Part 2

TURAI. No, no. Thank _you_. You’ve answered my questions most patiently.

DWORNITSCHEK. Excuse me, sir, would it be taking a liberty if I enquired why?...

TURAI. Why I have asked those questions? Not at all. You’ll find that out later on. But don’t alarm yourself. I’m not a detective. Now--Johann Dwornitschek. Here are more questions. That room next door there is Miss Ilona Szabo’s? [_He indicates the door at left to bedroom._]

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir.

TURAI. Has she been gone long?

DWORNITSCHEK. I have not seen her come in, sir.

TURAI. Did you see her go out?

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. They left at six o’clock this afternoon.

TURAI. They? Who?

DWORNITSCHEK. The entire house-party, sir, including the master. They were going to San Pietro, I think, sir.

TURAI. Is that far?

DWORNITSCHEK. The yacht would take them there in about an hour and a half. Twenty-six persons in all, sir. Supper served on board. A nice cold collation, sir.

TURAI. When do you expect them back?

DWORNITSCHEK. Well, sir--they took a considerable quantity of liquor with them.

TURAI. The question I asked was “When do you expect them back?”

DWORNITSCHEK. That is the question I’m answering, sir. Hardly before to-morrow morning at the earliest.

TURAI. I see. Who’s in the party?

DWORNITSCHEK. The core or center of it, if I may use the expression, sir....

TURAI. Certainly you may use the expression. It’s a beautiful expression.

DWORNITSCHEK. Thank you, sir. The core or center of it is an American family, distant relatives of the master. Every time a holiday comes around, they insist on a picnic.

TURAI. What holiday is to-day?

DWORNITSCHEK. I don’t know, sir. They have two every week here. They always go off at night in the big yacht. They’re quite wild about the young lady. She sings for them on the yacht. With the gypsy band.

TURAI. Oh, they have gypsies, too?

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. Four pieces. From the Hotel. But they’re not much good. No--A gypsy’s not at his best, sir, on the water. Gypsies need _solid_ ground.

TURAI. Solid ground--yes, of course. Well, passing over the subject of gypsies for a moment, if you don’t mind--

DWORNITSCHEK. Oh, no, sir.

TURAI. Well, then lightly passing over the subject of gypsies, do you know a Mr. Almady?

DWORNITSCHEK. Oh yes, indeed, sir. I know Mr. Almady. I know Mr. Almady very well. He has been here three days.

TURAI. Here in the castle?

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. In the old wing facing the park.

TURAI. That would be on this floor?

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir, on this floor.

TURAI. And--he’s one of the yachting party, you say?

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir, along with the young lady.

TURAI. What do you mean, _along_ with the young lady?

DWORNITSCHEK. Well, sir, he escorted her to the boat. They’re--you might say--sort of partners.

TURAI. How partners?

DWORNITSCHEK. I mean, sir--well, working together--like--like--as it were, partners.

TURAI. I see. You mean partners.

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. Partners. Mr. Almady gives recitations on the boat.

TURAI. How do you know that?

DWORNITSCHEK. They took me with them, sir, last Tuesday.

TURAI. Tuesday? It would be Tuesday.

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir--Tuesday.

TURAI. All right--Thank you....

DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir. Will that be all, sir?

TURAI. Yes, that will be all.

DWORNITSCHEK. Excuse me, sir, but you said that I would find out later on....

TURAI. Why I began by asking you all those personal questions.

DWORNITSCHEK. Exactly, sir.

TURAI. Quite simple. It’s a little matter of psychology. When you want a man to speak the truth, begin by making him tell you all about himself. It gives him a feeling of responsibility and makes him afraid to lie, later on. That’s from a detective-play by Mansky and Turai. You can take the tip as some slight return for your trouble.

DWORNITSCHEK. Thank you very much, sir.

TURAI. Don’t mention it.

DWORNITSCHEK. And which shall I bring you, sir?

TURAI. Which? What which?

DWORNITSCHEK. Which brand of cognac?

TURAI. Which brands have you?

DWORNITSCHEK. All the best brands, sir. Hennessey, Three Star Martel, Biscuit, Dubouche, Rivière--Gardrat.... [_A door is heard to slam somewhere at left._] Excuse me, sir. I rather think ... if you would be good enough to remain quite quiet for just one moment ... I rather fancy that’s the young lady coming back now. [_They listen. From the adjoining room at the left a soprano voice is heard singing casually but clearly a well-known aria from an operetta._] Yes, sir. That’s the young lady all right.

TURAI. [_Going up toward the door at right._] It is. It’s she. Splendid. Then never mind the cognac. _Champagne_ is clearly indicated. My favorite brand--Mumm’s Cordon Rouge. See that it’s iced and hurry it along. Look sharp, man!

DWORNITSCHEK. You wish it here--sir?

TURAI. [_Going out at right._] Of course. Of course.

DWORNITSCHEK. Very good, sir. [_Exit_ DWORNITSCHEK. _He goes out through the door at left to the hall. The singing grows louder._]

TURAI’S VOICE. [_In the room at right._] Hey! Stop that bath. You haven’t time for baths now. She’s back! Sh! Hurry up. Quick, both of you. [_The voices of_ MANSKY _and_ ADAM _are also heard_.] I tell you she _is_. She’s in her room. Do be quick. I’ve ordered champagne. Here, I’ll help you dress. [_The door at the right is closed from the outside. From inside the adjoining room on the left the singing continues until interrupted by_ ALMADY’S VOICE _raised in protest_.]

ALMADY’S VOICE. What do you mean by this singing? I believe you’re doing it just to annoy me. [_She trills a few notes._] You’re trying to torture me.

ILONA’S VOICE. Well--it’s pretty cool to come walking into my bedroom at this hour.

ALMADY’S VOICE. I came with you.

ILONA’S VOICE. Now, listen. Everything’s over and ended. I’ve put you out of my life forever. I’m engaged to be married and I intend to be a good little wife. You’ve no right to behave like this.

ALMADY’S VOICE. No right? I, who made you? I, with whom you have lived so many hours of madness--wonderful, unforgettable--

ILONA’S VOICE. Not unforgettable at all. Watch how quickly _I’m_ going to forget them. Do go away, and leave me alone. Don’t touch me. [_A pause._] Stop. I won’t let you kiss me. Can’t you understand my fiancé will be arriving any day now?

ALMADY’S VOICE. I’ll kill him.

ILONA’S VOICE. You’ll do nothing of the kind. [ALMADY _sobs loudly_.] Oh, stop _crying_! The idea--a grown-up man, the father of a family, with four children.

ALMADY’S VOICE. But I love you so, Ilona. And you throw me over for another man. Don’t you love me--still--just a little?

ILONA’S VOICE. You’re nothing but a great big baby. Cheer up, do. That’s better. All right, then, you _may_ kiss me. [_A pause while they kiss._] What are you doing? Don’t take off your coat.

ALMADY’S VOICE. I must. I want to say goodbye.

ILONA’S VOICE. Well, you don’t need to say it in your shirt-sleeves. [_Pause._] _Now_ run away and let me get some sleep. I’m worn out.

ALMADY’S VOICE. I’m only waiting till you’re in bed. Is there anything to drink here?

ILONA’S VOICE. You’ll find it in the ante-room. Take the whole bottle if you want to--but _go_. [_Pause. Shouting._] Look on the sideboard. And stay where you are till I’ve got my nightie on. Don’t come _in_ and don’t _look_. [_There is a silence during which the door right is opened and_ TURAI, ADAM, _and_ MANSKY _tiptoe in like three mischievous boys. They speak in whispers as they cross to the door to_ ILONA’S _bedroom_.]

TURAI. Hush! She’s gone to bed.

ADAM. Do you think she’s asleep already?

TURAI. I doubt it. Come on. Faces to the wall as close as you can get. [_They group themselves in a row as near the wall as the furniture will permit._]

TURAI. [_Whispers._] Ready? Now ... Ilona, Ilona, Ilona ... take the time from me. [_Raises his hand like a conductor; at the same moment_ ALMADY’S _voice is heard_.]

ALMADY’S VOICE. I worship you--I adore you. [_The three are riveted where they stand, transfixed with amazement._]

ILONA’S VOICE. Are you starting all over again?

ALMADY’S VOICE. Yes, I am. All over again. I love you as the church steeple loves the cloud that settles above it and floats away with the first passing breeze. I can’t go on living without you. Not a week, not a day, not an hour. [_The three men turn simultaneously._]

ILONA’S VOICE. [_contemptuously._] Just words.

ALMADY’S VOICE. It’s the truth. I’m crazy about you. And you--you’ve used me up and squeezed me like a lemon, and now you want to throw me away.

ILONA’S VOICE. I don’t want to throw you away, silly. Where’s the sense in raving like this? Oh, come on, then. Come here and let me kiss your beautiful classic brow.

ADAM. She said--did you hear what she said?

ALMADY’S VOICE. That’s not a kiss--that’s a tip--Nothing but a paltry tip.

MANSKY. [_Sinks into chair._]

ILONA’S VOICE. Don’t shout like that.

ALMADY’S VOICE. I will shout. I’m a squeezed lemon. That’s what I am--[_Sobs._] A lemon! The whole world shall know that I’m a lemon.

ILONA’S VOICE. Get off your knees. And, oh, please, do stop crying. I can’t bear it. You know how fond I am of you. [TURAI _and_ MANSKY _clap their hands to their heads_. ADAM _collapses on the piano stool_.]

ALMADY’S VOICE. Those nights of love--those flaming wonderful nights! Have you forgotten them so completely?

ADAM. [_Looking up._] That’s Almady.

MANSKY. You can’t be sure.

TURAI. [_Turns to_ MANSKY.] Don’t be an ass. Don’t try to deceive a musician about a voice! There’s no use talking--the thing’s a tragedy and we’ve got to face it.

MANSKY. Friday!

ILONA’S VOICE. Stop! Control yourself.

ALMADY’S VOICE. You ask me to control myself--when I look at _that_--at that perfect shape. The rose flush of that skin.

ILONA’S VOICE. Hands off!

ALMADY’S VOICE. My God! How round it is! How smooth, how velvety--and how fragrant. [_A pause._]

ILONA’S VOICE. Don’t bite!

ALMADY’S VOICE. I must--I am _so hungry_....

TURAI. [_To_ ADAM _and patting him on the shoulder_.] I think you had better go, old man. Go and turn in in our room.

ADAM. [_Bitterly._] And I thought she was a Madonna. Holding her in his arms--stroking--[_rising in sudden fury and rushing to the door_.] God, I could kill him!

TURAI. [_Restraining him._] Steady, old man, steady. [ADAM _covers his ears with his hands_.]

ALMADY’S VOICE. Ah, well! I see I am nothing to you any more.

ILONA’S VOICE. Oh, for goodness sake. I swear that no man has ever meant so much to me as you. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet you are a _man_! Who should know that better than I?

TURAI. Come, come, my boy--let’s get out of this.

MANSKY. [_Goes to_ ADAM.] Come on, old chap. You’re going to sleep in our room. [TURAI _and_ MANSKY _lead him to stairway_.]

ADAM. Sleep! [_He goes out at right._ TURAI _and_ MANSKY _are on the landing_.]

ILONA’S VOICE. Oh! Don’t look so pathetic.... Well, come here--kiss me.

MANSKY. I was right-- We ought to have sent a telegram. [_He goes out at right._ TURAI _comes down to table, lights a cigarette and sits on edge of table_.]

ALMADY’S VOICE. I want you to remember that kiss forever.

ILONA’S VOICE. It was your old kiss. Sweet and burning--like hot punch. But do be a dear and go away now. It was mad of you to come here. If my fiancé ever hears of this I’ll kill myself. Oh, damn my idiotic sentimentality for getting me into this mess. You must leave here to-morrow on the first train. He’ll be here any day now. [TURAI _shifts uneasily_.] Every day I’ve been expecting a telegram. [TURAI _groans_.] Get out, I tell you, get out!

ALMADY’S VOICE. If you insist, dear heart, so be it! Your word is law. I am going to bed now. Farewell, dear heart. But grant me one last kiss.

TURAI. [_To himself._] Damn all fools who don’t know when they’ve had enough.

ILONA’S VOICE. Go _now_--

ALMADY’S VOICE. So be it. Good-night, dear heart.

ILONA’S VOICE. Good-night, you baby. [_Silence. A door is heard closing._]

TURAI. [_To himself._] _At last!_ Good-night, dear heart! [_After a moment he sits down in armchair. Pause._ MANSKY _re-enters_.]

MANSKY. [_With a gesture of inquiry toward_ ILONA’S _room_.] This silence--what does it mean?

TURAI. This silence is a highly moral silence. The baritone hero has departed. And the fair heroine has deposited herself in bed.

MANSKY. After depositing _us_ in the worst mess in my whole experience. Wasn’t it awful?

TURAI. Awful!

MANSKY. Smooth, round, fragrant! And he wanted to bi-- oh, my God! [_He sits._]

TURAI. Ten minutes ago we were three happy men. That poor boy! How is he?

MANSKY. I got him to bed. Poor little Pyramus. A jolly wall, that, isn’t it? Church Steeple! Lemon! The damned fool.

TURAI. I can’t look him in the face. That little old grandmother of his--she’d let me have it with her broomstick if she were here.

MANSKY. It’s certainly the most appalling mess. You got it through your pull with the butler! Marvelous luck! Pyramus and Thisbe! “Oh sweet wall!” Well, I hope you’re satisfied!

TURAI. Oh, go to the devil.

MANSKY. I don’t want to be unkind, but whichever way you look at it you’re to blame for this catastrophe. Why the deuce was it necessary to put the boy next door to his lady-love? Friendship _is_ friendship, but there are limits.

TURAI. I was merely trying to be sympathetic and helpful. I meant well.

MANSKY. Never mean “well.” It’s fatal. See what’s happened as a result. Bride gone--love gone--waltz gone--operetta gone. All a total loss. On the other hand, the dog didn’t die and the coffee _was good_. Well, Friday has certainly made a nice clean, efficient job of it _this_ time!

TURAI. I’m only thinking about that boy.

MANSKY. And I’m also thinking about our operetta. The lady kissed the lemon’s classic brow. After this, can you see her playing the part?

TURAI. Do stop jabbering about that side of it. I’m only interested in the boy. Did he say anything?

MANSKY. Plenty. I wish I hadn’t heard it.

TURAI. What _did_ he say?

MANSKY. One of his remarks was “I’ll tear up the score and kill Ilona.” The round and fragrant one. And the problem that presents itself to me is this: if he tears up his music and kills the prima donna, what sort of a _first night_ shall we have?

TURAI. [_Thinks a moment, then with emphasis._] We’ll have a first night. I promise you that.

MANSKY. What, after all this?

TURAI. Yes, after all _this_. Don’t worry, we’ll have a first night all right.

MANSKY. With that music?

TURAI. With that music and that composer and that prima donna. And I’ll tell you some other things. We’ll have a hit, a wedding, and a happy ending.

MANSKY. Well, of all the optimists! It’s just a suggestion, but wouldn’t it be a good idea if you were to mention just what you propose to _do_. This is where Sandor Turai, famous for his happy endings, had better try to surpass himself. [_Turns toward stairs._] Get busy, my play-writing genius, and let’s see how good you are.

TURAI. One can but do one’s best. [MANSKY _goes out at right. A clock in the hall is heard to strike four._ TURAI _takes a blank sheet of music from the piano. He paces up and down in deep thought, occasionally glancing toward_ ILONA’S _room. He jots down a few words._ MANSKY _re-enters_.] Well, how is he?

MANSKY. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. That’s bad. He didn’t even answer my question.

TURAI. What did you ask him?

MANSKY. I said: [_Plaintively._] “Feeling better now?”

TURAI. What did you expect him to answer to a damn fool question like that?

MANSKY. Well, have _you_ solved the problem?

TURAI. If I have I’m not going to tell you. You’ve ruined enough good ideas of mine already with your collaboration. This time I mean to work alone. Without a partner. [_Goes to table. Sits on bench._] All I ask of you is a little information. There are a few _facts_ I require.

MANSKY. [_Huffily._] That’s all I’m good for, is it?

TURAI. That’s all. Where are Almady’s wife and family now?

MANSKY. At Lake Balaton, I believe.

TURAI. Lake Balaton. Address?

MANSKY. Verona Cottage.

TURAI. [_Putting it down._] Verona Cottage. What’s Ilona’s mother’s name?

MANSKY. Adele,--Alma, something.

TURAI. Well, it begins with an A?

MANSKY. Yes, I know that.

TURAI. Thank God! Mrs. A. Szabo. What’s her address?

MANSKY. 70 Elizabeth Avenue, Fured.

TURAI. Would she be there now?

MANSKY. [_Petulantly._] Oh God! How should I know? But, listen--[_Points to_ ILONA’S _room_.] My own humble suggestion would be to wake her up now and have a little chat.

TURAI. What about?

MANSKY. [_Starting across._] I’ll rout her out. [_Goes left._]

TURAI. [_Excitedly._] For heaven’s sake, no! The only thing a woman can do is deny everything. What could she deny? Could she unsay those words of hers? Gloss over that mad sensual outburst? Explain her half-hearted resistance? Of course, she might point out that it was nice of her to forbid the man to bite. No, I can’t quite see where denials come in.

MANSKY. Women have lots of other tricks. Falling on their knees--fainting--bursting into tears--laughing hysterically--or just going _rigid_ all over.

TURAI. That might be good enough for you or me. When you’re a middle-aged dramatist, you welcome a chance to do the noble, forgiving business. It’s good theatre. But that boy in there is twenty-five and he isn’t a dramatist. So think again.

MANSKY. [_Collapsing hopelessly in armchair._] Then there’s no solution to the problem.

TURAI. There’s a solution to everything--one has only to find it.

MANSKY. By Jove! Rather a good line, that.

TURAI. Not bad. Jot it down. [MANSKY _does so, on his cuff_.] And now the most important thing is--be very tactful and understanding with the boy. Sit by his bed till he falls asleep.

MANSKY. He won’t sleep to-night.

TURAI. Give him something to make him ... he must have sleep. To-morrow’s going to be a big day. One false move and he will be the center of a record scandal. It would break his heart. And on his peace of mind depends....

MANSKY. Our success. Capacity business. A year’s run.

TURAI. Beastly words.

MANSKY. And yet only yesterday--how beautiful they sounded!

TURAI. Go away. I’ll take on this job. [_Rises._] Leave everything to me, and base your confidence on past experience. Which shows the moment _you_ stop trying to help me, I can solve anything.

MANSKY. [_Bows stiffly and turns toward stairs._] Thank you, my dear fellow.

TURAI. Not at all.

MANSKY. Good-night.

TURAI. Good-night. See you to-morrow. Till then, don’t leave him for an instant. That’s official. I’ve enjoyed our little talk so much. Good-night.

MANSKY. Good-night. [_Goes out at right._ TURAI _goes to table, sits and jots down some more notes. There is a knock at door left to hall._]

TURAI. Come in. [DWORNITSCHEK _enters with cooler and champagne, four glasses on a tray_.]

DWORNITSCHEK. The champagne, sir. Mumm’s Cordon Rouge--just as you ordered.

TURAI. [_Motioning it away._] ’M yes. But that was a long time ago. A very long time ago. Since then the world has changed quite a good deal. However, the motto of the Turais is “Never refuse champagne,” so put it down. [DWORNITSCHEK _places tray on the table and the cooler on the floor_.]

DWORNITSCHEK. Will four glasses be sufficient, sir?

TURAI. Three more than sufficient. [DWORNITSCHEK _leaves one glass on the tray before_ TURAI, _he places the other three on the table. There is a pause._ TURAI _stares at him_.]

DWORNITSCHEK. Something in the expression of your eye, sir, tells me that you are trying to remember my name.

TURAI. Quite right. What is it?

DWORNITSCHEK. Dwornitschek, sir.

TURAI. Still Dwornitschek? Well, well! All right, Dwornitschek, you can go to bed.

DWORNITSCHEK. At what hour would you desire breakfast, sir?

TURAI. What time is it now?--

DWORNITSCHEK. Quarter past four, sir.--

TURAI. Then let us say at seven--or perhaps six.

DWORNITSCHEK. Anything special that you fancy, sir?

TURAI. [_In offhand way._] No. Just ham, eggs, cold chicken, smoked salmon, cold beef, bacon, butter, milk, honey, jam, rolls and tea.

DWORNITSCHEK. With lemon?

TURAI. [_Shouts with revulsion._] No! [_Quietly._] No--with rum.

DWORNITSCHEK. [_Starts to go._] Very good, sir. At six precisely.

TURAI. Tell me, Dwornitschek, when do you sleep?

DWORNITSCHEK. In the winter, sir.

TURAI. What are you waiting for?

DWORNITSCHEK. I was wondering if there were any more questions you desired to ask me, sir.

TURAI. No, thank you.

DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir.

TURAI. No, no, thank YOU.

DWORNITSCHEK. I love being asked questions, sir. It shows that gentlemen take an interest.

TURAI. You mean in Dwornitschek, the man? As opposed to Dwornitschek, the servant?

DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. You are sure you have nothing more to ask, sir? It would be a treat for me.

TURAI. Nothing more, thanks. My stock of knowledge for to-day is complete. I wish it weren’t.

DWORNITSCHEK. Then I will bid you good-night, sir. [_Starts to go._]

TURAI. Good-night.... One moment! There is one other thing. Where is the writing paper? And I’d like some telegraph blanks too. And ink, and also a pen.

DWORNITSCHEK. The writing materials are in the library, sir, but I can bring them to you here. [_Starts to go._]

TURAI. Don’t bother. I’ll do my writing in the library. It’s a good idea. No chance of being interrupted. [_Rises and goes up the first step._]

DWORNITSCHEK. I’ll go and turn on the lights, sir.

TURAI. One moment. [_Points to champagne._] That--can come too.

DWORNITSCHEK. Very good, sir. [_Takes cooler and one glass._]

TURAI. [_Pausing._] After you.

DWORNITSCHEK. Oh no, sir.

TURAI. My dear Dwornitschek, I insist. You’re sure that really _is_ your name?

DWORNITSCHEK. Oh yes, sir.

TURAI. I only wondered. Thank you.

DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir.

TURAI. No, no. Thank YOU. [DWORNITSCHEK _goes out_. TURAI _puffs his cigarette, gazes for a moment at the wall of_ ILONA’S _room, sighs and then goes out at left as the curtain falls_.]

ACT TWO

_As the curtain rises a clock in the hall is heard to strike six. Golden sunlight pours in the windows. The Mediterranean is as blue as tradition has painted it._ SANDOR TURAI, _now jauntily attired in white flannels is seated in the armchair at the center, with the loose leaves of a manuscript before him. As the clock stops striking, the door at left to the hall is opened by_ DWORNITSCHEK, _who comes down to_ TURAI, _bringing a newspaper on a salver_. DWORNITSCHEK _is followed by two lackeys in livery, each carrying an enormous silver tray piled high with_ TURAI’S _breakfast. During the dialogue that follows, the lackeys place the breakfast upon the long table at the right. This done, one of them stands at attention while the other goes up to the window, opens it, steps out on the balcony and lowers an awning which shuts off some of the now too brilliant sunlight._

DWORNITSCHEK. Good morning, sir.

TURAI. Good morning. What’s this?

DWORNITSCHEK. Morning paper, sir.

TURAI. You’ve read it, of course?

DWORNITSCHEK. Oh yes, sir.

TURAI. Anything about me in it?

DWORNITSCHEK. No, sir.

TURAI. Then take it away.

[DWORNITSCHEK _gives salver with the newspaper to one of the lackeys and motions both off_.]

DWORNITSCHEK. Let me see, sir, I _think_ it was ham, eggs, cold chicken, smoked salmon, cold beef, bacon, butter, milk, honey, jam and rolls that you ordered, was it not?

TURAI. Quite right.

DWORNITSCHEK. And tea with lemon.

TURAI. [_With revulsion._] Not lemon!