THE MOTHER: Yes, all that lies before us, and the mere thought of it makes me tired, with a tiredness that has lasted so long that my old blood can’t cope with it. And, meanwhile, this man has no suspicion; he is enjoying his repose. If we let him wake he’ll have to start life again, and from what I’ve seen of him, I know he is much like other men and cannot live in peace. Perhaps that is why we must take him there and hand him over to the mercy of the dark water. [She sighs.] But it’s a sad thing so much effort should be needed to rid a man of his follies and put him in the way of peace.
MARTHA: I can only think, mother, that your wits are wandering. I repeat, we have much to do. Once he’s thrown in, we shall have to efface the marks on the riverbank, blur our footsteps on the path, destroy his clothes and baggage—make him vanish from the face of the earth, in fact. Time’s passing and soon it will be too late to carry all this out with the composure that it needs. Really I cannot understand what has come over you, to be sitting at that man’s bedside and staring at him, though you can hardly see him, and persisting in this absurd, useless talk.
THE MOTHER: Tell me, Martha. Did you know that he meant to leave this evening?
MARTHA: No, I didn’t. But if I’d known, it wouldn’t have changed anything, once I had made up my mind.
THE MOTHER: He told me that just now, and I didn’t know how to answer him.
MARTHA: Ah! So you had a talk with him?
THE MOTHER: Yes, when you said you’d brought his tea, I came here. I’d have stopped him from drinking it, if I had been in time. As it was, once I knew the beginning had been made, I felt we’d better let things take their course; really it hadn’t much importance.
MARTHA: If you still feel like that, there’s no reason for dawdling here. So please get up from that chair and help me finish off this business—which is getting on my nerves.
THE MOTHER [rising]: Yes, I suppose I’ll end by helping you. Only you might allow a few minutes more to an old woman whose blood doesn’t flow as fast as yours. You’ve been on the rush ever since this morning, and you expect me to keep pace with you! Even that man there couldn’t manage it; before he had framed the thought of leaving, he’d drunk the tea you gave him.
MARTHA: If you must know, it was he who made up my mind for me. You talked me into sharing your reluctance. But then he started telling me about those countries where I’ve always longed to go, and by working on my feelings hardened my heart against him. Thus innocence is rewarded.
THE MOTHER: And yet he’d come to understand. He said he felt that this house was not his home.
MARTHA [violently and impatiently]: Of course it is not his home. For that matter it is nobody’s home. No one will ever find warmth or comfort or contentment in this house. Had he realized that sooner, he’d have been spared, and spared us, too. He would have spared our having to teach him that this room is made for sleeping in, and this world for dying in. Come, mother, and for the sake of the God you sometimes call on, let’s have done with it.
[The MOTHER takes a step toward the bed.]
THE MOTHER: Very well, Martha, we’ll begin. But I have a feeling that tomorrow’s dawn will never come.
CURTAIN
ACT III
The public room. The MOTHER, MARTHA and the MANSERVANT are on the stage. The old man is sweeping and tidying up the room; MARTHA, standing behind the bar, is drawing back her hair. The MOTHER is walking toward the door.
MARTHA: Well, you see that dawn has come and we’ve gotten through the night without mishap.
THE MOTHER: Yes. And tomorrow I’ll be thinking it’s a good thing to have done with it. But, just now, all I feel is that I’m dead tired and my heart’s dried up within me. Ah, it was a hard night indeed!
MARTHA: But this morning is the first for years when I breathe freely. Never did a killing cost me less. I almost seem to hear the waves already, and I feel like crying out for joy.
THE MOTHER: So much the better, Martha. So much the better. As for me, I feel so old this morning that I can’t share anything with you. But perhaps tomorrow I’ll be in a better way.
MARTHA: Yes, and everything will, I hope, be better. But do please stop complaining and give me a chance of relishing my new-found happiness. I’m like a young girl again this morning; I feel my blood flowing warm, and I want to run about and sing!… Oh, mother, may I ask you something?… [Pauses.]
THE MOTHER: What’s come over you, Martha? You’re like a different person.
MARTHA: Mother.… [Hesitates; then in a rush.] Tell me, am I still pretty?
THE MOTHER: Yes, I think you’re looking really pretty this morning. Some acts seem to have a good effect on you.
MARTHA: Oh, no! Those acts you mean lie on me so lightly. But this morning I feel as if I’d been born again, to a new life; at last I’m going to a country where I shall be happy.
THE MOTHER: No doubt, no doubt. And, once I’ve got over my tiredness, I, too, shall breathe freely. Even now, it makes up for all those sleepless nights of ours, to know they’ll have brought you happiness. But this morning I must rest; all I’m conscious of is that the night has been a hard one.
MARTHA: What does last night matter? Today is a great day. [To the servant.] Keep your eyes open when you’re sweeping; we dropped some of his papers on the way out and I couldn’t stop to pick them up. They’re on the floor somewhere. [The MOTHER leaves the room. Sweeping under a table, the old man comes on JAN’S passport, opens it, runs his eyes over it, and hands it, open, to MARTHA.] I don’t need to see it. Put it with the other things; we’ll burn them all together. [The old man goes on holding the passport to MARTHA. She takes it.] What is it? [The old man goes out. MARTHA reads the passport slowly, without showing any emotion; then calls in a voice that sounds completely calm.] Mother!
THE MOTHER [from the next room]: What do you want now?
MARTHA: Come here. [The MOTHER returns. MARTHA gives her the passport.] Read!
THE MOTHER: You know quite well my eyes are tired.
MARTHA: Read!
[The MOTHER takes the passport, sits at the table, spreads it open, and reads. For a long while she stares at the page in front of her.]
THE MOTHER [in a toneless voice]: Yes, I always knew it would turn out like this one day—and that would be the end. The end of all!
MARTHA [coming from behind the bar and standing in front of it]: Mother!
THE MOTHER: No, Martha, let me have my way; I’ve lived quite long enough. I have lived many years more than my son. That isn’t as it should be. Now I can go and join him at the bottom of the river, where the weeds already have covered up his face.
MARTHA: Mother! Surely you won’t leave me alone?
THE MOTHER: You have been a great help to me, Martha, and I am sorry to leave you. If such words have any meaning left for us, I can honestly say you were a good daughter, in your fashion. You have always shown me the respect you owed me. But now I am very weary; my old heart, which seemed indifferent to everything, has learned again today what grief means, and I’m not young enough to come to terms with it. In any case, when a mother is no longer capable of recognizing her own son, it’s clear her role on earth is ended.
MARTHA: No. Not if her daughter’s happiness remains to be ensured. And, no less than my heart, my hopes are shattered when I hear you speaking in this new, amazing way—you who had taught me to respect nothing.
THE MOTHER [in the same listless tone]: It only proves that in a world where everything can be denied, there are forces undeniable; and on this earth where nothing’s sure we have our certainties. [Bitterly] And a mother’s love for her son is now my certainty.
MARTHA: So you are not sure that a mother can love her daughter?
THE MOTHER: It’s not now I’d want to wound you, Martha, but love for a daughter can never be the same thing. It strikes less deep. And how could I now live without my son’s love?
MARTHA: A wonderful love—that forgot you utterly for twenty years!
THE MOTHER: Yes, it was a wonderful love that outlasted twenty years of silence. Say what you
