Love’s Old Sweet Song by William Saroyan THE PEOPLE ANN HAMILTON, 44, a beautiful unmarried small-town woman GEORGIE AMERICANOS, a Postal Telegraph messenger BARNABY GAUL, 51, a pitchman TOM FIORA, another messenger DEMETRIOS AMERICANOS, an American citizen CABOT YEARLING, a family man LEONA YEARLING, 44, his wife NEWTON YEARLING, 19, their half-wit son Twins: [VELMA YEARLING SELMA YEARLING] Their Children: [AL YEARLING ELLA YEARLING HENRY YEARLING JESSE YEARLING SUSAN YEARLING MAUD YEARLING LEMMIE YEARLING MAE YEARLING HARRY YEARLING WILBUR YEARLING LUCY YEARLING] RICHARD OLIVER, an unpublished writer ELSA WAX, a photographer for Life Magazine DAVID F. WINDMORE, a college man DANIEL HOUGH, a farmer MR. SMITH, a representative of the West Coast Novelty Amusement Company MR. Harris, his associate PASS LE NOIR, a sheriff STYLIANOS AMERICANOS, 41, Georgie’s father, a wrestler PERICLES AMERICANOS, 71, Stylianos’ father THE PLACE Outside Ann Hamilton’s House at 333 Orchard Avenue, Bakersfield, California The parlour of the Americanos’ home. THE TIME Late morning and afternoon of Friday, 15th September 1939. ACT ONE An Old-fashioned house with a front porch, at 333 Orchard Avenue in Bakersfield, California. A large front yard, with rose-bushes in bloom near the house. An orange and lemon tree. A palm. Two eucalyptus. A cement statue of a lion on the lawn. A homeless family goes by in the street; MAN, WOMAN, THREE CHILDREN. ANN HAMILTON, a beautiful and rather elegant woman in her early forties, comes out of the house, looks around, walks about in the yard, to the gate, smells and cuts several roses, singing ‘the years, the years, they come and go’, and so on; goes up on the porch, sits down in the rocking-chair with a love-story magazine, waiting for nothing, least of all a telegram. GEORGIE AMERICANOS, a Greek-American Postal Telegraph messenger, arrives, skidding, on a bicycle. GEORGIE. You Miss Ann Hamilton? ANN. I am. GEORGIE. Well, a fellow by the same name of Barnaby Gaul is coming out from Boston to visit you. He sent you this telegram. Know him? ANN. Barnaby Gaul? May I read the telegram? GEORGIE. It’s collect. A dollar eighty cents. It’s a long night-letter. Lots of people can’t pay for collect telegrams nowadays, but they always want to know what’s in them just the same, so I memorize everything and let them know. Free. That’s my little gift to society. People are poor. A dollar and eighty cents is a lot of money. Know him? ANN. I’m afraid there must be some mistake. GEORGIE. Oh, no, there isn’t. ANN. I don’t know anybody in Boston. Are you sure the telegram’s for me? GEORGIE. If you’re Ann Hamilton, it’s for you. Otherwise it ain’t. Mistakes sometimes happen. ANN. What’s the name again? GEORGIE. Barnaby Gaul. B-a-r-n-a-b-y, Barnaby. G-a-u-l, Gaul. We get a lot of different kinds of telegrams, but this is the best I’ve ever seen. This telegram is about love. ANN. Love? GEORGIE. That’s right. L-O-V-E, love. I’ll recite the message to you. It’s against the rules of the company, but to the hell with the company. My sympathies are with the poor, not the rich. To tell the truth, I’m a radical. ANN. Are you? GEORGIE. Of course I’m an American too. My father’s Greek. He used to be a wrestler. My father’s father used to be a tobacco-grower in Smyrna in the old country. We read philosophy. My name’s Georgie Americanos. ANN. How do you do? GEORGIE. How do you do? ANN. Won’t you sit down, Georgie? GEORGIE. That’s all right. You lived in this house twenty-seven years? ANN. I’ve lived in this house all my life. My goodness, I’m forty-four years old. GEORGIE. You’re the lady, all right. My father’s been reading Greek philosophy to me for three years. Consequently, I’m intelligent. If he comes out here from Boston, like he says he’s going to, will you let me come out and look at him? ANN. If somebody’s coming here. GEORGIE. He’ll be here. ANN. All right, Georgie, you can come out. What does the telegram say? GEORGIE. Can I bring my father? He likes to meet people who’ve traveled. ANN. All right, your father too. GEORGIE. The telegram goes like this. [Reciting the telegram.] Boston, Massachusetts. 7th September 1939. ANN. September 7th? To-day’s September 15th. GEORGIE. Well, to tell you the truth, I lost the telegram. It was in my pocket. I don’t know how it got there. I always put telegrams in my hat. ANN. Good gracious, Georgie, tell me what’s in the telegram, even if it is eight days old. GEORGIE. Has anybody walked by in front of this house whistling ‘Love’s Old Sweet Song’ lately? ANN. No, Georgie. Please recite the telegram. GEORGIE. Well, let me think a minute. Get everything straight. He sure is a nut. O.K. Here it is. ‘If you remember me, I am the young man with the red hair who walked in front of your house twenty-seven years ago whistling “Love’s Old Sweet Song”.’ Do you remember him? ANN. No, I don’t. Please recite the whole telegram. GEORGIE. How could you forget a guy like that? He goes on to say: ‘You were sixteen years old at the time. You had half a dozen roses in your hand. Four red and two white. I hardly noticed you when I went by, and then I came back and said hello. I said what is your name and you said Ann Hamilton. You didn’t ask mine. We talked a minute or so and that was all. I made a note of the number of your house and the name of the street and went away. I am now fifty-one years old and want you to know I love you’. Now, do you remember him? ANN. No, Georgie. Is there anything more? GEORGIE. Plenty! There’s plenty more. He says: “I am coming back to you, even if you’re married and have five children.’ How about it? Are you? Have you? ANN. I’m not married. GEORGIE. Aren’t you married? ANN. No. Please finish the telegram, Georgie. GEORGIE. Well, he says: ‘Get rid of everybody. Love is everything. I know, now. Nothing else matters. I will walk in front of your house again very soon and I will be whistling the same old sweet song of love.’ They don’t usually send telegrams this way, even when they’re collect. They usually try to say everything in ten words. He says: ‘If you remember me, speak to me. If you do not speak, I shall know you have forgotten. Please remember and please speak to me. I love you. BARNABY GAUL.’ That’s the whole message, word for word. A dollar and eighty cents. Know him? ANN. No, I don’t. GEORGIE. Are you Ann Hamilton? ANN. My name is Ann Hamilton. GEORGIE. Well, he knows you. He sent you this message all the way from Boston. You’re going to speak to him, aren’t you? ANN. No, I’m not. GEORGIE. Doesn’t love mean anything to you? ANN. No, it doesn’t. Besides, the man’s crazy. GEORGIE. Why? Just because he hasn’t forgotten? ANN. A sixteen year old girl is liable to be polite and say a few words to any man who speaks to her. GEORGIE. This is different. You must have been very pretty at the time. You’re not bad now. Don’t you remember holding half a dozen roses in your hand? Four red and two white? ANN. I’ve cut roses from these bushes hundreds of times. I don’t remember any particular time. GEORGIE. Don’t you remember a guy with red hair, whistling? ANN. No, I don’t. I’m not sixteen. Georgie. I’m forty-four. GEORGIE. Well, all I know is you mean everything in the world to this nut. This Barnaby Gaul. And by all rights he ought to mean everything in the world to you, too. ANN. Well, he doesn’t mean anything to me. GEORGIE. I wouldn’t be so sure about that. He may come by here and sweep you right off your feet. ANN. No, he won’t. GEORGIE. Why not? ANN. I’m perfectly happy. GEORGIE. Oh, no, you’re not. You can’t fool me. You may be satisfied but you’re not happy. You’ve got to be a little unhappy to be perfectly happy. Satisfied’s one thing and happy’s another. [Pause.] Socrates. [PEOPLE go by.] Poor people. Homeless. No place to go. ANN. What’s he say in that telegram? GEORGIE. That’s more like it. Listen carefully. [Reciting.] ‘If you remember me, I am the young man with the red hair who walked in front of your house-----‘ [Whistling.] Listen. [At the gate.] It’s him. Barnaby Gaul. He’s come back to you, just like he said he would. This is the greatest love story that’s ever taken place in the streets of Bakersfield, Califormia. Speak to him. ANN. I don’t remember anybody like that. GEORGIE. Speak to him. The man’s come all the way from Boston to see you again. He’s moved everything back twenty-seven years where it belongs. Say a kind word. ANN. I don’t know what to say. GEORGIE. Say anything. He’ll understand. ANN. [at the gate]. Here he comes. Don’t go away, Georgie. GEORGIE. Go away? I wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world. The PERSON who appears is a handsome man of fifty whose years are instantly irrelevant. He is, in fact, youth constant and unending. His hair is reddish, if not exactly red. His face is still the face of a young man. His figure is still that. His clothes are the casual clothes of a young man who has better things to think about. He is wearing an old straw hat, and he is carrying a straw suitcase. He is walking jauntily, and he is whistling. He notices ANN, stops whistling and stands. ANN. Good morning. GAUL. How do you do? [ANN and GAUL stare at one another a moment.] GEORGIE. Wow! GAUL. Your son? ANN. Yes. No. GAUL. A handsome boy. ANN. He’s Greek. GAUL. A classic and noble people. You have others? ANN. No. He’s a messenger. He brought your telegram. GAUL. Telegram? GEORGIE. Sure. From Boston. GAUL. Boston? [ANN turns and rushes into the house.] GEORGIE. Weren’t you just whistling ‘Love’s Old Sweet Song’? GAUL. I was whistling. I don’t know what it was. It’s a beautiful morning. The least a man can do is whistle. GEORGIE. Didn’t you walk down this street twenty-seven years ago? GAUL. My boy, I’ve never been in this town before. GEORGIE. Ah, for the love of Mike. [ANN comes out of the house, holding a half a dozen roses. Four red and two white.] GAUL. Roses! I have never seen roses more beautiful to behold. Nor have I seen anyone hold roses more beautifully. Nor have I seen them held any way at all by anyone more beautiful. GEORGIE. It’s him, all right. GAUL. Him? Who? GEORGIE. Who? You. Don’t you recognize her? ANN. Four red and two white. GEORGIE. She remembers you. Don’t you remember her? [GAUL stares at ANN.] All right. [He tears open the telegram.] Let me read the telegram for you, too. GAUL. Telegram? What telegram? GEORGIE. What telegram! The collect telegram from Boston. [Reading.] Boston, Massachusetts. 7th September 1939. GAUL takes the telegram and reads it silently, glancing at ANN every once in a while. GAUL. ‘I love you. BARNABY GAUL.’ GEORGIE. Now don’t try to tell me you’re not Barnaby Gaul. GAUL. Is this Bakersfield, California? ANN. Yes, it is. GAUL. Is this Orchard Avenue? ANN. Yes. 333. GAUL. How can I ever ask you to forgive me? GEORGIE. You are Barnaby Gaul, aren’t you? GAUL. Words fail me. ANN. Oh, that’s all right. GEORGIE. Were you ever in Bakersfield before? GAUL. Please try to understand. GEORGIE. Were you ever in Boston eight days ago? GAUL. Forgive me. Both of you. I thought I was in Fresno. Let’s start all over again. From the beginning. [He takes his suitcase and hurries away.] GEORGIE. Do you remember anybody like that? ANN. I don’t know how I could have ever forgotten. GEORGIE. Are you sure this is the nut? ANN. As sure as I’m breathing. GEORGIE. Well, get ready then. Whoever he is, here he comes again, and this time he means it. This time he knows where he is and who he is, and who you are. Don’t forget to speak to him or else he’ll just walk away and maybe not send a telegram again for another twenty-seven years. GAUL appearsagain, whistling ‘Love’s Old Sweet Song’. ANN. Good morning. GAUL stops, turns, looks at ANN, sets down his suitcase, hurries to ANN and kisses her. She drops the roses one by one. GAUL. Ann. I knew you’d remember. I knew you’d never forget. ANN. I thoughtI had forgotten, Barnaby. I even believed there was no one in the world like you. GAUL. There is, however. There is. ANN. And then when I saw you, I knew how foolish I had been to think you would never come back. I couldn’t help it, Barnaby. The years moved away, slowly and then swiftly, and always I stayed here alone, living in this house, rocking back and forth in this chair on this porch. The roses bloomed and faded. GAUL. The poor roses. ANN. The song died. GAUL. The poor song. ANN. The children I wanted were never born. GAUL. The poor children. ANN. Barnaby, why have you stayed away so long? GAUL. Ann, you may remember there were wars. ANN. Oh! GAUL. And you may remember, Ann, there were great troubles. There were panics in which a man rushed with the crowd to no place. No place at all. And I, with the million others, ran, forgetting love, forgetting everything but the need for escape. Protection from police and disease. Hide-aways in fifty-cent rooms in large cities, in small villages. There were famines, Ann. ANN. Oh, Barnaby, you were hungry? GAUL. Hungry? Days, weeks, months, years of hunger. Hunger for bread, not love. Hunger for ease and comfort, not glory. [He embraces her.] There were disasters at sea. Shipwreck and storm. Floods and hurricanes, and a man off-balance falling in the street. Fear and shouting. No songs, Ann. There were distances, and barking dogs. Mountains to cross, and rivers and prairies and deserts. And wherever a man stood, his heart was far way, and wherever he went , his heart was not there. There was cold and few coats. There was ice and no fire. There was fury and stupor in the heart. As you dreamed here through the years, there was pain and forsakenness. There were accidents, Ann, with a man’s body embarrassed by helpless and ugly posture, the arm twisted, the leg out of joint, and the heart in fever of disgust, raging against the mice. GEORGIE. What mice? GAUL. Mice? Go away, boy. And the foolish people asking, Are you hurt? Hurt? My God, I have been attacked by an army of termites as big as Japanese, and marching in the same military formation. There was snow and quiet, with the eyes of men staring out from secrecy and crime. There was hate, with the rain drenching the streets and the wind roaring around the buildings. ANN. Oh, Barnaby. GAUL. There were many things, Ann, to keep away from you, as you dreamed here through the years. I remember the thirst I knew in Kansas City, and the bar-flies driving me mad. There were small things, Ann, insects and little words. Frowns and sneers. And big things. The stairway of the hotel on fire, and a man in his bare feet. There were moments, repeated a million times, that were useless to the years. And years that were meaningless to any moment. But I knew—always, I knew, Ann—that you would not forget. I’ve come a long way, through many things, and still your face is bright. Your eyes still young. Your hand warm. Your lips soft and full. The errors that have been, I dismiss. Here, in your presence, I deny all I have known but good, since you are still by sweetness moulded sweet. I here cease movement and begin dream, because here dream is real. Ann, I’ve traveled across half the world. [Solemnly.] I’m tired, Ann. Now I must lie down in the sweet shade of love, and dream into the years of youth. The years of our youth, Ann. The years we have lost and shall now regain in the embrace of love. [BARNABY embraces ANN. They go into the house. BARNABY turns and throws GEORGIE a coin.] GAUL. My luggage, boy. GEORGIE picks up the suitcase and puts it just inside the house. TOM FIORA, another Postal Messenger, arrives and settles his bike next to GEORGIE’S. TOM. Telegram for you, Georgie. GEORGIE. Telegram for me? TOM. Yes, you. Here. Read it. GEORGIE [reading telegram]. ‘I told you I’d get even with you some day, so how do you like that? The telegram to Miss Ann Hamilton is not real. Ha, ha, ha. Your pal, Tom Fiora.’ Ha ha ha? What’s the big idea? TOM. I told you I’d get even on you. GEORGIE. You put that telegram in my coat pocket? TOM. That’s right. That’ll teach you to play tricks on me. GEORGIE. You wrote that telegram? TOM. I didn’t write it. My brother Mike did. GEORGIE. That’s what I call a low-down dirty trick, and a guy in the house there getting ready to sleep in the sweet shade of love. TOM. Serves you right. I told you I’d get even. GEORGIE. Well, what about that lady? What about that wonderful lady who told him I was her son? TOM. Tell her the truth. GEORGIE. The truth? Ah, Tom, I never did like Italians. Greeks never did like Italians. How did your brother Mike ever happen to write a telegram like that? TOM. Mike gets all kinds of funny ideas. He cuts this lady’s lawn one day. She told him a story of her life. He knew she was lonely. GEORGIE. Well, who the hell is this guy, then? He’s not just anybody. Giving me a Canadian dime. Tom, I’m going to tell the Manager. TOM. Go ahead. He’ll fire you, too. Then he’ll come out here and make a personal call and explain everything. GEORGIE. No, he can’t do that. It’s too late to do that. TOM. Come on. Let’s go back to work. GEORGIE. O.K., you rat. [TOM goes.] If that guy breaks her heart I’m going to tell my father to get a half-nelson on him and teach him some manners. Good-bye, Miss Hamilton. ANN’S VOICE. Good-bye, Georgie. GEORGIE. Is he sleeping? ANN’S VOICE. No, he wants to shave first. GEORGIE. Aaah. I’ll be back to see how you’re getting along first chance I get. ANN’S VOICE. All right, Georgie. And thanks ever so much. GEORGIE. Any time at all. [He rides away.] GAUL, with lather on his face, comes out on the porch, followed by ANN. GAUL sings to ANN. GAUL [singing]. I love to see the sun come smiling to the world; I love to hear the wind go singing through a field; I love to hear a love-bird singing in a tree, And I love to see a lovely face light up with love for me. CHORUS Of all the things I love, I love the most Sleeping in the shade of love. Sleeping in the shade of love, I love the most, my love. Of all the things I love to taste, Sweetest is the kiss of love. Dreaming in the shade of love, The kiss of love I love the most, my love. My love, of all the lovely things, Loveliest of all is you, Dreaming in the shade of love. Sleeping in the shade of love, my love. I love the most, my love. I love to breathe the scent of earth and new-mown hay; I love to taste the perch and berry ripe in May; I love to feel the spray as I walk beside the sea, And I love to see a lovely face light up with love for me. CHORUS. GAUL glides into the house. DEMETRIOS, a small middle-aged Greek with a big black moustache, pushes a lawn-mower into the yard, begins to cut the lawn, suddenly notices the roaring lion, roars back at it. GAUL opens an upstairs window. GAUL. Hey. You. That grass does not need cutting. DEMETRIOS. I am American citizen. GAUL. Even so, the grass does not need cutting. Have you got your first or second papers? DEMETRIOS. Second papers next month. GAUL. All right, come back and cut the grass next month. DEMETRIOS. Is this official? GAUL. Official. Now get your lawn-mower and get the hell out of here. DEMETRIOS hurries away with his lawn-mower. There is a moment of peaceful silence. Then CABOT YEARLING and his family arrive, one by one. CABOT thoughtfully smells a rose and surveys the terrain. CABOT’S family consists of LEONA, his wife; NEWTOW, nineteen; AL, seventeen; the TWINS, SELMA and VELMA, sixteen; ELLA, thirteen; HENRY, twelve; JESSE, eleven; SUSAN, ten; MAUDE, nine; LEMMIE, eight; MAE, seven; HARRY, six; WILBUR, five; and LUCY, four. LEONA is pregnant. The family is accompanied by RICHARD OLIVER, a newspaper man who is collecting material for a book. He is an oldish, partially bald man who is very troubled. Also ELSA WAX, a large, plain young woman wearing spectacles, who is a photographer for Life Magazine. CABOT. Leonie, here we rest. OLIVER. But, Mr. Yearling, this is somebody’s front yard. CABOT. Don’t aim to do no harm. Just aim to rest a spell. Leonie’s going to have a baby soon, you know. [Spreads his old blanket on the lawn and lies down.] OLIVER. Another baby? When? CABOT. Leonie, when? LEONA. Two or three months, most likely. He’ll be my fifteenth. ELSA. You’re aiming to stay here till the little fellow comes, of course? CABOT. Don’t know why not. [To AL]. Here, you. What are you always reading books for? Shakespeare and things like that? ELSA takes a picture. LEONA. When do you folks aim to leave us? ELSA. I can’t answer for Mr. Richard Oliver here. He’s aiming to write a novel about you folks, I believe. He’ll be with you for the next two or three years, most likely. I won’t be half that long. LEONA. I don’t reckon we could undertake to feed another mouth, what with the children growing up and needing things all the time, and another coming. ELSA. Mr. Oliver won’t be no trouble, hardly. CABOT. Well, it ain’t so much the extra mouth to feed. It’s always having somebody around asking questions. [Knocks notebook out of OLIVER’S hand.] It’s more like never being able to lie down and sleep in the afternoon, without somebody waking up a body to ask if we know how to read or not, or if we want better working conditions. [ELSA takes a picture of CABOT.] Or somebody else taking pictures of us all the time. We ain’t publicity mad. We know we ain’t society folk. If it’s pictures you want, there’s a world full of people who’re always fussing with soap and water, keeping themselves clean and nice-look-ing all the time. OLIVER. I have no intention of getting in the way. Miss Wax! If you please. The pitiable plight of these unfortunate people is not the concern of one man alone, but of the whole nation. CABOT. Unfortunate? I’ve got my driver’s license. OLIVER. Something’s got to be done for them. ELSA. All right, do something. What can you do? CABOT. We ain’t asking much. LEONA. That’s so. We don’t want nothing from nobody—hardly. Food. A place to sleep. A roof over our heads. Clothes. A little land to walk around in. Cows. Chickens. A radio. A car. Something like that. We aim to shift for ourselves, the same as ever. CABOT. A handful of vines to pick grapes off to eat. A small melon patch. Good climate. Working conditions. We aim to hire our help fair and square. ELSA. I don’t hardly guess this family’s typical. LEONA. Oklahomans. That’s what we are. Don’t belong to no religious sect. Mind our own business. CABOT. Live and let live. When do you folks aim to let us rest? LEONA. We like to be neighborly and all, but this following us around and spying on us don’t seem just right. ELSA. I won’t be much longer. We’re going to call these pictures ‘Life Goes to a Garden Party’. OLIVER. You’re making fun of these people. ELSA. Don’t be silly. I’m not making fun of anybody, except you. Because you think these people are pathetic. Well, they’re not. You are. Look at these people. Nothing can stop them. They’ve got the stubbornness and fertility of weeds. And they’re not common, either. I’m, a photographer and I’ve learned to see into things. Your vision is so bad, the only thing you ever see is the surface, and I don’t think you see that very clearly. For all we know one of these kids is a genius. [Looking at AL.] This fellow looks like a genius: he reads Shakespeare. [Looking at NEWTON.] On the other hand they may all be idiots. But how do we know the world isn’t supposed to be inhabited by idiots, instead of silly people who want to get everything organized—like you? OLIVER. You’re a Fascist. CABOT. Talk! Talk! Talk! That’s all I hear, ever since you intellectuals started following us around. OLIVER. I’m trying to help you people. With my novel, I hope to improve migratory agricultural labour conditions. CABOT. Conditions are all right. I’m a little tired, that’s all. I brought this family all the way from Muskogee, Oklahoma, in seven weeks, in a broken-down old Ford that cost sixty-seven dollars and fifty cents. OLIVER. It’s not a question of a broken-down old Ford---- HENRY hits OLIVER with a stick. OLIVER falls, and three boys leaps on him. CABOT. No kicking, now. Fair and square! No gouging! No biting! BARNABY GAUL opens an upstairs window. GAUL. What’s going on around here? Ann. Are these people relatives of yours? ANN. I’ve never seen them before. GAUL. Don’t worry. I’ll get them out of here in two minutes. HENRY. Oh, yeah! Three boys run into the house. GAUL appears with the boys hanging on him. GAUL. Ann, come out here. For the love of God, save me. [He falls to his knees.] ANN [appearing]. Barnaby! What the matter? CABOT. Here, you kids. Henry. Jesse. Get off that boy. Get off him before I come over there and break your arms. HENRY and JESSE release their hold on GAUL. He rises to his feet. GAUL. What’re all you people doing in this front yard? CABOT. We aim to rest a while and catch our breath. HENRY leaps on GAUL’S leg. GAUL. You aim to rest a while and catch your breath? [To HENRY.] Get away from me, you bashi-bazouk! [To CABOT.] Call off your children. CABOT. Henry. Leave the boy alone. GAUL. My God! You’re not all one family, are you? CABOT. All excepting him and her. He’s a writer, and she’s a photographer. GAUL. All the others yours? CABOT. More than half of them are. Every one of them’s my wife’s, though. GAUL. Well, it’s been pleasant chatting with you. Now clear out of here. Go on up the street somewhere a couple of blocks. He starts to enter house, singing ‘Of All the Things I Love.’ CABOT. We ain’t aiming to go no further just now. GAUL. When are you aiming to? CABOT. After Leona has the baby. GAUL. After Leona has the baby. When will that be? CABOT. That won’t be for a couple of months. GAUL. A couple of months? My God! He moves to go. ANN. Barnaby! GAUL. I can’t stand noise and confusion and crowds of people in my private life. ANN. Barnaby! You’re not going? GAUL. I’m not staying. ANN. I’ve already waited for you twenty-seven years. You just arrived. GAUL. Ann, you’ve got the most beautiful spirit in the world, but I can’t hang around a house that’s surrounded by Indians. LEONA. Oklahomans. GAUL. Same thing. [To ANN.] I can tell you now, and truthfully, that I shall never forget you. ANN. You’re angry and excited, Barnaby. You don’t know what you’re saying. [GAUL goes.] Barnaby! Don’t go! Wait for me! Let me get my hat and coat. I’m coming with you. Barnaby! [She runs after him.] HENRY [at the upstairs window]. The whole house is ours. Everybody rushes into the house. OLIVER. But, Mr. Yearling, you’ll get in trouble. This is still private property. Of course after the revolution----- CABOT. Ah, to hell with the revolution. AL [alone on the steps]. What am I doing here? I don’t belong to this man and this woman. I’ll go away. I’ll be truly alone, as every man must be. Good-bye, my father. Good-bye, my mother. Good-bye, my sisters and my brothers. JESSE, in one of ANN’S hats, comes out and sees his brother going away. JESSE. Al! [AL stops, turns.] Where you going? AL. Nowhere. Jesse, go on back! JESSE. No. I know you’re going away. I’m going with you. I don’t want to be alone. AL. Jesse, go on back! You can’t go with me. JESSE. [grabs his brother around the waist]. No. I won’t go back. I am going with you. AL. Jesse! Listen! I can’t take care of you. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to take care of myself. Now go on back. JESSE. Al, please take me with you. Please. AL. I can’t, Jesse. Now go on back! [He pushes JESSE, turns and runs.] JESSE. You’re a hell of a brother! JESSE sits down in front of the cement lion. Suddenly he stretches out on the lawn, face downward. ELSA comes out of the house. OLIVER’S hat and portable typewriter follow. Then OLIVER, who stumbles out and falls on the ground, pushed by CABOT and NEWTON. CABOT. You stay away from us with your God-damn propaganda. We vote for Roosevelt. CABOT and NEWTON go back into the house. OLIVER. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to write this and give it social significance. [Gets to his feet.] ELSA. Don’t be foolish. You just write what you wanted to write in the first place, and forget all these little complications. OLIVER. I’m disappointed. ELSA. You’ve been betrayed. How dare they have personalities of their own? It would be a little cruel if one of the brighter children wrote a novel about you. One of them might, you know. OLIVER. Sometimes it seems impossible to be of help. ELSA. Be of help to who? No one wants to help anybody but himself. OLIVER. I can’t figure you out. ELSA. You can’t even figure out those simple people in the house. How do you expect to figure me out?---A Vassar girl! OLIVER. The trouble with you Vassar girls is, you’ve got no faith. ELSA. And the trouble with you unpublished writers is, you have. Faith belongs to the great only. Foolish people aren’t entitled to faith. They make trouble with it, for themselves and for everybody else. They gather their feebleness into crazy mobs that don’t understand anything except to insist. If you want the world to be better, be better yourself. OLIVER. Shut up! ELSA. What? OLIVER. Shut up! That’s what! I don’t want to hear any more of your chit-chat. ELSA. You know it’s the truth. OLIVER. Shut up, I said! I love you! JESSE. Ha-ha-ha! OLIVER studies JESSE. JESSE studies OLIVER. OLIVER takes some money out of his pocket. OLIVER. Here! Here’s half a dollar. [JESSE takes the coin.] JESSE. What for? OLIVER. Get yourself an education and belike me. JESSE. You two going along? OLIVER. Yes. And to help you with your novel, I’m going to marry her. [To ELSA] That’s right. JESSE. Are you coming back? OLIVER. No, I’m not. JESSE. Why? OLIVER. Because I don’t like you. JESSE. Couldn’t you make it seventy-five cents? OLIVER [starts to bring out more money. Changes his mind]. No! Why should I? JESSE. Ah, come on. Just two bits more. OLIVER. No! JESSE [picks up a rock and gets set to throw it]. Two bits. OLIVER. You throw that rock, and I’ll break your neck. ELSA. Richard, be careful! OLIVER. Shut up, I said. I can take care of myself. JESSE [making a line with his foot]. Cross this line and see what happens. OLIVER. It so happens, I’m going the other way. JESSE. Well you better if you know what is good for you. OLIVER [turns to ELSA]. What’s more, we’ll have kids too. The God-damnedest punk in the world. Don’t talk. You’ve said everything. To hell with people in the house! Let God take care of them, the same as ever. To hell with art! To hell with propaganda! To hell with you! I love you, so shut up and let’s try to live. JESSE watches them go, then rushes into the house. Inside the house there is a great commotion. The children are singing “My Country Tis of Thee’. GEORGIE arrives on his bike, listens, and runs to the lower window. GEORGIE. Hey. Cut out that racket. [HENRY comes out on the porch in one of ANN’S dresses.] Who are you? What are you doing in that dress? HENRY. I’m a society lady! [He does a bump.] GEORGIE. Society lady? Where’s Miss Ann Hamilton? HENRY. Who? GEORGIE. Miss Ann Hamilton. HENRY. Annie doesn’t live here any more. GEORGIE [to CABOT in upper window]. What are you people doing in this house? CABOT. We aim to rest a while and catch our breath. GEORGIE. Where’s Barnaby Gaul? HENRY. You mean that fellow with the straw hat? He went away. SELMA, one of the twins, comes out and studies GEORGIE. SELMA. Hello! GEORGIE. Where’s Miss Hamilton? SELMA. She went with the man. We’re living here now. GEORGIE [to HENRY]. Get away from that wheel! SELMA. You aiming to come back and pay us another visit some time? GEORGIE. This house don’t belong to you people. SELMA. I hope you’re aiming to come back. VELMA [the other twin, comes out and studies GEORGIE]. Hello! GEORGIE. Hello, nothing! VELMA. What’s your name? GEORGIE. Never mind what my name is. You people get out of this house! VELMA. My name’s Velma. GEORGIE. What do I care what your name is? You people are house-wreckers. WILBUR. No, we’re not. VELMA. I’m sixteen. How old are you? GEORGIE. What do I care how old you are? You people are mice. WILBUR. No, we’re not. GEORGIE. You folks get out of this house. It belongs to Miss Ann Hamilton and Mr. Barnaby Gaul. It belongs to true love. VELMA and SELMA come toward GEORGIE. He pushes down on the pedal of his bike and rides off. The big boy, NEWTON, breaks out of the house, holding half a loaf of French bread, a piece of cheese and other miscellaneous items of food. NEWTON. The whole house is full of things to eat. I got mine. The TWINS hurry back into the house. HENRY follows them. There is great noise inthe house, then silence. GAUL returns to the house, gets his suitcase, and tries to escape. ANN catches up with him at the gate. ANN. Barnaby! You’ve come back. GAUL. Dear lady, you shame me. Your poetic words pierce me like arrows. I am sweetly wounded by your devotion! I would be the lowest of the low to leave you here in this garden of disorder, except—except, I repeat—that there are things stronger even than love, if one can only discover them. I am not your man, except when I am. That is the truth, and the truth is hard. Forgive me, dear lady. The lies I tell are never for the purpose of hurting others. There is murder in such lies. In mine there is birth. I say only what others wish me to say. I have said what you have wished to hear. Gentle deceit is best for the moment, but for the year, truth is best. Stay, I beg of you. Do not leave yourself. To be vagrant, dear lady, you must be swift. Stay. I shall remember you. I promise. Good-bye, dear lady. GAUL goes. LEONA comes out on the porch. There is noise and confusion in the house. ANN walks slowly after GAUL. END OF ACT 1 Song Lyrics: Love's Old Sweet Song Music by James .L. Molloy; words by G. Clifton Bingham Once in the dear dead days beyond recall, When on the world the mists began to fall, Out of the dreams that rose in happy thong Low to our hearts Love sang an old sweet song; And in the dusk where fell the firelight gleam, Softly it wove itself into our dream. Chorus: Just a song a twilight, when the lights are low, And the flick'ring shadows softly come and go,ames Tho' the heart be weary, sad the day and long, Still to us at twilight comes Love's old song, comes Love's old sweet song. Even today we hear Love's song of yore, Deep in our hearts it dwells forevermore. Footsteps may falter, weary grow the way, Still we can hear it at the close of day. So till the end, when life's dim shadows fall, Love will be found the sweetest song of all. Chorus: Just a song a twilight, when the lights are low, And the flick'ring shadows softly come and go, Tho' the heart be weary, sad the day and long, Still to us at twilight comes Love's old song, comes Love's old sweet song.