The Early Ayn Rand (47 page)

MICK WATTS: It is. You’d better get out of here.

MISS SAYERS: Sir?!

MICK WATTS: She’ll be back any minute. I know she will. And there’s nothing to talk about now.

MISS SAYERS: My good man, do you realize . . .

MICK WATTS: I realize everything that you realize, and then some. And I’m telling you there’s nothing to be done. Don’t bother her now.

MISS SAYERS: May I ask who you are and what you’re talking about?

MICK WATTS: Who I am doesn’t matter. I’m talking about—[
Extends the newspaper
]—this.

MISS SAYERS: Yes, I’ve read it, and I must say it is utterly bewildering and . . .

MICK WATTS: Bewildering? Hell, it’s monstrous! You don’t know the half of it! . . . [
Catching himself, adds flatly
] I don’t, either.

MISS SAYERS: Look here, I must get to the bottom of this thing. It will go too far and . . .

MICK WATTS: It has gone too far.

MISS SAYERS: Then I must . . .

MICK WATTS: So here you are! I knew you’d be back now!

KAY GONDA: [
In a quiet, even voice
] Good evening, Miss Sayers.

MISS SAYERS: Miss Gonda, this is the first sigh of relief I’ve breathed in two days! I never thought the time should come when I’d be so glad to see you! But you must understand . . .

KAY GONDA: [
Indifferently
] I know.

MISS SAYERS: You must understand that I could not foresee the astounding turn of events. It was most kind of you to go into hiding, but, really, you did not have to hide from me.

KAY GONDA: I was not hiding from anyone.

MISS SAYERS: But where were you?

KAY GONDA: Away. It had nothing to do with Mr. Sayers’ death.

MISS SAYERS: But when you heard those preposterous rumors accusing you of his murder, you should have come to me at once! When I asked you, at the house that night, not to disclose to anyone the manner of my brother’s death, I had no way of knowing what suspicions would arise. I tried my best to get in touch with you. Please believe me that I did not start those rumors.

KAY GONDA: I never thought you did.

MISS SAYERS: I wonder who started them.

KAY GONDA: I wonder.

MISS SAYERS: I do owe you an apology. I’m sure you felt it was my duty to disclose the truth at once, but you know why I had to keep silent. However, the deal is closed, and I thought it best to come to you first and tell you that I’m free to speak now.

KAY GONDA: [
Indifferently
] It was very kind of you.

MISS SAYERS: [
Turning to
MICK WATTS] Young man, you can tell that ridiculous studio of yours that Miss Gonda did not murder my brother. Tell them they can read his suicide letter in tomorrow’s papers. He wrote that he had no desire to struggle any longer, since his business was ruined and since the only woman he’d ever loved had, that night, refused to marry him.

KAY GONDA: I’m sorry, Miss Sayers.

MISS SAYERS: This is not a reproach, Miss Gonda. [
To
MICK WATTS] The Santa Barbara police knew everything, but promised me silence. I had to keep my brother’s suicide secret for a while, because I was negotiating a merger with . . .

MICK WATTS: . . . with United California Oil, and you didn’t want them to know the desperate state of the Sayers Company. Very smart. Now you’ve closed the deal and gypped United California. My congratulations.

MISS SAYERS: [
Aghast, to
KAY GONDA] This peculiar gentleman knew it all?

MICK WATTS: So it seems, doesn’t it?

MISS SAYERS: Then, in heaven’s name, why did you allow everybody to suspect Miss Gonda?

KAY GONDA: Don’t you think it best, Miss Sayers, not to discuss this any further? It’s done. It’s past. Let’s leave it at that.

MISS SAYERS: As you wish. There is just one question I would like to ask you. It baffles me completely. I thought perhaps you may know something about it. [
Points at the newspaper
] This. That incredible story . . . that boy I’ve never heard of, killing himself . . . that insane confession. . . . What does it mean?

KAY GONDA: [
Evenly
] I don’t know.

MICK WATTS: Huh?

KAY GONDA: I have never heard of him before.

MISS SAYERS: Then I can explain it only as the act of a crank, an abnormal mind . . .

KAY GONDA: Yes, Miss Sayers. A mind that was not normal.

MISS SAYERS: [
After a pause
] Well if you’ll excuse me, Miss Gonda, I shall wish you good night. I shall give my statement to the papers immediately and clear your name completely.

KAY GONDA: Thank you, Miss Sayers. Good night.

MISS SAYERS: [
Turning at the door
] I wish you luck with whatever it is you’re doing. You have been most courteous in this unfortunate matter. Allow me to thank you.

MICK WATTS: [
Ferociously
] Well?

KAY GONDA: Would you mind going home, Mick? I am very tired.

MICK WATTS: I hope you’ve . . .

KAY GONDA: Telephone the studio on your way. Tell them that I will sign the contract tomorrow.

MICK WATTS: I hope you’ve had a good time! I hope you’ve enjoyed it! But I’m through!

KAY GONDA: I’ll see you at the studio tomorrow at nine.

MICK WATTS: I’m through! God, I wish I could quit!

KAY GONDA: You know that you will never quit, Mick.

MICK WATTS: That’s the hell of it! That you know it, too! Why do I serve you like a dog and will go on serving you like a dog for the rest of my days? Why can’t I resist any crazy whim of yours? Why did I have to go and spread rumors about a murder you never committed? Just because you wanted to find out something? Well, have you found it out?

KAY GONDA: Yes.

MICK WATTS: What have you found out?

KAY GONDA: How many people saw my last picture? Do you remember those figures?

MICK WATTS: Seventy-five million, six hundred thousand, three hundred and twelve.

KAY GONDA: Well, Mick, seventy-five million, six hundred thousand people hate me. They hate me in their hearts for the things they see in me, the things they have betrayed. I mean nothing to them, except a reproach. . . . But there are three hundred and twelve others—perhaps only the twelve. There are a few who want the highest possible and will take nothing less and will not live on any other terms. . . . It is with them that I am signing a contract tomorrow. We can’t give up the earth to all those others.

MICK WATTS: [
Holding out the newspaper
] And what about this?

KAY GONDA: I’ve answered you.

MICK WATTS: But you are a murderess, Kay Gonda! You killed that boy!

KAY GONDA: No, Mick, not I alone.

MICK WATTS: But the poor fool thought that he had to save your life!

KAY GONDA: He has.

MICK WATTS: What?!

KAY GONDA: He wanted to die that I may live. He did just that.

MICK WATTS: But don’t you realize what you’ve done?

KAY GONDA: [
Slowly, looking past him
] That, Mick, was the kindest thing I have ever done.

 

CURTAIN

 

 

Editor’s Preface

The Depression years in New York City (to which she moved in 1934) were a difficult financial struggle for Ayn Rand: she lived on the earnings from
Night of January 16th
and from a series of jobs she held as reader for various movie companies. She wrote when she could find the time. Nevertheless, the work moved ahead. In 1935, she began making notes for
The Fountainhead
and planning the architectural research that it would require. Realizing that the novel would be a long-term project, she interrupted it several times to do shorter pieces. In 1937, she wrote the novelette
Anthem
(published separately by New American Library). In 1939, she wrote a stage adaptation of
We the Living
, produced on Broadway under the title of
The Unconquered
(it was not successful). In the same year, she wrote her third and last original stage play, the philosophical murder mystery
Think Twice
. It has never been produced.

Think Twice,
written five years later than
Ideal
, is finished, mature work, in all major respects characteristic of the author of
The Fountainhead
. It is the only such piece in the present collection. (
Red Pawn
is an unedited scenario, and
Ideal
is not fully representative.) The theme is the distinctive Ayn Rand approach to ethics: the evil of altruism, and the need of man to live an independent, egoistic existence. The hero, who now has primacy over the heroine, is a completely recognizable Ayn Rand type. The plot, fast-moving and logical, has an ingenious twist; the story presents an altruist who, acting on his ideas, specializes in seeking power over others, thereby giving them compelling reasons to want to kill him. (The Russian character was originally a German Nazi; in the 1950s, Miss Rand updated the play, turning him into a Communist.) The style is smoothly assured; the mechanics of alibis, motives, and clues are deftly handled; and the writing displays Ayn Rand’s clarity, her sense of drama, her intellectual wit. There is even the first sign of the science-fiction element which, years later, would become John Galt’s motor in
Atlas Shrugged
.

One of Ayn Rand’s most impressive literary skills, brilliantly demonstrated in her novels, is her ability to integrate theme and plot. That ability is evidenced in
Think Twice
—in the union of philosophy and murder mystery. This is not a routine murder story, with some abstract talk thrown in for effect. Nor is it a drawing-room discussion interrupted now and again by some unrelated events. The play is a union of thought and action: the philosophic ideas of the characters actually motivate and explain their actions, which in turn concretize and demonstrate the philosophic point, and acquire significance because of it. The result is a seamless blend of depth and excitement, at once art and entertainment.

A decade later, in her journal of August 28, 1949, Ayn Rand wrote the following:

It is unlikely that Miss Rand had her early work in mind when she wrote these words, but the present piece does illustrate her point.
Think Twice
is an entertaining, enjoyable play that is true to the deeper essence of life.

I first read the play in the 1950s, with Miss Rand present, asking me now and then who I thought the murderer was. I guessed just about every possibility, except the right one. Each time, Miss Rand beamed and said: “Think twice.” When I finished, she told me that anyone who knew her and her philosophy should have been able to guess right away. She could not, she went on, ever write a series of mysteries, because everyone would know who the murderers were. “How?” I asked.

Now see if you can guess the murderer. After the play, I will quote her answer.

—L. P.

CHARACTERS

 

WALTER BRECKENRIDGE

CURTISS

SERGE SOOKIN

HARVEY FLEMING

TONY GODDARD

STEVE INGALLS

BILLY BRECKENRIDGE

FLASH KOZINSKY

ADRIENNE KNOWLAND

HELEN BRECKENRIDGE

GREGORY HASTINGS

DIXON

 

Place Living room of a home in Connecticut

 

Time Act I, Scene 1—Afternoon of July 3
^rd
Act I, Scene 2—That evening
Act II, Scene 1—Half an hour later
Act II, Scene 2—Next morning

SCENE 1

Large French windows, Center, opening upon a lovely view of the grounds with a lake in the distance, a view marred only by a dismal, gray sky. Stairway, Stage Right, leading to a door, and another door downstage, leading to the rest of the ground floor. Entrance door upstage Left. Downstage Left an unused fireplace, with logs stacked neatly, and above the fireplace—a large portrait of
WALTER BRECKENRIDGE
.

At curtain rise,
WALTER BRECKENRIDGE
stands alone in front of the fireplace. He is a stately, gray-haired man of fifty, who looks like a saint; a very “human” saint, however: benevolent, dignified, humorous, and a little portly. He stands, looking up at the portrait, deeply absorbed, a gun in his hand.

After a while,
CURTISS
, the butler, enters from door Right, carrying two empty flower vases.
CURTISS
is elderly, and severely well-mannered. He deposits the vases on a table and a cabinet.
BRECKENRIDGE
does not turn and
CURTISS
does not see the gun.