The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays Read online

  DR. FRELICH: Nerves are bad things.

  VASHYA: Terrible things. Thank God I don’t have them. It’s like this, Doctor. Her country, you know, has been practically wiped out in the war.

  DR. FRELICH: Yes. A terrible thing.

  VASHYA: Practically destroyed, all of it. And her family—you see—her parents, brothers, sisters, all of her relatives, people she knew in her youth and loved—all of them GONE! It has had an unfortunate effect on her mind!

  DR. FRELICH: Yes. Quite naturally it would have.

  VASHYA: And now she has hallucinations, Doctor. The war, you understand, and all that she’s been through—has upset her imagination. She thinks she sees things, hears things—that are entirely fictitious!

  DR. FRELICH: Hmmm. I’m sorry to hear about this. When did it begin?

  VASHYA: It’s been going on for some time. Six or seven months. A friend of hers was killed at the front, and when she received the news . . .

  DR. FRELICH: Yes, that’s how it often begins. There’ve been a great many cases of it—war-shock.

  VASHYA: It comes on mostly at night. When we have gone to bed. She thinks she sees—men in the room. Hears them sneaking.

  DR. FRELICH: Auditory and visual hallucinations.

  VASHYA: You understand? It’s very painful to me—embarrassing. You know what my business is?

  DR. FRELICH: Who doesn’t, Sir Vashya?

  VASHYA: I’m a manufacturer of munitions. I represent—Well, you know all about that.

  DR. FRELICH: Everyone knows.

  VASHYA: Yes, Sometimes I wish they didn’t. I’d like to be anonymous again. As I was twenty years ago when I was pitching wheat and dung in my native country—a simple peasant that nobody knew—a man named Vashya—otherwise unknown! But I can’t be that anymore. Fate has made it impossible.

  DR. FRELICH: Fate has selected you, Sir Vashya, as one of her confederates.

  VASHYA [sharply]: What do you mean by that?

  DR. FRELICH [smiling]: Perhaps I expressed myself a little awkwardly.

  VASHYA: You meant it as a compliment?

  DR. FRELICH: Of course.

  VASHYA: So many people have been paying me left-handed compliments lately that I’ve become a little suspicious. Only the other day a young man jumped on the running board of my car in front of the palace and shouted something about me, Vashya Shontine, being the—butcher of the world!

  DR. FRELICH: Good—heavens!

  VASHYA: He spoke my own native language. I think that’s what hurt me most. Being insulted by a man of my own country— [Hastily.] I mean, you see, a man of my NATIVE country. Of course I consider myself a citizen of THIS country now.

  DR. FRELICH: Yes, of course, and one or our best citizens, Sir Vashya.

  VASHYA: Thank you.

  DR. FRELICH: And what did you say became of the young man?

  VASHYA: What young man?

  DR. FRELICH: The one who insulted you in front of the palace.

  VASHYA: Him? I understand they dealt with him rather harshly. [He smiles.] He was executed that very evening in a manner in which I would prefer not to be executed!

  DR. FRELICH [a slight pause]: Splendid!

  VASHYA [bitterly]: Yes, he had the effrontery to call me a dirty butcher, me, Vashya Shon—Excuse me, Doctor, I’ve gotten a little bit off the track of what I wanted to see you about.

  DR. FRELICH: Yes. Your wife.

  VASHYA: My poor wife. Yes.

  DR. FRELICH: Suppose you tell me everything from the beginning. The history of such cases is very important. Your relationship, Sir Vashya, has that been always—satisfactory?

  VASHYA: I love my wife, Dr. Frelich.

  DR. FRELICH: Yes.

  VASHYA: Very dearly. Everything I have done, Doctor, was done for her, that she should admire me. She was like, you see, a young lady that I once knew, a very proud young lady who of course would have nothing to do with me, Vashya, a common peasant who roasted his naked back pitching wheat on her father’s land— And I swore to myself that someday I’d have me a woman like that for my wife!— You see?

  DR. FRELICH: Yes. I see.

  VASHYA: And I did! I set to work very hard and I worked my way up. From the bottom. Acquired wealth and prestige. Importance. Power. Yes! You see? —She married me . . .

  DR. FRELICH: And you were satisfied?

  VASHYA: Never quite satisfied. [Pause.] I had to work harder all the time and get more to make her respect me. I think she did respect me, Doctor, but she never saw things in quite my way—and when the war started, these strange ideas about me began to take hold of her and she became . . .

  DR. FRELICH: Cold to you?

  VASHYA: Yes, colder and colder! And now to see her completely turned against me like this! You can understand how I feel.

  DR. FRELICH: Yes, I can appreciate your grief, Sir Vashya.

  VASHYA: My—? Yes, my grief! [Almost inaudibly.] Her little blue violet eyes, Doctor—Excuse me!—To see them looking at me like this! So—hatefully! It’s an almost insupportable grief!

  DR. FRELICH: Hmmmm. It’s plain to see you’re a man of genuine sentiment.

  VASHYA [pleased]: Sentiment! Yes! I’m really a man of— [A little suspiciously.] What did you call it?

  DR. FRELICH [earnestly]: Genuine sentiment.

  VASHYA: Yes, yes, I am! I wouldn’t admit that to everyone, but nevertheless it’s perfectly true.

  DR. FRELICH: I don’t for one moment doubt it.

  VASHYA: Have a cigar!

  DR. FRELICH: Thanks.

  VASHYA: They’re fine cigars. The best obtainable at any price. Hmmm. You think you can help her, Doctor?

  DR. FRELICH: These things are sometimes quite transitory.

  VASHYA: Yes, I think she cares for me, Doctor. There used to be . . . a great passion between us! [Pause.] But an—an unfortunate thing happened. . . . There was a young man. . . .

  DR. FRELICH: Yes?

  VASHYA: He was a radical, a pacifist, a young poet and all that stuff!

  DR. FRELICH [understandingly]: I see. One of these impractical dreamers that women find so unaccountably interesting at times.

  VASHYA: I won’t say much about him. He was rather well known. His work appeared in magazines, you see, and these ridiculous ART lovers were making quite a fuss over it. Personally I could see nothing in it. A lot of rubbish. It made absolutely no sense. But my wife . . .

  DR. FRELICH: She found him—different?

  VASHYA: He became infatuated with her. Sometime last winter, at a party or something. And he started paying her visits. She felt, no doubt, a sort of—of casual affection for him, you see? Nothing more than that!

  DR. FRELICH: Yes.

  VASHYA: And he misunderstood. He paid her too much attention. Said things— And I was informed. Shortly afterwards the young man was drafted into the army and called to the front and killed in action! They made quite a fuss about it in all the papers. Young genius sacrificed to the bloody monster of war—and all of that—the usual tripe! It was a very unfortunate business, the boy being killed. And after that—poor Lillian, my wife—she thought I was somehow responsible. He’s one of the—the dead soldiers that she thinks have returned from their graves to haunt me. Imagine that, Doctor! Me, Vashya Shontine, the man who gave them the guns to fight with, to defend their own lives!

  DR. FRELICH: It’s hardly imaginable.

  VASHYA: I’ll send for her now. I’ll have the servant let her out of her room. [He causes the sound of a bell to be heard.]

  DR. FRELICH: You mean you have her—?

  VASHYA: Locked up? Yes, it’s necessary.

  PHILLIP [entering]: Did you ring?

  VASHYA: Phillip, let Lady Shontine out of her room and tell her I want to see her.

  PHILLIP: Yes, Sir.

  VASHYA: This is terribly trying. Will you have a drink?

  DR. FRELICH: No, thank you.

  VASHYA: You Jews are a frugal, temperate people. I wonder sometimes if it pays. I personally have alw
ays felt that life was to be lived passionately—with abandon! Do you see? I’ve always lived it that way!

  DR. FRELICH: You’ve had a remarkable career, Sir Vashya.

  VASHYA: But, Doctor, people don’t understand my career. Some of them—well, you know!—they call me horrible names. They accuse me of being a war-profiteer. They say I’ve grown fat off of carrion flesh. They call me a—a vulture! Is that true, Doctor? Haven’t I been completely justified in everything that I have done for my country?

  DR. FRELICH: Your justification, Sir Vashya, is your country’s need!

  VASHYA: My—? Yes, my country’s need! They needed ammunition, I gave it to them, didn’t I? They needed tanks, airplanes, gases, subterranean explosives, volcano rockets! I gave it to them! They needed the new death ray, didn’t they? And I supplied them with that. That’s my justification, Doctor. I gave them what they needed! [He breathes heavily with excitement.] Yes, that’s my justification, my country’s need!

  LADY SHONTINE [entering, with controlled bitterness]: It’s not true. He has no country. Is he talking to you about patriotism, Doctor?

  DR. FRELICH: Lady Shontine.

  VASHYA: You know each other? Good. Perhaps she’ll talk to you, Doctor.

  LADY SHONTINE [with a slight foreign accent]: Let me tell you the truth of it, Doctor. He’s a man who has no country. No allegiance. Ask him where he was born. That may embarrass him, Doctor. He was born a long way from here. And yet he talks of patriotism to THIS country!

  VASHYA: You see, Doctor?

  DR. FRELICH: But Lady Shontine, I don’t have to remind you that many of our finest citizens are adopted citizens.

  LADY SHONTINE: Not him. He’s not a citizen. He’s a madman.

  DR. FRELICH: Please, Lady Shontine, sit down and let me ask you a few questions.

  VASHYA: Lillian, the Doctor wants to help you.

  LADY SHONTINE: Me? Not me, but you, Vashya. You are the one that needs help. You have lost your mind. It’s true, Doctor. The men come for him at night and he doesn’t even see them or hear them.

  VASHYA [despairingly]: See!

  DR. FRELICH: Those delusions of fear that you have about your husband, Lady Shontine . . .

  LADY SHONTINE: I have no delusions. My mind is perfectly clear.

  VASHYA: Tell him about the men you see in our bedroom at night.

  LADY SHONTINE: Yes. Many men. Soldiers. They come trooping into the room and they stand in a circle around the bed. They speak to him in low voices, say terrible things. I can’t stand it much longer.

  VASHYA: You see, Doctor?

  DR. FRELICH: Yes. Hallucinations, visual and auditory.

  LADY SHONTINE: No, Doctor, not hallucinations but real men! —Only all of them are dead . . .

  DR. FRELICH: Death is our chief preoccupation these days. We live with it so constantly that it naturally tends to become either a matter of complete indifference to us or else—an obsession! We can’t turn a street-corner without coming face to face with it! It’s no wonder! We go to bed at night and wake up in the morning with the rumbling of guns in our ears! A man like you, Sir Vashya, a man with iron nerves, can’t realize what it is to be obsessed with the fear of death as so many of us are these days . . . Excuse me, Lady Shontine, you were telling me about the men that come into your bedroom at night.

  LADY SHONTINE [a slight pause]: They come into the room and stand around the bed and they ask for HIM. They want HIM to go WITH them back to where they came from. They say it’s time for HIM to go WITH them. He SENT them there. He’s their LEADER they say, and they want him to go back there with them.

  DR. FRELICH: Back where, Lady Shontine?

  LADY SHONTINE: To the front. The places where they were killed. But he won’t go. He’s AFRAID to go, Doctor. But I know that he ought to go. He belongs with them. And someday they’ll INSIST on his going. They won’t take “no” for an answer, and then he’ll have to go with them.

  VASHYA: You see?

  DR. FRELICH: These men, Lady Shontine, do you recognize any of their faces?

  LADY SHONTINE: Some of them—yes, some of them. My two brothers. One of them was only seventeen, a dear boy with very soft blue eyes. I can’t see them anymore. He keeps them closed when he comes into my room at night. I think he doesn’t want to see me in bed with this man. And then there is my father and many other men I danced with when I was a very young girl. —And there is one other. A young man who was very nice to me last winter when I was feeling so badly. He had a quiet, pleasant voice that made me feel calm inside. But there was something wrong with his legs, one of them shorter than the other, and for that reason he wasn’t enlisted. I was glad of that because he didn’t seem made for the war. He hated all of it so. He—he read some of his poems which I liked very much. But some kind of a mistake occurred and in spite of his affliction, Doctor, he was drafted into the army and sent to the front and later I learned that he had been blown into little pieces. . . His name was David. And now at night he comes into my bedroom and he doesn’t look at me, he looks at my husband, and he says, “Vashya Shontine, it is time for you to go back with me to the front!”

  VASHYA: You see, Doctor? You see?

  DR. FRELICH: Yes. I think I see.

  VASHYA: How vividly she imagines these things—you see?

  DR. FRELICH: I think it would be a good idea if Lady Shontine would come to my office tomorrow morning where we can discuss things more thoroughly. You see these psychoses, Sir Vashya, require a very careful and extensive probing . . .

  VASHYA [quickly]: That’s impossible. You’ll have to talk to her here. In my house. You see, in her present condition I can’t very well allow her to leave.

  LADY SHONTINE: No, he won’t let me go out! I am his prisoner here! He knows that I know too much. He’s afraid that I will tell. No, Vashya. I won’t tell a thing. It is only the men, the soldiers, that can harm you now!

  DR. FRELICH: Lady Shontine, nobody can harm your husband.

  VASHYA: Yes, tell her that!

  DR. FRELICH: You must put these fears out of your mind—your husband is safe, perfectly safe! Do you understand?

  VASHYA: Yes!

  LADY SHONTINE: Yes. He is much TOO safe. That is why the soldiers, the dead ones, keep coming back here to see him. They think he is much TOO SAFE!

  VASHYA: There—you see!

  DR. FRELICH: If we could talk for a while . . .

  PHILLIP: Beg pardon, Sir. The Prime Minister wishes to see you.

  VASHYA [with satisfaction]: Tell him to wait!

  PHILLIP: Yes, Sir.

  DR. FRELICH [in surprise]: The Prime Minister—Lord Huntington?

  VASHYA: Yes, he comes to see me—Vashya! I told him that I couldn’t go out so he comes here to see me. I don’t go out very much anymore.

  LADY SHONTINE: No, he’s afraid to go out.

  VASHYA: Afraid? Ridiculous!

  DR. FRELICH: You must understand, Lady Shontine, that your husband is a very valuable man to his country. His life must be safeguarded at all costs to his personal convenience.

  LADY SHONTINE: Yes. He is the national butcher.

  VASHYA [distractedly]: Stop! She’s got to stop saying those things! What will people think if they—?

  LADY SHONTINE: They know. It isn’t a secret anymore. The dead men have told them all. They’ve spread the whole story abroad, they’ve shouted it from the rooftops, Vashya. Your name—the national butcher—the butcher of the world! And they won’t stop, Vashya, you can’t make them stop, you can’t—!

  VASHYA: Hush, damn you!

  DR. FRELICH: Sir Vashya!

  LADY SHONTINE [in a frenzy]: No, they won’t stop! They’ll come back for you again tonight and tomorrow night and the night after that! And finally they’ll get you! Yes! YOU SHALL MARCH TO THE FRONT WITH THEM, VASHYA!!

  VASHYA: Get out of here, you! Get out of here! [With difficulty he controls himself.] Excuse me, Doctor. I forget sometimes. I’m just a peasant at heart, and she—she drives me crazy! W
hy do I have to be tortured at a time like this by a woman that’s out of her senses? Doctor, if you can cure her I’ll pay you fifty thousand. Do you hear? A hundred thousand! Only bring her back to her senses. . . .

  DR. FRELICH: I can talk to her now, if you wish.

  VASHYA: Yes. Take her out of here. The next room. In there.

  DR. FRELICH: Will you come, Lady Shontine?

  LADY SHONTINE: Yes, Doctor. You have kind eyes. Yes, I’ll go.

  VASHYA: Remember, Doctor, whatever she says—the woman is out of her mind. [A pause as they exit.] Show Lord Huntington in.

  PHILLIP: Yes, sir.

  LORD HUNTINGTON: Sir Vashya.

  VASHYA: I’m glad you’ve come. PHILLIP! Search him. [Phillip frisks him.]

  LORD HUNTINGTON: Is this customary?

  VASHYA: Yes. We make no exceptions. You may go, Phillip! Where’s the rest of ‘em?

  LORD HUNTINGTON: The cabinet will come a little later. I wanted to talk to you first privately.

  VASHYA: Yes?

  LORD HUNTINGTON: Sir Vashya, we’re entering the sixth year of the war.

  VASHYA: Yes?

  LORD HUNTINGTON: It’s gone on and on. Our country’s exhausted. So are all the others. The thing has got to stop!

  VASHYA: So?

  LORD HUNTINGTON [pausing]: I’ve come to you.

  VASHYA: To me?

  LORD HUNTINGTON: Yes, to you.

  VASHYA: Well, that’s very flattering. In the next room, Lord Huntington, is an eminent mental specialist. He’s visiting my wife. She’s been having hallucinations lately. I recommend him highly. Perhaps he could be of benefit in your case.

  LORD HUNTINGTON [with hardly-controlled fury]: It’s well known, Sir Vashya, how you’ve treated your wife.

  VASHYA: Meaning?

  LORD HUNTINGTON: Meaning it doesn’t become you very well as a—gentleman—to be flippant at her expense.

  VASHYA: Huh! You aristocrats stick together against me, eh? Me, Vashya, the peasant! You even presume to tell me how I should manage my wife.