Part 13 (1/2)

He sits down on the bed and remains for several minutes, his head in his hands.

The Lieutenant--G.o.d, I'm drunk--(after a pause)--drunk again--well, what of it--what the h.e.l.l difference does it make--get drunk if I want to--sure I will--get drunk--that's the dope DRUNK--oh Christ--!

He throws himself on the bed and after lying there a few minutes sits up.

The Lieutenant--Gotta have another drink--can't go sleep, G.o.d d.a.m.n it--brain too clear--gotta kill brain--that's the dope--kill brain--forget--wipe out past--

He opens the trunk in his search for liquor. He suddenly pulls out his lieutenant's coat and holds it up.

The Lieutenant--There's that G.o.d d.a.m.n thing--never wanted to see it again--wound stripes on right sleeve, too--hurrah for brave soldier--arm shot off to--to make world safe for democracy--blaa--the G.o.d d.a.m.n hypocrites--democracy h.e.l.l--arm shot off because I wasn't clever enough to stay out of it--ought to have had sense enough to join the--the ordinance department or--or the Y.M.C.A.

He feels aimlessly through the pockets of the coat. Suddenly, from the inside breast pocket he draws out something--a photograph--

The Lieutenant--Ellen! Oh G.o.d!

He gazes at the picture for a long time.

The Lieutenant--Yes, Ellen, I should have joined the Y.M.C.A. shouldn't I?--where they don't get their arms shot off--couldn't marry a man with one arm, could you?--of course not--think of looking at an empty sleeve year after year--children might be born with only one arm, too--children--oh G.o.d d.a.m.n you, Ellen, you and your Y.M.C.A. husband!

He tears the picture in two and hurls it into the trunk. Then he sinks onto the bed, sobbing drunkenly. After a few minutes, he walks over to the trunk and picks up one half of the torn picture. He turns it over in his hand and reads the writing on the back.

The Lieutenant (Reading)--”I'm waiting for you, dear--when you have done your bit 'for the freedom of the world'.”

He smiles, wearily, and reaches down to pick up the other half of the picture. His eye is caught by something s.h.i.+ny; it is his army revolver.

He slowly picks it up and looks at it for a long time.

The Lieutenant--For the freedom of the world--

He quickly opens his top bureau drawer and takes out a box of cartridges. One of these he inserts in a chamber of his revolver.

The Lieutenant--For the FREEDOM--

He laughs.

As the curtain falls he presses the revolver against his temple and fires.

SCENE 2

A bare room in a boarding house. To the left is a bed, to the right a grand piano--the latter curiously out of keeping with the other cheap furnis.h.i.+ngs. The room is in partial darkness.

The door slowly swings open; the Angel and the Professor's Son enter.

The Angel--And here you have the room of your friend the p.a.w.nbroker's Son--the musical genius--with a brilliant future.

They hide in a closet, leaving the door partly open.

Enter Jean, the p.a.w.nbroker's Son. He has on a cutaway suit--a relic of his first and last public concert before the war. His shoulders sag dejectedly and his face is drawn and white. He comes in and sits on the bed. A knock--a determined knock--is heard at the door but Jean does not move. The door opens and his landlady--a shrewish, sharp faced woman of 40--appears. He gets up off the bed when he sees her and bows.

The Landlady--I forgot you was deef or I wouldn't have wasted my time hitting my knuckles against your door.