THE JAZZ SINGER
SCENE: It is the flat of Cantor Rabinowitz in the heart of the East Side of New York. We see a rather large living room with a curious mixture of furniture and crockery. The Cantor lives in better style than most of his neighbors. The furniture is massive, elaborate, of fine wood, the kind of furniture a wealthy Jew in Russia would be likely to have. Everywhere there are shelves loaded with bric-a-brac—china, glassware and silver.
There are two windows through which can be seen the stained glass windows of the synagogue next door. There is a phonograph, a sideboard, a settee, a bookcase, a Morris chair. On the wall are pictures, including one of an old-fashioned Russian Jew, one of the Cantor, one cheap chromo showing some kittens, and the framed citizen papers of the Cantor.
AT RISE: Before the curtain rises we hear a boyish treble sweetly singing an old Hebrew cantor tune. As the curtain rises, we see little Moey and the Cantor seated at the table. The Cantor is a lean man of medium height. He has a neatly trimmed, grayish beard and is wearing a skull-cap. His face is wrinkled, gentle, austere. He is a holy man among a humane people—and all which that implies. He knows the ways of kindliness, but the spirit in him is stern with following the God of Vengeance for sixty years.
MOEY is singing.
CANTOR
[Stops him]. No, no, no! Didn’t I tell you how you should sing it? Sing it with a sigh. Do you understand, my child? With a sigh! You are praying to God. Nu, try it again. [MOEY tries again, and again is stopped by CANTOR.] No—do you understand what it means, them words you are singing? What does “Vaanee Sefeelosee” mean?
MOEY
It means, “I, my prayer.”
CANTOR
And what means “Lecho Adoshem”?
MOEY
That means, “To you, O God.”
CANTOR
Good! And what does it mean, “Ais Rutzon Elohim”?
MOEY
“When you are ready, O God.”
CANTOR
That’s right. You’re a smart boy, Moey. Now what does it mean “Berov Chasdecho Aneni Be-emes Yishecho”?
MOEY
[Hesitates]. I don’t know what that means.
CANTOR
Is that nice? A smart boy like you what has the most beautiful voice in the choir? You will never learn to sing until you know what the words mean. Now, listen, Moey. This is what it means. “I offer my prayer to you, when you are ready, O God, with your multitudes of benedictions—answer me, O God, with truth, and help me.” Sing it again, Moey. [MOEY begins to sing again. The CANTOR rises, impatiently. He is irritated with MOEY, yet he has forgotten the child. He speaks more to himself than to MOEY.] No, no! Oh, I wish I had my Jakie here. He could show you how to sing it. The words he understood even when he was a little boy smaller than you. And a voice he had like an angel.
MOEY
Why did Jakie run away from home?
CANTOR
[Pause]. Who said.... Where did you heard that?
MOEY
Gee, everybody knows that ... all the boys in the choir....
CANTOR
Sometimes little boys know too much, Moey. Sometimes little boys think they know more than their papas.
MOEY
[Rises]. I’m hungry. Can I go home now, Cantor? My mama told me to come home early tonight for supper.
CANTOR
You shouldn’t speak from supper, Moey, when we are speaking from God.
MOEY
Can I help it? I’m hungry.
CANTOR
[Craftily]. In the kitchen we got nice cookies.
MOEY
Cookies? What kind?
CANTOR
With raisins in them.
MOEY
Oh, I like them. Can I have some?
CANTOR
Certainly, my child, but sing first.
[MOEY picks up the prayer book and sings the melody conscientiously and beautifully. He sings it straight through to the end. There is a quality of plaintiveness in this rendition which pleases the CANTOR. As MOEY is singing, SARA enters from the kitchen, a small brass chopping bowl in her hand. She pauses until the boy finishes. SARA is a small woman, thin, tense, with large, vivid black eyes and gray hair parted neatly and drawn back in a knot. She wears an apron over a black and white dotted voile dress. The CANTOR speaks with delight.]
CANTOR
Ain’t that beautiful, Sara?
SARA
It’s very nice the way you sing, Moey. I’m going to tell your mama what a good boy you are.
MOEY
You bet I am. Can I have some of your raisin cookies, Mrs. Rabinowitz?
SARA
Raisin cookies?
CANTOR
I promised Moey he could have some if he sang nice.
SARA
They ain’t ready yet.
CANTOR
Well, you come back in an hour, Moey. Then they’ll be ready.
SARA
Yes, go my child. I’ll keep a whole lot of cookies warm for you.
MOEY
[Takes prayer boot]. Thank you, Mrs. Rabinowitz.
SARA
You’re welcome. Give my love to your mama.
MOEY
[Moves to door]. Thank you. Goodbye. I won’t eat much at home. [He goes.]
CANTOR
He’s a willing boy, Sara, and it’s a pleasure to hear him singing in the choir. And his papa, peace be with him, was a rabbi. Maybe from Moey I can make yet a Cantor.... Yes.... [Sits.] From him I will make a great Cantor.
SARA
[Casually, with a prosaic little sigh]. It seems like yesterday our Jakie was standing the same way—a little boy—a darling—and you was learning him to sing.
CANTOR
Sara, I asked you a thousand times, don’t speak his name in my house. You know what it does to me.
SARA
I heard you from the kitchen—you spoke it yourself to Moey.
CANTOR
Well, Moey and me—we was singing and—well, I made a mistake.
SARA
A mistake? A papa should speak from his only son one time in five years—that’s a mistake?
CANTOR
It’s so long since I found a boy with a voice like Moey.... I forgot myself.
SARA
Our Jakie had a voice even more beautifuller—even before he ran away—
CANTOR
Sara, please—it ain’t good that we should think too much about that boy. He didn’t think of us.... God knows if he’s maybe now in jail or not.
SARA
How can you speak like this from your only child? I tell you he’s a good boy and he ain’t in jail. In the last letter he wrote, he said....
CANTOR
I don’t want to know from his letters.
SARA
But he’s got a good steady job. In Chicago.
CANTOR
What’s the matter with you today? Maybe you could forget what he done. I can’t.... [Until now the mood has been conversational, although strong emotions have been strumming underneath. Now the CANTOR rises, and his voice betrays the intensity of his feeling.] The Day of Atonement.... A crowded synagogue.... So proud we was! Why not? Everybody waiting to hear the Cantor’s son sing. And where was he?... You said he would come back. It’s already five years now.... Where is he?
SARA
I can’t help it the way I talk, Yosele. I feel lonely every day for our Jakie.
CANTOR
And you think I don’t! Please, don’t speak no more.
SARA
All right, all right. I won’t speak no more.... But he’s got a steady job. He’s making money.
CANTOR
[Bitterly]. Money! Money! That’s all they know. A little less money and more God would be better.
SARA
Please, Yosele, you shouldn’t excite yourself.
CANTOR
[Mutters]. The memory of that boy is shortening my life.
SARA
Don’t speak like that. Go lay down a little bit. You’ll feel better. Take a rest. [CANTOR rises wearily, obediently.] Please don’t be mad, Yosele. I won’t talk no more of Jakie. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.
CANTOR
[Pats her on the shoulder]. All right, all right. I’ll go in now and lay down for a while, and maybe then I’ll feel better. [At the door, with an attempt at his normal sweetness.] Don’t forget, you promised nice cookies for Moey. [He goes.]
SARA
[Moves toward the sideboard, when the telephone rings. She turns and moves toward the telephone saying “Hello” just before she reaches it. Then she picks up the receiver]. Hello ... who?... Oh, Mr. Adler. How do you do, Mr. Adler.... Yes, this is the Cantor’s wife.... How did you know it’s the Cantor’s birthday?... No, he don’t know it himself. We are making him a surprise! Oh, thank you, Mr. Adler. You should have the same!... The Cantor will be happy to know you remembered him.... Thank you.... Goodbye. [She hangs up the receiver. There is a knock on the door.] Come in.
YUDELSON
[Comes in carrying a jug of wine, a praying shawl, a roast turkey wrapped in a napkin. YUDELSON is a jeweler—an old friend of the family. He is about forty, has a small, close-cropped beard, and is seasonably dressed in a white linen suit and a Panama hat. He is hearty, good-natured, eager to please, but not exactly a subtle person.] Hello, hello, hello! Congratulations! Good luck!
SARA
Mr. Yudelson!
YUDELSON
Well, it’s the Cantor’s birthday, so—
SARA
Sh! It’s a surprise. The Cantor is asleep.
YUDELSON
[Lowers his voice]. Oh, a surprise!... So I says to myself, “Yudelson,” I says, “what should I give the Cantor that would be nicer than a roast turkey, a gallon of wine which my wife, Olov Hasholem, she made it five years before she died, and a genu-ine woolen praying shawl!”
SARA
A praying shawl! How did you know about the birthday?
YUDELSON
How did I know! What’s the matter with you, am I crazy? The whole East Side remembers it.
SARA
[Takes turkey and wine into kitchen]. Sometimes I myself don’t remember. I ain’t a young woman no more, Mr. Yudelson. I got so much to do, I don’t realize that one day is Monday and all of a sudden it’s Friday and I have to prepare for the Sabbath. I’m surprised that I myself should remember the Cantor’s birthday. [She folds the praying shawl and puts it away.]
YUDELSON
You think only downtown knows about it? Uptown knows about it too. Mr. Hymie Goldstein—if he’s worth a nickel, he’s worth a hundred thousand dollars, all in first mortgages too!—he came in my store today and he bought a gold watch. A new one. For cash. He bought it for the Cantor a present—I should live so! He’s coming here tonight.
SARA
[Pleased]. It’s nice he should remember the Cantor.... Lawyer Adler just telephoned me on the telephone. He’s coming too tonight.
YUDELSON
Lawyer Adler! He’s already one of the big ones on Wall Street. Maybe you can get him he should fix us a new balcony for the synagogue.
SARA
[Moving about the house, getting dinner ready]. From Lawyer Adler we could get anything. The Cantor loves him and he loves the Cantor. They knew each other twenty years ago. What am I talking? It’s thirty years if it’s a day. The way time flies! It seems like yesterday I was a girl. [She goes out to get table cloth.]
YUDELSON
I bet you the Cantor don’t even know it’s his birthday. [He sits down at table.]
SARA
[Enters with table cloth]. He never knows. Tell him this year, tell him last year, he don’t remember. But when it comes, and I remember—[She raises YUDELSON’s hand as she spreads the cloth.] and his friends remember—oh, he loves it, believe me!
YUDELSON
Did I told you what the Gershons are bringing the Cantor?
SARA
The Gershons?
YUDELSON
You remember all the pictures which are hanging in the Committee Room of the synagogue—the pictures of the Cantor’s father and grandfather for four generations? Well, the Gershons made a hand painting from all the pictures—
SARA
A hand painting?
YUDELSON
Yes, sir—with a fancy sign. It says on the sign: “Five Generations of Great Cantors, and the Fifth Is the Best.”
SARA
[Slowly]. Five generations of great Cantors.... That will make him think of Jakie.
YUDELSON
That’s right.... Would you believe it—even now I’m afraid to speak to the Cantor about Jakie.... Oh, it’s too bad. It’s too bad Jakie can’t be here today, friends with his papa—to celebrate the birthday.
SARA
[Pause]. You know, a letter came last week. I think it’s from Jakie, because the Cantor didn’t want to open it.
YUDELSON
A letter from Jakie? Nu, you didn’t heard from him for a long time.... Why don’t you open it?
SARA
I am afraid. I couldn’t tell you why, but I got a feeling in my heart that in the letter it wouldn’t be good news. And it’s the Cantor’s birthday.
YUDELSON
Don’t be foolish, Mrs. Rabinowitz. I’ll bet you it’s A Number 1 good news. Give me the letter. I’ll read it.
SARA
Maybe the Cantor wouldn’t like it.
YUDELSON
Come on, go ahead!
SARA
No, I can’t do it.
YUDELSON
Mrs. Rabinowitz—on my responsibility I’ll open it. Tell me, where is the letter?
SARA
You shouldn’t open it—it’s on the top shelf. [Points.]
YUDELSON
[Goes to sideboard]. I’ve opened already a thousand letters in my life. [Takes letters, looks at them.] No—that’s from the gas company.... This must be from Jakie. [Opens it quickly.] You think I should open it?—Well, all right. [He begins reading, mumbling to himself. SARA sits at table, YUDELSON standing.]
SARA
If it’s bad news I don’t want to hear it. [Pause.] It’s bad news?
YUDELSON
[To himself, painstakingly]. “Chicago, August 2nd. My dear mother: I am well and hope to hear the same from you.” [To SARA.] He says he is well, and give God to hear the same from you! [Mumbles to himself again.] “I am coming to New York.” [To SARA.] He says he is coming to New York. [To himself.] “On the fourteenth.” [To SARA.] On the fourteenth he’ll be here.
SARA
[Gets up excitedly and takes letter from YUDELSON]. The fourteenth?—That’s today! Nu, what else? [Eagerly, with trembling hands she gives him back the letter.]
YUDELSON
[Sits at table]. “My dear Mother—” No, I read this already. “I am earning a great deal of money.” [To SARA.] He says he is making plenty money. [Mumbles.] “And I am getting a fine position.” [To SARA.] He says he is getting a good job.
SARA
Does he say what kind of a job?
YUDELSON
No, no.... “I send my love to you and to papa.” [To SARA.] He sends his love to you and papa.... [To himself.] “And the minute I arrive in the city,—” [To SARA.] And the minute he comes to the city, he says—[Looking at letter.] And the minute he comes to the city, he says—he says—“I will see you.” [To SARA.] He will see you! [To himself.] “From your son, who wishes you the best of everything, Jakie.” [To SARA.] From your son what wishes you what you wish yourself, Jakie! See, I knew it was good news. Wasn’t you foolish not to open it?
[There is a knock on door. SARA hides letter in her bosom, crosses to settee and sits. YUDELSON goes to door.]
YUDELSON
Come in.
CLARENCE
[Enters. He is a youth of about 21 and is impressively clad in a tight fitting, double-breasted blue coat, a pair of voluminous linen knickers, gaudy golf socks and loud sport shoes. He, as well as YUDELSON, keeps his hat on, as is customary in orthodox households]. Hello, Mr. Yudelson!
YUDELSON
Hello, Clarence!
CLARENCE
[Bowing to MRS. RABINOWITZ]. Hello, Mrs. Rabinowitz.
YUDELSON
Say, what’s the matter? Ain’t you studying in City College this afternoon?
CLARENCE
I took the afternoon off. It’s the Cantor’s birthday, so I called a meeting of the choir—
YUDELSON
Ssh! The Cantor’s asleep. It’s a surprise.
CLARENCE
[In a lowered voice]. And we all contributed toward a little gift. Mrs. Rabinowitz, will you present this to the Cantor with our best wishes for his continued happiness, peace, prosperity, longevity and the consistent and increasing use of his magnificent vocal cords! [Hands a package to SARA.]
YUDELSON
SARA
[Rises, takes package]. Thank you, Clarence. The present I’ll give him, but all them words I can never say.... I don’t like to open the bundle, Clarence. Tell me, what is the present?
CLARENCE
I’ll show you, Mrs. Rabinowitz. [Takes package, opens it on the table.] According to our financial status, this is the most appropriate symbol of our esteem I could find. There you are! [It is a praying shawl!]
SARA
A praying shawl!
YUDELSON
A praying shawl! Must have been a sale some place!
SARA
That’s very nice, Clarence. It was smart you should think of a praying shawl. [CANTOR is heard humming off stage.] Ssh! I think the Cantor is coming. [SARA quickly takes the shawl and hides it somewhere on the sideboard. CLARENCE and YUDELSON nervously move toward the door as the CANTOR enters.]
CANTOR
Yudelson.
YUDELSON
Good evening, Cantor.
CANTOR
CLARENCE
Good evening, Cantor!
CANTOR
Well, you came to see me?
[They are confused, embarrassed, and fidget as they maneuver closer to the door.]
YUDELSON
Well, you see, we was speaking of Clarence’s graduation, and—and—we just dropped in to say goodbye!
[They go out with ludicrous haste.]
CANTOR
[Looks around, surprised]. Well, what’s the matter with them? What’s happening today, Sara? Why did they came?
SARA
Well, they—they came—You’ll soon find out, Yosele. Supper will be ready—then you’ll know.
CANTOR
What will I know at supper?
SARA
Well, we’re going to have turkey ... and wine—
CANTOR
Turkey! Today? It’s only Thursday. Not even Sabbath evening. What kind business is turkey in the middle of the week?... You are expecting company? [He pinches her cheek.]
SARA
[With blissful secretiveness]. Maybe! [Then she surrenders, her face aglow.] Don’t you know what day it is today?
CANTOR
Thursday. What kind holiday is it?
SARA
Guess.
CANTOR
Now, Sara, stop fooling with me. Soon Moey is coming back, and I want to practice with him a little bit more. Tell me.
SARA
[Kissing him]. It’s today your birthday, Yosele! the 14th day from August!
CANTOR
[Surprised]. My birthday?
SARA
Sure!
CANTOR
[Absently]. How old am I?
SARA
You’re sixty years old today.
CANTOR
Ts—ts—ts—sixty years old. It couldn’t be!
SARA
[Kisses him again.] Yes, it is. And you should live, mine teure, to be a hundred and sixty and not miss one day in the synagogue! The turkey what I told you, that’s a present from Mr. Yudelson. And the jug of wine he brought! We’re making for you a surprise!
CANTOR
Old friends is a good thing.
SARA
And what do you think? They brought you a beautiful praying shawl.
CANTOR
Who?
SARA
Both of them! Mr. Yudelson.... [She crosses to the sideboard, gets the shawls and shows him.] And Clarence—he brought you a present from the whole choir.
CANTOR
That’s nice, the boys should remember.
SARA
[Shows shawls]. This one is Clarence’s, and this one from Mr. Yudelson.
CANTOR
Yudelson’s jewelry business must be making lots money, he should be able to give such nice presents.
SARA
[There is a pause. Then, wistfully]. Yosele—I—I didn’t get you no present this year.
CANTOR
You don’t have to.
SARA
Well, the true is, I did. But I have to change it.
CANTOR
Why?
SARA
Would you believe it—I got you a praying shawl, too!
[They laugh and embrace.]
CANTOR
Now we’ve got enough praying shawls for twenty years.
SARA
You should wear them in good health, mine teure.
CANTOR
Well, I’ll go out for a little while. [Exits, puts on hat, changes coat. Enters, humming.]
SARA
Where are you going, Yosele?
CANTOR
SARA
Don’t stay long—everything is on the stove. Supper will soon be ready.
CANTOR
[Goes to table, gets book]. That’s fine, Sara.... I will wear the one you gave me and we’ll save the others! [Kisses mazuzah and goes.]
[SARA listens, to be sure she hears his steps as he goes. Then she takes the letter from her bosom and kisses it. She reaches for a vase on a high shelf. From this vase she brings out a packet of letters bound with a ribbon. She unties the ribbon, places this last letter with the rest, ties it again and replaces the vase on the top shelf. As she is doing this a hand-organ is heard out in the street. It gradually gets louder. SARA moves to the sideboard, gets some pennies out of a glass, wraps the pennies in a piece of newspaper and raises the window. She throws the pennies out. The hand-organ stops, doubtless as its owner picks up the pennies, and then starts playing again. SARA goes into the kitchen. The stage is empty, with no sound but the gradually diminishing music of the hand-organ. There is a knock on the door, another knock, and then JACK enters. He is short, slender, dark. He is fashionably dressed in a well-fitting gray suit, a straw hat rakishly on his head. He carries a large pig-skin English bag and a stick. An engaging combination of wistfulness and impudence is a note of his personality as he looks about him carefully and, seeing no one, pauses, back to audience, to study the living room in the house from which he ran away five years ago. Then he crosses to the settee, where he rests his hand-bag. He places his hat and stick in a corner, moves over to the mirror and straightens his tie. As he turns, SARA enters from the kitchen. There is a dead silence as mother and son face each other. Then, thrilled, they suddenly meet in the middle of the room in one another’s arms. The following dialogue comes swiftly, quiveringly, tearful in its gladness.]
JACK
Mama! Mama! [He kisses her.]
SARA
Jakie, Jakie! My baby! My darling!
JACK
[Steps back—leads her to chair]. My, my, mama! Gee, it’s good to see you, Ma. You look wonderful.
SARA
[Sinks down in chair]. That I should live to see my Jakie again!... When did you come?
JACK
SARA
And the first thing you came to your mama!
JACK
Who else?
SARA
You’ll stay and have supper?... Hello, Jakie, how are you!
JACK
Say, Mama, did you miss me?
SARA
Such a question to ask your mama!
JACK
How is papa?
SARA
[Sighs]. Oh, he will be glad to see you.
JACK
How does he feel?
SARA
Healthy, thank God. Jakie, you’ll live here with us, no?
JACK
I’d love to, Ma, but I can’t. I wired for a room at the hotel. I have to see some people uptown on business.
SARA
[Rises]. Don’t be foolish. For business you can go uptown, and for eating you can come here and eat your mama’s cooking, and here you can sleep. I got your old bed just the way it was when you left and all your things is in your room the way you used to want them. [As she is saying this, JACK is patting her cheeks with his hand and interrupting her gaily, tenderly with “Yeh, yeh, Mama, yeh, yeh!” SARA moves to his suitcase.]
JACK
Here, what are you doing?
SARA
I want to put this in your room.
JACK
Don’t make yourself a baggage man, Mama.
SARA
I want to put everything away so you’ll know where they are.
JACK
If you put them away, Mama, I won’t know where anything is.
SARA
[Quaintly]. Well, I want to see what you got.
JACK
All right. I’ll open the bag for you. You see how hard it is to open, Ma? It’s an expensive bag. That’s genuine pigskin. Ah, there we are. [Brings out suit of pajamas.] See that? That’s pajamas. Two parts. In the winter you can wear them both. [Takes out dressing gown.] That’s a wrapper.
SARA
Wrapper?
JACK
Yeh, a wrapper for a gentleman.
SARA
[Takes out leather case]. Oh, what a big pocketbook!
JACK
That’s a picture.
SARA
A picture from you?
JACK
No—I know how I look. What do I want of my picture?
SARA
[Opening it]. Who is this?
JACK
That’s a girl who did some wonderful things for me. How do you like such a tie, Mama? [He takes gaudy ties from suitcase.]
SARA
It’s a beautiful girl.... She lives in that house?
JACK
She lives there in the summer time. [Takes out military brushes. He wants to change the subject.] See, these are military brushes!
SARA
It’s a big house, Jakie, for only one girl. She’s got a husband, no?
JACK
Not yet, Mama. Look at these shirts. They’re silk!
SARA
Only a big house and a dog she’s got? What does she do all the time in the big house?
JACK
She was born in the big house, Mama. Then she came to New York and studied for the opera. But you know how it is in the opera. If a girl don’t weigh more than two hundred pounds they don’t want her. Now she’s a big star in musical comedy.
SARA
Ain’t that a shame! Such a nice girl, too! And who lives in this house?
JACK
The dog!
SARA
That’s a nice house.
JACK
It’s a nice dog! [JACK takes the picture from her and places it back in the bag.] Now, Mama, I got something that I brought home only for you. It’s a surprise. Close your eyes, Mama. Close your eyes and keep quiet and count.... Don’t say anything.
SARA
[Closes her eyes.] How can I count if I don’t say anything?
JACK
[Takes jewelry box out of his vest pocket and pins brooch on her dress. Kneels in front of her]. Count to yourself. One, two, three, four, five, six, ninety, a dollar ten, a dollar twenty. Stop when you get to three dollars.... Now, open your eyes and look downstairs and see what’s going on!
SARA
[Looks at brooch]. Diamonds! with stones in it!
JACK
Sure—certainly!
SARA
Real diamonds?
JACK
If they’re not, Mama, somebody played me a dirty trick.
SARA
Jakie, where did you get so much money?
JACK
Don’t worry about money, Ma. I got lots more where that came from.
SARA
[Worried]. You didn’t do any wrong, did you, Jakie?
JACK
SARA
But what kind job could a young boy have that he should have so much money?
JACK
Don’t worry, it’s all right, Ma. I didn’t kill anybody, and I’m not selling real estate in Florida.
SARA
[There is a pause. Then she turns gravely to her son]. Jakie, tell me—why did you run away that time?... Why didn’t you tell us?...
JACK
We’ll talk about all that later, Ma.... I want to look over the old place, see what’s been going on for the last five years. My, but you’ve improved the old homestead! There it is; everything spick and span, eh? Just like it always was.
SARA
Jakie, you don’t get the headaches any more?
JACK
No, Mama, I feel fine. I must weigh at least eight hundred pounds. Oh, look, there’s Uncle Eli. [Points to picture.] He’s still mad! My, look at that vase. It’s grown up! I remember it when it was a little cup. And you’ve got a phonograph, too. I knew you were saving all those soap wrappers for something. Um—so many new things—Oh, oh, I see a change. [Points to picture above phonograph.] Didn’t there used to be a picture of me there?
SARA
[Quickly]. Yes, Jakie—we don’t have it no more. It fell down and got broke—
JACK
Well, well, well. First it was me, and now it’s pussy-cats! [Moves to window.] But the synagogue—that’s still in the same place.
SARA
[Joins him]. Sure, it’s in the same place, Jakie.
JACK
Do you know, Mama, it’s a funny thing. It looks so small to me now—and when I was away on the road it used to seem so large—especially the windows.... And now they look so small.... I remember that little window away up in the corner—see the little blue window? Hm—I’ll never forget, one day I was playing baseball. Hymie Cohen was pitching. I hit a ball—it was a home run—and psst! went that window away up in the corner.
SARA
I’ll never forget how much it cost to fix it.
JACK
Well, we won’t talk about that. Can you still hear the services when the window is open?
SARA
Yes, Jakie.
JACK
[Turns to phonograph]. This is nice, Mama. Does it play, too?
SARA
Sure it plays. It played last week.
JACK
Well, well, let’s see what kind of records you have. Um—Il Trovatore, Pagliacci. You’re coming up in the world. Red Seal. That’s a buck and a half. You haven’t got “Red Hot Mama,” have you?
SARA
Red Hot Mama, what’s that?
JACK
No home is complete without a red hot mama. If you had a piano in the house, I’d show you.
SARA
Sure, we’ve got a piano—since last year. Your papa uses it to teach the choir. It’s in the front room.
JACK
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay! A piano! You’ve been holding out on me. What’s been going on for the last five years? The first thing you know, you’ll be going to afternoon teas and dancing the Charleston.
SARA
Go on, Jakie, I wouldn’t do that!
JACK
That’s the way they all start, Mama. What kind of a piano have you got—grand or upright?
SARA
I don’t know. We pay every month.
JACK
Then you’ve got an upright! Let’s go and see. [They go out together.]
[From offstage is heard the rippling of some chords on the piano. Then JACK’s voice breaks out in the words of “Red Hot Mama.” He sings it with that rich plaintiveness which, combined with syncopation, has become the convention for the rendition of jazz. Half-way through the chorus the center door opens and the CANTOR enters. He stands rooted to the floor, outraged at the sounds he hears. He looks toward the door of the music room, then, as if afraid of what he might see there, moves back automatically, taking his hat off, leaving the skull-cap on his head. Then, beginning to realize that this blasphemous noise really is occurring in his own home, he slams his prayer book down on the table and moves toward the music room. JACK who has finished the chorus and is about to play it again, has yielded to his mother’s audible shocked protests. They come out of the music room, not seeing the CANTOR. JACK, who is facing his mother, walks out almost backward. SARA is saying—]
SARA
No, no, Jakie! You shouldn’t sing like that! It is wrong!
JACK
You’ll get used to it, Mama, and you’ll like it if you’ll learn the words. I know a million songs like that. [Then JACK turns, sees the CANTOR, and suddenly the bravado, the glibness, the flippant smartness with which he has been buoying himself up, drop from him like a cloak. It is a feeble echo of the JACK we have seen who now addresses his father.] Well, well! Hello, Papa.
CANTOR
[Slowly]. What are you doing in this house?
JACK
What am I doing? Didn’t you expect me? I wrote you I was coming.
SARA
He said, “Hello, Papa.” It’s your son, Jakie.
CANTOR
I didn’t even open your letter. Why did you come—to play loafer songs on my piano?
JACK
No—I came home, Papa—I came home because I’ve been away for five years, and I’ve made good, and I wanted to let you know about it.
CANTOR
For five years you didn’t need your papa. You don’t need him now.
SARA
Yosele, please!
CANTOR
You have no shame after what you did to us? You come into my house, you sit down by my piano, and you curse it with your dirty music from the sidewalks.
SARA
No, Yosele. It was my fault. I wanted he should see the new piano.
JACK
[Gently, with quiet dignity]. Wait a minute, Mama. I don’t think you know how I feel now, Papa. I thought about you a thousand times when I was away. The first place I came when I got off the train was home. I didn’t mean any harm when I played the piano. I just wanted to sing Mama a jazz song....
CANTOR
Jazz! A song of prayer wouldn’t come into your head, only jazz. Even when you was a little boy, I taught you to sing to please God, but you sang to please yourself. One minute you were singing in the synagogue and the next minute singing in the street. You’re the same now.
JACK
[Eagerly. He does not realize how far from home he has traveled in five years. For this instant he really thinks that he understands what is hurting his father—that he can explain it in a few words]. You’re right, Papa. I am the same. You did teach me to sing songs of prayer. And I sang them here for you. But when I got out on the street with the other kids, I found myself singing the same songs they sang. And they’re very much alike,—our songs—and the street songs. Well, listen—[He sings “Ain Kelohenu,” a Hebrew prayer tune. He sings four bars of it, swiftly, with feeling. And then, suddenly, to exactly the same tune and with exactly the same plaintiveness but with a new rhythm and shaking his shoulders, he sings a popular song.]
“Nothing ever hurries me,
Nothing ever worries me,
Easy come,
Easy go,
It’s all the same to me!”
I just got them mixed, Papa—See?
[This does not have quite the effect which JACK innocently had hoped for. The CANTOR, shocked, has sunk into the settee. SARA, frantic in her eagerness to avert the swiftly impending disaster, is fluttering between JACK and his father. She is too excited to know what she is saying.]
SARA
Jakie, where did you learn to sing like that?
JACK
[Not precisely a diplomat, strong in his own sense of righteousness]. Where did I learn to sing like that? From Papa—who else? He taught me to sing. You forget that I’m an American boy, and Papa is from the Old World. If he were born here, like I was, he would probably be singing jazz, too.
CANTOR
[Rising toweringly above JACK]. You shouldn’t speak like this from a Cantor—do you hear? God will punish you! He will take vengeance!
SARA
Look, Yosele, supper is ready, and our son is home. Come, we should eat and be happy now. Talking can be later. It’s your birthday. Jakie, it’s today your Papa is sixty years old.
JACK
Don’t I know it? The 14th of August—that’s why I’ve been so anxious to get home today. I’ve been picturing this home-coming for a long time. I figured now I’m doing all right, and it’s been a long time, so I’ll go home. I thought you’d be so glad to see me.
SARA
We are glad, Jakie. I’m so happy. I’m crying with happiness.
JACK
Yeh, and Papa, he’s happy, too. [He crosses to settee—gets package from bag.] To show you I haven’t forgotten, I brought you a birthday present, Papa. The finest praying shawl I could get. [Moves to table.] And I’ll make you a little speech like I did when I was a little boy. Many happy returns of the day, Cantor Rabinowitz!
SARA
[Pleading]. Look, Yosele.
CANTOR
[Looks straight ahead. His voice is numb]. Thank you.
SARA
[Eagerly]. Oh, Yosele, this is like I dreamed lots of times!... A praying shawl.... That’s just what your Papa needed!... This is a fine piece of goods, Jakie.
JACK
You bet it is. As soon as I found out that Tom Brady had imported these from Palestine, I said right away, I got to get one for my old man—my papa.
[The CANTOR does not move.]
SARA
[At a loss for something to say]. Tom Brady?
JACK
You never heard of Tom Brady? He makes the most beautiful costumes for the stage.
CANTOR
[Slowly turning to JACK]. The stage? What do you mean, the stage? Theatre? Are you in the theatre business?
JACK
Sure, Papa. I’m an actor. Jack Robin—that’s me.
CANTOR
An actor! An actor in the theatre! You tell this to me—who comes from a family of five great Cantors! And after all my plans that you should be a Cantor, too! And now you take this singing that is holy to me and make it common!
JACK
What’s wrong with being an actor? I meet nice people—I make good money.
CANTOR
[Furiously]. Money, money, money! Pickpockets make money, too!
JACK
Aw, don’t say that—don’t talk like that.
SARA
CANTOR
If there must be actors, let there be, but not a son of mine. Not a Rabinowitz! Their work has been laid out for them by God.
SARA
[Almost hysterically]. Where are you going to act, Jakie? Downtown here?
JACK
No, Mama. I’m going to act uptown. In English.
CANTOR
What kind English acting are you doing uptown?
JACK
[Responding to his mother’s mute appeal]. Come on, Pa, let’s celebrate your birthday, and then some other time I’ll talk about my work.
SARA
Come, Yosele, look. See the diamonds what Jakie brought me. Ain’t that nice? For a mama diamonds, and for a papa a praying shawl. Yosele, he’s got in the satchel so many nice things. [She moves toward the bag.]
JACK
Now, please, Mama, he doesn’t want to see that.
CANTOR
I’m asking you—what kind English acting you are doing uptown?
SARA
[Takes out prayer book]. Oh, see, Yosele! He’s still got his little ivory prayer book what you gave him when he was confirmed.
JACK
It’s a funny thing about that prayer book, Ma. When I was traveling on the road, I bet I left a million things behind, but I always carried that.
SARA
See, Yosele, he didn’t forget he’s a son from a Cantor.
CANTOR
What kind English acting are you doing uptown?
JACK
Papa, it’ll take some time to explain. It’s hard to tell you in a few words. Can’t we wait until after a while—
CANTOR
It ain’t hard I should tell you the work I’m doing. I sing to God. I pray. It ain’t hard to tell the kind work your mama is doing. She is a Cantor’s wife. She worships the Almighty. She knows the sorrows what has come to the descendants from Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, to the children of Israel. She is living to be a good wife of a Cantor.... Once she wanted to be a mother of a Cantor, too, but she found this couldn’t be. It ain’t hard for us to tell you the kind of lives we are living. What kind of life are you living?
JACK
[Exasperated]. I told you. I’m an actor. I sing. Just like you sing. Only I sing in a theatre.
CANTOR
[Fearfully]. What kind singing?
JACK
Didn’t you hear me? I sing jazz songs. Ragtime.
CANTOR
[Stunned]. Mama, did you heard what he said?
SARA
Jakie, you are fooling!
JACK
You’re right, Ma. I fool, too. I’m a comedian. I get all dressed up in funny clothes. I sing funny songs and make people laugh. They pay money to come and hear me. They’re going to pay big money soon. Right now, Mama, I’ve got a big job with one of the biggest producers in New York City, with a show called “The April Follies.” And if I make good, I’ll get a big salary, and you’ll be proud of me—you’ll see.
CANTOR
A joke maker! A jazz singer! Oh, my God in Heaven! Does it mean nothing that Rabinowitz is the name of great Cantors? Does it mean nothing that there is a God?... You are no son of mine. I never want to see you again.
JACK
[Hopelessly]. All right, all right. [Moves to settee, begins to pack his bag.]
SARA
Jakie, tell him you are sorry. Tell him you are ashamed.
JACK
Ashamed—what have I got to be ashamed of? Shall I tell him I’m ashamed because I worked like a slave to get my big opportunity? Did I come home broke? Did I ask for anything? No. I came home because it looks like I’m going to be successful, and I wanted to share it with you.
CANTOR
I don’t want to share anything with you! Go back to your sidewalks!
JACK
[As he packs his bag]. All right, all right. You’re not giving me a chance, that’s all. Why do you think I came home? I came home because I want to have your love again—that’s why. I came home because I thought I could bring together all the things in my life that are dear to me, that made me happy from the time when I was a little kid till now—singing and playing in the streets—the East Side—shooting craps—baseball—my mama—my papa—the synagogue,—and now my work in the theatre.
CANTOR
Don’t you mention the word synagogue in this house again!
SARA
Yosele, couldn’t you listen to him? Couldn’t you see he is trying to tell you something?
CANTOR
To such words if I listen God will burn me with lightning. Better I should be dead than my son should holler unholy words in my ears! Get out! Out from my house! You loafer from the sidewalks! You tramp! You bum! You actor in a theatre!... You jazz singer! [He is seized by a fit of coughing, and he sinks into a chair. SARA hastens to his side.]
SARA
Jakie! The water! From the sideboard! [JACK goes quickly to sideboard, pours a glass of water and brings it over.] Yosele, you shouldn’t excite yourself so. Look, Jakie, see how white your Papa’s face is. [Takes glass of water from JACK.] Here, Yosele, drink it slow. Jakie, my son, come, tell him you are sorry. Tell him you are ashamed.
JACK
How can I, Mama? If I can’t be proud of being a jazz singer, then I can’t be proud of anything. It’s all I’ve got, Mama, it’s all I am. [Gets hat, stick and bag, then pauses.] Well, there won’t be any more arguments around here on my account, I’ll tell you that. I was away for five years—I can stay away longer. I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel so bad, Papa. But you can make up your mind to this. I’m a young fellow, and I’m going to live my life in my own way. I’m not going to stay down here and sing prayers that don’t mean anything to me any more. Maybe I could do it when I was a kid, but I’m not going to do it now. I’m never going to do it. That’s all. [To SARA in lower voice.] Well, I’m going to the hotel. I’ll call you up as soon as I get settled. [Goes to door.] Goodbye, Mama. [SARA indicates CANTOR sitting, broken, by the table.] Goodbye, Papa.... I’m very sorry—I’m very sorry that you just—don’t understand. [He goes.]
SARA
[Touches CANTOR on shoulder]. He’s gone, Yosele. Our Jakie is gone.
CANTOR
[Without moving, head sunk on chest]. Did you heard how he sang? The same sighs, the same tears I taught him in the synagogue—that I put in his voice he should sing to God—now he uses them to sing in his jazz music. [His hand on the table encounters the praying shawl which JACK brought.] A fine birthday present I got. My son brought it to me. A praying shawl from Palestine, from the dirty hands of a loafer.
[He rise.] Burn it! [He moves toward the settee.] Put it in the stove and burn it!
SARA
[Goes to him]. Oh, Yosele, you are breaking my heart when you speak like this! And I tried to be so happy on your birthday!
CANTOR
[Stares at her incredulously]. Happy—happy? You are happy? You look in my face and tell me happy you are?
SARA
[With a tragic attempt to smile]. Sure! Look at me, ain’t my face smiling? [Sits beside CANTOR.] Why shouldn’t I be happy? Ain’t it today you are sixty years old?
CANTOR
[Doesn’t seem to hear; mutters]. A surprise—that’s a fine surprise I got....
SARA
[Proudly]. Ain’t it you are mine man—my Cantor?
CANTOR
Sara, my dear one, you are a good wife, and you were a good mother. You don’t deserve such a son.
[Faintly from the hallway is heard a boyish voice singing “Red Hot Mama.” Neither the CANTOR nor SARA hear it as yet. SARA continues.]
SARA
All right, all right. Forget all your troubles tonight. Lawyer Adler from uptown—he is coming at eight o’clock. The Luryas and the Goldsteins are coming too,—with automobiles. Your birthday—
[The CANTOR now hears the singing, which is coming closer. He raises his hand. His face is suddenly the face of a corpse, as the door opens and MOEY enters, blithely singing, “Every time I look at you, I want to hotter Hot Tamales.” He sees the CANTOR, stops his singing, says, “Good evening, CANTOR,” and then moves—a well-fed little boy—to the chair by the table, as the curtain falls.]