

All right, Papa. I'm a bum.

You're young yet.
You can still make your mark.

You had the talent to become a fine actor.

You have it still. You're my son!

Let's forget about me.

I'm not interested in the subject,
and neither are you.

What started us on this?

Doc Hardy.

When's he going to call you up
about Edmund?

Around lunchtime.

And the less you say
about Edmund's sickness,

the better for your conscience.

You're more responsible than anyone.

That's a lie!
I won't stand for that, Papa!

It's the truth.

He grew up admiring you as a hero.

If you ever gave him advice
except in the ways of rottenness,

I've never heard of it.

You made him old before his time,

pumping him full of what you consider
"worldly wisdom,"

when he was too young
to see that your mind was so poisoned

by your own failure in life.

He wanted to believe,

every man was a knave
with his soul for sale,

and every woman
who wasn't a whore was a fool.

All right. All right.
I did put him wise to a few things,

but not until after I'd seen
he'd started to raise hell,

and would only laugh at me

if I pulled that good-advice,
older-brother stuff.

All I did was make a pal of him
and be absolutely frank,

so he'd learn from my mistakes that...

Well, if you can't be good,
you can at least be careful.

God, that's a rotten accusation, Papa.

You know how much that kid means to me

and how close we've always been.

Not like the usual brothers.
I'd do anything for him.

I know you may have thought
it was for the best.

I didn't say you did it deliberately
to harm him.

Besides it's damn rot!

I'd like to see anyone influence Edmund
any more than he wants to be.

What had I to do with all the crazy
stunts he's pulled in the last few years?

Working his way all over the map
as a sailor and all that stuff.

No, thanks.

I'll stick to Broadway
and a room with a bath and bars

that serve bonded bourbon.

You on Broadway!
It's made you what you are.

Whatever Edmund's done,
he's had the guts to go off on his own,

where he couldn't come whining to me
the moment he was broke.

Yeah? He's always come home
broke finally, hasn't he?

And what did his going away get him?
Look at him now.

God, that's a lousy thing to say.

I didn't mean that.

He's been doing well on the paper.

You used to talk about
wanting to become a newspaperman,

but you were never willing
to start at the bottom. You expected...

For God's sake, Papa!
Can't you lay off me?

It's damnable luck Edmund
should be sick right now.

It couldn't have come
at a worse time for him.

Or for your mother.

It's damnable
she should have this to upset her,

just when she needs peace
and freedom from worry.

She's been so well in the two months
since she came home.

It's been heaven to me.

This home's been a real home again.

- But I needn't tell you, Jamie.
- No. I've felt the same way, Papa.

Yes. She's been a different woman
entirely from the other times.

She's control of her nerves,
or she had until Edmund got sick.

Now you can feel her growing tense
and frightened underneath.

I wish to God we could keep
the truth from her,

but we can't if he's to be sent
to a sanatorium.

What makes it worse
is her father died of consumption.

She worshiped him. She's never forgotten.

Yes, it'll be hard for her,
but she can do it.

She's the willpower now.

We must help her, Jamie,
in every way we can.

Of course, Papa.

Outside of nerves,

she seems perfectly all right
this morning.

Never better.
She's full of fun and mischief.

Why do you say "seems"?

Why shouldn't she be all right?
What the hell do you mean?

Now, don't start jumping down my throat!

God, Papa.

This ought to be one thing
we can talk over frankly without a battle.

I'm sorry, Jamie. But go on and tell me...

Well, there's nothing to tell.
I was all wrong.

It's just that last night...

Well, you know how it is, Papa.

I can't forget the past.

I can't help being suspicious
any more than you can.

That's the hell of it.

And it makes it hell for Mama.

- She watches us watching her.
- I know.

Well, what was it? Can't you speak out?

Around 3:00 this morning I woke up,

and I heard Mama
moving around in the spare room.

Then she went to the bathroom.

Now, I pretended to be asleep,

and she stopped outside
in the hall to listen,

as if she wanted to make sure I was.

For God's sake, is that all?

She told me herself the foghorn
kept her awake all last night.

And every night since Edmund's been sick,

she's been up and down,
going to his room to see how he was.

Yes, that's right.
She did stop to listen outside his room.

But it was her being in the spare room
that scared me.

Papa,

I can't help remembering that
when she starts sleeping alone in there,

it's always been a sign.

But it isn't this time!
It's easily explained.

Where else could she go last night
to get away from my snoring?

How you can live with a mind that sees

nothing but the worst motives
behind everything is beyond me.

Don't pull that!
I've just said I was all wrong!

Don't you suppose
I'm as glad of that as you are?

Yes, yes. I'm sure you are, Jamie.

It would be like a curse
she can't escape if worry over Edmund.

It was her long sickness

after bringing him
into the world that she first...

- She didn't have anything to do with it.
- I'm not blaming her.

Well, who are you blaming?
Edmund, for being born?

- You damn fool, no one was to blame.
- That bastard of a doctor was!

From what Mama said,
he was another cheap quack like Hardy.

You wouldn't pay
for a first-class doctor...

You liar!

So I'm to blame, am I?
That's what you're driving at.

You evil-minded loafer!

What were you two arguing about?

Same old stuff.

I heard you say something about a doctor,

and your father accusing you
of being evil-minded.

That. Well, I was just saying again

that Doc Hardy isn't my idea
of the world's greatest physician.

No, no. I wouldn't say he was either.

That Bridget.

I thought I'd never get away.

She told me all about her second cousin
on the police force in St. Louis.

Well, if you're going to work
on the hedge, why don't you go?

I mean,

take advantage of the sunshine
before the fog comes back,

because I know it will.

That is, the rheumatism
in my hands knows it.

It's a better weather prophet
than you are, James.

How ugly they are.

Who would ever believe
they were once beautiful?

Now, now, Mary. None of that foolishness.

They're the sweetest hands in the world.

Come on, Jamie!
The way to start work is to start work!

The hot sun'll sweat
some of that booze fat off your middle.

We're all so proud of you, Mama.
So darned happy.

But you've still got to be careful.

I mean, you mustn't worry
so much about Edmund.

He'll be all right.

Of course, he'll be all right.

And I don't know what you mean,
warning me to be careful.

All right, Mama. I'm sorry I spoke.

Here you are!

I was just going upstairs to look for you.

I didn't wanna mix up in any arguments.
I feel too rotten.

I'm sure you don't feel half as badly
as you make out.

You're such a baby.

You lie to get us worried
so we'll make a fuss over you.

No, no. I'm only teasing you, dear.

I know how miserably uncomfortable
you must be.

But you feel better today, don't you?

All the same, you've grown much too thin.

Come on. Sit down.

All you need is your mother to nurse you.

Big as you are, you're still the baby
of the family to me, you know.

Never mind me. You take care of yourself.

- That's all that counts.
- But I am.

Heavens. Don't you see how fat I've grown?

I'll have to have all my dresses let out.

They've started clipping the hedge.

Poor Jamie.

How he hates working in front
where everyone passing can see him.

Not that I want anything to do with them.

I've always hated this place
and everyone in it.

But your father liked it
and insisted on building this house,

and I've had to come here every summer.

It was wrong from the start.

Everything was done
in the cheapest possible way.

Your father would never spend
the money to make it right.

It's just as well we haven't any friends.

I'd be ashamed
to have them step in the door.

But your father's never wanted
family friends.

All he likes is to hobnob
with men in barrooms or at the club.

You and Jamie are the same way,
but you're not to blame.

I know it's useless to talk, but...

Sometimes I... I feel so lonely.

You've gotta be fair, Mama.

It may have been all his fault
in the beginning,

but you know that later on,
even if he'd wanted to,

we couldn't have had people here.

Don't. I can't bear having you remind me.

Don't take it that way. Please, Mama.

I'm trying to help,
because it's bad for you to forget.

The right way is to remember,
then you'll always be on your guard.

Please! I don't understand

why you should suddenly say such things.

- What put it in your mind this morning?
- Nothing. Just...

Well, because I feel rotten and blue,
I suppose.

Tell me the truth.

Why are you so suspicious all of a sudden?

- I'm not.
- Yes, you are. I feel it.

Your father and Jamie, too, particularly.

Now, don't start imagining things, Mama.

It makes it so much harder

living in this atmosphere
of constant suspicion.

Knowing everyone is spying on me...

That none of you believe in me
or trust me!

- That's crazy, Mama. We do trust you.
- If there was only

someplace I could go
to get away for a day,

or even an afternoon...

Some woman friend I could talk to.

Not about anything serious,

simply laugh and gossip
and forget for a while.

Someone besides the servants.
That stupid Cathleen...

Stop it, Mama. You're getting yourself
worked up over nothing.

Your father goes out. He meets
his friends in barrooms or at the club.

You and Jamie have the boys you know.
You go out.

But I'm alone! I've always been alone!

Come on, now. You know that's a fib.

One of us always stays around
to keep you company.

Because you're afraid to trust me alone.

I insist you tell me
why you act so differently this morning.

Why you felt you had to remind me?

It's stupid.

It's just because I wasn't asleep
when you came into my room last night.

You didn't go back
to your and Papa's room,

you went into the spare room
for the rest of the night.

Because your father's snoring
was driving me crazy!

For heaven's sake!

Haven't I often used
the spare room as my bedroom?

But I...

I see what you thought. That was...

- I didn't think anything.
- When I...

So,

you were...

You were pretending to be asleep,

- in order to spy on me.
- No.

I did it because I knew if you found
I was feverish and couldn't sleep,

it would upset you.

Jamie was pretending to be asleep, too,
I'm sure!

- And I suppose your father...
- Stop it, Mama.

Edmund! I can't bear it when even you...

It would serve all of you right
if it was true!

Mama, don't say that!
That's the way you...

Stop suspecting me!

Please, dear.

You hurt me.

I couldn't sleep because

I was thinking about you.

That's the real reason.

I've been so worried
ever since you got sick.

That's foolishness.
You know it's just a bad cold.

Yes. Yes, of course. I know that.

But listen, Mama. I want you to promise me

that even if it should turn out
to be something worse,

you know I'll soon be all right
again, anyway.

And you won't worry yourself
sick about it,

and you'll keep on
taking care of yourself.

No, no!
I won't listen when you're so silly.

There's absolutely no reason to talk
as if you expected something dreadful.

Of course, I promise you.
I give you my sacred word of honor.

But I suppose you're remembering...

I've promised before...

On my word of honor.

No.

I'm not blaming you, dear.
How can you help it?

How can any of us forget?

That's what makes it
so hard for all of us. We can't forget.

Stop it, Mama!

All right, dear.
I didn't mean to be so gloomy.

Don't mind me.

Here. Let me feel your head.

Well! It's nice and cool.

You certainly haven't any fever now.

Forget me. It's you.

But I'm quite all right, dear,

except I naturally feel

tired and nervous this morning,
after such a bad night.

I really ought to go upstairs

and lie down until lunchtime
and take a nap.

What are you gonna do? Read here?

It'd be much better for you

if you went out in the fresh air
and sunshine.

Don't get overheated, remember.

Be sure and wear a hat.

Or are you afraid to trust me alone?

Can't you stop talking like that?

I think you ought to take a nap.

I'll go out and help Jamie bear up.

I love to lie in the shade
and watch him work.

It'll be lunchtime soon.

Will I call your father and Mr. Jamie,
or will you?

You do it.
And you'd better call my mother, too.

What for?
She's always on time without any callin'.

God bless her, she has some
consideration for the help.

She's taking a nap.

She wasn't asleep when I finished
my work upstairs a while back.

She was lying down in the spare room
with her eyes wide open.

She'd a terrible headache, she said.

Well, then, just call my father.

No wonder my feet kill me each night!
Mr. Tyrone!

Mr. Jamie! It's time!

Sneaking one, eh?

Cut out the bluff, kid.
You're a rottener actor than I am.

Grabbed one while the going was good.

Why don't you sneak one
while you got a chance?

Yeah, I was thinking of that little thing.

Hey. The old man was out there
talking to old Captain Turner.

Yep. He's still at it.

You don't think that'll fool him, do you?

Well, maybe not.

But he can't prove it.

God, I hope he doesn't forget
lunch listening to himself talk.

I'm hungry.

And that's what I hate
about working out down front.

Puts on an act for every damn fool
that comes along.

You're in luck to be hungry.

The way I feel,
I don't care if I ever eat again.

Look, kid, you know I never lectured you,

but Doc Hardy was right
when he told you to cut out the red-eye.

Well, I'm going to after he hands me
the bad news this afternoon.

A few before then
won't make any difference.

Jamie, what do you think it is?

How the hell would I know? I'm no doc.

Where's Mama?

Upstairs.

When did she go up?

About the time you started
working on the hedge, I guess.

She said she was gonna take a nap.

You didn't tell me.

Why should I? What about it?

She was tired out.
She didn't get much sleep last night.

Yeah, I know she didn't.

Damned foghorn kept me awake, too.

She's been upstairs
alone all morning, huh?

You haven't seen her?

No, I was reading.

I wanted to give her a chance to sleep.

Is she coming down to lunch?

- Of course.
- No! No "of course" about it.

She might not want any lunch,

or she might start
having her meals alone upstairs.

- Cut it out, Jamie! Can't you think of...
- That's happened, hasn't it?

You're all wrong to suspect anything.

Cathleen saw her not long ago.

Mama didn't tell her
she wouldn't be down for lunch.

Then she wasn't taking a nap.

No, not right then,
but she was lying down, Cathleen said.

- In the spare room?
- Yes. For Pete's sake, what of it?

Why, you damned fool.

Why did you leave her alone so long?
Why didn't you stick around?

Because she accused me, and you and Papa,

of spying on her all the time
and not trusting her.

She made me feel ashamed.

I know how rotten it must be for her.

And she promised
on her sacred word of honor.

You ought to know
that doesn't mean anything.

- It does this time.
- That's what we thought the other times!

Look, kid.
I know you think I'm a cynical bastard,

but remember, I've seen
more of this game than you have.

You never knew what was really wrong
until you were in prep school.

Papa and I kept it from you.

But I was wise 10 years or more
before we had to tell you.

I know this game backward,
and I've been thinking all morning

of the way she acted last night
when she thought we were asleep.

I haven't been able to think
of anything else,

and now you tell me she got you
to leave her alone all morning!

She didn't! You're crazy!

All right, kid.
Don't start a battle with me.

Hope as much as you do I'm crazy.

You know, I've been happy as hell

because I'd really begun to believe
that this time...

She's coming downstairs.
You win on that one.

I guess I was a damn suspicious louse.

Damn it. I wish I'd grabbed another drink.

You mustn't cough like that.
It's bad for your throat.

You don't want to get a sore throat
on top of your cold, do you?

But I seem always to be
picking on you, telling you,

"Don't do this, don't do that."

Forgive me, dear.
It's just that I want to take care of you.

I know that. What about you?
Do you feel rested?

Ever so much better.

I've been lying down
ever since you went out.

It's what I needed
after such a restless night.

- I don't feel nervous now.
- That's fine.

Good heavens,
how down in the mouth you look, Jamie.

What's the matter now?

Nothing.

I'd forgotten.
You've been working on the front hedge.

That always accounts for your sinking
into the dumps, doesn't it?

If you wanna think so, Mama.

Well, that's the effect
it always has, isn't it?

What a big baby you are. Isn't he, Edmund?

He's certainly a fool to care
what anyone thinks.

Yes.

The only way is to make yourself not care.

Where is your father?

I heard Cathleen call him.

She's down there now.

Interrupting the famous beautiful voice!

She should have more respect.

It's you who should have more respect.

You, who, thanks to him,
have never had to work hard in your life.

Remember your father
is getting old, Jamie.

You really ought to show
more consideration.

I'm hungry.

I wish that old man would get a move on.

It's a rotten trick
the way he keeps meals waiting,

and then beefs because they're spoiled.

Very trying, Jamie.
You don't know how trying.

You don't have to keep house
with summer servants

who don't care because...

Because they know
it isn't a permanent position.

Your father will never even pay
the wages the best summer help ask.

So every year I have stupid,
lazy greenhorns to deal with.

But you've heard me say this 1,000 times.

What makes you ramble on like that, Mama?

I don't know, nothing in particular, dear.

It's foolish of me.

Lunch is ready, ma'am!

I went down to Mr. Tyrone
like you ordered,

- and he said he'd come right away.
- All right, Cathleen.

But he kept on...

Tell Bridget I'm sorry,
but she'll have to wait a few minutes

until Mr. Tyrone is here.

Yes, ma'am.

Well, damn it!
Why don't you go in without him?

He's told us to.

He doesn't mean it.

Don't you know your father yet?
He'd be so terribly hurt.

I'll...

I'll go make him get a move on.

Why do you stare like that?

- You know.
- I don't know.

For God's sake, Mama.

You think you can fool me? I'm not blind.

I don't know what you're talking about.

No?

Take a look at your eyes in the mirror.

I got Papa moving. He'll...

He'll be here in a minute.

What's the matter?

- What happened, Mama?
- Your brother...

Your brother ought to be
ashamed of himself.

He's been insinuating, I don't know what.

- God damn you!
- Stop it at once! Do you...

He's a liar!

- It's a lie, isn't it, Mama?
- What's a lie?

Edmund, don't.

There comes your father up the steps.
I must warn Bridget.

Well?

Well, what?

You're a liar.

Sorry I'm late.

Captain Turner stopped to talk.

Once he starts gabbing,
you can't get away from him.

You mean once he starts listening.

It's all right.
The level in the bottle hasn't changed.

I wasn't noticing that.

As if it would prove anything
with you about.

I'm onto your tricks.

Did I hear you say,
"Let's all have a drink"?

Jamie's welcome
after his hard morning's work,

but I won't invite you. Dr. Hardy...

To hell with Doc Hardy!
One isn't gonna kill me.

I feel all in, Papa.

Well, come along, then.
It's before a meal.

I've always found that good whiskey
taken in moderation as an appetizer

is the best of tonics.

I said "in moderation".

It'd be a waste of breath
mentioning moderation to you.

Well, here's health and happiness!

That's a joke.

What is?

Nothing. Here's how.

Well, what's the matter here?

There's gloom in the air
you could cut with a knife.

You got the drink you were after,
didn't you?

Why are you wearing that gloomy look
on your mug?

You won't be singing a song yourself soon.

Shut up, Jamie.

I thought lunch was ready.
I'm hungry as a hunter.

- Where's your mother?
- Here I am.

I've had to calm down Bridget.

She's in a tantrum
over your being late again,

and I don't blame her.

If your lunch isn't dried up
from waiting in the oven,

she said you could like it or leave it
for all she cared.

I'm so sick and tired of pretending
this is a home!

You won't help me.
You won't put yourself out the least bit.

You don't know how to act in a home.
You don't even want one.

You never have wanted one...
Never since the day we were married.

You should've remained a bachelor
and lived in second-rate hotels,

entertained your friends in barrooms,

- and nothing ever would've happened.
- Mama.

Stop talking.

Why don't we go in to lunch?

Yes. Yes.

It is inconsiderate of me
to dig up the past,

when I know
your father and Jamie must be hungry.

I do hope you have an appetite, dear.

You really must eat more...

Why is that glass there?
Did you have a drink?

How can you be such a fool?

You're to blame, James.

How could you let him?
Do you want to kill him?

Don't you remember my father?

He wouldn't stop after he was stricken.

He said doctors were fools.

He thought, like you,
that whiskey is a good tonic!

But...

But, of course, there's no comparison

at all, is there?

I don't know why I...

Forgive me for scolding you, James.

One... One small drink won't hurt Edmund.

It might be good for him,
if it gives him an appetite.

For God's sake, let's eat!

Come on, kid. Let's put on a feed bag.

Yes.

You go in with your mother, lads.

I'll join you in a second.

Why do you look at me like that?

Please stop staring, James.

One would think you were accusing me.

James.

You don't understand!

I understand that I've been
a god damned fool to believe in you.

I don't know what you mean by
"believing in me."

All I've felt was distrust
and spying and suspicion.

Why are you having another drink?

You never have
more than one drink before lunch.

Well, I know what to expect.
You'll be drunk tonight.

And it won't be the first time, will it?
Or the thousandth?

James!

Please! Please!

You don't understand!

I've been so worried...

So worried about Edmund! I'm so afraid.

I don't want to listen
to your excuses, Mary.

Excuses?

You... You mean...

You couldn't believe that of me?

You mustn't believe that, James. No!

Shall...
Shall we not go in to lunch, dear?

I don't want anything,
but I know you must be hungry.

James.

I tried so hard.

I tried so hard!

Please, believe me.

Yes, I suppose you did, Mary.

But, for the love of God,

why couldn't you have the strength
to keep on?

I don't know what you're talking about.

Have the strength to keep on what?

Never mind.

It's no use now.

It's unreasonable to expect

Bridget and Cathleen to act
as if this were a home.

They know it isn't as well as we know it.

Never has been, it never will be.

No, it never can be now.
But it was once, before you...

Before I what?

No. No, dear.
Whatever you say, it isn't true.

It was never a home.

You've always preferred
the club or a barroom.

And for me

it's always been as lonely

as a dirty room
in a one-night-stand hotel.

I'm... I'm worried about you, Edmund.

Edmund? You hardly touched anything.

It's all right for me
not to have an appetite.

I've... I've been growing too fat.

But you must eat.

Promise me you will, dear, for my sake.

- Yes, Mama.
- That's a good boy.

I'll answer. McGuire said he'd call.

Hello?

How are you, Doctor?

I see.

Well, you'll explain all about it
when you see him this afternoon.

Yes, he'll be with you
without fail at 4:00.

Yes.

Yes.

Goodbye. Goodbye, Doctor.

Well, that didn't sound like glad tidings.

It was Dr. Hardy.

He wants you to be sure
to see him at 4:00 this afternoon.

What did he say?

- Dr. Hardy.
- Not that I give a damn now.

I wouldn't believe him
if he swore on a stack of Bibles.

Don't pay attention
to a word he says, Edmund.

Mary.

We all know why you like him, James.
Because he's cheap.

But please don't try to tell me.
I know all about Dr. Hardy.

Heaven knows I ought to
after all these years.

He's an ignorant fool.

Should be a law
to keep men like him from practicing.

He hasn't the slightest idea.

When you're in agony and half insane,

he sits and holds your hand
and delivers sermons on willpower.

He deliberately humiliates you.

He makes you beg and plead.
He treats you like a criminal.

He understands nothing!

And yet it was exactly the same type
of cheap quack

who first gave you the medicine,

and you never knew what it was
until it was too late!

I hate doctors!

For God's sake, Mama, stop talking.

Yes, Mary, it's no time to...

You're... You're quite right, dear.
Forgive me, I'm...

I... It's useless to be angry now.

I'm going upstairs for a moment,

if you'll excuse me.

I have to fix my hair.

That is, if I can find my glasses.

- I'll be right down.
- Mary.

Yes, dear? What is it?

Nothing.

You're welcome to come up
and watch me if you're so suspicious.

As if that could do any good.
You'd only postpone it.

I'm not your jailer. This isn't a prison.

No. I know you can't help thinking
it's a home.

I'm sorry, dear.

I don't mean to be bitter.

It's not your fault.

Another shot in the arm.

Cut out that kind of talk.

Yes, hold your foul tongue,
and your rotten Broadway loafer's lingo.

Have you no pity or decency?

You ought to be thrown out
into the gutter.

If I did it, you know damned well
who'd weep for you and plead for you,

and excuse you and complain
until I let you come back.

God, don't I know that?

No pity?
I have all the pity in the world for her,

because I understand what a hard game
to beat she's up against,

which is more than you ever had.

The cures are no damn good
except for a while.

Truth is, there is no cure,
and we've been saps to hope.

They never come back.

They never come back.

Everything's in the bag.
It's all a frame-up.

We're all fall guys and suckers
and we can't beat the game.

- God, if I felt the way you do...
- I thought you did!

Your poetry isn't very cheery.

Nor the stuff you read
and claim to admire.

Shut up, both of you!

There's little choice between
the philosophy you learned

from Broadway loafers
and the one Edmund got from his books.

They're both rotten to the core.

You've both flouted the faith
you were born and brought up in,

the one true faith of the Catholic church.

And your denial has brought nothing
but self-destruction.

- That's the bunk, Papa.
- We don't pretend, at any rate.

I don't notice you've worn
any holes in the knees of your pants

from going to mass.

It's true I'm a bad Catholic
in the observance, God forgive me.

But I believe.

And you're a liar! I may not go to church,

but every night and morning of my life
I get on my knees and pray!

Did you pray for Mama?

I did.

I've prayed to God
these many years for her.

But what's the good of talk?

Only I wish she hadn't led me
into hope this time.

By God, I never will again.

That's a rotten thing to say, Papa.

Well, I'll hope.

She's only just started.
It can't have got a hold on her yet.

She can still stop.

You can't talk to her now.

She'll listen, but she won't listen.

Yes, every day from now on,

there'll be the same
drifting away from us,

until at the end of each night--

Cut it out, Papa.

I'll go up and get dressed.

I'll make so much noise,

she can't suspect
I've come up to spy on her.

What did Doc Hardy say about the kid?

It's what you thought.
He's got consumption.

- Damn it.
- There's no possible doubt, he says.

Well, he'll...
He'll have to go to a sanatorium.

Yes. And the sooner the better,
Hardy says,

for him and everyone around him.

He claims in six months to a year
Edmund will be cured,

if he obeys orders.

Who would have thought a child of mine...

Doesn't come from my side of the family.

Wasn't one of us that didn't have
lungs as strong as an ox.

Who gives a damn about that part of it?

Geez.

Where does Hardy want to send him?

That's what I'm to see him about.

Well, for God's sake,
pick out a good place

and not some cheap dump.

I'll send him wherever Hardy thinks best.

Well, don't give Hardy your old
over-the-hills-to-the-poorhouse song

about taxes and mortgages.

I'm no millionaire
that can throw money away.

Why shouldn't I tell Hardy the truth?

Because he'll think
you want him to pick a cheap dump,

and because he'll know it isn't the truth.

Especially if he hears afterwards
you've seen McGuire,

and let that flannel-mouth,
gold-brick merchant sting you

with another piece of bum property!

- Keep your nose out of my business!
- This is Edmund's business!

What I'm afraid of is,

with your Irish bog-trotter idea
that consumption is fatal,

you'll figure it's a waste of money
to spend any more than you can help.

- You liar!
- All right, prove I'm a liar!

That's what I want!
That's why I brought it up!

I have every hope Edmund will be cured.
And your keep dirty tongue off Ireland.

You're a fine one to sneer,
with the map of it on your face.

Not after I wash my face.

Well, I've said all I have to say.
It's up to you.

Well, what do you want me to do
this afternoon,

now you're going uptown?

I've done all I can do on the hedge
until you cut more of it,

and you don't want me to go ahead
with your clipping, I know that.

No, you'd get it crooked,
like you get everything else.

I'd better go uptown with Edmund, then.

The bad news coming on top
of what's happened to Mama

may hit him hard.

Yes, go with him, Jamie.
Keep up his spirits if you can,

if you can without making it an excuse
to get drunk.

Well, what would I use for money?

The last I heard,
they were still selling booze,

not giving it away.

I'll get dressed.

You haven't seen my glasses anywhere,
have you, Jamie?

You haven't seen them, have you, James?

No, Mary.

What's the matter with Jamie?
Have you been nagging at him again?

You really shouldn't treat him
with such contempt all the time.

He's not to blame.

If he'd been brought up in a real home,
I'm sure he would have been dif...

You're not much
of a weather prophet, James.

See how hazy it's getting?
I can hardly see the other shore.

Yes, I spoke too soon.

We're in for another night of fog
I'm afraid.

Well. I won't mind it tonight.

No, I don't imagine you will, Mary.

I... I don't see Jamie
going down to the hedge.

Where... Where did he go?

He's going with Edmund to the doctor's.
He went upstairs to change his clothes.

I... I better do the same

- or I'll be late for my appointment.
- Please, wait.

Wait a little while,

at least until one of the boys comes down.

You... You'll all be leaving me so soon.

It's you who are leaving us, Mary.

That...
That's a silly thing to say, James.

How could I leave?
There's nowhere I could go.

Who would I go to see? I have no friends.

Well, it's your own fault.

Surely there's something
you could do this afternoon

that'd be good for you, Mary.

Take a drive in the automobile.

Get away from the house.
Get a little sun and fresh air.

I bought the automobile for you.

You know I don't care for the damn thing.

I'd rather walk any day,
or take the trolley.

I had it here waiting for you

when you came back from the sanatorium.

I thought it would give you pleasure
and distract your mind.

You used to ride in it every day.
You've hardly used it at all, lately.

Paid more money than I can afford.

There's the chauffeur. I have to feed
and board and pay high wages,

whether he drives you or not.

Waste.

Same old waste that'll land me
in the poorhouse at my old age.

What good has it done you?

I might as well have thrown the money
out the window.

It was a waste of money, James.

You shouldn't have bought
a secondhand automobile.

You were swindled again.

As you always are,

because you insist
on secondhand bargains in everything.

It's one of the best makes.

You're as bad as Jamie,
suspecting everyone.

No. No, you mustn't be offended, James.

I... I wasn't offended
when you gave me the automobile.

I knew that was the way
you had to do everything.

I was grateful and touched.

I knew buying the car was
a hard thing for you to do,

but it showed how much you love me.

In your way.

Especially as you couldn't really believe
it would do me any good.

Mary, dear Mary,
for the love of God, for the boys' sake,

for my sake and for your own,
won't you stop now?

Stop what? What are you talking about?

James. James, we've loved each other,
we always will.

Let's remember only that

and not try to understand
what we cannot understand,

or help things that cannot be helped.

The things life has done to us.
We cannot excuse or explain.

You won't even try?

Try... Try to go for a drive?
This afternoon, dear?

Yes. Yes, I... I will, if you wish it.

Although, it... It makes me feel lonelier
than if I stayed here.

There's... There's no one I can invite
to drive with me.

I never know where to tell Smyth to go.

If there was only some friend's house
where I could drop in,

laugh and gossip a little while.

But of course, there isn't.

Never has been.

At the convent, I had so many friends.

Naturally, after I married an actor...

Well, you know how actors
were considered in those days,

and then, of course,
right after we were married,

there was the scandal of...

Of that woman,
who had been your mistress, suing you.

From then on, all my old friends
either pitied me or cut me dead.

I hated the ones that cut me dead
much less than the pitiers.

Mary, for God's sake,
don't dig up what's long forgotten.

If you're that far gone
in the past already,

well, it's only the beginning
of the afternoon.

What will you be tonight?

Come to think of it,

I do have to drive uptown.

There's something I must get
at the drugstore.

Yes. Leave it to you

to have some of the stuff hidden
and prescriptions for more.

Well, I hope you lay in
a good stock ahead,

so we never have another night
like the one when you screamed for it,

and ran out of the house
in your nightdress half-crazy

to try and throw yourself off the dock!

I have to get tooth powder.

And toilet soap.

And cold cream.

Geez.

You mustn't remember.
You mustn't humiliate me so.

Forgive me. I'm sorry, Mary.

Doesn't matter.
Nothing like that ever happened.

You must have dreamed it.

I...

I was so... So healthy

before Edmund was born.

Do you remember, James?

There wasn't a nerve in my body.

Even traveling with you,
season after season,

bearing children in hotel rooms,

I still kept healthy.

But bearing Edmund was the last straw.
I was...

I was so sick afterwards.

And that ignorant quack
of a cheap hotel doctor.

All he knew was I was in pain.
It was easy for him to stop the pain.

Mary, for God's sake, forget the past.

Why, how can I? The past is the present.

It's the future, too, isn't it?

I blame only myself.

I swore after Eugene died
I would never have another baby.

I was to blame for his death.

If...

If I hadn't left him with my mother

to join you on the road,

because you wrote, telling me
you missed me and were so lonely,

Jamie would never have been allowed,
when he still had measles,

to go into the baby's room.

I always believed Jamie did it on purpose.

He was jealous of the baby. He hated him.

I... I know Jamie was only seven,
but he was never stupid.

He'd been warned it might kill the baby.

He knew. I've never been able
to forgive him for that.

Are you back with Eugene, now?

Can't you let our dead baby rest in peace?

Above all...

Above all,
I should never have let you insist

that I have another baby
to take Eugene's place.

I was afraid
all the time I carried Edmund.

I knew something terrible would happen,

I knew I'd proved by the way I left Eugene

that I wasn't worthy to have another baby,

and that God would punish me if I did.

I should never have borne Edmund.

Mary, be careful with your talk.

If he heard you,
he might think you never wanted him.

There's Edmund.
For God's sake, try and be yourself.

You can do that much for him.

Here you are.

You look spick-and-span.
I'm on my way up to change, too.

Wait a minute, Papa.
I hate to bring up disagreeable topics,

but there's the matter of carfare.
I'm broke.

You'll always be broke
until you learn the value...

But you've been learning, lad.

You worked hard before you took ill.

You've done splendidly. I...
I'm proud of you.

Thank you.

How sharper
than a serpent's tooth it is...

To have a thankless child. I know.
Give me a chance, Papa.

I'm knocked speechless.
This isn't a dollar. It's a 10 spot.

But why all of a sudden?

Did Doc Hardy tell you I was going to die?

That's a rotten crack.
I was just kidding, Papa.

- I'm very grateful. Honest, Papa.
- You're welcome, lad.

I won't have it. Do you hear?

Such morbid nonsense.

Saying you're going to die.

You'd think you didn't want to live,

a boy of your age
with everything before him.

It's just a pose you get out of books.

- You're not really sick at all.
- Mary, hold your tongue.

But, James, it's absurd of Edmund
to be so gloomy

and to make such a great to-do
about nothing!

But never mind, dear. I'm onto you.

You want to be petted and spoiled
and made a fuss over, isn't that it?

You're still such a baby.

But please, don't carry it too far, dear.
Don't say horrible things.

I know it's foolish to take them
seriously, but I can't help it.

You've got me so frightened!

Maybe if you were to ask your mother
now what you said you were going to.

By God, look at the time.

I have to shake a leg.

How do you feel?

Your head's a little hot,
but that's just from going out in the sun.

You look ever so much better
than you did this morning.

Come and sit down.

- Listen, Mama--
- No, no. Now don't talk.

Sit down. Lean back.

And rest.

It's such a tiring trip uptown,

the dirty, old trolley
on a hot day like this.

You'll be ever so much better off here
with me.

- Listen, Ma--
- You can telephone Hardy.

Tell him you don't feel well enough.

The old idiot. All he knows about medicine

- is to look solemn and preach willpower.
- Listen, Mama.

I want to ask you something.

You can still stop.

You've only just started.
You've got the willpower.

We'll all help you. I'll do anything.
Won't you, Mama?

Please don't talk about things
you don't understand.

All right. I give up.
I knew it was no use.

Anyway, I don't know
what you're referring to,

but I do know you should be the last one.

Right after I returned
from the sanatorium, you began to be ill.

The doctor there had warned me

I must have peace at home
with nothing to upset me.

All I've done is worry about you.

But that's no excuse.

I'm only trying to explain.
It's not an excuse.

Promise me, dear,
you won't believe I made you an excuse.

What else can I believe?

Nothing. I don't blame you.

How can you believe me
when I can't believe myself?

I've become such a liar.

I never lied about anything
once upon a time.

Now I have to lie, especially to myself.

But how can you understand,

when I can't understand myself?

I've never understood anything about it,
except that one day,

long ago, I found I could no longer
call my soul my own.

But someday, dear,

I'll find it again.

Someday, when you're all well,

and I see you healthy and happy
and successful,

and I don't have to feel guilty anymore.

Someday,

when the blessed Virgin Mary forgives me.

And gives me back the faith
in her love and pity

I used to have in my convent days.

And I can pray to her again.

When she sees no one can believe in me

even for a moment anymore,

then she will believe in me.

And with her help, it will be so easy.

I will hear myself scream with agony
and at the same time I will laugh,

because I'll be so sure of myself.

Yeah.

But of course,
you can't believe that either, can you?

Now I... Now I think of it,

you might as well go uptown.

I forgot. I'm taking a drive.

I have to go to the drugstore.

And you'd hardly want to go there
with me, would you?

You'd be so ashamed.

Mama, don't.

I suppose you'll divide that $10
your father gave you with Jamie?

You always divide with each other,
don't you, like good sports?

Well, I know what he'll do with his share.

Get drunk someplace where he can be

with the only kind of woman
he understands or likes.

Edmund,

promise me you won't drink.

It's so dangerous.

- You know Dr. Hardy...
- I thought he was an old idiot.

Edmund.

Come on, kid, let's beat it.

Go on, Edmund. Jamie's calling.

There comes your father downstairs, too.

Come on, Edmund.

- Goodbye, Edmund.
- Goodbye, Mary.

If you're coming home for dinner,
try not to be late.

Tell your father. You know how Bridget is.

Goodbye.

Goodbye, Mama.

So lonely here.

You're lying to yourself again.

You wanted to get rid of them.

Their contempt and disgust
aren't pleasant company.

You're glad they've gone.

Then mother of God,

why do I feel so lonely?

That foghorn.

Isn't it awful, Cathleen?

It is indeed, ma'am.

Wasn't the fog I minded.
I really love fog.

They say it's good for the complexion.

It hides you from the world
and the world from you.

You feel everything is changed
and nothing is what it seemed to be.

No one can find or touch you anymore.

I was scared out of my wits
riding back from town.

You couldn't see your hand
in front of you.

It's the foghorn I hate.

It won't let you alone.

It keeps reminding you,

and warning you and calling you back.

But it can't tonight.
It's just an ugly sound.

It's...

It doesn't remind me of anything,

except perhaps Mr. Tyrone's snores.

I've had such fun teasing him about it.

He's always snored,
ever since I can remember,

especially when he's had
too much to drink,

and yet he's like a child.

He doesn't like to admit it.

Well. I suppose I snore at times, too,
and I don't like to admit it.

So I have no right to make fun of him,
have I?

Sure, everybody healthy snores.

It's a sign of sanity, they say.

What time is it, ma'am?

I ought to be getting back
into the kitchen.

No, don't go, Cathleen.
I don't want to be alone, yet.

You won't be for long.

The master and the boys will be home soon.

Well, I doubt
if they come home for dinner.

They have too good an excuse
to remain in the barrooms,

where they feel at home.

Have a drink yourself, Cathleen,
if you wish.

I don't know if I'd better, ma'am.

Well, maybe one won't harm.

Here's to your good health, ma'am.

I really did have
good health once, Cathleen,

but that was long ago.

God save you. It'll be half water.

He'll know by the taste.

Yeah.

By the time he comes home,
he'll be too drunk to tell the difference.

He has such a good excuse,
he believes, to drown his sorrows.

Well, it's a good man's failing,
never mind his weakness.

I don't mind.
I've loved him dearly for 36 years.

That's right, ma'am. Love him dearly,

for any fool can see
he worships the ground you walk on.

Speaking of acting, ma'am,
how is it you never went on the stage?

I?

What put that absurd idea in your head?

I was brought up in a respectable home,

and educated in the best
convent in the Middle West.

Before I met Mr. Tyrone, I hardly knew
there was such a thing as the theater.

I was a very pious girl.
I even dreamed of becoming a nun.

I never had the slightest desire
to be an actress.

I'd never think of you
being a holy nun, ma'am.

Sure to God, you'd never darken
the door of a church, God forgive you.

I never felt at home in the theater.

Even though Mr. Tyrone has made me
go with him on all his tours.

I've had little to do
with the people in his company.

Not that I had anything against them.

They were always very kind to me,
and I to them,

but their life was not my life.

It's always stood between me and...

And...

But let's not talk about old things
that could not be helped.

How thick the fog is.

I... I can't see the road.

All the people in the world could pass by,

and I would never know.

I wish it was always that way.

Getting dark already.

It'll soon be night, thank goodness.

It was kind of you,

to keep me company
this afternoon, Cathleen.

I should have been lonely,
driving uptown alone.

Sure, wouldn't I rather ride
in a fine automobile than stay here.

It's like a vacation, ma'am.

There's only one thing I didn't like.

What was that, Cathleen?

The way the man in the drugstore acted
when I took in the prescription for you.

The impudence of him.

Well, I don't...
I don't know what you're talking about.

What drugstore? What prescript...

Yes. Of course. I'd forgotten.

The medicine for the rheumatism
in my hands.

What did the man say?

Not that it matters,

- so long as he filled the prescription.
- It mattered to me, then.

I'm not used to being
treated like a thief.

He gave me a long look,

and says insultingly,
"Where did you get hold of this?"

And I say,
"It's none of your damn business,

"but if you must know,
it's for the lady I work for,

"Mrs. Tyrone, who's sitting out there
in the automobile."

That shut him up quick.
He gave a long look out, and said, "Oh,"

and went to get the medicine.

Yes. He knows me.

I have to take it.

Because there is no other
that can stop the pain,

all the pain.

I mean, in my hands.

Poor hands.

You'll never believe it, but they...

They were once one of my good points,

along with my hair and eyes.

I had a fine figure, too.

They were a musician's hands.

I used to love the piano.

I worked so hard at my music
at the convent.

Mother Elizabeth and my music teacher
both said I had more talent

than any student they remembered.

My father paid for special lessons.

He spoiled me. He would have sent me
to Europe to study.

After I graduated from the convent
I might have gone,

if I hadn't fallen in love
with Mr. Tyrone,

or I might have become a nun.

I had two dreams.

To be a nun.

That was the more beautiful one.

To be a concert pianist.

That was the other.

I haven't touched a piano
in so many years.

I couldn't play now with such
crippled fingers even if I wanted to.

For a time after my marriage,
I tried to keep up my music,

but it was hopeless.

One night stands, cheap hotels,
dirty trains,

leaving children, never having a home...

See, Cathleen.

How ugly they are? So maimed and crippled.

You think they'd been
through some horrible accident.

And so they have, come to think of it.

I won't look at them.

They're worse than the foghorn
for reminding me.

But even they can't hurt me now.

They're far away.

I see them, but the pain is gone.

You've taken some of that medicine.

If I didn't know better,
I think you'd a drop taken.

Kills the pain.

You go back.

Until at last, you're beyond its reach.

Only the past when you were happy is real.

If you think Mr. Tyrone
is handsome now, Cathleen,

you should've seen him
when I first met him.

He had a reputation of being one
of the handsomest men in the country.

Girls at the convent who'd seen him act,
or seen his photograph,

used to rave about him.

He was a great matinee idol then.

Women used to wait at the stage door
just to see him come out.

You can imagine how excited I was
when my father wrote

telling me he and James Tyrone
had become friends,

and I was to meet him

when I went home for my Easter vacation.

I showed the letter to all the girls.

How envious they were.

My father took me to see him act.

First it was a play
about the French Revolution,

and the leading character was a nobleman.

I couldn't take my eyes off him.

I wept when he was thrown in prison,
and then was so mad

because I was afraid
my eyes and nose would be red.

My father had said we would go
backstage to his dressing room

right after the play, and so we did.

Guess my eyes and nose
couldn't have been red after all.

I was really very pretty then, Cathleen,

and he was handsomer
than my wildest dreams.

He was different,
different from all ordinary men,

like someone from another world.

I fell in love right then.

So did he.

Told me afterwards.

I forgot all about becoming a nun.

Or a concert pianist.

All I wanted was to be his wife.

Thirty-six years ago.

But I can see it
as clearly as if it were tonight.

And we've loved each other ever since.

And in all those 36 years, there's...

There's never been a breath of scandal
about him.

I mean, with another woman.

He's made me very happy, Cathleen.

He's a fine gentleman.

You're a lucky woman.

Sentimental fool.

What's so wonderful
about the first meeting

between a silly, romantic schoolgirl
and a matinee idol?

You were much happier

before you knew he existed

in the convent.

And you could pray to the blessed Virgin.

If only I could find the faith I lost,

so I could pray to her again.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

Hail Mary, full...

Hail Mary, full of...

You expect the blessed Virgin to be fooled

by a lying dope fiend reciting words?

You can't fool her.

I haven't taken enough.
I have to go upstairs.

When you start again, you never know...

You never know exactly how much you need.

All right, all right, I'll stop.

God knows I don't like the subject either.

Why are they coming back?

Why are they coming back?

Are you there, Mary?

Yes? Yes, I'm... I'm here, dear.

In the sitting room.

I've been... I've been waiting for you.

I'm...

I'm so happy you've come.
I'd given up hope.

I was afraid you wouldn't come home.
It's such a dismal, foggy evening.

It must be much more cheerful

- in the barrooms uptown.
- No.

Where there are people you can...

No, don't deny it. I know how you feel.

I don't blame you a bit.

I'm all the more grateful to you
for coming home.

I was sitting here, so lonely and blue.

Come and sit down.

Dinner won't be ready for a few minutes.

You're... You're actually a little early.

Will wonders never cease?
Here's the whiskey, dear.

Shall I pour you a drink?
And, you, Edmund?

I don't want to encourage you,

but one small one before dinner

can't do you any harm.

Where's Jamie?

I... Of course, he'll never come home

so long as he has
the price of a drink left.

Afraid Jamie's been lost to us
for a long time, dear.

For the love of God,
I'm a fool for coming home.

Papa, shut up.

Who'd have thought...

Who would have thought Jamie would...
Would grow up to disgrace us?

Everyone liked him.

All his teachers told us
what a fine brain he had.

They... They predicted
a wonderful future for him,

if only he'd learned
to take life seriously.

Poor Jamie. Such a pity.

It's hard to understand...

No, it isn't.

You brought him up to be a boozer.

Since he first opened his eyes,
he's seen you drinking.

Always a bottle on the bureau
in the cheap hotel rooms.

And if he had a nightmare
when he was little, or a stomach ache,

your remedy was to give him
a teaspoonful of whiskey to quiet him.

So I'm to blame because that lazy hulk's
made a drunken loafer of himself.

Is that what I came back to listen to?

I might have known
when you've the poison in you,

you want to blame everyone but yourself.

Papa.

Are we going to have this drink
or aren't we?

You're right. I'm a fool to take notice.

Drink hearty, lad.

I'm sorry if I sounded bitter, James.

I'm not. It's all so far away. I...

I was a little hurt when you wished
you hadn't come home.

I was so relieved and happy when you came.

And grateful to you.

It's very dreary and sad
to be here alone in the fog,

with night falling.

I'm glad I came, Mary,

when you act like your real self.

I was so lonesome.

I kept Cathleen with me
just to have someone to talk to.

Do you know what I was telling her, James?

About that night my father
took me to your dressing room

and I first fell in love with you.
Do you remember?

Can you think I'd ever forget, Mary?

No. I know you still love me, James.

In spite of everything.

Yes. As God as my judge.

Always and forever, Mary.

And I love you, dear.

In spite of everything. But...

Although I couldn't help loving you,
I would never have married you

if I'd known you drank so much.

I remember the first time
your barroom friends had to help you

to the door of our hotel room,
and knocked,

and then ran away
before I opened the door.

We were still on our honeymoon. Remember?

I don't remember.
It wasn't on our honeymoon.

I never in my life
had to be helped to bed,

or missed a performance.

I'd waited in that ugly hotel room
hour after hour.

I became terrified. I imagined
all sorts of horrible accidents.

I got down on my knees and prayed
that nothing had happened to you.

Then they brought you up
and left you outside the door.

God, no wonder.

I'm sorry I remembered out loud.

I don't want to be sad...

Or to make you sad.

I want to remember
only the happy part of the past.

Do you remember our wedding?

Wedding, dear?

I haven't made such a bad wife, have I?

I'm not complaining, Mary.

Well, at least I've loved you dearly,

and done the best I could
under the circumstances.

That wedding gown!

It was nearly the death of me.
And the dressmaker, too.

I was so particular.
It was never quite good enough.

At last she said she refused
to touch it anymore. She might spoil it.

So I made her leave so I could be alone
to examine myself in the mirror.

I was so pleased and vain.

I thought to myself,

"You're just as pretty
as any actress he's ever met.

And you don't have to use paint."

Where is my wedding gown now, I wonder?

I...

I kept it wrapped up in tissue paper
in my trunk.

I hoped someday I'd have a daughter,
and when it came time for her to marry,

she couldn't have bought a lovelier gown.

And I knew, James,
you'd never tell her never mind the cost.

You'd want her to pick up something
at a bargain.

It was made of soft, shimmering satin.

Trimmed with wonderful old duchess lace

around the neck and sleeves.

Worked in with the folds

that were draped around
in a bustle effect at the back.

The bust was boned, and very tight,
I remember.

I held my breath when it was fitted,

so my waist would be as small as possible.

My... My father...

My father even let me have lace
on my white satin slippers,

and lace

where there were orange blossoms
in my veil.

How I loved that gown.

It was so...

beautiful.

Where is it now, I wonder?

I... I... I...

I used to take it out from time to time
when I was lonely.

But it always made me cry, and so...

Finally, a long while ago...

I wonder where I hid it.

Probably in some old trunk in the attic.
Someday, I must have a look.

Well, isn't it dinnertime, dear?

You're forever scolding me
for being late,

but now I'm on time for once,
it's dinner that's late!

Well, if I can't eat yet, I can drink!

I forgot I had this.

Who's been tampering
with my whiskey?

That damn stuff's half water!

Any fool could tell!

Mary, answer me.

I hope to God
you've not taken to drink on top of...

Shut up, Papa.

You treated Cathleen and Bridget.

- Isn't that it, Mama?
- Yes, yes. I wanted to treat Cathleen,

because I had her drive uptown with me,

and sent her
to get my prescription filled.

For God's sake, Mama.
You can't trust her.

Do you want everyone on Earth to know?

Know what?

That I suffer from rheumatism in my hands

and have to take medicine
to kill the pain?

Why should I be ashamed of that?

I never knew what rheumatism was
before you were born.

Ask your father.

Don't mind her, lad.
It doesn't mean anything.

When she gets to the stage...

When she gives the old, crazy excuse
about her hands,

she's gone far away from us.

I'm glad you realize that, James.

Now perhaps you'll give up
trying to remind me.

You and Edmund.

Why don't you light the lights, James?

It's getting dark!

I know you hate to,
but Edmund has proved to you

that one bulb burning doesn't cost much.

It's too bad
to let your fear of the poorhouse

make you too stingy.

I never claimed one bulb cost much!

It's having them on,
one here and one there

that makes
the electric light company rich.

I'm a fool to talk sense!

I'll get a fresh bottle of whiskey, lad.
We'll have a real drink.

He'll sneak around
to the outside cellar door

so the servants won't see him.

He's really ashamed of keeping his whiskey

padlocked in the cellar.

Your father's a strange man.

Took many years before I understood him.

His father deserted his mother
and their six children

a year or so after they came to America.

He told them he had a premonition
he would die soon,

and he was homesick for Ireland
and wanted to go back there to die.

So he went. And he did die.

He must have been a peculiar man to...

Your father had to go to work
in a machine shop...

- For Pete's sake, Mama.
- When he was only 10 years...

I've heard Papa tell that story
10,000 times.

Yes, dear. You've had to listen.

But I don't think
you've ever tried to understand.

Listen, Mama.

You're not so far gone yet
you've forgotten everything.

You haven't asked me
what I found out this afternoon.

Don't you care a damn?

Don't say that. You hurt me, dear.

What I've got is serious, Mama.

- Doc Hardy knows for sure now.
- That lying old quack!

I warned you he'd invent...

He called in a specialist to examine me.

- Don't tell me about Dr. Hardy!
- So he'd be absolutely sure.

If you heard
what the doctor at the sanatorium,

who really knows something,
said about how he treated me.

He said it was a wonder I hadn't gone mad.

I told him I had once,
that time I ran down in my nightdress

to throw myself off the dock.

- You remember that, don't you?
- Yes.

And you want me to pay attention
to what Dr. Hardy says?

- No.
- Listen, Mama!

I'm gonna tell you,
whether you want to hear it or not.

I've got to go away to a sanatorium.

No!

How dare your father allow it!

You're my baby!

I know why
he wants to send you to a sanatorium.

To take you away from me. He's been
jealous of every one of my babies.

Of you, most of all.
He knows I love you most.

Because you're mine!

Stop talking crazy, can't you, Mama?

And stop trying to blame him.

And why are you so against
my going away now?

I've been away a lot,
and I never noticed it broke your heart.

I'm afraid you're not very
sensitive, dear.

You ought to have guessed that

after I knew you knew about me...

I had to be glad whenever you were
where you couldn't see me.

Don't, Mama.

All this talk about

loving me, and when I try to
tell you how sick I am...

You're so like your father, dear.

Love to be dramatic and tragic
so you can make a scene out of nothing.

If I gave you the slightest encouragement,

you'd tell me next you were going to die!

People do die of it. Your own father.

Why do you mention him?

No comparison at all with you.
He had consumption.

I hate it when you become
morbid and gloomy.

I forbid you to remind me
of my father's death. Do you hear?

Yes, I hear you, Mama.
I wish to God I didn't.

It's hard to take at times.

Having a dope fiend for a mother.

Forgive me.

Forgive me, Mama.

I was angry.

You hurt me.

Just listen to that foghorn.

And the bells.

Why is it fog makes
everything sound so sad, lost?

I wonder.

I can't stay here.

I don't want any dinner.

Haven't taken enough. Have to go upstairs.

I hope, sometime, without meaning to,

I'll take an overdose.

Could never do it deliberately.

The blessed Virgin would
never forgive me then.

The padlock's all scratched.

That drunken loafer's
tried to pick the lock

with a piece of wire,
the way he's done before.

But I fooled him this time.

It's a special padlock
a professional burglar couldn't pick.

Where's Edmund?

He went out.

Perhaps he's gone uptown to find Jamie.

He still has some money left.

I suppose it's burning a hole
in his pocket.

He said he didn't want any dinner.

Doesn't seem to have any appetite
these days.

But it's just a summer cold!

James!

I'm so frightened!
I know he's going to die.

Don't say that. It's not true!

They promised me,
in six months he'd be cured.

You don't believe that.
I can tell when you're acting.

And it'll be all my fault!
I should have never have borne him.

It would have been better for his sake.

I couldn't have hurt him, then.

He wouldn't have had to know
his mother was a dope fiend.

Hush, Mary. For the love of God.

He loves you.

He knows it was a curse put upon you
without your knowing or willing it.

He's proud you're his mother.

Hush, lover. Hush! Here comes Cathleen.

You don't want her to see you crying.

Dinner is served, sir.
Dinner is served, ma'am.

Come along, dear. Let's have our dinner.

I'm hungry as a hunter.

I couldn't possibly eat anything, James.

I think you'll have to excuse me.

My hands pain me dreadfully.

I think the best thing for me
is to go to bed.

And rest.

Good night, dear.

Up to take
more of that goddamn poison, is it?

You'll be like a mad ghost
before the night's over.

I don't know what you're talking about.

You say such mean, bitter things
when you've had too much to drink.

You're as bad as Jamie or Edmund.

Who's that?

- Is it you, Edmund?
- Yes!

Damn it.

Turn that light out before you come in.

Well, I'm glad you've come, lad.
I've been damn lonely.

You're a fine one,
to run away and leave me

to sit alone here all night,
when you know...

I told you to turn out that light.

We're not giving a ball.

There's no reason
to have the house ablaze with electricity

at this time of night.

- Burning up money.
- "Ablaze with electricity." One bulb!

Hell, everyone leaves a light on
at the front porch until they go to bed.

Damn near busted my knee on the hat stand.

The light from here shows in the hall.

You could see your way well enough
if you were sober.

If I was sober. I like that.

I don't give a damn what other people do.

If they want to be wasteful fools
for the sake of show, let them be!

One bulb! God. Don't be such a cheapskate.

I proved to you, by figures,
you can leave the light bulb on all night,

and it wouldn't be as much as one drink.

To hell with your figures.
The proof is in the bills I have to pay.

Yes, facts don't mean a thing, do they?

What you want to believe,
that's the only truth.

Shakespeare was an Irish Catholic,
for example.

So he was. The proof is in his plays.

Well, he wasn't, and there's no proof
of it in his plays, except to you.

The Duke of Wellington,

there was another good Irish Catholic.

I never said he was a good one.

He was a renegade,
but a Catholic just the same.

Well, he wasn't.

You just want to believe that
no one but an Irish Catholic general

could beat Napoleon.

Yes. Now, I'm not going to argue with you.

I asked you to turn out
that light in the hall.

I heard you.

And as far as I'm concerned, it stays on.

Now, none of your damned insolence.
Are you going to obey me, or not?

Not.

If you want to be a crazy miser,
put it out yourself.

Now listen to me.
I've put up with a lot from you,

because, from the mad things
you've done at times,

I've thought you weren't quite right
in your head.

I've excused you
and never lifted my hand to you,

but there's a straw
that breaks the camel's back.

You'll obey me and put out that light,

or big as you are,

I'll give you a thrashing
that'll teach you...

I'm sorry, lad. Forgive me. I forgot.

You shouldn't goad me
into losing my temper.

Forget it, Papa. I apologize, too.

I had no right being nasty about nothing.

I'm a bit soused, I guess.

- I'll put out the damn light.
- No, no, no. Stay where you are.

Let it burn.

We'll have them all on.

Let them burn!

To hell with them!

If the poorhouse is the end of the road,
it might as well be sooner as later.

That's a grand curtain.
You're a wonder, Papa!

That's right. Laugh at the poor old man.

The poor old ham.

But the final curtain will be
in the poorhouse just the same.

And that's not comedy.

Well, well, let's not argue.

You'll live to learn
the value of a dollar.

You're not like that
damn tramp of a brother.

I've given up hope he'll ever get sense.

- Where is he, by the way?
- How would I know?

I thought you went back uptown
to meet him.

No, I walked down by the beach.

I haven't seen him since this afternoon.

Well, if you shared the money
I gave you with him like a fool...

Sure I did. He always staked me
when he had anything.

Well, it doesn't take a soothsayer

to tell he's probably in the whorehouse.

For God's sake, Papa.

If you're gonna start that stuff again,
I'll beat it.

All right, all right. I'll stop.

God knows I don't like the subject either.

Will you join me in a drink?

Now you're talking.

I'm wrong to treat you.
You've had enough already.

But if you walked
all the way to the beach,

you must be damp and chilled.

I dropped in at the inn
on the way out and back.

Not a night I'd pick for a long walk.

I love the fog.

It was what I needed.

You should have more sense than to risk...

The hell with sense.

The fog was where I wanted to be.

Halfway down the path,
you can't see this house.

You'd never even know it was here.

Everything looked and sounded unreal.

It was like walking
on the bottom of the sea.

As if I had drowned, long ago.

As if I was a ghost, belonging to the fog.

And the fog was the ghost of the sea.

It felt damn peaceful to be nothing
more than a ghost within a ghost.

Don't look at me as if I'd gone nutty.

Who wants to see life as it is,
if they can help it?

You've a poet in you,
but it's a damn morbid one.

The devil take your pessimism!

I'm low-spirited enough.

Why can't you remember your Shakespeare?

You'll find
what you were trying to say in him.

We are such stuff as dreams are made on,

and our little life
is rounded with a sleep.

Fine. That's beautiful.

But I wasn't trying to say that.

We are such stuff as manure is made on,

so let's drink up and forget it.
That's more my idea.

Keep such sentiments to yourself.

I shouldn't have given you that drink.

Did pack a wallop, all right.

On you, too.

Even if you never missed a performance.

Well, what's wrong with being drunk?
It's what we're after, isn't it?

"Be always drunken. Nothing else matters.

"That is the only question.

"If you would not feel
the horrible burden of time

"weighing on your shoulders
and crushing you to the Earth,

"be drunken continually.

"Drunken with what? With wine,
with poetry or with virtue, as you will.

"But be drunken.

"And if sometimes,
on the stairs of a palace,

"or on the green side of a ditch,

"or in the dreary solitude
of your own room,

"you should awaken,
and the drunkenness be half

"or wholly slipped away from you,

"ask of the wind, or of the wave,

"or of the star, or of the bird,
or of the clock,

"of whatever flies, or sighs,
or rocks, or sings, or speaks,

"ask what hour it is,

"and the wind, waves, star, bird, clock
will answer you,

"'It is the hour to be drunken.

"'Be drunken continually.

"'With wine, with poetry, or with virtue,
as you will."'

I wouldn't worry about the virtue part
of it if I were you.

But you recited it well, lad.
Who wrote it?

Baudelaire.

Never heard of him.

Where you get your taste in authors?

This damned library of yours.

Voltaire and Rousseau
and Schopenhauer. And Ibsen.

Atheists, fools and madmen.

And your poet, this Baudelaire.

And Swinburne and Oscar Wilde,
Whitman and Poe.

Whore-mongers and degenerates.

When I've three good sets
of Shakespeare there you could read...

- They say he was a souse, too.
- They lie.

I don't doubt he liked his glass,
it's a good man's failing,

but he knew how to drink
so it didn't poison his mind

with morbidness and filth.

Don't compare him
with the pack you've got here.

Your dirty Zola.

And your Dante Gabriel Rossetti,

who was a dope fiend...

Perhaps it would be wise
to change the subject.

You can't accuse me
of not knowing Shakespeare.

Didn't I win $5 from you
once when you bet me

I couldn't learn a leading part of his
in a week as you used to do

in stock in the old days?

I learned Macbeth
and recited it letter-perfect,

with you giving me the cues.

That's true, so you did.

And a terrible ordeal it was.

I remember hearing you murder the lines.

I kept wishing I'd paid over the bet
without making you prove it.

Did you hear?

She's moving around.

I hope to God she doesn't come down.

Yes, she'd be nothing more than a ghost
haunting the past by this time,

back before I was born.

Doesn't she do the same with me?

You must take her memories
with a grain of salt.

Her wonderful home was ordinary enough.

Her father wasn't the great,
noble Irish gentleman she makes out.

He was a nice enough man,
good company, a good talker.

I liked him, and he liked me.

He was prosperous enough, too,
at his wholesale grocery business.

An able man. But he had his weakness.

She condemns my drinking,
but she forgets his.

It's true he never
touched a drop until he was 40,

but after that, he made up for lost time.

He became a steady champagne drinker.

The worst kind.

That was his grand pose,
to drink only champagne.

Well, it finished him quick.

That and the consumption.

We don't seem to be able
to avoid unpleasant topics, do we?

No.

Well, what do you say to a game or two
of casino, lad?

All right.

We can't lock up and go to bed
till Jamie comes on the last trolley.

Which I hope he won't.

I don't want to go upstairs anyway
till she's gone to sleep.

Neither do I.

As I told you before,

you must take her tales of the past
with a grain of salt.

The piano playing and her dream
of becoming a concert pianist,

it was put in her head
by the nuns flattering her.

She was their pet.
They loved her for being so devout.

And the idea she might have become a nun,

that's the worst.

Your mother was
one of the most beautiful girls

you ever could see.

She knew it, too.

She was a bit of a rogue and a coquette,
God bless her,

behind all her shyness and blushes.

She was never made to renounce the world.

She was bursting with health
and high spirits,

and the love of loving.

For God's sake, Papa. Pick up your hand.

Yes, yes.

Let's see what I have here.

Listen.

She's coming downstairs.

Let's play our game,
pretend not to notice.

She'll soon go up again.

I don't see her.

She must have started down
and turned back.

Thank God.

Yes.

It's pretty horrible to see her
the way she must be now.

She's been terribly frightened about
your illness, for all her pretending.

Don't be too hard on her, lad.
Remember, she's not responsible.

I know damn well she's not to blame.

And I know who is.

You are, your damn stinginess.

If you'd spent money on a decent doctor
when she was so sick after I was born,

she'd have never known morphine existed.

You must try to see
my side of it, too, lad.

How was I to know
he was that kind of doctor?

He'd a good reputation.

Among the souses in the hotel bar,
I suppose.

You lie! I asked the hotel proprietor
to recommend the best...

At the same time, crying "poorhouse"

and making it plain
you wanted a cheap one.

I know your system.
God, I ought to, after this afternoon.

What about this afternoon?

Never mind now. We're talking about Mama.

I'm saying, no matter how you try
and excuse yourself,

you know damn well
your stinginess was to blame.

I say you're a liar!
Shut your mouth right now, or--

After you found out
she'd been made a morphine addict,

why didn't you send her to a cure then,
at the start,

when she still had a chance?

What did I know about morphine?

It was years
before I discovered what was wrong.

Why didn't I send her to a cure, you say?

I've spent thousands on thousands
in cures.

A waste. What good have they done her?

She's always started again.

Yes, because you've never
given her anything

that would help her want to stay off it.

No home except this summer dump
in a place she hates.

And you've refused to spend money
even to make this look decent.

But you keep buying more property
and playing sucker

for every conman
with a gold mine or a silver mine

or any other get-rich-quick swindle.

You've dragged her around
on the road, season after season,

on one-night stands
with no one she could talk to.

Waiting night after night
in dirty hotel rooms

for you to come home with a bun on
after the bars closed.

Is it any wonder
she didn't want to be cured?

God, God!
When I think of it, I hate your guts!

Edmund! How dare you talk
to your father like that,

you insolent young cub!

After all I've done for you.

We'll come to that,
what you're doing for me.

Will you stop repeating
your mother's crazy accusations?

I never dragged her
on the road against her will.

Naturally, I wanted her with me.
I loved her.

And she came because she loved me
and wanted to be with me.

That's the truth.

And she needn't have been lonely.
She had her children.

And I insisted, in spite of the expense,
on having a nurse to travel with her.

Yes, your one generosity.

And that because you were jealous
of her spending too much time with us,

and wanted us out of your way.

And that was another mistake, too!

If she'd had to take care of me
all by herself,

and had that to occupy her mind,

maybe she'd have been able to stop!

Or, for that matter,
since you insist on judging things

by what she says
when she's not in her right mind,

if you'd never been born, she'd never...

Sure.

I know that's how she feels, Papa.

She doesn't.

She loves you as dearly
as ever a mother loved a son.

I only said that because
you put me in such a goddamn rage,

raking up the past, saying you hate me.

I didn't mean it, Papa.

I'm like Mama.

I can't help liking you,
in spite of everything.

Well, I might say the same of you.

You're no great shakes as a son.

It's a case of
"A poor thing but mine own."

Well, what's happened to our game?

- Who's play is it?
- Yours, I guess.

Mustn't let yourself be
too downhearted, lad,

by the bad news you had today.

Both doctors promised me

if you obey orders at this place
you're going,

you'll be cured in six months
or a year at most.

Don't kid me.

They think I'm gonna die.

That's a lie! You're crazy!

So why waste money?

That's why you're sending me
to a state farm.

What state farm?
It's the Hilltown Sanatorium.

That's all I know. Both doctors told me
it was the best place for you.

For the money.
Or for nothing, or practically nothing.

Don't lie, Papa.

You know damn well Hilltown
Sanatorium is a state institution.

Jamie suspected
you'd cry poorhouse to Hardy.

And he wormed the truth out of him.

That drunken loafer!
I'll kick him out in the gutter!

He's poisoned your mind against me

ever since you were old enough to listen.

You can't deny it's the truth
about the state farm, can you?

It's not true, the way you look at it.
What if it is run by the state?

That's nothing against it.

The state has the money
to make a better place

than any private sanatorium.

And why shouldn't I take advantage of it?

It's my right and yours.
We're residents, I'm a property holder.

I help to support it.
I'm taxed to death...

Yes, on property valued
at a quarter of a million.

Lies. It's all mortgaged.

Hardy and the specialist
know what you're worth.

All I told them was I was no millionaire
that could afford such a sanatorium,

because I was land poor. That's the truth.

And then, you went to the club,
and you met McGuire,

and let him stick you
with another bum piece of property!

- It's not true the way you look at it.
- Don't lie about it!

We met McGuire in the hotel bar
after you left.

Jamie kidded him about hooking you.
And he winked and laughed.

- You liar...
- Don't lie about it!

God, Papa!

Ever since I went to sea and was on my own

and found out what it felt like
to be broke and starve,

I've tried to be fair to you,

because I knew
what you were up against as a kid.

I tried to make allowances.

You have to make allowances
in this damn family or go nuts.

But to think when it's a question
of your own son having consumption,

you can show yourself up
before the whole town

as being such a stinking old tightwad!

Don't you know Hardy will talk
and the whole damn town will know?

God, Papa! Haven't you any pride or shame?

And don't think I'll let you
get away with it.

I won't go to any damn state farm
just to save you a few lousy dollars

to buy some more bum property with!

You stinking old miser!

Be quiet! Don't say that to me.

You're drunk. I won't mind you.

Stop coughing, lad.

You've got yourself worked up
over nothing.

Who said you had to go
to this Hilltown place?

You can go anywhere you like.

I don't care a damn what it costs.
All I care about is to have you get well.

Don't call me a stinking miser

just because I don't want doctors to think

I'm a millionaire they can swindle.

You look weak, lad.

Better take a bracer.

Thanks.

Well. Whose play is it?

A stinking old miser.

Well, maybe you're right.

Maybe I can't help being.

Although, all my life,
since I had anything,

I've thrown money over the bar to buy
drinks for everyone in the house,

or loaned money to sponges
I knew would never pay back.

But of course, that was in barrooms
when I was full of whiskey.

Can't feel that way about it
when I'm sober in my home.

It was at home I first learned the value
of a dollar and the fear of a poorhouse.

I've never been able to believe
in my luck since.

You said you realized
what I'd been up against as a boy.

The hell you do. How could you?

You had everything. Nurses, schools.

I know you had a spell of hard work
with your back and hands.

And a bit of being homeless
and penniless in a foreign land,

and I respect you for it.

But it was a game of romance
and adventure to you. It was play!

Yes, particularly the time
I tried to commit suicide

at Jimmie the priest's, and almost did.

You weren't in your right mind.

No son of mine would ever...
You were drunk!

I was stone cold sober.
That was the trouble.

I stopped to think too long.

Don't start your damn
atheist morbidness again.

I don't care to listen.

I was trying to make plain to you...

What do you know of the value of a dollar?

When I was 10,

my father deserted my mother
and went back to Ireland to die.

Which he did, soon enough.

And deserved to,
and I hope he's roasting in hell.

He mistook rat poison for flour
or sugar or something.

There was gossip it wasn't by mistake,
but that's a lie.

- No one in my family...
- My bet is, it wasn't by mistake.

More morbidness.
Your brother put that in your head.

The worst he can suspect's
the only truth for him.

But never mind.

My mother was left

a stranger in a strange land,
with four small children.

There was no damned romance
in our poverty.

Twice, we were evicted from
a miserable hovel we'd called home.

My mother's few sticks of
furniture thrown out in the gutter.

My mother and sisters crying.

I cried, too, though I tried hard not to.

For I was the man of the family.

At 10 years old!

There was no more school for me.

Went to work 12 hours a day
in a machine shop.

Learning to make files.

Dirty barn of a place
where rain dripped through the roof.

We roasted in summer.
There was no stove in winter.

And your hands were numb with cold.

The only light came through
two small, filthy windows.

So on gray days I'd have to sit bent over,

my eyes almost touching
the files in order to see.

You talk of work.

What do you think I got for it?

Fifty cents a week.

It's the truth! Fifty cents a week!

My poor mother washed
and scrubbed for the Yanks.

Well, I remember one Thanksgiving,

or maybe it was Christmas,

some Yank, in whose house
Mother had been scrubbing,

gave her a dollar extra for a present,

and on the way home,
she spent it all on food.

I can remember her hugging
and kissing us and saying,

with tears of joy running
down her tired face,

"Glory be to God. For once in our lives,
there will be enough for each of us."

A fine, brave, sweet woman.

Never was a finer or a braver.

Yes, she must have been.

It was in those days
I learned to be a miser.

A dollar was worth so much then.

Once you've learned to listen,
it's hard to unlearn it.

You have to look for bargains.

If I took this state farm
for a good bargain,

you'll have to forgive me.

The doctors did tell me
it was a good place.

You must believe that, Edmund.

And I swear I never meant you
to go there if you didn't want to.

You can go to any place you choose.
Never mind what it costs.

Any place I can afford.

Any place within reason.

What about our game?

- Whose play is it?
- I don't know.

Mine, I guess.

No, it's yours.

Yes! Maybe life overdid the lesson for me.

And made a dollar worth too much.

And that mistake
ruined my career as a fine actor.

I've never admitted this
to anyone before, lad.

But tonight I'm so heartsick,
I feel at the end of everything.

And what's the use
of fake pride and pretense?

That goddamn play I bought for a song

and made such a great success in,
a great money success,

it ruined me with
its promise of an easy fortune.

I didn't want to do anything else.

By the time I woke up to the fact that
I'd become a slave to the damn thing,

and did try other plays, it was too late.

They'd identified me with that one part
and didn't want me in anything else.

They were right, too.

I'd lost the great talent I once had

through years of easy repetition,
never learning a new part,

never really working hard.

35 to $40,000 net profit a season.

Like snapping your fingers.

Before I bought the damn thing,

I was considered
one of the three or four young actors

with the greatest
artistic promise in America.

I'd worked like hell.

I left a good job as a machinist
to take supers' parts

because I loved the theater.

I was wild with ambition.

I read all the plays ever written!

I studied Shakespeare
as you'd study the Bible.

I got rid of an Irish brogue
you could cut with a knife.

I loved Shakespeare.

I would have acted in any of his plays
for nothing,

for the joy of being alive
in his great poetry.

I could have been a great
Shakespearean actor if I'd kept on.

In 1874, when Edwin Booth came
to the theater in Chicago

where I was leading man,

I played Cassius to his Brutus one night,
Brutus to his Cassius the next,

Othello to his Iago, and so on.

The first night I played Othello,
he said to our manager,

"That young man's playing Othello
better than I ever did."

That from Booth!

The greatest actor
of his day or any other.

As I look back on it now,

that night was the high spot of my career.

I had life where I wanted it.

And for a time after that,
I kept on upward, with ambition high.

Married your mother.

Ask her what I was like in those days.

Her love was an added
incentive to ambition.

Then, a few years later,

my good bad luck made me
find the big moneymaker.

And then, life had me where it wanted me.

I'd from 35,000 to 40,000
net profit a season.

A fortune in those days.

Even in these.

What the hell was it
I wanted to buy, I wonder,

that was worth...

Well.

It's a late day for regrets.

My play, isn't it?

I'm glad you told me this, Papa.

I know you a lot better now.

Well, maybe I shouldn't have told you.

Maybe you'll only feel
more contempt for me.

It's a poor way to convince you
of the value of a dollar...

The glare from those extra lights
hurts my eyes.

You don't mind if I turn them out, do you?

We don't need them.

There's no point in making
the electric light company rich.

No, sure not. Turn them out.

No, I don't know what the hell
it was I wanted to buy.

On my solemn oath, Edmund.

I'd gladly face not having
an acre of land to call my own,

nor a penny in the bank.

I'd be willing to have no home
but the poorhouse in my old age...

If I could look back now
on having been the fine artist

I might have been.

What the devil are you laughing at?

Not at you, Papa.

At life. It's so damn crazy.

More of your morbidness.

There's nothing wrong with life!
It's we who...

"The fault, dear Brutus,

"is not in our stars, but in ourselves,

"that we are underlings."

The praise Edwin Booth gave my Othello.

I made our manager write down
his exact words in writing.

I kept it in my wallet for years.

I used to read it every once in a while,

until finally it made me feel so bad,
I couldn't face it anymore.

Where is it now, I wonder?

Somewhere in this house.

I remember. I put it away carefully.

Might be in an old trunk in the attic,
along with Mama's wedding dress.

For Pete's sake, Papa,
if we're gonna play cards, let's play.

She's still moving around.

God knows when she'll go to sleep.

For God's sake, Papa, forget it!

You just told me some
high spots in your memories.

You want to hear mine?
They're all connected with the sea.

Here's one, when I was on
the Square-head square-rigger,

bound for Buenos Aires.

A full moon in the trades,
the old hooker driving 14 knots.

I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern.

The water foaming into spume under me.

The masts with every sail
white in the moonlight,

towering high above me.

I became drunk with the beauty
and singing rhythm of it.

And for a moment, I lost myself...
Actually lost my life.

I was set free. I dissolved in the sea.

Became white sails and flying spray.
Became beauty and rhythm.

Became the ship and the moonlight
and the high dim-starred sky.

I belonged, without past or future,

within peace and unity, and a wild joy,

to something greater than my own life
or the life of man.

To life itself.

To God, if you want to put it that way.

And several other times in my life,

when I was swimming far out,
or lying alone on a beach,

I've had the same experience.

Became the sun, the hot sand,

or green seaweed anchored to a rock,
swaying in the tide.

Like a saint's vision of beatitude.

Like the veil of things
as it seems drawn back

by an unseen hand.

For a second, you see.

And seeing the secret, are the secret.

For a second, there's meaning. Then...

And then the hand lets the veil fall.
And you're alone.

Lost in the fog again.

It's a great mistake, my being born a man.

I would have been much more successful

as a seagull or a fish.

As it is, I'll always be a stranger
who can never really feel at home.

Who does not really want,
is not really wanted,

and never really belonged,

and who must always be
a little in love with death.

Yes, you've the makings
of a poet in you, all right.

"The makings of a poet"?

No, I'm... I'm afraid I'm like the guy
who's always panhandling for a smoke.

He hasn't even got the makings,
he's only got the habit.

I couldn't touch what I was
trying to tell you just now.

I only stammered.

That's the best I'll ever do.
I mean, if I live.

That's faithful realism, at least.

Stammering's the native
eloquence of us fog people.

Well, that sounds like absent brother.

He must have a peach of a bun on.

That loafer!
He caught the last car, bad luck to it.

Get him to bed, Edmund.
I'll go out on the back porch.

He has a tongue like an adder
when he's drunk.

I'd only lose my temper.

What ho, what ho... Geez!

Nix on the loud noise.

Hello, kid.

I'm as drunk as a fiddler's bitch.

- Thanks for telling me your great secret.
- Yeah.

Unnecessary information number one, huh?

Had a serious accident.

Front steps tried to trample on me.

Took advantage of the fog to waylay me.

Ought to be another lighthouse out there.

God, it's dark in here, too.

What the hell is this? The morgue?

"Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river

"In the dark

"Keep the crossing-stakes beside you

"An' they will surely guide you
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river

"In the dark"

There. That's more like it.

Well, the hell with old Gaspard.

Where's that old tightwad?

He's out on the porch.

Can't expect us to live in the...

Black Hole of Calcutta!

Say.

Have I got the DTs?

My God! It's real.

Hey, what's the matter
with the old man tonight?

He must be ossified
to forget he left this out.

Well, grab opportunity by the forelock.

That's the key to my success.

You're stinking now.
That'll knock you stiff.

Wisdom from the mouth of babes.

Can the wise stuff, kid.
You're still wet behind the ears.

All right. Pass out if you want to.

I can't. That's the trouble.

I had enough to sink a ship,
but I can't sink.

Well, here's hoping.

I'll have one, too.

No. No, you don't. Not while I'm around.

Remember doctor's orders!

Maybe no one else gives a damn if you die.

But I do.

My kid brother. Love your guts, kid.

Everything else is gone.
You're all I got left.

So no booze for you if I can help it.

Lay off.

You don't believe I care, huh?
Just drunken bull.

All right. Go ahead and kill yourself.

Sure, I know you care, Jamie.

And I'm goin' on the wagon.
But tonight doesn't count.

Too many damn things have happened today.

- Here's how.
- I know, kid.

Been a lousy day for you.

I bet ol' Gaspard hasn't tried
to keep you off the booze.

No. He'll probably give you a case

to take with you to the state farm
for pauper patients.

The sooner you kick the bucket,
the less expense.

Yeah, what a bastard to have for a father.

God, if you put him in a book,
no one would believe it.

Well, Papa's all right,
if you try and understand him.

And keep your sense of humor.

He's been putting
on the old sob act for you, huh?

Well, he can always fool you, but not me!

Never again.

Though I do feel sorry for him,
in a way, about one thing.

But he even had that coming to him.
He's to blame.

Hell with that.

That last drink is really gettin' to me,
and this one ought to put the lights out!

Say, did you tell old Gaspard
I got it out of Doc Hardy

that this sanatorium was a charity dump?

- Yes.
- Yeah.

I told him I wouldn't go there.
It's all settled now.

He said I can go anywhere I want.

- What?
- "Within reason, of course."

Yes. "Of course, my boy. Anything!
Within reason."

That means another cheap dump!

Old Gaspard, the miser in The Bells.
It's a part he can play without makeup.

I've heard that Gaspard stuff
a million times.

All right.

If you're satisfied,
let him get away with it.

It's your funeral.

I mean, I hope it won't be.

What did you do uptown tonight?
Go to Mamie Burns'?

Sure thing.

Where else would I find
suitable feminine companionship?

And love. Don't forget love.

What is man, without a good woman's love?

A god-damned hollow hole.

You're a nut!

Hey, guess which one of Mamie's charmers

I picked to bless me
with her woman's love?

It'll hand you a laugh, kid.

I picked Fat Violet.

- No! Honest?
- Yeah.

Some pick! God. God!

She weighs a ton.

- What the hell for, a joke?
- No, no. No joke.

Very serious.

By the time I hit Mamie's dump
I was feeling very sorry for myself.

And all the other poor bums in the world.

Ready for a weep on any old womanly bosom.

You know how you get when
the old John Barleycorn turns on

the soft music inside of you.

And then as soon as I hit the door,
Mamie began telling me her troubles.

She beefed how rotten business was.
She was gonna give Fat Violet the gate.

Customers didn't fall for Vi.

The only reason she kept her
was she could play the piano.

Lately, Vi has been going on drunks,
and has been getting too boiled to play

and was eatin' her out of house and home.

And although Vi was
a good-hearted dumbbell,

and she felt sorry for her

'cause she didn't know how in the hell
she'd make a living,

still, business was business!

She couldn't afford
to run a home for fat tarts!

Well, that made me
feel very sorry for Fat Violet.

So I squandered two bucks

of your dough to escort her upstairs.

With no dishonorable intentions whatever.

I like 'em fat, but not that fat.

All I wanted was a little
heart-to-heart talk,

concerning the infinite sorrow of life.

Poor Vi.

She stood it for a while.
Then she got good and sore!

Got the idea I'd taken her
upstairs as a joke!

Gave me a grand bawling out!

Yeah. Then she began to cry.

So I had to say I loved her
because she was fat.

And she wanted to believe that,

and I stayed with her to prove it.

And that cheered her up.

She kissed me when I left,

said she'd fallen hard for me,

and we both cried a little more
in the hallway,

and everything was fine.

Except Mamie Burns
thought I'd gone bughouse.

"Harlots and hunted have
pleasures of their own to give,

"The vulgar herd can never understand"

Exactly! And a hell of
a good time at that!

This night has opened mine eyes

to a great career in store for me, my boy.

I shall give the art of acting
back to the performing seals.

Which are its most perfect expression.

By applying my natural, God-given
talents in their proper sphere,

I shall attain the pinnacle of success!

I'll be the lover of the fat woman
in the Barnum & Bailey Circus!

Imagine me sunk to the fat girl
in a hick town hooker shop.

Me! Who's had some
of the best lookers on Broadway

sit up and beg.

Speakin' in general,
I 'ave tried 'em all...

The 'appy roads which
take you o'er the world.

It's not so "'appy."

Happy roads is bunk.

Weary roads is right.

They get you nowhere fast.

And that's where I got.

Nowhere. Where everyone lands in the end,

even if most of the suckers
won't admit it.

Can it. You'll be cryin' in a minute.

Hey!

Don't get too damn fresh.

But you're right. The hell with repining!
Fat Violet is a good kid.

I'm glad I stayed with her.
It was a Christian act.

Cured her blues. A hell of a good time.

You should have stuck around with me, kid.

Taken your mind off your troubles.

What's the use of comin' home to get
the blues over what can't be helped?

It's all over. Finished!

No, not a hope.

"If I were hanged on the highest hill

"Mother o' mine

"O mother o' mine

"I know whose love would follow me still"

Shut up.

Where's the hophead? Gone to sleep?

You dirty bastard!

Thanks, kid. I certainly had that coming.

I don't know what made me.

Booze talkin'. You know me, kid.

God, Jamie.

No matter how drunk you are,
that's no excuse.

I'm sorry, I...

You and I never scrap that bad.

It's all right, kid. I'm glad you did.

My dirty tongue, I'd like to cut it out.

I suppose it's because
I feel so damned sunk.

Because, this time, Mama had me fooled.

Suppose I can't forgive her yet.

It meant so much.

I'd begun to hope
if she'd beaten the game,

maybe I could, too.

God, don't I know how you feel.

No.

Oh, God.

I've known about Mama
so much longer than you.

I'll never forget the first time
I got wise.

I caught her in the act with a hypo!

God!

I never believed before
that anyone but whores took dope.

Stop it, Jamie.

And then that stuff
of your getting consumption.

That's got me licked.

We've been more than brothers.

The only pal I ever had.

I love your guts, kid.
I'd do anything for you.

I know that, Jamie.

Yeah.

And I bet you've heard Mama
and old Gaspard

spilling so much bunk
about my hoping for the worst,

you suspect right now
I'm thinking to myself

that Papa is old,
he can't last much longer,

and if you were to die,
Mama and I'd get all he's got.

- So I'm probably hoping that...
- Shut up, you damned fool.

What the hell put that in your nut?

That's what I'd like to know.
What put that in your mind?

Don't be a dumbbell.

What I said.

I'm always suspected
of hoping for the worst.

I got so I can't help it.

Hey.

What are you tryin' to do? Accuse me?

Now, don't you play the wise guy with me.

Learned more about life
than you'll ever know.

Just because you read
a lot of highbrow junk,

don't think you can fool me.

You're only an overgrown kid.
Mama's baby. Papa's pet.

The family white hope. The...

You're getting a swelled head
lately about nothing.

About a few poems
in a hick town newspaper.

Hell, I used to write better stuff
for the lit magazine in college.

You better wake up!
You're setting no rivers on fire.

You let these hick town boobs here

flatter you with bunk about your future!

Hell, kid.

Forget that.

That goes for Sweeny.
You know I didn't mean it.

No one is prouder
you started to make good.

Well, why shouldn't I be proud, huh?

You reflect credit on me.

I had more to do with
bringing you up than anybody.

I wised you up about women
so you'd never be the fall guy

and make any mistakes
you didn't wanna make.

And who steered you onto readin'
that poetry first, huh?

Swinburne, for example... I did!

And because I once wanted to write,

I put in your head that someday
you'd write.

Hell, you're more than my brother.

I made you!

You are my Frankenstein!

All right. I'm your Frankenstein.

So, let's have another drink?

You crazy nut.

No. I'll have a drink, not you.

I gotta take care of you.

Listen, kid.

You'll be going away.

I may not get another chance to talk,

or I may not be drunk enough
to tell you the truth,

so I gotta tell you now
something I ought to told you

a long time ago for your own good.

Now, no drunken bull, but in vino veritas.

You better take this seriously.

I wanna warn you against me.

Mama and Papa are right.
I've been a rotten, bad influence.

But worst of all is, I did it on purpose.

- I don't wanna hear...
- Nix, kid.

You listen.

I did it on purpose
to make a bum out of you.

Or part of me did. A big part.

The part that's been dead
so long, it hates life.

My putting you wise
so you'd learn from my mistakes, eh?

Well, I believe that myself
at times, but it's a fake!

Made my mistakes look good.

Made getting drunk romantic.

Made whores fascinating vampires,

instead of poor, stupid,
diseased slobs they really are.

Made fun of work as a sucker's game.

I never wanted you to succeed

and make me look even worse by comparison.

Wanted you to fail.

Always jealous of ya.

Mama's baby! Papa's pet!

And it was your bein' born
that started Mama on dope.

I know that's not your fault,
but all the same, God damn you!

I can't help hating your guts!

- Cut it out, Jamie.
- But don't get me wrong, kid.

I love you more than I hate you.

My telling what I'm telling you now
proves it,

because I run the risk you'll hate me,
and you're all I got left.

I...

I... I didn't mean to tell you
all that last stuff...

Go that far back.

I don't know what made me.

Well, what I wanted to say is,

I'd like to see you become
the greatest success in the world.

But you better be on your guard,

'cause I'm gonna do my damnedest
to make ya fail.

I can't help it.

I hate myself.

I gotta take revenge
on everyone else, especially you.

The dead part of me
hopes you won't get well.

Maybe he's even glad
the game's got Mama again.

He wants company!

He doesn't wanna be
the only corpse around the house.

God, Jamie. You're crazy.

No. You think it over.
You'll see I'm right. Think it over!

When you're away from me
in the sanatorium,

make up your mind
you gotta tie a can to me.

Get me out of your life!
Think of me as dead.

Tell people,
"I had a brother, but he's dead."

And when you come back,
you look out for me,

because I'll be waiting to welcome ya
with that "my old pal" stuff

and give ya the glad hand.

And the first good chance I gets,
I'm gonna stab you in the back.

Shut up! I'll be goddamned
if I'll listen--

Only don't you forget me.

Remember, I warned you for your sake.

Come on! Give me credit.

"Greater love hath no man than this,

"that he saveth his brother from himself."

That's all.

Finished now. I've gone to confession.

I know you absolve me, don't you, kid?

You understand. You're a damned fine kid.

You ought to be. I made you.

So go and get well.

Don't die on me. You're all I got left.

God bless, kid.

That last drink.

The old KO.

Thank God he's asleep.

I thought he'd never stop talking.

You better let him stay
where he is and sleep it off.

I heard the last part of his talk.
It's what I warned you.

I hope you'll heed the warning,
now it comes from his own mouth.

Mustn't take it too much to heart,
though, lad.

He loves to exaggerate
the worst in himself when he's drunk.

He's devoted to you.
It's the one good thing left in him.

A sweet spectacle for me.

My firstborn, who I hoped would bear
my name in honor and dignity,

who showed such brilliant promise.

- Keep quiet, can't you, Papa?
- A waste. A wreck.

A drunken hulk, done with and finished.

"Clarence is come.

"False, fleeting, perjured Clarence,

"that stabbed me
in the field by Tewksbury.

"Seize on him, furies,
and take him into torment."

What the hell are you staring at?

"Look in my face.
My name is Might-have-been.

"I am also called No-more,
Too-late, Farewell."

I am well aware of that,
and God knows I don't want to look at it.

Papa, quit it.

You know, I got a great idea
for you, Papa.

Put on a revival of The Bells this season.

There's a great part
in there you can play without makeup.

- Old Gaspard, the miser!
- Shut up, Jamie.

I claim that Edwin Booth never saw the day

when he could give as good
a performance as a trained seal.

Seals are intelligent and honest.

They don't put on any bluffs about
the art of acting.

They admit they're just hams
earning their daily fish.

- You loafer!
- Papa, you want to start a row

that'll bring Mama down?

Jamie, go to sleep.

You've shot off your mouth
too much already.

All right, kid.

I'm not lookin' for an argument.

- Too damned sleepy.
- I wish to God she'd go to bed

so that I could, too.

I'm dog-tired.

I can't stay up all night like I used to.
I'm getting old.

Old and finished.

I can't keep my eyes open.

I think I'll catch a few winks.

Why don't you do the same, Edmund?

It'll pass the time until she...

A mad scene.

Enter Ophelia.

Good boy, Edmund!
The dirty blackguard. His own mother.

All right, kid. I had that coming.

But I told you how much I hoped...

I'll kick you out in the gutter tomorrow,
so help me God.

Oh, my God. Papa.

Jamie.

For the love of God, stop it.

I play so badly now.

I'm all out of practice.

Sister Theresa will give me
a dreadful scolding.

She'll tell me it isn't fair to my father,

when he spends so much money
for extra lessons.

She's quite right. It isn't fair
when he's so good and generous

and so proud of me.

I'll practice every day from now on.

Something horrible
has happened to my hands.

Fingers have gotten all stiff.
The knuckles are all swollen.

They're so ugly.

I'll go to the infirmary
and show Sister Martha.

She's old and a little cranky,
but I love her just the same.

She has things in her medicine chest
that'll cure anything.

She'll give me something
to rub on my hands

and tell me to pray to the blessed Virgin,
be well again in no time.

Let... Let me see...

What did I come here to find?

It's terrible how absentminded
I've become.

Always dreaming and forgetting.

Here. Let me take it, dear.

You'll only step on it,
and then you'll be sorry afterwards.

Thank you. You're very kind.

It's a wedding gown.
It's very lovely, isn't it?

I remember now.

I found it in the attic hidden in a trunk.

I... I don't know what I wanted it for.

I'm going to be a nun...

That is,

if I can only find...

What is it I'm looking for?

I know it's something I lost.

- There, there.
- It's no good, Papa.

Something I... I miss terribly.

- It can't be altogether lost.
- Mama?

- Something...
- Hell. What's the use? It's no good.

I need terribly.

I remember. When I had it,
I was never lonely nor afraid.

I can't have lost it forever.

I'd die if I thought that,

because then there would be no hope.

Mama?

It's not just a summer cold.

I've got consumption.

No! No!

You must not try to hold me.
You must not try to touch me.

Ya damned fool. It's no good.

It's not right,
when I'm hoping to be a nun.

We're fools to pay any attention.

It's that damned poison.

I never knew her to drown herself in it
as deep as this before.

Pass me that bottle, Jamie.

I had a talk with Mother Elizabeth.

She's so sweet and good.

A saint on Earth.

I love her dearly.

It may be sinful of me, but I love her
better than my own mother,

'cause she always understands,
even before you say a word.

Those kind, blue eyes
look right into your heart.

Can't keep any secrets from her.

Couldn't deceive her even if
you were mean enough to want to.

All the same,

I... I don't think she was
so understanding this time.

I told her I wanted to be a nun.

I explained how sure I was of my vocation,

and that I had prayed
to the blessed Virgin

to make me sure and to find me worthy.

I told Mother I had had a true vision

when I was praying in the shrine
of our Lady of Lourdes

on the little island in the lake.

I said I knew as surely as I knew
I was kneeling there,

that the blessed Virgin had smiled

and given me her consent.

But Mother Elizabeth said I must
be more sure than that,

even, that I must prove it
wasn't simply my imagination.

She said if I was so sure,

then I wouldn't mind
putting myself to a test

by going home after I had graduated
and living as other girls lived.

Going out to parties and dances
and enjoying myself.

And then, if after a year or two,
I still felt sure,

I could come back to see her,
and we would talk it over again.

I never dreamed Holy Mother
would give me such advice.

I was really shocked.

I said, naturally, I...
I would do anything she suggested,

but I knew it was simply a waste of time.

After I left her,

I felt all mixed-up,

so I went to the shrine,

and I prayed to the blessed Virgin

and found peace again,

because I knew she heard my prayer
and would always love me.

And see no harm ever came to me,

so long...

So long as I never lost my faith in her.

That was in the winter of senior year.

Then in the spring,
something happened to me.

Yes. I remember.

I fell in love with James Tyrone,

and was so happy for a time.