The Melting-Pot

DAVID

Why, what has the poor old la--?

KATHLEEN

I don't be saltin' the mate and I do be mixin' the crockery and--!

DAVID [Gently]

I know, I know-but, Kathleen, remember she was brought up to these things from childhood. And her father was a Rabbi.

KATHLEEN

What's that? A priest?

DAVID

A sort of priest. In Russia he was a great man. Her husband, too, was a mighty scholar, and to give him time to study the holy books she had to do chores all day for him and the children.

KATHLEEN

Oh, those priests!

DAVID [Smiling]

No, he wasn't a priest. But he took sick and died and the children left her-went to America or heaven or other far-off places-and she was left all penniless and alone.

KATHLEEN

Poor ould lady.

DAVID

Not so old yet, for she was married at fifteen.

KATHLEEN

Poor young crathur!

DAVID

But she was still the good angel of the congregation-sat up with the sick and watched over the dead.

KATHLEEN

Saints alive! And not scared?

DAVID

No, nothing scared her-except me. I got a broken-down fiddle and used to play it even on Shabbos-I was very naughty. But she was so lovely to me. I still remember the heavenly taste of a piece of Motso she gave me dipped in raisin wine! Passover cake, you know.

KATHLEEN [Proudly]

Oh, I know Motso.

DAVID [Smacks his lips, repeats]

Heavenly!

KATHLEEN

Sure, I must tashte it.

DAVID [Shaking his head, mysteriously]

Only little boys get that tashte.

KATHLEEN

That's quare.

DAVID [Smiling]

Very quare. And then one day my uncle sent the old lady a ticket to come to America. But it is not so happy for her here because you see my uncle has to be near his theatre and can't live in the Jewish quarter, and so nobody understands her, and she sits all the livelong day alone-alone with her book and her religion and her memories--

KATHLEEN [Breaking down]

Oh, Mr. David!

DAVID

And now all this long, cold, snowy evening she'll sit by the fire alone, thinking of her dead, and the fire will sink lower and lower, and she won't be able to touch it, because it's the holy Sabbath, and there'll be no kind Kathleen to brighten up the grey ashes, and then at last, sad and shivering, she'll creep up to her room without a candlestick, and there in the dark and the cold--

KATHLEEN [Hysterically bursting into tears, dropping her parcel, and

untying her bonnet-strings] Oh, Mr. David, I won't mix the crockery, I won't--

DAVID [Heartily]

Of course you won't. Good night.

[He slips out hurriedly through the street-door as KATHLEEN

throws off her bonnet, and the curtain falls quickly. As it rises

again, she is seen strenuously poking the fire, illumined by its

red glow.]

Act II

The same scene on an afternoon a month later. DAVID is

discovered at his desk, scribbling music in a fever of

enthusiasm. MENDEL, dressed in his best, is playing softly on the

piano, watching DAVID. After an instant or two of indecision, he

puts down the piano-lid with a bang and rises decisively.

MENDEL

David!

DAVID [Putting up his left hand]

Please, please--

[He writes feverishly.]

MENDEL

But I want to talk to you seriously-at once.

DAVID

I'm just re-writing the Finale. Oh, such a splendid inspiration!

[He writes on.]

MENDEL [Shrugs his shoulders and reseats himself at piano. He plays a

bar or two. Looks at watch impatiently. Resolutely] David, I've got wonderful news for you. Miss Revendal is bringing somebody to see you, and we have hopes of getting you sent to Germany to study composition.

[DAVID does not reply, but writes rapidly on.] Why, he hasn't heard a word!

[He shouts.] David!

DAVID [Writing on]

I can't, uncle. I must put it down while that glorious impression is fresh.

MENDEL

What impression? You only went to the People's Alliance.

DAVID

Yes, and there I saw the Jewish children-a thousand of 'em-saluting the Flag.

[He writes on.]

MENDEL

Well, what of that?

DAVID