Free Long Day's Journey into Night (Yale Nota Bene) by Eugene O'Neill, Harold Bloom Page A

at the opening of Act One . He avoids touching her or looking at her. There is condemnation in his face, mingled now with the beginning of an old weary, helpless resignation. Jamie and Edmund follow their father. Jamie’s face is hard with defensive cynicism. Edmund tries to copy this defense but without success. He plainly shows he is heartsick as well as physically ill.
    Mary is terribly nervous again, as if the strain of sitting through lunch with them had been too much for her. Yet at the same time, in contrast to this, her expression shows more of that strange aloofness which seems to stand apart from her nerves and the anxieties which harry them.
    She is talking as she enters—a stream of words that issues casually, in a routine of family conversation, from her mouth. She appears indifferent to the fact that their thoughts are not on what she is saying any more than her own are. As she talks, she comes to the left of the table and stands, facing front, one hand fumbling with the bosom of her dress, the other playing over the table top. Tyrone lights a cigar and goes to the screen door, staring out. Jamie fills a pipe from a jar on top of the bookcase at rear. He lights it as he goes to look out the window at right. Edmund sits in a chair by the table, turned half away from his mother so he does not have to watch her.
MARY
    It’s no use finding fault with Bridget. She doesn’t listen. I can’t threaten her, or she’d threaten she’d leave. And she does do her best at times. It’s too bad they seem to be just the times you’re sure to be late, James. Well, there’s this consolation: it’s difficult to tell from her cooking whether she’s doing her best or her worst.
    She gives a little laugh of detached amusement—indifferently.
    Never mind. The summer will soon be over, thank goodness. Your season will open again and we can go back to second-rate hotels and trains. I hate them, too, but at least I don’t expect them to be like a home, and there’s no housekeeping to worry about. It’s unreasonable to expect Bridget or Cathleen to act as if this was a home. They know it isn’t as well as we know it. It never has been and it never will be.
TYRONE
    Bitterly without turning around.
    No, it never can be now. But it was once, before you—
MARY
    Her face instantly set in blank denial.
    Before I what?
    There is a dead silance. She goes on with a return of her detached air.
    No, no. Whatever you mean, it isn’t true, dear. It was never a home. You’ve always preferred the Club or a barroom. And for me it’s always been as lonely as a dirty room in a one-night stand hotel. In a real home one is never lonely. You forget I know from experience what a home is like. I gave up one to marry you—my father’s home.
    At once, through an association of ideas she turns to Edmund. Her manner becomes tenderly solicitous, but there is the strange quality of detachment in it.
    I’m worried about you, Edmund. You hardly touched a thing at lunch. That’s no way to take care of yourself. It’s all right for me not to have an appetite. I’ve been growing too fat. But you must eat.
    Coaxingly maternal.
    Promise me you will, dear, for my sake.
EDMUND
    Dully.
    Yes, Mama.
MARY
    Pats his cheek as he tries not to shrink away.
    That’s a good boy.
    There is another pause of dead silence. Then the telephone in the front hall rings and all of them stiffen startledly.
TYRONE
    Hastily.
    I’ll answer. McGuire said he’d call me.
    He goes out through the front parlor.
MARY
    Indifferently.
    McGuire. He must have another piece of property on his list that no one would think of buying except your father. It doesn’t matter any more, but it’s always seemed to me your father could afford to keep on buying property but never to give me a home.
    She stops to listen as Tyrone’s voice is heard from the hall.
TYRONE
    Hello.
    With forced heartiness.
    Oh, how are you, Doctor?
    Jamie turns from the window. Mary’s fingers play more rapidly