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Then slowly, the stage lights crackled as they gathered heat and bathed the stage in light and life. The shapes which took form and color were again the props of a tortured childhood.

The shabby living room, the kitchenette, worn carpets and dingy curtains.

The door at stage center opened and his mother entered, wearing a simple, tailored suit. Her hair was silvering and had been puffed by a beauty shop. She appeared elegant in a simply stated manner. He had never remembered his mother looking like that. She looked about the room as though expecting someone to be home.

MOTHER

Dominic, where are you? Dominic?

Oh, there you are. Dominic, come up here! Come to me. …

She appeared perplexed as she closed the door, calling his name again. Then turning towards the footlights, she looked beyond them to where he stood transfixed.

The recognition startled him, but he felt himself responding as though wrapped in the web of a dream. There was an unreality about the moment, a sensation which prompted him to question nothing, to merely react.

And he did.

Climbing up and onto the stage as the heat of the lights warmed him, he felt as though he was passing through a barrier.

It was that magic which every actor feels when the curtain rises and he steps forth, but it was also very different this time. …

DOMINIC

Where’s Dad? He wasn’t there, was he?

MOTHER

(looking away)

No, Dominic … I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is. He never came home from work.

But, Dominic, it was wonderfull So beautiful a play, I never seen! And you were wonderful! I am so proud of you, my son!

She paused to straighten a doily on the arm of the sofa, then turned back to him.

Dominic smiled and walked over to her and hugged her. It was the first time he could remember doing such a thing in a long, long time. Overt affection in his home had been a rarity, something shunned and almost feared.

DOMINIC

Thanks, Mom.

MOTHER

I always knew you were a good boy. I always knew you would make me proud someday.

DOMINIC

Did you?

Then why didn’t you ever tell me when I was a kid? Back when I really needed it.

He pulled away from her, looked at her intently.

His mother turned away, stared into the sink.

MOTHER

You wouldn’t understand, Dominic. You don’t know how many times I wanted to say something, but…

DOMINIC

But it was him, wasn’t it? Christ, Mom, were you that much afraid of him that you could Just stand by and watch him destroy your only son?

MOTHER

Don’t talk like that, Dominic. I prayed for you, Dominic … I prayed into the night that you would be stronger than me, that you would stand up to him. I did what I could, Dominic. …

DOMINIC

I think I needed more than prayers, Mom … but that’s okay. I understand. I’m sorry I jumped on you like that.

Then came the sound of a key fumbling in a lock. The click of the doorknob sounded loud and ominous. The door swung open slowly to reveal his father, obviously drunk, leaning against the threshold. Joseph Kazan shambled onto the set, seemingly unaware of anyone else’s presence. He collapsed in his usual chair and stared out into empty space.

DOMINIC

Where have you been?

His father looked at him with a hardness, unaffected by the glaze in his eyes.

FATHER

What the fuck you care?

DOMINIC

You’re my father. I care. Sons are supposed to care about their fathers … or haven’t you heard?

FATHER

(coughing)

Don’t get wise with me! I can still get out of this chair and whomp you one!

DOMINIC

(smiling sadly)

Is that the only form of communication you know?—“Whomping” people?

FATHER

(laughing)

Ah, it’s not even worth it! You and your fancy words … What do you know about bein’ a man?

DOMINIC

Dad, I wanted you to be there tonight. You knew I wanted you there … didn’t you?

His father looked at him and the hardness in his eyes seemed to soften a bit. Looking away, Joseph Kazan spoke in a low voice.

FATHER

Yeah … yeah, I knew.

DOMINIC

So why weren’t you there? Did it really feel better to crawl into one of those sewers you call a bar and get filthy drunk? Did you think that getting juiced would make it all go away? What do—

FATHER

Shut up! Shut up before I whomp ya!

His father had put his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the offending words.

DOMINIC

No, I don’t think so. I don’t think you’ll be “whomping” anybody. Ever again.

FATHER

That’s brave words from a wimp like you.

DOMINIC

Don’t talk to me about “brave.” Why didn’t you come to the play tonight?
My
play! Your son’s play!

FATHER

What’re you talkin’ about?

DOMINIC

What were you afraid of, Dad? That maybe some of your buddies might see you? Might catch you going to see a bunch of “faggots"?

FATHER

Hah! See, you even admit it yourself!

Dominic’s mother moved in between the two men.

MOTHER

Oh God, look at you two! So much anger … so much hate. Please, stop it…!

DOMINIC

Hate? No, Mom, that’s not right. A lack of love, maybe … but not really hate. There’s a difference.

FATHER

(looking at his son)

What the hell do you know?

DOMINIC

I think that’s the heart of the problem around here—not enough love in this house. There isn’t any love here. No warmth … no love.

FATHER

Shit, I’ll tell y’about love! I worked for yer Mom for thirty-five years. Worked hard! Did she ever have to go out’n take a job like other guys’ wives? Shit, no!

His father was trembling as he spoke, his florid face puffy and shining with sweat.

DOMINIC

There’s more to love than that, Dad. Like the love between you and me … When I was a kid, did you ever just sit down and play with me? Did you ever tell me stories, or try to make me laugh? How about going fishing together, or flying a kite? Did we ever do anything like that?

FATHER

A man has to work!

DOMINIC

Did you really love your work that much?

FATHER

What do y’mean?

DOMINIC

Did you love your work more than me?

FATHER

(confused, angry)

Don’t talk no bullshit to me!

DOMINIC

It’s not bullshit, Dad. Listen, when I was little—no brothers or sisters—I spent a lot of time alone. Sometimes I needed someone to guide me, to teach me.

FATHER

I never ran out and never came home at night … ask your mother! I was always there, every night!

DOMINIC

(smiling sadly)

Oh, yeah, you were there physically. But never emotionally, can’t you see that? I can remember seeing other kids out doing things with their fathers, and I can remember really hating’ them—because they had something I never did. That kind of stuff hurt me a lot more than your belt ever did.

His father did not respond, but looked down at his lap, where he had unconsciously knotted his hands together.

MOTHER

Dominic, leave him alone now. Let’s all have some coffee, and we can—

DOMINIC

No, Mom. Let’s finish it. Let’s get it all out. It’s been a long time coming.

(to his father)

Hey, Dad … do you know I have
no
memories of you ever encouraging me to do anything? Except all that macho shit.

FATHER

What kind of shit?

DOMINIC

Remember when I saved my paper route money and bought that cheap guitar?

FATHER

Yeah, so …?

DOMINIC

But I guess you’ve forgotten how you screamed and yelled that you couldn’t afford music lessons, and music was only for “fairies” anyhow?

FATHER

I ain’t sure …

DOMINIC

Well,
I’m
sure. And when I told you I’d teach myself how to play it, you laughed, remember?

FATHER

Did I?