***
Willy couldn’t stop fidgeting. Everyone was laughing at him! He was sure of it. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling hemmed in by the cafe’s dark walls. The place had looked so open when he had walked past, full of flowers and air. But now more people had come in ... overpopulation it was ... and those flowers had turned out to be plastic. Everything was just walls and bricks, these days, just bricks and walls. It shouldn’t be allowed! A man two tables across suddenly caught Willy’s attention. For a minute he thought it was that goddamn Howard. He looked the same age ... even had that same smarmy look on his face. Imagine! He’d named the man, he’d helped the company grow, and now look what they do to him. Flustered, Willy clutched at the rough wood of the table, squeezing so hard it hurt. Something about the feel of that timber, so solid in his hands, made him feel all choked and, with a little cry, Willy stumbled up to leave.
***
A couple of tables away a tragic-looking man clumsily got up, almost knocking down his chair. What a lumbering giant! So below him. Yet Torvald suddenly had a crazy desire to talk to this funny old man, with his Walrus-like, drooping face. He watched as the huge thing plodded across the floor looking self-consciously apologetic and completely lost. “Have a seat, old fellow!” Torvald boomed.
He liked how the man jumped. The startled eyes, the immense, fidgeting hands which went immediately to straighten the cheap tie and then knotted themselves together frantically. He especially approved of how the man had obeyed immediately, and now sat staring at Torvald with obvious trepidation.
“You look like a man in a spot of trouble, if I may say so.” Torvald was trying a little sensitivity here. Something about this man’s abject apologeticness reminded him a little of the old Nora.
“I’m strapped, I’m strapped. I don’t know what to do.” The words escaped quickly from Willy. He’d been so sure the businessman had been laughing at him! But he wanted to talk to him! How remarkable! The man was saying nothing, but had raised an eyebrow quizzically. Willy carried on talking quickly, words rumbling haphazardly out of his mouth. “I was fired today. The woods are burning and that goddamn Howard fired me today.”
Oh dear. Torvald knew he should never have been compassionate; it was simply far too much bother. Still, business matters were his forte. “Yes, it’s a wonderful thing to know that one’s position is assured and that one has ample income, I quite agree, but aren’t you of retiring age, anyway? I say, which woods are burning exactly? I live rather near a forest.”
“Retire? Why I’m vital to the company! I’m a people person, see. Open sesame for me it is ... but it’s not really the business, actually. My boys—they think I’m a phony fake! But times are changing, and I don’t understand. There used to be respect and comradeship and gratitude... and now ... now there’s nothing!”
Torvald was lost. Hadn’t they just been talking business? What on earth was this fellow rambling on about? Still, loss of respect was something he could certainly relate to... the man was still talking, honestly, there was no shutting him up.
“I put 34 years into the firm. Then—discarded like rotten fruit! There ain’t no respect these days, just people! People and no respect. Gee, how do we get back to those old times? Those light, open times!”
This was terribly hard to understand. He’d better try and clear things up a little before he got even more confused. Torvald hated confusion. And he was still worried about those woods. “Now, calm down. Getting overexcited is useless; after all I’m sure your boys will help you out.”
“They’re lazy, goddammit! They don’t have respect either! Lazy when they could have gone so far. They’re very attractive, y’know. Adonises they are... Do you have boys?”
Oh yes, children. Another thing Miss Independent had forgotten in her foolishness. Torvald spoke slowly, painfully. “I am left with three motherless children. Motherless, poisoned children.”
Well, Willy wasn’t sure how to react to that. “Poisoned? Gee, that sounds bad...maybe you should get a doctor?”
“Oh, doctors...” Perhaps that Rank had something to do with the whole sorry business. Nora had been spending unsuitable amounts of time with him lately. But he found talking about his problems disarming. With a sigh he eased the conversation onto safer planes. “Forget it. So what is it exactly that you do?”
“Selling.”
“Selling?”
“Sure, selling. Why, they know me all round these parts ... and further! At the sound of my name they just let me through. Everywhere I go. Used to average a couple a hundred dollars a week... boy, I knocked them dead!”
“Ah, so then there’s no problem, eh? You’ll find another job in no time.” Torvald was finding this rather incongruous conversation oddly cheering. The silly old man’s pathetic suffering seemed to provide a dark background on which the sunlight of Torvald’s success shone so hard he was blinded to all thoughts of Nora. Torvald stretched his arms, admiring his fine shirtsleeves, and sent his cigar box toppling to the floor.
Willy swooped immediately to pick up the man’s cigars. Black Havanas they were. Now that was quality.
“I’m liked,” he suddenly blurted, “I’m well-liked. Just sometimes I become... confused. I don’t know where I am anymore, or what I’m doing. I lose myself.... I should have gone to Alaska!”
“Oh don’t be so theatrical,’ replied Torvald curtly, as he reclaimed his cigars with a vague nod of acknowledgement. “Your problem is that you probably don’t know how to save your money. You spend it on useless things. You must learn to economize.”
“Yes. Economize. Sure. But, y’see the problem is I just don’t know where I am anymore, Ben.”
“Oh, don’t make excuses,’ snapped Torvald. ‘And it’s Helmer, not Ben... who’s Ben?”
“Gee, there was a man that was something. He really knew what he was about...what everything was about! A real miracle was Ben.”
“So why don’t you go and talk to him then?’ Honestly. Ungrateful fool... and why was everybody so obsessed with miracles?
“It’s a cutthroat world and Ben conquered it! Into the jungle without a penny, he went, and out with a fortune! What a miracle, heh? I often wonder how’s it done…couldn’t you tell me the answer?”
“The miracle of miracles...” muttered Torvald. The sound of the door slamming as someone left the little cafe jolted him, and he stood up abruptly. “I’d really better go, old chap,” he said quite dazedly.
“To Alaska? Great opportunities in Alaska. God, if only I’d gone. Imagine the magnificence!”
“Imagine,” said Torvald. “Imagine,” he repeated, and he turned to follow the echo of the door.
A Certain Private Conversation in One Act
Unlike many imagined conversations offered for this option (2b), the participants here, Torvald Helmer and Willy Loman, are cannily chosen and the reasons for their choice are offered, as well as a clear focus on what is to be achieved. Features of style to be included are appropriately identified. Language in the piece is a fine complement to the intelligent characterization, while the handling of the dialogue is both skilled and witty. Materials from both plays are deftly incorporated; the fictional personalities of the two men shine through in a credible conversation. 5555 (20)
Torvald being not the kind of man to drink—at least probably not.
