Mr. Halloway Flashcards
WILL. Yeah!
(More lightning. Thunder. JIM and WILL, panicked, run. Blackout. The lights come up to find MR. HALLOWAY sur-rounded by images of books as JIM and WILL run in.)
That you, Will? Grown an inch since break-fast. Jim? Eyes darker, cheeks paler: you burn yourself at both ends, Jim?
JIM (ducks his head). Heck, Mr. Halloway.
No such place as heck. But hell’s right here. See? (Shows them a picture in a book.) Hell never looked better. Here’s souls sunk in hideous slime. There’s some-one wrongside up, inside out!
JIM (staring). Boy howdy! What else?
(opens another book). Pterodactyl. Kite of De-struction! Drums of Doom: The Sage of the Thunder Liz-ards! Pep you up, Jim?
JIM. I’m pepped!
Will, you need a white-hat or black-hat book?
WILL. Hats?
Jim here wears a black 10-gallon Stetson, reads books to fit. Fu-Manchu now, and soon? Machiavel-li! Or Dr. Faustus—extra large black Stetson! And a white
hat for Will, right, son?
JIM. What kinda hat would you wear, Mr. Halloway? Black or white?
Both! Can that be? Both! Will, tell Mom I’ll be home in an hour! Get, both of you! And take your dino-saurs and mysterious islands with! (Lightning! Thunder! JIM and WILL run off. HALLOWAY stares after them, philosophising.)
Lord, see them run. Oh, I’d love to run with them, make the pack. I know what the wind does to them, taking them to all the secret places that will never be secret again! You got to run nights like this or the sad-ness hurts. Well! Come on, old man.
JIM. A witch born in the dust, raised in the dust, and comes back from the dust! Yah!
(exits, murmuring). The most beautiful woman in the world … ?
WILL. Holy cow! Night!
(WILL spins about in flickers of light and stands in his par-lor with his parents.)
(reading a handbill). Hello, Will. Beat you home. (Crumples the handbill.)
WILL. Boy, the wind really flew us home. Streets full of pa-per blowing. Crazy handbills. You see any, Dad?
Stone lion blew off the library steps. Prowling the town, looking for tasty Christian boys no doubt. Crazy handbills? Naw. (He stuffs the crumpled bill in his coat.)
JIM’S MOM. Warm blood? That’s the story of all our sor-rows. And don’t ask why.
(JIM’S MOM closes the window. Crossfade to HALLO-WAY’s bedroom and WILL’s bedroom. WILL has his ear pressed to an imaginary wall, eavesdropping on HALLO-WAY, who is seated on the bed.)
Will makes me feel so old … a man should play baseball with his son …
MRS. HALLOWAY. Not necessary. You’re a good man.
—in a bad season. Hell, I was 40 when he was
born! And you! “Who’s your daughter?” people say. Hell, my thoughts are turning to mush. (He takes the handbill from his pocket, uncrumples it and reads.) … “Most beau-tiful woman in the world … ”
MISS FOLEY (cuts in from offstage). Something must be done! (JIM and WILL duck aside as MISS FOLEY and HALLO-WAY enter near the HALLOWAY front porch.)
You saw Will and Jim outside your house, saw their faces?
MISS FOLEY. One apology’s enough. Good night. (She stops, alone to one side, in shadow.) I do wonder … where that Robert has gone? (She opens her handbag and takes out a ticket.) One free carousel ride. (Beams.) Free.
(MISS FOLEY exits into the night.)
Well, boys. Will, Jim. I don’t see any reason to worry your mothers at this hour. If you promise to explain this whole thing at breakfast, I’ll let you off. Can you get in without waking the ladies up?
JIM. Heck, yes! (Points to both houses.) We nailed rungs on the side of the houses right up to our windows, hid them with ivy!
We? You, too, Will? How long has this gone on? No, don’t tell. I did it, too, at your age. Grand fun. Late nights, free as hell. You don’t stay out too late?
WILL. This was the very first time after midnight.
Having permission would spoil everything, I suppose? It’s sneaking out to the lake, the graveyard, the rail tracks, the peach orchards late nights that counts … right?
JIM & WILL. How did you know!?
Once I was a boy after hours. Don’t let the women know I told you. Up. And don’t sneak out again late nights for a month … well … a week!
JIM. Yes, sir! (JIM scuttles up the rungs on the side of his house and vanishes.)
(watching JIM). You know what I hate most of all, Will? Not being able to run any more, like you.
WILL. Yes, sir.
(moving off, walking with WILL). You’re lucky you turned yourself in.
WILL. Yes, sir.
But, I know you. How come you’re not acting guilty? You didn’t steal anything from Miss Foley, right, or break her window?
WILL. No, sir.
(They move to their front porch.)
You want to tell me all about it, Will?
WILL. Dad, you wouldn’t believe.
Try me.
WILL (blurts it out). Dad, the other night, at three in the morning—
(flinching). Three in the morning! (A beat.) Go on.
WILL (stops himself). In a couple days, I’ll tell everything. I swear. Mom’s honor.
(smiles). Mom’s honor’s good enough for me.
(HALLOWAY and WILL look at each other for a moment.)
Must be late. (Inhales.) Air smells good.
WILL (inhaling). Autumn leaves.
Smells as if the fine sands of ancient Egypt were drifting to dunes beyond the town.
WILL (a beat). Dad, am I a good person?
I think so. Yes.
WILL. Will—will that help when things get really rough?
Rough?
WILL. Will it save me if I need saving? If I’m around bad people and no one else good around for miles, what then?
It’ll help.
WILL. That’s not good enough, Dad!
Good is no guarantee for your body. It’s main-ly for peace of mind—
WILL (a beat). Dad, are you a good person?
No man’s a hero to himself. I’ve lived with me a lifetime.
WILL. And adding it all up?
I’m all right.
WILL. Then, Dad, why aren’t you happy?
(stands up, bothered). The front porch at … let’s see … 1:30 in the morning … is no place to philosophize …
WILL. I wanted to know is all. (HALLOWAY lights a cigar and examines the smoke as if his thoughts were there.)
All right. Now, since when did you think being good meant being happy?
WILL. Since always.
Learn otherwise! Being good is a fearful occu-pation, Will. Men strain at it and sometimes break in two. You work twice as hard to be a farmer as to be his hog. And people do love sin, Will. And how they love it! Oh, it would be grand if you could just be fine, act fine, not think of it all the time. But it’s hard. With the last piece of lemon cake waiting in the icebox, middle of the night, not yours, but you lie awake in a hot sweat for it, eh? Or, a hot spring noon, and you’re chained to your school desk and away off there’s the river, cool and fresh over the rock-fall. Boys can hear clear water like that in their sleep! So minute by min-ute, hour by hour, it never ends, you got the choice this sec-ond, now the next … Run swim, or stay hot, run eat or lie hungry. So you stay, but once stayed, Will, you know the secret? Don’t think of the river again. Or the lemon cake. Because if you do, you’ll go crazy. Add up all the rivers never swum in, cakes never eaten, and by the time your my age, Will, it’s a lot missed-out-on. Look at me: married at 39, Will, 39! But I was so busy wrestling myself two falls out of three, I figured I couldn’t marry until I had licked myself proper good and forever. Till at last I looked up from my great self-wrestling match one night when your mother came to borrow a book and got me, instead! And I saw then and there you take a man half-bad and a woman half-bad and put their two good halves together and you got one human all good to share between. That’s you, Will, for my money. I early-on saw you were wiser, sooner and better, than I will ever be …
WILL (quietly but firmly). No, sir.
Yes! My one wisdom is: you’re wise.
WILL. Funny, you’ve told me more, tonight, than I’ve told you. Maybe I’ll tell you everything at breakfast, OK? (Gets up.)
I’ll be ready if you are.
WILL (moves to stand by his father). Because … I want you to be happy, Dad. (Touches his father’s elbow.) Anything I could do to make you happy, I would.
Willy, William. Just tell me I’ll live forever. That would do nicely.
WILL. Pa, don’t sound so sad.
Me? I’m the original sad man. I read a book and it makes me sad. See a film: sad. Plays? They really
work me over.
WILL. Is there anything doesn’t make you sad?
One thing. Death. Death makes everything else sad. But death itself only scares. If there wasn’t death, all the other things wouldn’t get tainted.
WILL (almost frantic). Don’t talk death! Someone, something might hear! Dad, listen! You’ll live forever! Sure, you were sick a few years ago—but that’s over. Sure, you’re 54, but that’s young!
Sh! Your mother! (WILL covers his mouth with his hands. HALLOWAY steps to the porch trellis and nods at the rungs.)
The way you came out, the way you go in.
WILL (looks up). Dad you won’t pull these rungs off now, will you?
Someday, when you’re tired of them, you’ll pull them off yourself.
WILL. I’ll never be tired of them.
(nods). Is that how it seems? All right, son, up you go.
WILL. I hate to leave you. You want to come up this way, too?
(too quickly). No, no.
WILL. Because you’re welcome.
That’s all right, go on.
WILL. Dad—
Willy?
WILL (a beat, swallows). Don’t go near the carnival.
HALLOWAY. Strange …
(The calliope music stops. HALLOWAY looks toward the
carnival in the meadow.)
Just what I was going to tell you. (He looks at the hidden trellis rungs and tests them.) You want company?
WILL. Dad, you ain’t got the stuff!
(stung). Oh, no?! (He grabs hold and climbs.)
Here I come, ready or not! Gah!
WILL. Hold on! There! (HALLOWAY gains a foothold and exhales. WILL still has his hand, which turns into a handshake.)
Why, Willy, William, you just saved your old dad!
WILL. No, sir! You saved yourself!
If you say so! (Gazes up at his son.) Oh, Will, you’re the cat’s pajamas!
WILL. You coming up!?
(HALLOWAY looks down and then off at the countryside where the calliope music stirs on the wind.)
I think that’s the safest bet!
WILL. Because!
(HALLOWAY stops above the boys, sensing them. He un-wraps a cigar, dropping the paper. He leans down to pick it up and sees the boys.)
Jim! Will! What the hell’s going on?
JIM. Mr. Halloway—
Get up out of there!
WILL. Dad, we can’t! Don’t look down at us!
Boys, the police think you’ve run away, guilty! They—
JIM (cuts in). Mr. Halloway, we’re dead if you don’t look up! The Illustrated Man, if he—
(still leaning down). The what?
DARK. Sir.
(stares at the clock). 11:15. (Checks his watch.) One minute slow.
DARK. Sir, the Cooger-Dark combined shows have picked two local boys, two! To be our special guests during our celebratory visit!
(shakes his watch). Damn cheap watch!
DARK (controlling his temper). These boys will ride all rides, see each show, shake hands with every performer, go home with magic kits, baseball bats—
(still not looking at DARK). Who are these so called lucky boys?
WILL (whispering). Careful, Dad!
I don’t—
DARK. Their names, if you please. (In his eagerness, DARK’s hands twitch. HALLOWAY looks at him, curiously, and studies the tattoos.) Sir, you wouldn’t want them to lose out—
No, but—those are truly bad tattoos.
DARK. Bad? Bad!?
Well, I thought—
DARK. Bad? Bad!?
Well, I thought—
DARK. Thought what?
One of them looks like—
DARK. Thought what?
One of them looks like—
DARK. Like who?
Mister, why are you so jumpy about two ordi-nary kids?
DARK (gritting his teeth). Sir, does my enthusiasm seem jumpy?
Well, lemme see. Sure. One of those tattoos looks like—(Long pause.) Milton Blumquist. (DARK clenches one fist, and JIM writhes in agony.)
And the other, the other looks like—(Long
pause.) Avery Johnson.
DARK (coldly). You lie.
What? And spoil the prizewinner’s fun?
DARK. Fact is, we found the names of the boys 10 minutes
ago. Just wanted to double check.
And?
DARK (slowly). Jim. (A beat.) Will. (JIM and WILL exchange looks. Above, DARK clenches his fists again and drops of blood fall from his fists, down on the boys faces. HALLOWAY ignores this.)
Jim? Will? Lots of Jims and Wills, couple hun-dred, town like this … what about their last names? (DARK stiffens, trapped.)
Well, well. Now, I think you’re lying. Why should you, a carnival stranger, lie to me here on a street in some town on the backside of nowhere? (DARK clenches his fists harder. Drops of blood ooze from each fist. The boys are in agony as the blood falls down through the grille and onto their hands.)
(casually). Sorry I can’t be more help.
DUST WITCH (sensing the presence of the boys, feeling the air). Ah! Ah … wait! (The boys cower down, eyes shut. The DUST WITCH in-hales the wind, touches the breeze with her itching fingers, begins to lean toward the grate, under which lie the terri-fied boys.) Close … very close … now.
(shouts). Now, this is a fine cigar! (Strikes match.)
