Death of a Salesman_ Certain Private Conversations in Two Acts and a Requiem - Miller, Arthur [14]
HAPPY [to BIFF]: Jesus, maybe he smashed up the car again!
LINDA [calling after WILLY]: Be careful on the stairs, dear! The cheese is on the middle shelf! [She turns, goes over to the bed, takes his jacket, and goes out of the bedroom.]
[Light has risen on the boys’ room. Unseen, WILLY is heard talking to himself, “Eighty thousand miles,” and a little laugh. BIFF gets out of bed, comes downstage a bit, and stands attentively. BIFF is two years older than his brother, HAPPY, well built, but in these days bears a worn air and seems less self-assured. He has succeeded less, and his dreams are stronger and less acceptable than HAPPY’S. HAPPY is tall, powerfully made. Sexuality is like a visible color on him, or a scent that many women have discovered. He, like his brother, is lost, but in a different way, for he has never allowed himself to turn his face toward defeat and is thus more confused and hard-skinned, although seemingly more content.]
HAPPY [getting out of bed]: He’s going to get his licence taken away if he keeps that up. I’m getting nervous about him, y’know, Biff ?
BIFF: His eyes are going.
HAPPY: No, I’ve driven with him. He sees all right. He just doesn’t keep his mind on it. I drove into the city with him last week. He stops at a green light and then it turns red and he goes. [He laughs.]
BIFF: Maybe he’s color-blind.
HAPPY: Pop? Why, he’s got the finest eye for color in the business. You know that.
BIFF [sitting down on his bed]: I’m going to sleep.
HAPPY: You’re not still sour on Dad, are you, Biff?
BIFF: He’s all right, I guess.
WILLY [underneath them, in the living-room]: Yes, sir, eighty thousand miles—eighty-two thousand!
BIFF: You smoking?
HAPPY [holding out a pack of cigarettes]: Want one?
BIFF [taking a cigarette]: I can never sleep when I smell it.
WILLY: What a simonizing job, heh!
HAPPY [with deep sentiment]: Funny, Biff, y’know? Us sleeping in here again? The old beds. [He pats his bed affectionately. ] All the talk that went across those two beds, huh? Our whole lives.
BIFF: Yeah. Lotta dreams and plans.
HAPPY [with a deep and masculine laugh]: About five hundred women would like to know what was said in this room.
[They share a soft laugh.]
BIFF: Remember that big Betsy something—what the hell was her name—over on Bushwick Avenue?
HAPPY [combing his hair]: With the collie dog!
BIFF: That’s the one. I got you in there, remember?
HAPPY: Yeah, that was my first time—I think. Boy, there was a pig! [They laugh, almost crudely.] You taught me everything I know about women. Don’t forget that.
BIFF: I bet you forgot how bashful you used to be. Especially with girls.
HAPPY: Oh, I still am, Biff.
BIFF: Oh, go on.
HAPPY: I just control it, that’s all. I think I got less bashful and you got more so. What happened, Biff? Where’s the old humor, the old confidence? [He shakes BIFF’S knee. BIFF gets up and moves restlessly about the room.] What’s the matter?
BIFF: Why does Dad mock me all the time?
HAPPY: He’s not mocking you, he—
BIFF: Everything I say there’s a twist of mockery on his face. I can’t get near him.
HAPPY: He just wants you to make good, that’s all. I wanted to talk to you about Dad for a long time, Biff. Something’s—happening to him. He—talks to himself.
BIFF: I noticed that this morning. But he always mumbled.
HAPPY: But not so noticeable. It got so embarrassing I sent him to Florida. And you know something? Most of the time he’s talking to you.
BIFF: What’s he say about me?
HAPPY: I can’t make it out.
BIFF: What’s he say about me?
HAPPY: I think the fact that you’re not settled, that you’re still kind of up in the air . . .
BIFF: There’s one or two other things depressing him, Happy.
HAPPY: What do you mean?
BIFF: Never mind. Just don’t lay it all to me.
HAPPY: But I think if you got started—I mean—is there any future for you out there?
BIFF: I tell ya, Hap,