Read Online Long Day's Journey into Night (Yale Nota Bene) by Eugene O'Neill, Harold Bloom - Free Book Online
Authors: Eugene O'Neill, Harold Bloom
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believes what he wants to believe for the moment. On the other hand, Jamie knows after one probing look at her that his suspicions are justified. His eyes fall to stare at the floor, his face sets in an expression of embittered, defensive cynicism. Mary goes on, half sitting on the arm of Edmund’s chair, her arm around him, so her face is above and behind his and he cannot look into her eyes.
But I seem to be always picking on you, telling you don’t do this and don’t do that. Forgive me, dear. It’s just that I want to take care of you.
EDMUND
I know, Mama. How about you? Do you feel rested?
MARY
Yes, ever so much better. I’ve been lying down ever since you went out. It’s what I needed after such a restless night. I don’t feel nervous now.
EDMUND
That’s fine.
He pats her hand on his shoulder. Jamie gives him a strange, almost contemptuous glance, wondering if his brother can really mean this. Edmund does not notice but his mother does.
MARY
In a forced teasing tone.
Good heavens, how down in the mouth you look, Jamie. What’s the matter now?
JAMIE
Without looking at her.
Nothing.
MARY
Oh, I’d forgotten you’ve been working on the front hedge. That accounts for your sinking into the dumps, doesn’t it?
JAMIE
If you want to think so, Mama.
MARY
Keeping her tone.
Well, that’s the effect it always has, isn’t it? What a big baby you are! Isn’t he, Edmund?
EDMUND
He’s certainly a fool to care what anyone thinks.
MARY
Strangely.
Yes, the only way is to make yourself not care.
She catches Jamie giving her a bitter glance and changes the subject.
Where is your father? I heard Cathleen call him.
EDMUND
Gabbing with old Captain Turner, Jamie says. He’ll be late, as usual.
Jamie gets up and goes to the windows at right, glad of an excuse to turn his back.
MARY
I’ve told Cathleen time and again she must go wherever he is and tell him. The idea of screaming as if this were a cheap boardinghouse!
JAMIE
Looking out the window.
She’s down there now.
Sneeringly.
Interrupting the famous Beautiful Voice! She should have more respect.
MARY
Sharply—letting her resentment toward him come out.
It’s you who should have more respect! Stop sneering at your father! I won’t have it! You ought to be proud you’re his son! He may have his faults. Who hasn’t? But he’s worked hard all his life. He made his way up from ignorance and poverty to the top of his profession! Everyone else admires him and you should be the last one to sneer—you, who, thanks to him, have never had to work hard in your life!
Stung, Jamie has turned to stare at her with accusing antagonism. Her eyes waver guiltily and she adds in a tone which begins to placate.
Remember your father is getting old, Jamie. You really ought to show more consideration.
JAMIE
I ought to?
EDMUND
Uneasily.
Oh, dry up, Jamie!
Jamie looks out the window again.
And, for Pete’s sake, Mama, why jump on Jamie all of a sudden?
MARY
Bitterly.
Because he’s always sneering at someone else, always looking for the worst weakness in everyone.
Then with a strange, abrupt change to a detached, impersonal tone.
But I suppose life has made him like that, and he can’t help it. None of us can help the things life has done to us. They’re done before you realize it, and once they’re done they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you’d like to be, and you’ve lost your true self forever.
Edmund is made apprehensive by her strangeness. He tries to look up in her eyes but she keeps them averted. Jamie turns to her—then looks quickly out of the window again.
JAMIE
Dully.
I’m hungry. I wish the Old Man would get a move on. It’s a rotten trick the way he keeps meals waiting, and then beefs because they’re spoiled.
MARY
With a resentment that has a quality of being automatic and on the surface while inwardly she is indifferent.
Yes, it’s very trying, Jamie. You don’t know how trying.
But I seem to be always picking on you, telling you don’t do this and don’t do that. Forgive me, dear. It’s just that I want to take care of you.
EDMUND
I know, Mama. How about you? Do you feel rested?
MARY
Yes, ever so much better. I’ve been lying down ever since you went out. It’s what I needed after such a restless night. I don’t feel nervous now.
EDMUND
That’s fine.
He pats her hand on his shoulder. Jamie gives him a strange, almost contemptuous glance, wondering if his brother can really mean this. Edmund does not notice but his mother does.
MARY
In a forced teasing tone.
Good heavens, how down in the mouth you look, Jamie. What’s the matter now?
JAMIE
Without looking at her.
Nothing.
MARY
Oh, I’d forgotten you’ve been working on the front hedge. That accounts for your sinking into the dumps, doesn’t it?
JAMIE
If you want to think so, Mama.
MARY
Keeping her tone.
Well, that’s the effect it always has, isn’t it? What a big baby you are! Isn’t he, Edmund?
EDMUND
He’s certainly a fool to care what anyone thinks.
MARY
Strangely.
Yes, the only way is to make yourself not care.
She catches Jamie giving her a bitter glance and changes the subject.
Where is your father? I heard Cathleen call him.
EDMUND
Gabbing with old Captain Turner, Jamie says. He’ll be late, as usual.
Jamie gets up and goes to the windows at right, glad of an excuse to turn his back.
MARY
I’ve told Cathleen time and again she must go wherever he is and tell him. The idea of screaming as if this were a cheap boardinghouse!
JAMIE
Looking out the window.
She’s down there now.
Sneeringly.
Interrupting the famous Beautiful Voice! She should have more respect.
MARY
Sharply—letting her resentment toward him come out.
It’s you who should have more respect! Stop sneering at your father! I won’t have it! You ought to be proud you’re his son! He may have his faults. Who hasn’t? But he’s worked hard all his life. He made his way up from ignorance and poverty to the top of his profession! Everyone else admires him and you should be the last one to sneer—you, who, thanks to him, have never had to work hard in your life!
Stung, Jamie has turned to stare at her with accusing antagonism. Her eyes waver guiltily and she adds in a tone which begins to placate.
Remember your father is getting old, Jamie. You really ought to show more consideration.
JAMIE
I ought to?
EDMUND
Uneasily.
Oh, dry up, Jamie!
Jamie looks out the window again.
And, for Pete’s sake, Mama, why jump on Jamie all of a sudden?
MARY
Bitterly.
Because he’s always sneering at someone else, always looking for the worst weakness in everyone.
Then with a strange, abrupt change to a detached, impersonal tone.
But I suppose life has made him like that, and he can’t help it. None of us can help the things life has done to us. They’re done before you realize it, and once they’re done they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you’d like to be, and you’ve lost your true self forever.
Edmund is made apprehensive by her strangeness. He tries to look up in her eyes but she keeps them averted. Jamie turns to her—then looks quickly out of the window again.
JAMIE
Dully.
I’m hungry. I wish the Old Man would get a move on. It’s a rotten trick the way he keeps meals waiting, and then beefs because they’re spoiled.
MARY
With a resentment that has a quality of being automatic and on the surface while inwardly she is indifferent.
Yes, it’s very trying, Jamie. You don’t know how trying.
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