Thirty Pieces of Silver: A Play in Three Acts by Howard Fast Page B

Forgive me.
    JANE Why do you hate him so?
    MILDRED I did it, didn’t I? Look, honey—I don’t hate him. I’ve got no feelings about your guy at all——
    JANE ( actually upset now ) Like hell you haven’t!
    MILDRED All right—I don’t like him. Do we stop being friends?
    JANE Don’t be an idiot. I never thought you made the mistake of liking David.
    MILDRED And now you’re mad.
    JANE Do you want me to turn handsprings? Why don’t you like him? He’s just a poor, frightened guy—who never quite grew up.
    MILDRED Maybe I’m tired of men who never quite grew up. It’s a disease of our males—at least of those who infest Washington. Except——
    JANE Except what?
    MILDRED Except Agronsky. He never leaves me alone, does he? I wonder if he leaves you alone? Why in hell didn’t you marry him, Jane?
    JANE Why didn’t you marry Harry Truman and learn to pour tea? For God’s sake——
    MILDRED Make it Abe Lincoln. I’ll bring my birth certificate next time. The sweet ones always have the claws. Yes, my darling, I can think of two reasons why you didn’t marry Agronsky, and David doesn’t figure in either of them.
    JANE You’re an evil person with an evil mind.
    MILDRED I am that. Did you ever know a woman in this city who wasn’t? The men are little lice, but we become female Walter Winchells. That’s inevitable.
    JANE Don’t talk to me about Agronsky any more, please, Mildred. I don’t know what he means to you. To me, he’s a friend—that’s all.
    MILDRED To me, he’s a man, do you see, my dear? He’s a hero, the only male hero in my lexicon. And not only because Jim Andrews, whom I happen to be married to, thinks he’s a Red. Agronsky is real. That’s all. Everything else around here is a nightmare, a horror, a particular cesspool created by the God-fearing folk of this nation so that they might be governed——
    JANE Stop it, Mildred. You’re manufacturing this beautiful and particular horror out of your own needs. There are as many honest men and women here as anywhere.
    MILDRED Are there? Then sweet dreams to you. Let’s not fight.
    JANE We won’t fight, honey.
    MILDRED ( looking at her watch ) This is overtime.
    ( She rises. )
    I’ve got to run, darling. This is a long subject, and some other time, on a long rainy afternoon, maybe, we’ll go into it.
    ( She starts to the door and then stops. )
    I’ll see you to-night, won’t I? You’re not really angry?
    JANE No, I’m not really angry.
    MILDRED Thank the Lord. You’re the one friend I’ve got. The rest belong to that louse, Andrews.
    ( She takes a quick step to JANE, kisses the top of her head, and then exits. JANE remains for a moment, kneeling by the chair. Then she gets up and stares at the door for a moment. Then she gathers the slip covers together, shrugs, and exits up the staircase. )
    ( She is just gone when LORRY GRAHAM enters through the archway from the dining-room. She is a healthy-looking little girl of five and a half or so, in overalls and braids. She wanders in, singing lightly to herself, drifts around the room and spies the tractor. She sits down next to it, trying to fit on a loose rubber tread, holding the toy in her lap and working seriously. )
    LORRY The damn thing keeps losing this tread, no matter what I do.
    HILDA ( entering from the dining-room to hear this. She is a Negro woman of about thirty. She wears a maid’s uniform. ) That’s no way to talk.
    LORRY What way?
    HILDA Damn.
    LORRY There. You said it yourself.
    HILDA I didn’t say it. I just told you not to say it.
    LORRY Why?
    HILDA You know why. My goodness, Lorry, you know a good word from a bad word.
    LORRY I always hear you say it. It’s just that this damn tractor keeps losing a tread. It always keeps losing a tread.
    HILDA ( getting down next to her ) There again. Let’s