The Miracle Worker (10 page)

MAN'S VOICE:
This—soul—

(
ANNIE
puts the suitcase down, and kneels to the object: it is the battered Perkins report, and she stands with it in her hand, letting memory try to speak:)

This—blind, deaf, mute—woman—

(
ANNIE
sits on her bed, opens the book, and finding the passage, brings it up an inch from her eyes to read, her face and lips following the overhead words, the voice quite factual now:)

Can nothing be done to disinter this human soul? The whole neighborhood would rush to save this woman if she were buried alive by the caving in of a pit, and labor with zeal until she were dug out. Now if there were one who had as much patience as zeal, he might awaken her to a consciousness of her immortal—

(When the boy's voice comes,
ANNIE
closes her eyes, in pain.)

BOY'S VOICE:
Annie? Annie, you there?

ANNIE:
Hush.

BOY'S VOICE:
Annie, what's that noise?

(
ANNIE
tries not to answer; her own voice is drawn out of her, unwilling.)

ANNIE:
Just a cot, Jimmie.

BOY'S VOICE:
Where they pushin' it?

ANNIE:
To the deadhouse.

BOY'S VOICE:
Annie. Does it hurt, to be dead?

(
ANNIE
escapes by opening her eyes, her hand works restlessly over her cheek; she retreats into the book again, but the cracked old crones interrupt, whispering.
ANNIE
slowly lowers the book.)

FIRST CRONE'S VOICE:
There is schools.

SECOND CRONE'S VOICE:
There is schools outside—

THIRD CRONE'S VOICE:
—schools where they teach blind ones, worse'n you—

FIRST CRONE'S VOICE:
To read—

SECOND CRONE'S VOICE:
To read and write—

THIRD CRONE'S VOICE:
There is schools outside where they—

FIRST CRONE'S VOICE:
There is schools—

(Silence.
ANNIE
sits with her eyes shining, her hand almost in a caress over the book. Then:)

BOY'S VOICE:
You ain't goin' to school, are you, Annie?

ANNIE
[
WHISPERING
]: When I grow up.

BOY'S VOICE:
You ain't either, Annie. You're goin' to stay here take care of me.

ANNIE:
I'm goin' to school when I grow up.

BOY'S VOICE:
You said we'll be together, forever and ever and ever—

ANNIE
[
FIERCE
]: I'm goin' to school when I grow up!

DOCTOR'S VOICE
[
SLOWLY
]: Little girl. Little girl, I must tell you. Your brother will be going on a journey, soon.

(
ANNIE
sits rigid, in silence. Then the boy's voice pierces it, a shriek of terror.)

BOY'S VOICE:
Annie!

(It goes into
ANNIE
like a sword, she doubles onto it; the book falls to the floor. It takes her a racked moment to find herself and what she was engaged in here; when she sees the suitcase she remembers, and lifts it once again toward the bed. But the voices are with her, as she halts with suitcase in hand.)

FIRST CRONE'S VOICE:
Goodbye, Annie.

DOCTOR'S VOICE:
Write me when you learn how.

SECOND CRONE'S VOICE:
Don't tell anyone you came from here. Don't tell anyone—

THIRD CRONE'S VOICE:
Yeah, don't tell anyone you came from—

FIRST CRONE'S VOICE:
Yeah, don't tell anyone—

SECOND CRONE'S VOICE:
Don't tell any—

(The echoing voices fade. After a moment
ANNIE
lays the suitcase on the bed; and the last voice comes faintly, from far away.)

BOY'S VOICE:
Annie. It hurts, to be dead. Forever.

(
ANNIE
falls to her knees by the bed, stifling her mouth in it. When at last she rolls blindly away from it, her palm comes down on the open report; she opens her eyes, regards it dully, and then, still on her knees, takes in the print.)

MAN'S VOICE
[
FACTUAL
]:—might awaken her to a consciousness of her immortal nature. The chance is small indeed; but with a smaller chance they would have dug desperately for her in the pit; and is the life of the soul of less import than that of the body?

(
ANNIE
gets to her feet. She drops the book on the bed, and pauses over her suitcase; after a moment she unclasps and opens it. Standing before it, she comes to her decision; she at once turns to the bureau, and taking her things out of its drawers, commences to throw them into the open suitcase.

In the darkness down left a hand strikes a match, and lights a hanging oil lamp. It is
KELLER'S
hand, and his voice accompanies it, very angry; the lights rising here before they fade on
ANNIE
show
KELLER
and
KATE
inside a suggestion of a garden house, with a bay-window seat towards center and a door at back.)

KELLER:
Katie, I will not
have
it! Now you did not see when that girl after supper tonight went to look for Helen in her room—

KATE:
No.

KELLER:
The child practically climbed out of her window to escape from her! What kind of teacher
is
she? I thought I had seen her at her worse this morning, shouting at me, but I come home to find the entire house disorganized by her—Helen
won't stay one second in the same room, won't come to the table with her, won't let herself be bathed or undressed or put to bed by her, or even by Viney now, and the end result is that
you
have to do more for the child than before we hired this girl's services! From the moment she stepped off the train she's been nothing but a burden, incompetent, impertinent, ineffectual, immodest—

KATE:
She folded her napkin, Captain.

KELLER:
What?

KATE:
Not ineffectual. Helen did fold her napkin.

KELLER:
What in heaven's name is so extraordinary about folding a napkin?

KATE
[
WITH SOME HUMOR
]: Well. It's more than you did, Captain.

KELLER:
Katie. I did not bring you all the way out here to the garden house to be frivolous. Now, how does Miss Sullivan propose to teach a deaf-blind pupil who won't let her even touch her?

KATE
[
A PAUSE
]: I don't know.

KELLER:
The fact is, today she scuttled any chance she ever had of getting along with the child. If you can see any point or purpose to her staying on here longer, it's more than—

KATE:
What do you wish me to do?

KELLER:
I want you to give her notice.

KATE:
I can't.

KELLER:
Then if you won't, I must. I simply will not—

(He is interrupted by a knock at the back door.
KELLER
after a glance at
KATE
moves to open the door;
ANNIE
in her smoked glasses is standing outside.
KELLER
contemplates her, heavily.)

Miss Sullivan.

ANNIE:
Captain Keller.

(She is nervous, keyed up to seizing the bull by the horns again, and she assumes a cheeriness which is not unshaky.)

Viney said I'd find you both over here in the garden house. I thought we should—have a talk?

KELLER
[
RELUCTANTLY
]: Yes, I— Well, come in.

(
ANNIE
enters, and is interested in this room; she rounds on her heel, anxiously, studying it.
KELLER
turns the matter over to
KATE
,
sotto voce.)

Katie.

KATE
[
TURNING IT BACK, COURTEOUSLY
]: Captain.

(
KELLER
clears his throat, makes ready.)

KELLER:
I, ah—wanted first to make my position clear to Mrs. Keller, in private. I have decided I—am not satisfied—in fact, am deeply dissatisfied—with the manner in which—

ANNIE
[
INTENT
]: Excuse me, is this little house ever in use?

KELLER
[
WITH PATIENCE
]: In the hunting season. If you will give me your attention, Miss Sullivan.

(
ANNIE
turns her smoked glasses upon him; they hold his unwilling stare.)

I have tried to make allowances for you because you come from a part of the country where people are—women, I should say—come from who—well, for whom—

(It begins to elude him.)

—allowances must—be made. I have decided, nevertheless, to—that is, decided I—

(Vexedly)

Miss Sullivan, I find it difficult to talk through those glasses.

ANNIE
[
EAGERLY, REMOVING THEM
]: Oh, of course.

KELLER
[
DOURLY
]: Why do you wear them, the sun has been down for an hour.

ANNIE
[
PLEASANTLY, AT THE LAMP
]: Any kind of light hurts my eyes.

(A silence;
KELLER
ponders her, heavily.)

KELLER:
Put them on. Miss Sullivan, I have decided to—give you another chance.

ANNIE
[
CHEERFULLY
]: To do what?

KELLER:
To—remain in our employ.

(
ANNIE'S
eyes widen.)

But on two conditions. I am not accustomed to rudeness in servants or women, and that is the first. If you are to stay, there must be a radical change of manner.

ANNIE
[
A PAUSE
]: Whose?

KELLER
[
EXPLODING
]: Yours, young lady, isn't it obvious? And the second is that you persuade me there's the slightest hope of your teaching a child who flees from you now like the plague, to anyone else she can find in this house.

ANNIE
[
A PAUSE
]: There isn't.

(
KATE
stops sewing, and fixes her eyes upon
ANNIE
.
)

KATE:
What, Miss Annie?

ANNIE:
It's hopeless here. I can't teach a child who runs away.

KELLER
[
NONPLUSSED
]: Then—do I understand you—propose—

ANNIE:
Well, if we all agree it's hopeless, the next question is what—

KATE:
Miss Annie.

(She is leaning toward
ANNIE
,
in deadly earnest; it commands both
ANNIE
and
KELLER
.
)

I am not agreed. I think perhaps you—underestimate Helen.

ANNIE:
I think everybody else here does.

KATE:
She did fold her napkin. She learns, she learns, do you know she began talking when she was six months old? She could say “water.” Not really—“wahwah.” “Wahwah,” but she meant water, she knew what it meant, and only six months old, I never saw a child so—bright, or outgoing—

(Her voice is unsteady, but she gets it level.)

It's still in her, somewhere, isn't it? You should have seen her before her illness, such a good-tempered child—

ANNIE
[
AGREEABLY
]: She's changed.

(A pause,
KATE
not letting her eyes go; her appeal at last is unconditional, and very quiet.)

KATE:
Miss Annie, put up with it. And with us.

KELLER:
Us!

KATE:
Please? Like the lost lamb in the parable, I love her all the more.

ANNIE:
Mrs. Keller, I don't think Helen's worst handicap is deafness or blindness. I think it's your love. And pity.

KELLER:
Now what does that mean?

ANNIE:
All of you here are so sorry for her you've kept her—like a pet, why, even a dog you housebreak. No wonder she won't let me come near her. It's useless for me to try to teach her language or anything else here. I might as well—

KATE
[
CUTS IN
]: Miss Annie, before you came we spoke of putting her in an asylum.

(
ANNIE
turns back to regard her. A pause.)

ANNIE:
What kind of asylum?

KELLER:
For mental defectives.

KATE:
I visited there. I can't tell you what I saw, people like—animals, with—
rats
, in the halls, and—

(She shakes her head on her vision.)

What else are we to do, if you give up?

ANNIE:
Give up?

KATE:
You said it was hopeless.