The Time of Your Life
The Time of Your Life
William Saroyan
Contents
The Time of your Life
Act One
Act Two
Act Three
Act Four
Act Five
Author Biography
The Time of Your Life was first presented at the Shubert Theatre, New Haven, USA, on 7 October 1939. It was directed by Eddie Dowling and William Saroyan, and transferred first to Boston and then to the Booth Theatre in New York. It was awarded the Pulitzer Prize and the Drama Critics’ Award.
The Time of Your Life
In the time of your life, live – so that in that good time there shall be no ugliness or death for yourself or for any life your life touches. Seek goodness everywhere, and when it is found, bring it out of its hiding place and let it be free and unashamed. Place in matter and in flesh the least of the values, for these are the things that hold death and must pass away. Discover in all things that which shines and is beyond corruption. Encourage virtue in whatever heart it may have been driven into secrecy and sorrow by the shame and terror of the world. Ignore the obvious, for it is unworthy of the clear eye and the kindly heart. Be the inferior of no man, nor of any man be the superior. Remember that every man is a variation of yourself. No man’s guilt is not yours, nor is any man’s innocence a thing apart. Despise evil and ungodliness, but not men of ungodliness or evil. These, understand. Have no shame in being kindly and gentle, but if the time comes in the time of your life to kill, kill and have no regret. In the time of your life, live – so that in the wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it.
The Place
Nick’s Pacific Street Saloon, Restaurant and Entertainment Palace at the foot of Embarcadero, in San Francisco. A suggestion of Room 21 at the New York Hotel, upstairs, around the corner.
The Time
Afternoon and night of a day in October 1939.
The People
Joe, a young loafer with money and a good heart
Tom, his admirer, disciple, errand boy, stooge and friend
Kitty Duval, a young woman, with memories
Nick, owner of Nick’s Pacific Street Saloon, Restaurant and Entertainment Palace
Arab, an Eastern philosopher and harmonica player
Kit Carson, an old Indian-fighter
McCarthy, an intelligent and well-read longshoreman
Krupp, his boyhood friend, a waterfront cop who hates his job but doesn’t know what else to do instead
Harry, a natural-born hoofer who wants to make people laugh but can’t
Wesley, a coloured boy who plays a mean and melancholy boogie-woogie piano
Dudley, a young man in love
Elsie, a nurse, the girl he loves
Lorene, an unattractive woman
Mary L, an unhappy woman of quality and great beauty
Willie, a marble-game maniac
Blick, a heel
A Sailor
Ma, Nick’s mother
A Society Gentleman
A Society Lady
Killer, a streetwalker
Her Sidekick
The Drunkard
A Cop
The Newsboy
Another Cop
Anna, Nick’s daughter
Act One
Nick’s is an American place; a San Francisco waterfront honky-tonk.
At a table, Joe: always calm, always quiet, always thinking, always eager, always bored, always superior. His expensive clothes are casually and youthfully worn and give him an almost boyish appearance. He is thinking.
Behind the bar, Nick: a big red-headed young Italian-American with an enormous naked woman tattooed in red on the inside of his right arm. He is studying the Racing Form.
The Arab, at his place at the end of the bar. He is a lean old man with a rather ferocious old-country moustache, with the ends twisted up. Between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand is the Mohammedan tattoo indicating that he has been to Mecca. He is sipping a glass of beer.
It is about eleven thirty in the morning.
Sam is sweeping out. We see only his back. He disappears into the kitchen. The Sailor at the bar finishes his drink and leaves, moving thoughtfully, as though he were trying very hard to discover how to live.
The Newsboy comes in.
Newsboy (cheerfully) Good morning, everybody. (No answer. To Nick.) Paper, Mister?
Nick shakes his head, no. The Newsboy goes to Joe.
Newsboy Paper, Mister?
Joe shakes his head, no. The Newsboy walks away, counting papers.
Joe (noticing him) How many you got?
Newsboy Five.
Joe gives him a quarter, takes all the papers, glances at the headlines with irritation, throws them away. The Newsboy watches carefully, then goes.
Arab (picks up paper, looks at headlines, shakes head as if rejecting everything else a man might say about the world) No foundation. All the way down the line.
The Drunkard comes in. Walks to the telephone, looks for a nickel in the chute, sits down at Joe’s table. Nick takes the Drunkard out. The Drunkard returns.
Drunkard (champion of the Bill of Rights) This is a free country, ain’t it?
Willie, the marble-game maniac, explodes through the swinging doors and lifts the forefinger of his right hand comically, indicating one beer. He is a very young man, not more than twenty. He is wearing heavy shoes, a pair of old and dirty corduroys, a little green turtleneck jersey with a large letter ‘F’ on the chest, an oversize two-button tweed coat, and a green hat, with the brim up. Nick sets out a glass of beer for him, he drinks it, straightens up vigorously, saying ‘Aaah’, makes a solemn face, gives Nick a one-finger salute of adieu, and begins to leave, refreshed and restored in spirit. He walks by the marble game, halts suddenly, turns, studies the contraption, gestures as if to say, ‘Oh, no.’ Turns to go, stops, returns to the machine, studies it, takes a handful of small coins out of his pants’ pocket, lifts a nickel, indicates with a gesture, ‘One game, no more.’ Puts the nickel in the slot, pushes in the slide, making an interesting noise.
Nick You can’t beat that machine.
Willie Oh yeah?
The marbles fall, roll, and take their place. He pushes down the lever, placing one marble in position. Takes a very deep breath, walks in a small circle, excited at the beginning of great drama. Stands straight and pious before the contest. Himself versus the cunning and trickery of the novelty industry of America, and the whole challenging world. He is the last of the American pioneers, with nothing more to fight but the machine, with no other reward than lights going on and off, and six nickels for one. Before him is the last champion, the machine. He is the last challenger, the young man with nothing to do in the world. Willie grips the knob delicately, studies the situation carefully, draws the knob back, holds it a moment and then releases it. The first marble rolls out among the hazards, and the contest is on. At the very beginning of the play ‘The Missouri Waltz’ is coming from the phonograph. The music ends here. This is the signal for the beginning of the play. Joe suddenly comes out of his reverie. He whistles the way people do who are calling a cab that’s about a block away, only he does it quietly. Willie turns around, but Joe gestures for him to return to his work. Nick looks up from the Racing Form.
Joe (calling) Tom. (To himself.) Where the hell is he, every time I need him?
He looks around calmly: the nickel-in-the-slot phonograph in the corner; the open public telephone; the stage; the marble game; the bar; and so on. He calls again, this time very loud.
Hey, Tom.
Nick (with morning irritation) What do you want?
Joe (without thinking) I want the boy to get me a watermelon, that’s what I want. What do you want? Money, or love, or fame, or what? You won’t get them studying the Racing Form.
Nick I like to keep abreast of the times.
Tom comes hurrying in. He is a great big man of about thirty or so who appears to be much younger because of the childlike expression of his face; handsome, dumb, innocent, troubled, and a little bewildered by everything. He is obviously adult in years, but it seems as if by all rights he should still be a boy. He is defensive as clumsy, self-conscious, overgrown boys are. He is wearing a flashy cheap suit. Joe leans back and studies him with casual disapproval. Tom slackens his pace and becomes clumsy and embarrassed, waiting for the bawling-out he’s pretty sure he’s going to get.
Joe (objectively, severely, but a little amused) Who saved your life?
Tom (sincerely) You did, Joe. Thanks.
Joe (interested) How’d I do it?
Tom (confused) What?
Joe (even more interested) How’d I do it?
Tom Joe, you know how you did it.
Joe (softly) I want you to answer me. How’d I save your life? I’ve forgotten.
Tom (remembering, with a big sorrowful smile) You made me eat all that chicken soup three years ago when I was sick and hungry.
Joe (fascinated) Chicken soup?
Tom (eagerly) Yeah.
Joe Three years? Is it that long?
Tom (delighted to have the information) Yeah, sure. 1937. 1938. 1939. This is 1939, Joe.
Joe (amused) Never mind what year it is. Tell me the whole story.
Tom You took me to the doctor. You gave me money for food and clothes, and paid my room rent. Aw, Joe, you know all the different things you did.
Joe nods, turning away from Tom after each question.
Joe You in good health now?
Tom Yeah, Joe.
Joe You got clothes?
Tom Yeah, Joe.
Joe You eat three times a day. Sometimes four?
Tom Yeah, Joe. Sometimes five.
Joe You got a place to sleep?
Tom Yeah, Joe.
Joe nods. Pauses. Studies Tom carefully.
Joe Then, where the hell have you been?
Tom (humbly) Joe, I was out in the street listening to the boys.
They’re talking about the trouble down here on the waterfront.
Joe (sharply) I want you to be around when I need you.
Tom (pleased that the bawling-out is over) I won’t do it again. Joe, one guy out there says there’s got to be a revolution before anything will ever be all right.
Joe (impatient) I know all about it. Now, here. Take this money. Go up to the Emporium. You know where the Emporium is?
Tom Yeah, sure, Joe.
Joe All right. Take the elevator and go up to the fourth floor. Walk around to the back, to the toy department. Buy me a couple of dollars’ worth of toys and bring them here.
Tom (amazed) Toys? What kind of toys, Joe?
Joe Any kind of toys. Little ones that I can put on this table.
Tom What do you want toys for, Joe?
Joe (mildly angry) What?
Tom All right, all right. You don’t have to get sore at everything. What’ll people think, a big guy like me buying toys?
Joe What people?
Tom Aw, Joe, you’re always making me do crazy things for you, and I’m the guy that gets embarrassed. You just sit in this place and make me do all the dirty work.
Joe (looking away) Do what I tell you.
Tom OK, but I wish I knew why.(He makes to go.)
Joe Wait a minute. Here’s a nickel. Put it in the phonograph. Number seven. I want to hear that waltz again.
Tom Boy, I’m glad I don’t have to stay and listen to it. Joe, what do you hear in that song anyway? We listen to that song ten times a day. Why can’t we hear number six, or two, or nine? There are a lot of other numbers.
Joe (emphatically) Put the nickel in the phonograph. (Pause.) Sit down and wait till the music’s over. Then go get me some toys.
Tom OK. OK.
Joe (loudly) Never mind being a martyr about it either. The cause isn’t worth it.
Tom puts the nickel into the machine, with a ritual of impatient and efficient movement which plainly shows his lack of sympathy or enthusiasm. His manner also reveals, however, that his lack of sympathy is spurious and exaggerated. Actually, he is fascinated by the music, but is so confused by it that he pretends he dislikes it.
The music begins. It is another variation of ‘The Missouri Waltz’, played dreamily and softly, with perfect orchestral form, and with a theme of weeping in the horns repeated a number of times.
At first Tom listens with something close to irritation, since he can’t understand what is so attractive in the music to Joe, and what is so painful and confusing in it to himself. Very soon, however, he is carried away by the melancholy story of grief and nostalgia of the song.
He stands, troubled by the poetry and confusion in himself.
Joe, on the other hand, listens as if he were not listening, indifferent and unmoved. What he’s interested in is Tom. He turns and glances at Tom.
Kitty Duval, who lives in a room in the New York Hotel, around the corner, comes beyond the swinging doors quietly, and walks slowly to the bar, her reality and rhythm a perfect accompaniment to the sorrowful American music, which is her music, as it is Tom’s. Which the world drove out of her, putting in its place brokenness and all manner of spiritually crippled forms. She seems to understand this, and is angry. Angry with herself, full of hate for the poor world, and full of pity and contempt for its tragic, unbelievable, confounded people. She is a small, powerful girl, with that kind of delicate and rugged beauty which no circumstance of evil or ugly reality can destroy. This beauty is that element of the immortal which is in the seed of good and common people, and which is kept alive in some of the female of our kind, no matter how accidentally or pointlessly they may have entered the world. Kitty Duval is somebody. There is an angry purity and a fierce pride in her.
In her stance, and way of walking, there is grace and arrogance, Joe recognises her as a great person immediately. She goes to the bar.
Kitty Beer.
Nick places a glass of beer before her mechanically.
She swallows half the drink, and listens to the music again.
Tom turns and sees her. He becomes dead to everything in the world but her. He stands like a lump, fascinated and undone by his almost religious adoration for her. Joe notices Tom.
Joe (gently) Tom.
Tom begins to move toward the bar, where Kitty is standing.
Joe (loudly) Tom.
Tom halts, then turns, and Joe motions to him to come over to the table. He goes over.
Joe (quietly) Have you got everything straight?
Tom (out of the world) What?
Joe What do you mean, what? I just gave you some instructions.
Tom (pathetically) What do you want, Joe?
Joe I want you to come to your senses.
He stands up quietly and knocks Tom’s hat off. Tom picks up his hat quickly.
Tom I got it, Joe. I got it. The Emporium. Fourth floor. In the back. The toy department. Two dollars’ worth of toys. That you can put on a table.