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By Root 1010 0

able to go, at the age of eighty-four, into twenty or thirty different cities, and pick up a phone, and be remembered and loved and helped by so many different people? Do you know? when he died—and by the way he died the death of a salesman, in his green velvet slippers in the smoker of the New York, New Haven, and Hartford, going into Boston —when he died, hundreds of salesmen and buyers were at his funeral. Things were sad on a lotta trains for months after that. [He stands up. HOWARD has not looked at him.] In those days there was personality in it, Howard. There was respect, and comradeship, and gratitude in it. Today, it’s all cut and dried, and there’s no chance for bringing friendship to bear —or personality. You see what I mean? They don’t know me any more.

HOWARD [moving away, to the right]: That’s just the thing, Willy.

WILLY: If I had forty dollars a week—that’s all I’d need. Forty dollars, Howard.

HOWARD: Kid, I can’t take blood from a stone, I—

WILLY [desperation is on him now]: Howard, the year Al Smith was nominated, your father came to me and—

HOWARD [starting to go off ]: I’ve got to see some people, kid.

WILLY [stopping him]: I’m talking about your father! There were promises made across this desk! You mustn’t tell me you’ve got people to see—I put thirty-four years into this firm, Howard, and now I can’t pay my insurance! You can’t eat the orange and throw the peel away—a man is not a piece of fruit! [After a pause] Now pay attention. Your father—in 1928 I had a big year. I averaged a hundred and seventy dollars a week in commissions.

HOWARD [impatiently]: Now, Willy, you never averaged—

WILLY [banging his hand on the desk]: I averaged a hundred and seventy dollars a week in the year of 1928! And your father came to me—or rather, I was in the office here—it was right over this desk—and he put his hand on my shoulder—

HOWARD [ getting up]: You’ll have to excuse me, Willy, I gotta see some people. Pull yourself together. [Going out] I’ll be back in a little while.

[On HOWARD’S exit, the light on his chair grows very bright and strange.]

WILLY: Pull myself together! What the hell did I say to him? My God, I was yelling at him! How could I! [WILLY breaks off, staring at the light, which occupies the chair, animating it. He approaches this chair, standing across the desk from it.] Frank, Frank, don’t you remember what you told me that time? How you put your hand on my shoulder, and Frank . . . [He leans on the desk and as he speaks the dead man’s name he accidentally switches on the recorder, and instantly—]

HOWARD’S SON: “. . . of New York is Albany. The capital of Ohio is Cincinnati, the capital of Rhode Island is . . .” [The recitation continues.]

WILLY [leaping away with fright, shouting]: Ha! Howard! Howard! Howard!

HOWARD [rushing in]: What happened?

WILLY [pointing at the machine, which continues nasally, childishly, with the capital cities]: Shut it off! Shut it off!

HOWARD [pulling the plug out]: Look, Willy . . .

WILLY [pressing his hands to his eyes]: I gotta get myself some coffee. I’ll get some coffee . . .

[WILLY starts to walk out. HOWARD stops him.]

HOWARD [rolling up the cord]: Willy, look . . .

WILLY: I’ll go to Boston.

HOWARD: Willy, you can’t go to Boston for us.

WILLY: Why can’t I go?

HOWARD: I don’t want you to represent us. I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time now.

WILLY: Howard, are you firing me?

HOWARD: I think you need a good long rest, Willy.

WILLY: Howard—

HOWARD: And when you feel better, come back, and we’ll see if we can work something out.

WILLY: But I gotta earn money, Howard. I’m in no position to—

HOWARD: Where are your sons? Why don’t your sons give you a hand?

WILLY: They’re working on a very big deal.

HOWARD: This is no time for false pride, Willy. You go to your sons and you tell them that you’re tired. You’ve got two great boys, haven’t you?

WILLY: Oh, no question, no question, but in the meantime . . .

HOWARD: Then that’s that, heh?

WILLY: All right, I’ll go to Boston tomorrow.

HOWARD: No, no.

WILLY: I can’t throw myself