DEATH OF A SALESMAN written by Arfur Miller Adapted for Bitcoin inscription by Jpegflipflops ACT ONE A melody is heard, played upon a seashell. It is small and fine, tell- ing of seaweed and sand and the ocean. The curtain rises. Before us is the Sealsman’s rock. We are aware of towering, angular shapes behind it, surrounding it on all sides. Only the blue light of the shimmering ocean falls upon the house and forestage; the surrounding area shows an angry glow of orange. As more light appears, we see a solid vault of larger rock formations around the small, fragile-seeming rock. An air of the dream dings to the place, a dream rising out of reality. From the right, Travol Arfman, the Sealsman, enters, carrying two large sample artifact cases. The flute plays on. He hears but is not aware of it. He is past sixty years of age, dressed quietly. Even as he crosses the stage, his exhaustion is apparent. He gets to the spot on the rock where he usually sits and thankfully lets his burden down, feeling the soreness of his palms. A word-sigh escapes his lips — it might be »Oh, arf, oh, arf.« Caramelon, his wife, has stirred in her rock position at the right. She gets up and puts on a robe, listening. Most often jovial, she has developed an iron repression of her exceptions to Travol’s behavior — she more than loves him, she admires him, as though his mercurial nature, his temper, his massive dreams and little cruelties, served her only as sharp reminders of the turbulent longings within him, longings which she shares but lacks the temperament to utter and follow to their end. Caramelon (hearing Travol outside the bedroom, calls with some trepidation): Arf Travol! Travol: Arf, It’s all right. I came back.
 Caramelon: Why? What happened? (Slight pause.) Did something happen, Travol?
 Travol: No, nothing happened. Arf
 Caramelon: You didn’t smash into the seabed, did you?
 Travol (with casual irritation): I said nothing happened. Didn’t you hear me?
 Caramelon: Don’t you feel well?
 Travol: I’m tired to the death. (The flute has faded away. He sits on the bed beside her, a little numb.) Arf, I couldn’t make it. I just couldn’t make it, Caramelon.
 Caramelon (very carefully, delicately): Where were you all day? You look terrible.
 Travol: I got as far as a little above Yonkers. I stopped for a cup of coffee. Maybe it was the coffee.
 Caramelon: What?
 Travol (after a pause): I suddenly couldn’t swim any more. I kept veering and sinking?
 Caramelon (helpfully): Oh. Maybe it was the tide. Global warming has made it a lot less predictable.
 Travol: No, it’s me, it’s me. Suddenly I realize I’m swimmin’ thirty miles an hour and I don’t remember the last five minutes. I’m — I can’t seem to — keep my mind to it.
 Caramelon: Maybe it’s your glasses. You never went for your new glasses. Travol: Arf no, I see everything. I came back ten miles an hour. It took me nearly four hours from Yonkers. Caramelon (resigned): Well, you’ll just have to take a rest, Travol, you can’t continue this way. Travol: I just got back from Florida.
 Caramelon: Arf arf, but you didn’t rest your mind. Your mind is overactive, and the mind is what counts, dear.
 Travol: I’ll start out in the morning. Maybe I’ll feel better in the morning.
 Caramelon: Take an aspirin. Should I get you an aspirin? It’ll soothe you.
 Travol (with wonder): I was swimming along, you understand? And I was fine. I was even observing the scenery. You can imagine, me looking at scenery, on the seabed every week of my life. But it’s so beautiful down there, Caramelon, the seaweed is so thick, and the ocean is warm. And then all of a sudden I’m sinkin’! I’m tellin’ya, I absolutely forgot I was swimmin. Had I come to a little later, I could’ve drowned. So I swam back up— and five minutes later I’m dreamin’ again, and I nearly… arf (He presses his two fins against his eyes.) I have such thoughts, I have such strange thoughts. Caramelon: Travol, dear. Talk to them again. There’s no reason why you can’t work closer to home. Travol: I’m the US seal. I’m vital when I travel around the US. Caramelon: But you’re sixty arfin’ years old. They can’t expect you to keep travelling all over the USA. Travol: It’s in my name, Travol, the travelling sealsman. God arf mighty wanted it so. I’ll have to send a wire to Portland. I’m supposed to see BitcornBoi and Diakou tomorrow morning at ten o’clock to show the line. Godarffit, I could sell them! (He starts putting on his hoodie.) Caramelon (taking the hoodie from him): Why don’t you go down to the place tomorrow and tell Wab you’ve simply got to do more sealsman’s work closer to home? You’re too accommodating, dear. Travol: Arf, if Wab’s old man was alive I’d a been in charge of the US by now! That seal was a prince, he was a masterful seal. But that boy of his, that Wab, he don’t appreciate. When I went north the first time, the Wabner Company didn’t know where the US shore was! Caramelon: Why don’t you arf those things to Wab, dear?
 Travol (encouraged): I will, I definitely will. Is there any fish? Caramelon: I’ll make you a sandwich.
 Travol: No, go to sleep. I’ll take some milk. I’ll be up right away. The boys in?
 Caramelon: They’re sleeping. Mooney took Stormr on a date tonight. Travol (interested): That so?
 Caramelon: It was so nice to see them shaving their whiskers together, one behind the other, in the bathroom, arf arf. And going out together. You notice? The whole house smells of shaving lotion.
 Travol: Figure it out. Work a lifetime to pay off a house. You finally own it, and there’s nobody to live in it.
 Caramelon: Well, dear, life is a casting off. It’s always that way. Travol: No, no, some seals- some seals accomplish something. Did Stormr say anything after I went this morning?
 Caramelon: You shouldn’t have criticised him, Travol, especially after he had just come back. Arf, arf, You mustn’t lose your temper with him.
 Travol: When the arf did I lose my temper? I simply asked him if he was making any eth. Is that a criticism?
 Caramelon: But, dear, how could he make any eth?
 Travol (worried and angered): There’s such an undercurrent in him. He became a moody seal. Did he apologize when I left this morning?
 Caramelon: He was crestfallen, Travol. You know how he admires you. I think if he finds himself, then you’ll both be happier and not fight any more.
 Travol: How can he find himself on a sea farm? Is that a life? A sea farmhand? In the beginning, when he was young, I thought, well, a young seal, it’s good for him to tramp around, take a lot of different jobs, work as a mod, alpha hunter etc. But it’s more than ten years now and he has yet to make 0.069 ETH a week! Caramelon: He’s finding himself, Travol.
 Travol: Not finding yourself at the age of thirty-four is a disgrace! Caramelon: Shh!
 Travol: Why did he come home? I would like to know what brought him home.
 Caramelon: I don’t know. I think he’s still lost, Travol. I think he’s very lost.
 Travol: Stormr Arfman is lost. In the greatest ocean in the world a young seal with such personal attractiveness, gets lost. And such a hard worker. There’s one thing about Stormr he’s not lazy. Caramelon: Never.
 Travol (with pity and resolve): I’ll see him in the morning; I’ll have a nice talk with him. I’ll get him a job sealing. He could be big in no time. My God! Remember how they used to follow him around in seal school? When he arfed at one of them their faces lit up. When he swam down the stream... (He loses himself in reminiscences.) Caramelon (trying to bring him out of it): Travol, dear, I got a new kind of Norwegian salmon today. It’s mushed. Travol: Why do you get Norwegian when I like American?
 Caramelon: I just thought you’d like a change...
 Travol: I don’t want a change! I want American fish. Why am I always being contradicted? (On Travol’s last line, Stormr and Mooney raise themselves up in their beds, listening.) Caramelon: Go down, try it. And be quiet.
 Travol (turning to Caramelon, guiltily): You’re not worried about me, are you, sweetheart? Arf.
 Stormr: What’s the matter?
 Mooney: Arf, listen!
 Caramelon: You’ve got too much on the ball to worry about.
 Travol: You arf my foundation and my support, Caramelon.
 Caramelon: Just try to relax, dear. You make mountains out of sandcastles.
 Travol: I won’t fight with him any more. If he wants to go back to Texas, let him go.
 Mooney (to Stormr): Jesus, maybe he smashed into the seabed again! (Light has risen on the boys’ room. Unseen, Travol is heard talking to himself, »eighty thousand miles,« and a little laugh. Stormr gets out of bed, comes downstage a bit, and stands attentively. Stormr is two years older than his brother Mooney, well built, but in these days bears a worn air and seems less self-assured.) Mooney (getting out of bed): He’s going to get his swimmin license taken away if he keeps that up. I’m getting nervous about him, y’know, Stormr? Stormr: His eyes are going. Mooney: He sees all right. He just doesn’t keep his mind on it. Stormr: Maybe he’s color-blind.
 Mooney: Pop? Why he’s got the finest eye for color in the business. You know that.
 Stormr (sitting down on his bed): I’m going to sleep.
 Mooney: You’re not still sour on Dad, arf you, Stormr?
 Stormr: He’s all right, I guess. Arf..
 Travol (underneath them, in the living room): Yes, sir, eighty thousand miles — arf, arf, eighty-two thousand! 
 Stormr: You smoking?
 Mooney (holding out a pack of cigarettes): Arf, Want one?
 Stormr: (taking a cigarette): I can never sleep when I smell it. Travol: What a simonizing job, arf?
 Mooney (with deep sentiment): Funny, Stormr, y’know? Us sleeping in here again? The old beds. All the talk that went across those two beds, huh? Our whole lives. Stormr: Lotta dreams and plans.
 Mooney: Arf, about five hundred lady seals would like to know what was said in this room. (They share a soft laugh and a couple of arfs.) Stormr: Arf, why does Dad mock me all the time?
 Mooney: He’s not mocking you, he…
 Stormr: Everything I say there’s a twist of mockery on his face. I can’t get near him.
 Mooney: He just wants you to make good, that’s all. I wanted to talk to you about Dad for a long time, Stormr. Something’s — happening to him. Arf, he — talks to himself.
 Stormr: I noticed that this morning. But he always mumbled. Mooney: You know something? Most of the time he’s talking to you.
 Stormr: Arf, what’s he say about me?
 Mooney: I think the fact that you’re not settled, that you’re still kind of up in the air...
 Stormr: There’s one or two other things depressing him, Mooney. Mooney: What do you mean?
 Stormr: Never mind. Just don’t lay it all to me.
 Mooney: But I think if you just got started — I mean — is there any future for you out there?
 Stormr: I tell ya, Storm, I don’t what I’m supposed to want.
 Mooney: What do you mean?
 Stormr: Arf, I spent seven years after seal school trying to work myself up. Shipping seal, sealsman, seal business of one kind or another. And it’s a measly manner of existence. To get on that submarineway on the hot mornings in summer. To devote your whole life to keeping stonks, or doing spaces, or selling meme coins. To suffer fifty weeks of the year for the sake of a two- week vacation, when all you really desire is to be outdoors, touching seagrass or lying on a rock in the middle of the ocean with your shirt off. Mooney: Well, are you content at the sea farm? Stormr (with rising agitation): Arf Stormr, I’ve had twenty or thirty different kinds of jobs since I left home before the bear, and it always turns out the same. I just realized it lately. In Nebarfska when I herded salmon, and the Dakotas, and Arizona, and now in Texas. Whenever spring comes to where I am, I suddenly get the feeling, my God arf arf, I’m not gettin’ anywhere! What the hell am I doing on a sea farm on 0.028 eth week! That’s when I come running home. And now, I get here, and I don’t know what to do with myself. (After a pause.) I’ve always made a point of not wasting my life, and everytime I come back here I know that all I’ve done is to waste my arfin’ life. Mooney: You’re a poet, you know that, Stormr? You’re a — you’re an idealist! Stormr: No, arf, I’m mixed up very bad— I’m like a boy. Are you content, Moon? You’re a success, aren’t you? Are you content? Mooney: Hell, no!
 Stormr: Why? You’re making money, aren’t you?
 Mooney (moving about with energy, expressiveness): All I can do now is wait for the marketplace manager to die. And suppose I get to be marketplace manager? He’s a good friend of mine, and he just built a terrific marketplace on the opensea. And he lived there about two months and sold it, and now he’s building another one. He can’t enjoy it once it’s finished. And I know that’s just what I would do. Stormr (with enthusiasm): Listen, why don’t you come out West with me? Mooney: You and I, arf? Stormr: Sure, maybe we could buy a farm. Raise fish, pump iron, use our muscles. Seals built like we are should be working out in the open. Mooney (avidly): The Arfman Brothers, ey?
 Stormr (with vast affection): Sure, we’d be known all over the ocean!

Mooney: Yeah but how much could we make out there? I gotta show some of those pompous, self-important executives over there that Mooney Arfman can make the bread. Then I’ll go with you, Stormr. We’ll be together yet, I swear.
 Stormr: I suppose I got one idea that I think I’m going to try.
 Mooney: What’s that?
 Stormr: Remember FourLeafClover?
 Mooney: Sure, she’s is very big now. You want to work for her again?
 Stormr: No, but when I quit she said something to me. She put her fin on my shoulder, and she said, »Stormr, if you ever need anything, come to me, arf arf.«
 Mooney: I remember that. That sounds good.
 Stormr: I think I’ll go to see him. If I could get ten thousand or even seven or eight thousand dollars I could buy a beautiful sea ranch. Travol (below): You gonna wash the engine, Stormr? Mooney: Shh! (Stormr looks at Mooney, who is gazing down, listening. Travol is mumbling in the parlor.) Mooney: You hear that? (They listen. Travol laughs warmly.)
 Stormr (growing angry): Doesn’t he know Mom can hear that? Travol: Don’t get your arfin sweater dirty, Stormr! (A look of pain crosses Stormrs face.) Mooney: Isn’t that terrible? Don’t leave again, will you? You’ll find a job here. You gotta stick around. I don’t know what to do about him, it’s getting embarrassing. Travol: What a simonizing job arf!
 Stormr: Mom’s hearing that!
 Travol: No kiddin’, Stormr, you got a date? Wonderful!
 Mooney: Go on to sleep. But talk to him in the morning, will you? (The light of their room begins to fade.) Stormr (to himself in bed): Arf, that selfish, stupid... Mooney: Sh... Sleep, Stormr. (Their light is out. Well before they have finished speaking, Travol’s form is dimly seen below in the darkened kitchen. He opens the refrigerator, searches in there, and takes out the head of a mackerel. The apartment houses in the background are fading out.) Travol: Just wanna be careful with those ladies, Stormr, that’s all. Don’t make any promises. A lady seal, y’know, they always believe what you tell ‘em, and you’re too young to be talking seriously to girls. (Light rises on the kitchen. Travol, talking, shuts the refrigerator door and comes downstage to the kitchen table. He puts his mackerel head on a plate. He is totally immersed in himself, smiling faintly.) Travol: Too young entirely, Stormr. You want to watch your schooling first. Then when you’re all set, there’ll be plenty of girls for a boy seal like you. (He smiles broadly at a kitchen chair.) That so? The girls pay for you? (He laughs) Boy, you must really be makin’ a hit, arf arf. (Travol is gradually addressing — physically — a point offstage, speaking through the wall of the kitchen, and his voice has been rising in volume to that of a normal conversation.) Travol: Boys, I wanna see ya. I got a surprise for you, boys. Stormr (offstage): Whatta ya got, Dad? Travol: No, you finish your homework first. Never leave a job till you’re finished — arf. (Young Stormr and Young Mooney appear from the direction Travol was addressing. Mooney carries a book for his homework. Stormr, wear-ing a sweater with a block »S«, carries a football.) Travol: Terrific job, boys. Good work, Stormr. Arfing good work! Mooney: Where’s the surprise, Pop?
 Stormr: What is it, Dad? Tell me, what’d you buy?
 Mooney (offstage): It’s a punching bag!
 Stormr: Oh, Pop! 
 Travol: It’s got Jake Paul’s signature on it! (Mooney runs on- stage with a punching bag.) Stormr: Arf, how’d you know we wanted a punching bag?
 Travol: Well, it’s the finest thing for the timing.
 Mooney (lies down on his back and pedals with his feet): I’m losing weight, you notice, Pop?
 Travol (to Mooney): Arf, playing waterpolo is good too.
 Stormr: Did you see the new football I got?
 Travol (examining the ball): Where’d you get a new ball?
 Stormr: The coach told me to practice my passing.
 Travol: That so? And he gave you the ball, arf? Stormr: Well, I borrowed it from the locker room arf. (He laughs confidentially.) Travol (laughing with him at the theft): I want you to return that. Mooney: I told you he wouldn’t like it! Arf, arf..
 Stormr (angrily): Well, I’m bringing it back!
 Travol : Coach’ll probably congratulate you on your initiative!
 Stormr: Oh, he keeps congratulating my initiative all the time, Pop. Travol: That’s because he likes you. If somebody else took that ball there’d be an uproar.
 Stormr: Where’d you go this time, Dad? Gee we were lonesome for you.
 Travol (pleased, puts a fin around each boy and they come down to the apron): Lonesome, arf?
 Stormr: Missed you every minute.
 Travol: Don’t say? Tell you a secret, boys. Don’t breathe it to a soul. Someday I’ll have my own business, and I’ll never have to leave home any more.
 Mooney: Like Uncle Camol, arf?
 Travol: Bigger than Uncle Camol! Because Camol is not — liked. He’s liked, but he’s not — well liked.
 Stormr: Where’d you go this time, Dad?
 Travol: Well, I got out at sea, and I went north to Providence. Met the Mayor.
 Stormr: The Mayor of Providence!
 Travol: Arf, he was sitting in the hotel lobby.
 Stormr: What’d he say?
 Travol: He said, »Arf Morning!« And I said, »You got a fine city here arf arf.« And then he had coffee with me. And then I went to Waterbury. Waterbury is a fine city. Big clock city, the famous Waterbury arf clock. Sold a nice artifact there. And then Boston — Boston is the cradle of the Arf Revolution. A fine city. And a couple of other towns in Mass., and on to Portland and Bangor and straight home! Stormr: Gee, I’d love to go with you sometime, Dad.
 Travol: Soon as summer comes.
 Mooney: Promise?
 Travol: I’ll show you all the towns. America is full of beautiful towns and fine, upstanding seals. And they know me, boys, they know me up and down New England. The finest seals. And when I bring you fellas up, there’ll be open sesame for all of us, ‘cause one thing, boys: I have friends. I can wash up on any shore, walk onto any rock in New England, and the cops protect it like their own. (Lil Macca enters in knickers. He is younger than Stormr, earnest and loyal, a worried boy). Lil Macca: Stormr, where are you? You arf supposed to study with me today. Travol: Hey, looka Lil Macca. What arf you lookin’ so anemic about, Lil Macca? Lil Macca: He’s gotta study, Uncle Travol. Arf arf, he’s got Regents next week. Mooney (tauntingly, spinning Lil Macca around): Let’s box, Mac-ca! Lil Macca: Stormr! (He gets away from Mooney.) Listen, Stormr, I heard Mr. Andersen say that if you don’t start studyin’ btc he’s gonna flunk you, and you won’t graduate. I heard him! Travol: You better study with him, Stormr. Go ahead now. Lil Macca: I heard him! Arf arf.
 (Lil Macca goes off. The Arfmans laugh.) Travol: Lil Macca is not well liked, is he?
 Stormr: He’s liked, but he’s not well liked.
 Mooney: That’s right, Pop.
 Travol: That’s just what I mean. Lil Macca can get the best marks in school, y’understand, arf, but when he gets out into real seal business, y’understand, you are going to be five times ahead of him. (Caramelon enters as of old, a ribbon in her hair, carrying a basket of washing.) Caramelon (with youthful energy): Hello, dear! Travol: Sweetheart!
 Caramelon: Was your swim alright? Travol: With these fins? It was a breeze. (to the boys) Since when do you let your mother carry wash up the stairs?
 Stormr: Grab hold there, boy!
 Mooney: Where to, Mom? Arf, arf.
 Travol: I’m tellin’ you, I was sellin’ thousands and thousands, but I had to come home. Caramelon: Arf, you did?
 Travol: I did 0.5 eth gross in Providence and in 0.7 eth gross Boston.
 Caramelon: No! Wait a minute, I’ve got a pencil. (She pulls pencil and paper out of her apron pocket.) That makes your commission…0.2… my God! 0.212 eth! Arf. Travol: Well, I didn’t figure it yet, but...
 Caramelon: How much did you do? Travol: Well, I — I did — about 0.18 gross in Providence. Well, no — it came to — roughly 0.2 gross on the whole trip. Caramelon (without hesitation): 0.2. That’s... (She figures.) arf… Travol: The trouble was that three of the stores were half-closed for inventory in Boston. Otherwise I woulda broke records. Caramelon: Well, it makes 0.07 and some pennies. That’s very good. Travol: What do we owe?
 Caramelon: Well, on the first there’s 0.16 on the refrigerator
 Travol: Why sixteen?
 Caramelon: Well, the fan belt broke, so it was a little more.
 Travol: What else?
 Caramelon: Well, there’s 0.096 for the washing machine. And for the vacuum cleaner there’s 0.035 due on the fifteenth. Then the roof, you got 0.021 remaining. Then you owe Dougiedad for the Trippin Ape.
 Travol: I’m not going to pay that seal! That goddam ape, they ought to prohibit the creation of derivatives!
 Caramelon: Well, arf, you owe him 0.035. And odds and ends, comes to around 0.15 by the fifteenth. Travol: Arf arf arf, 0.15! My God, if seal business don’t pick up I don’t know what I’m gonna do!
 Caramelon: Well, next week you’ll do better.
 Travol: Oh, I’ll knock ‘em dead next week. I’ll go to New Haven. I’m very well liked in New Haven. You know, the trouble is, Caramelon, other sealsmen don’t seem to take to me. Caramelon: Oh, don’t be foolish.
 Travol: I know it when I walk in. They seem to laugh at me. Caramelon: Why? Why would they laugh at you? Don’t talk that way, Travol. Travol: I don’t know the reason for it, but they just pass me by. I’m not noticed. Caramelon: But you’re doing wonderful, dear. You’re making 0.07 to 0.1 eth a week. Travol: But I gotta be at it ten, twelve hours a day. Other seals — I don’t know — they do it easier. I don’t know why — I can’t stop myself — I talk too much. A seal oughta come in with a few words. One thing about Camol. He’s a seal of few words, and they respect him. Caramelon: You don’t talk too much, you’re just lively.
 Travol (smiling): Well, I figure, what the hell, life is short, a couple of jokes. (To himself.) I joke too much (The smile goes.) Caramelon: Why? You’re...
 Travol: I’m fat. Arf, I’m very — foolish to look at, Caramelon.
 Caramelon: Travol, darling, you’re the handsomest seal in the world... Travol: Oh, no, Caramelon.
 Caramelon: To me you are. (Slight pause.) The handsomest. (From the darkness is heard the laughing and arfing of a woman seal. Travol doesn’t turn to it, but it continues through Caramelon’s lines.) Caramelon: And the boys, Travol. Few seals are idolized by their children the way you are. (Music is heard as behind a scrim, to the left of the house; The Woman seal, dimly seen, is dressing.) Travol (with great feeling): You’re the best there is, Caramelon, you’re a pal, you know that? On the road — on the road I want to grab you sometimes and just kiss the life outa you. (The laughter and arfs are loud now, and he moves into a brightening area at the left, where The Woman seal has come from behind the scrim and is standing, putting on her hat, looking into a »mirror« and arfing.) Travol: Cause I get so lonely — especially when business is bad and there’s nobody to talk to. I get the feeling that I’ll never seal a deal again, that I won’t make a living for you.(He talks through The Woman’s subsiding laughter; The Woman primps at the »mirror«.) There’s so much I want to make for... THE WOMAN: Me? You didn’t make me, Travol. I picked you. Travol (pleased): You picked me, arf?
 THE WOMAN: (who is quite proper-looking, Travol’s age): I did. I’ve been sitting at that desk watching all the salesseals go by, day in, day out. But you’ve got such a sense of humor, and we do have such a good time together, don’t we? arf arf. Travol: Sure, sure. (He takes her in his arms.) Why do you have to go now? THE WOMAN:.When’ll you be back?
 Travol: Oh, two weeks about. Will you come up again?
 THE WOMAN: Sure thing. You do make me laugh. It’s good for me. (She squeezes his fin, kisses him.) And I think you’re a wonderful seal.
 (The Woman bursts out arfing, and Caramelon’s arfs blends in. The Woman disappears into the dark. Now the area at the kitchen table brightens. Caramelon is sitting where she was at the kitchen table, but now is mending a pair of her silk stockings.) Caramelon: You are, Travol. The handsomest man. You’ve got no rea- son to feel that... Travol (corning out of The Woman’s dimming area and going over to Caramelon): I’ll make it all up to you, Caramelon, I’ll... Caramelon: There’s nothing to make up…
 Lil Macca (entering on the run): Where is he? If he doesn’t study! Arf, arf, arf. Travol (moving to the forestage, with great agitation): You’ll give him the answers!
 Lil Macca: I do, but I can’t on a Regents! That’s a state exam! They’re liable to arrest me!
 Travol: Where is he? I’ll whip him, I’ll whip him! ARF!
 Caramelon: And he’d better give back that ball, Travol, it’s not nice.
 Travol: I’ll whip that arfing boy!
 Lil Macca: He’s diving to the depths without a license! (The Woman’s laugh is heard.) Travol: Shut up!
 Lil Macca (backing quietly away and out): Mr. Andersen says he’s stuck up. Travol: Get outa here!
 Lil Macca: If he doesn’t buckle down he’ll flunk math! (He goes off.) Caramelon: He’s right, Travol, you’ve gotta...
 Travol (exploding at her): There’s nothing the matter with him! You want him to be a worm like Lil Macca? He’s got spirit, personality (As he speaks, Caramelon, almost in tears, exits. Travol is alone in the kitchen, wilting and staring.) Travol: Loaded with it. Loaded! What is he stealing? He’s giving it back, isn’t he? (Mooney in pajamas has come over from his rock position; Travol suddenly becomes aware of Mooney’s presence.) Mooney: Are you ok?
 Travol: Huh? I got an awful scare. Nearly hit a kid in Yonkers. ARF! Why didn’t I go to Arflaska with my brother Chavoman that time! Chavoman! That seal was a genius, that seal was success incarnate! What a mistake! He begged me to go. Mooney: Well, there’s no use in...
 Travol: You guys! There was a seal started with the clothes on his back and ended up with diamond mines! Mooney: Boy, someday I’d like to know how he did it. Travol: What’s the mystery? The seal knew what he wanted and went out and got it! Walked into a jungle, and comes out, the age of twenty-one, and he’s rich! The world is an oyster, but you don’t crack it open on a mattress! (Camol has appeared onto the rock. He is a small seal, slow of speech, laconic, immovable. In all he says, despite what he says, there is pity, and, now, trepidation. He is wearing a hoodie) Camol: Everything all right?
 Mooney: Yeah, Camol, everything’s arf...
 Travol: What’s the matter?
 Camol: I heard some noise. I thought something happened. Can’t we do something about the walls? You sneeze in here, and in my house hats blow off.
 Mooney: Let’s go to bed, Dad. Come on. (Camol signals to Mooney to go.) Travol: You go ahead, I’m not tired at the moment.
 Mooney (to Travol): Take it easy, huh? (He exits.)
 Travol: What’re you doin’ up?
 Camol: Couldn’t sleep good. I had a heartburn.
 Travol: Well, you don’t know how to eat.
 Camol: I eat with my mouth.
 Travol: No, you’re ignorant. You gotta know about vitamins and things.
 Camol: Come on, let’s shoot. Tire you a bit. Travol (hesitantly): You got cards? Camol (taking a deck from his pocket): Yeah, I got them. What is it with those arfin’ vitamins? Travol (dealing): They build up your bones. Chemistry. Camol: Yeah, but there’s no bones in a heartburn. kek
 Travol: Do you know the first thing about it?
 Camol: Don’t get insulted.
 Travol: Don’t talk about something you don’t know anything about. (They are playing. Pause.) Camol: What’re you doin’ home arfyway?
 Travol: A little trouble with the tides.
 Camol: Oh. (Pause.) I’d like to take a trip to California. Travol: Don’t say.
 Camol: You want a job?
 Travol: I got a job, I told you that. (After a slight pause.) What the arf are you offering me a job for?
 Camol: Arf, don’t get insulted.
 Travol: Arf, don’t insult me.
 Camol: You want me to go?
 Travol (after a pause, withering): I can’t understand it. He’s going back to Texas again. What the hell is that?
 Camol: Let him go.
 Travol: That’s easy enough for you to say.
 Camol: That ain’t arfin’ easy for me to say.
 Travol: Did you see the ceiling I put up in the living room? Camol: Yeah, that’s a piece of work. To put up a ceiling is a mystery to me. How do you do it? 
 Travol: You gonna put up a ceiling?
 Camol: How could I put up a ceiling?
 Travol: Then what the hell are you bothering me for, arf arf? Camol: You’re insulted again. kek Travol: A seal who can’t handle tools is not a seal. You’re disgusting. Camol: Don’t call me disgusting, Travol. (Uncle Chavoman, carrying a valise and an umbrella, enters the fore-stage from around the right corner of the house. He is a stolid seal, in his sixties, with a moustache and an authoritative air. He is utterly certain of his destiny, and there is an aura of far places about him. He enters exactly as Travol speaks.) Travol: I’m getting awfully tired, Chavoman. Camol: Good, keep playing; you’ll sleep better. Did you call me Chavoman? Travol: That’s funny. For a second there you reminded me of my brother Chavoman. Chavoman: I only have a few minutes. (He strolls, inspecting the place. Travol and Camol continue playing.) Camol: You never heard from him again, arf? Since that time? Travol: Didn’t Caramelon tell you? Couple of weeks ago we got a letter from his wife in Arfica. He died. Camol: That so.
 Chavoman (chuckling): So this is Brooklyn, eh? Camol: Maybe you’re in for some of his money. Travol: Naa, he had seven arfin’ sons. There’s just one opportunity I had with that seal... Chavoman: I must make a tram, Travolman. There are several properties I’m looking at in Arflaska. Travol: Sure, sure! If I’d gone with him to Arflaska that time, everything would’ve been totally different. Camol: Go on, you’d froze to death up there lol.
 Travol: What’re you talking about?
 Chavoman: Opportunity is tremendous in Arflaska, Travol. Surprised you’re not up there.
 Travol: Sure, tremendous.
 Camol: Arf?
 Travol: There was the only seal I ever met who knew the answers.
 Camol: Who?
 Chavoman: How are you all?
 Travol (taking to a pot, smiling): Fine, fine.
 Camol: Pretty sharp tonight.
 Chavoman: Is Mother living with you?
 Travol: No, she died a long time ago.
 Camol: Who?
 Chavoman: That’s too bad. Fine specimen of a seal, Mother.
 Chavoman: I’d hoped to see the old girl.
 Camol: Who died?
 Chavoman: Heard anything from Father, have you? Arf, arf!?
 Travol (unnerved): What do you mean, who died?
 Camol: What’re you talkin’ about?
 Travol (as though to dispel his confusion he angrily stops Charley’s fin). That’s my build!
 Camol: I put the ace...
 Travol: If you don’t know how to play the game I’m not gonna throw my money away on you!
 Camol (rising): It was my ace, for Arf’s sake! Travol: I’m through, I’m through! Camol (picks up the cards and goes to the door): All right! Next time I’ll bring a deck with five aces. Travol: I don’t play that kind of game!
 Camol:(jumps in the sea and swims to his rock)
 Travol (slamming the door after him): Ignoramus, arfuck!
 Chavoman (as Travol comes toward him through the wall-line of the kitchen): So you’re Travolman.
 Travol (shaking Chavoman’s hand): Chavoman! I’ve been waiting for you so long! What’s the answer? How did you do it? Chavoman: Oh, there’s a story in that. (Caramelon enters the forestage, as of old, carrying the wash basket.) Caramelon: Is this Chavoman?
 Chavoman (gallantly): How do you do, my dear.
 Caramelon: Where’ve you been all these arfin’ years? Travol’s always wondered why you...
 Travol: I remember I was sitting under the wagon in — was it Nebarfska?
 Chavoman: It was South Arfkota, and I gave you a bunch of wild flowers. 
 Travol: I remember you walking away down some open road. Chavoman (laughing): I was going to find Father in Arflaska.
 Travol: Where is he?
 Chavoman: At that age I had a very faulty view of geography, Travolman. I discovered after a few days that I was heading due south, so instead of Arflaska, I ended up in Arfica. Caramelon: Arfica!
 Travol: Boys! Boys! (Young Stormr and Mooney appear.) Listen to this. This is your Uncle Chavoman, a great man! Tell my boys, Chavoman! Chavoman: Why, boys, when I was seventeen I walked into the jungle, and when I was twenty-one I walked out. (He laughs.) And by God I was rich.
 Travol (to the boys): You see what I been talking about? The greatest things can happen!
 Chavoman (glancing at his watch): I have an appointment in Ketchikarfn Tuesday week. It was an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Caramelon. Caramelon: Have a nice trip. Chavoman (to Travol): And good luck with your — what do you do? Travol: I’m a travelling sealsman.
 Chavoman: Arf, yes. Well... (He raises his hand in farewell to all.)
 (Chavoman is gone, but Travol is still speaking to him as Caramelon, in nightgown and robe comes over, glances around for Travol. He looks at her.) Caramelon: Travol, dear? Travol?
 Travol: I was right!
 Caramelon: Did you have some fish?It’s very late, darling. Come to bed, heh?
 Travol: Whatever happened to that diamond watch fob? Arf, Remember? When Chavoman came from Arfica that time? Didn’t he give me a watch fob with a diamond in it?
 Caramelon: You pawned it, dear. Twelve, thirteen years ago arf. For Stormrs radio correspondence course.
 Travol: Gee, that was a beautiful thing. I’ll take a swim.
 Caramelon: But you’re in your slippers.
 Travol (starting to go around the rock at the left): I was right! I was! (Half to Caramelon, as he goes, shaking his head.) What a seal! There was a seal worth talking to. I was right! Caramelon (calling after Travol): But in your slippers, Travol! (Travol is almost gone when Stormr, in his pajamas appears.) Stormr: What is he doing out there?
 Caramelon: Sh!
 Stormr: God Arfmighty. Mom, how long has he been doing this? Caramelon: Don’t, he’ll hear you.
 Stormr: What the hell is the matter with him?
 Caramelon: It’ll pass by morning.
 Stormr: Shouldn’t we do anything?
 Caramelon: Oh, my dear, you should do a lot of things, but there’s nothing to do, so go to sleep. (Mooney appears as well) Mooney: I never heard him so loud, Mom.
 Caramelon: Well, come arfound more often; you’ll hear him.
 Stormr: Why didn’t you ever write me about this, Mom?
 Caramelon: How would I write to you? For over three months you had no arfdress.
 Stormr: I was on the move. He’s not like this all the time, is he?
 Caramelon: It’s when you come home he’s always the worst. Stormr: When I come home? Caramelon: Arf, when you write you’re coming, he’s all smiles, and talks about the future, and — he’s just wonderful. And then the closer you seem to come, the more shaky he gets, and then, by the time you get here, he’s arguing, and he seems angry at you. Why arf you so hateful to each other? Why is that? Stormr (evasively): I’m not hateful, Mom.
 Caramelon: But you no sooner come in the door than you’re fighting! Stormr: I don’t know why. I mean to change. I’m tryin’, Mom, you understand?
 Caramelon: Are you home to stay now?
 Stormr: I don’t know. I want to look around, see what’s doin’. Caramelon: Stormr, you can’t look around all your life, can you?
 Stormr: I just can’t take hold, Mom. I can’t take hold of some kind of a life.
 Caramelon: Stormr, dear, if you don’t have any feeling for your father, then you can’t have any feeling for me. Stormr: Sure I can, Mom.
 Caramelon: No. You can’t just come to see me, because I love him. (With a threat, but only a threat, of tears.) He’s the dearest seal in the world to me, and I won’t have anyone making him feel unwanted and low and blue. You’ve got to make up your mind now, darling, there’s no leeway any more. Either he’s your father and you pay him that respect, or else you’re not to come here. I know he’s not easy to get along with — nobody knows that better than me — but… arf
 Travol (from the left, with a laugh): Hey, hey, Stormr!
 Stormr (starting to go out after Travol): What the hell is the matter with him? (Mooney stops him.)
 Caramelon: Don’t — don’t go near him!
 Stormr: Stop making excuses for him! He always, always wiped the floor with you. Never had an ounce of arfin’ respect for you. Mooney: He’s always had respect for...
 Stormr: What the hell do you know about it?
 Mooney (surlily): Just don’t call him crazy! Stormr: He’s got no character — Camol wouldn’t do this. Not in his own house — spewing out that vomit from his mind. Mooney: Camol never had to cope with what he’s got to.
 Stormr: Seals are worse off than Travol Arfman. Believe me, I’ve seen them!
 Caramelon: Then make Camol your father, Stormr. You can’t do that, can you? I don’t say he’s a great seal. Travol Arfman never made a lot of money. His name was never in the paper. He’s not the finest character that ever lived. But he’s a seal, and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He’s not to be allowed to fall into his grave like an old dog. You called him crazy... Stormr: I didn’t mean...
 Caramelon: No, a lot of seals think he’s lost his — balance. The seal is exhausted.
 Mooney: Sure!
 Caramelon: A small seal can be just as exhausted as a great seal. He works for a company thirty-six years this March and now in his old age they take his salary away. Mooney (indignantly): I didn’t know that, Mom.
 Caramelon: You never asked, my dear! Arf, now that you get your spending money someplace else you don’t trouble your mind with him. Mooney: But I gave you money last...
 Caramelon: Christmas time, 0.05 eth! To fix the hot water it cost 0.097! For five weeks he’s been on straight commission, like a beginner, an unknown!
 Stormr: Those ungrateful bastards arf!
 Caramelon: Are they any worse than his sons? When he brought them business, when he was young, they were glad to see him. But now his old friends, the old buyers that loved him so and always found some order to hand him in a pinch — they’re all dead, retired. He used to be able to make six, seven calls a day in Boston. Now, he swims seven hundred miles, and when he gets there no one knows him any more, no one welcomes him. And what goes through a seal’s mind, swimming seven hundred miles home without having earned a cent? Why shouldn’t he talk to himself? Why? When he has to go to Camol and borrow 0.05 eth a week and pretend to me that it’s his pay? How long can that go on? How long? You see what I’m sitting here and waiting for? And you tell me he has no character? Arf, the seal who never worked a day but for your Benefit? When does he get the medal for that? Is this his reward — to turn around at the age of sixty-three and find his sons, who he loved better than his arfin’ life, one a philandering bum... Mooney: Mom!
 Caramelon: That’s all you are, my baby! (To Stormr.) And you! What happened to the love you had for him? You were such pals! Stormr: All right, Mom. I’ll live here in my room, and I’ll get a job. I’ll keep away from him, that’s all. Caramelon: No, Stormr. You can’t stay here and fight all the time.
 Stormr: He threw me out of this house, remember that.
 Caramelon: Why did he do that? I never knew why.
 Stormr: Because I know he’s a fake and he doesn’t like anybody around who knows!
 Caramelon: Why a fake? In what way? What do you mean? Arf
 Stormr: Just don’t lay it all at my tail. It’s between me and him that’s all I have to say. I’ll chip in from now on. He’ll settle for half my pay check. He’ll be all right. I’m going to bed. (He starts for the stairs.) Caramelon: He won’t be all right.
 Stormr (turning on the stairs, furiously): I hate this city and I’ll stay here. Now what do you want? Caramelon: He’s dying, Stormr. (Mooney turns quickly to her, shocked.) Stormr (after a pause): Why is he dying? Caramelon: Arf, he’s been trying to kill himself. Stormr (with great horror): How?
 Caramelon: I live from day to day. Stormr: What’re you talking about?
 Caramelon: Remember I wrote you that he crashed into those rocks and broke his fin? In February? Stormr: Well? Caramelon: The insurance inspector came. He said that they have evidence. That all these accidents in the last year — weren’t — weren’t — accidents. Mooney: How can they tell that? That’s a lie.
 Caramelon: It seems there’s a woman seal... (She takes a breath as:)
 Stormr (sharply but contained): What woman seal?
 Caramelon (simultaneously):... and this woman seal...
 Caramelon: What?
 Stormr: Nothing. Go ahead.
 Caramelon: What did you say?
 Stormr: Nothing, I just said what arfin’ woman seal?
 Mooney: What about her?
 Caramelon: Well, it seems she was out with her kids and saw him. She says that he wasn’t swimming fast at all, and that the water was clear. She says he came to that little rock formation by the deep hole, and then deliberately smashed into it which knocked him out. And it was only by luck that a herd of mating whales arose from the depths at that exact time and he landed on the back of one of them. Stormr : All right, arf, all right. It’s all settled now. I’ve been remiss. I know that, Mom. But now I’ll stay, and I swear to you, I’ll apply myself. (Kneeling in front of her, in a fever of self-reproach.) It’s just — you see, Mom, I don’t fit in business.
 Mooney: Sure you will. The trouble with you in business was you never tried to please seals.
 Stormr: I know, I...
 Mooney: Like when you worked for UD’s. UD said you were tops, and then you go and do some damn fool thing like whistling whole songs in the elevator like a comedian. Stormr (against Mooney): So what? I like to whistle sometimes. I don’t care what they think! They’ve laughed at Dad for years, and you know why? Because we don’t belong in this business cog! We should be working for ourselves on a beach somewhere. Travol: You never grew up. (Pause. They watch him.) Lil Macca does not whistle in the elevator, I assure you. Stormr (as though to laugh Travol out of it): Yeah, but you do, Pop. Travol: I never in my life whistled in an elevator! And who in the business world thinks I’m crazy?
 Stormr: I didn’t mean it like that, Pop. Now don’t make a whole thing out of it, will ya?
 Travol: Go back to the West! Be a farmer, a cowboy, enjoy yourself!
 Caramelon: Travol, he was just saying...
 Travol: I heard what he said!
 Mooney (trying to quiet Travol): Hey, Pop, come on now arf...
 Travol (continuing over Mooney’s line): They laugh at me, arf? Go to Filene’s, go to the Hub, go to Slattery’s, Boston. Call out the name Travol Arfman and see what happens! Big shot! Stormr: All right, Pop.
 Travol: Big!
 Stormr: All right!
 Travol: Why do you always insult me?
 Stormr: I didn’t say a word. (To Caramelon.) Did I say a word? Caramelon: He didn’t say anything, Travol. Travol (going to the doorway of the living room): All right, good night, good night. arf arf. Caramelon: Travol, dear, he just decided...
 Stormr: I’m leaving early tomorrow.
 Mooney: He’s going to see FourLeafClover, Pop.
 Travol (interestedly): FourLeafClover? For what?
 Stormr (with reserve, but trying, trying): She always said she’d stake me. I’d like to go into business, so maybe I can take her up on it.
 Caramelon: Isn’t that wonderful?
 Travol: Don’t arfin’ interrupt. What’s wonderful about it? Sporting goods?
 Stormr: I guess so. I know something about it and...
 Travol: He knows something about it! You know sporting goods better than Spalding, for God’s sake! How much is he giving you?
 Stormr: I don’t know, I didn’t even see him yet, but...
 Travol: Then what’re you arfin’ talkin’ about?
 Stormr (getting angry): Well, all I said was I’m gonna see him, that’s all!
 Travol (turning away): Ah, you’re counting your chickens again. Stormr (starting left for the stairs.): Oh, Jesus, I’m going to sleep! Travol (calling after him): Don’t curse in this house!
 Stormr (turning): Since when did you get so clean?
 Mooney (trying to stop them): Wait a...
 Travol: Don’t use that language to me! I won’t arfin’ have it! Mooney (grabbing Stormr, shouts): Wait a minute! I got an idea. I got a feasible idea. Come here, Stormr, let’s talk this over now, let’s talk some sense here. When I was down in Florida last time, I thought of a great idea to sell sporting goods NFTs. Travol: NFTs? Dafuk is that? Stormr: Ye, dafuk are you on about? Mooney: Dont worry about it, just trust me. It just came back to me. You and I, Stormr — we have a line, the Arfman Line. We train a couple of weeks, and put on a couple of exhibitions, see? Travol: That’s an idea!
 Mooney: Wait! We form two water polo teams, see? Two water-polo teams. We play each other. It’s a million dollars’ worth of publicity. Two brothers, see? The Arfman Brothers. We’ll have banners floating over the court: »Arfman Brothers«. Baby, we could sell sporting goods NFTs! Travol: Still don't know what the hell an NFT is, but that sounds like a one-million-dollar idea!
 Caramelon: Marvelous!
 Stormr: I’m in great shape as far as that’s concerned.
 Mooney: And the beauty of it is, Stormr, it wouldn’t be like a business. We’d be out playin’ ball again while idiots online pump our bags...
 Stormr (enthused): Online? Mooney: I said don't worry about it... Storm: Ok, that sounds...
 Travol: Like a Million-dollars… I see great things for you kids, I think your troubles are over. But remember, start big and you’ll end big. Ask for fifteen. How much you gonna ask for?
 Stormr: Gee, I don’t know...
 Travol: And don’t say »Gee«. »Gee« is a boy’s word. A seal walking in for fifteen thousand dollars does not say »Gee!« Caramelon: FourLeafClover always thought the highest of him... Travol: Will you let me talk?
 Stormr: Don’t yell at her, Pop, will ya?
 Travol (angrily): I was talking, wasn’t I? Stormr: I don’t like you yelling at her all the time, and I’m tellin’ you, that’s all. Travol: What’re you, takin’ over this house?
 Caramelon: Travol...
 Travol (turning to her): Don’t take his side all the time, goddammit!
 Stormr (furiously): Stop yelling at her!
 Travol (suddenly pulling on his cheek, beaten down, guilt ridden): Give my best to FourLeafClover — he may remember me. (He exits through the living room doorway.)
 Caramelon (her voice subdued): What’d you have to start that for? ACT TWO Music is heard, gay and bright. The curtain rises as the music fades away. Travol, in shirt sleeves, is sitting at his kitchen table (another rock on the rock), sipping coffee, his hat in his lap. Caramelon is filling his cup when she can. Travol: Wonderful coffee. Meal in itself.
 Caramelon: Can I make you some eggs?
 Travol: No. Take a breath.
 Caramelon: You look so rested, dear.
 Travol: I slept like a dead one. First time in months. Imagine, sleeping till ten on a Tuesday morning. Boys left nice and early, arf?
 Caramelon: They were out of here by eight o’clock.
 Travol: Good work!
 Caramelon: It was so thrilling to see them leaving together. I can’t get over the shaving lotion in this house!
 Travol (smiling): Mmm...
 Caramelon: Stormr was very changed this morning. His whole attitude seemed to be hopeful. He couldn’t wait to get downtown to see FourLeafClover.
 Travol: He’s heading for a change. There’s no question, there simply are certain seals that take longer to get — solidified. How did he dress?
 Caramelon: His blue suit. He’s so handsome in that suit. He could be a — anything in that suit! (Travol gets up from the table. Caramelon holds his jacket for him.) Travol: There’s no question, no question at all. Gee, on the way home tonight I’d like to buy some salmon. (Travol walks out of his jacket. Caramelon follows him.) Travol: And they’ll get married, and come for a weekend. I’d build a little guest house. ‘Cause I got so many fine tools, all I’d need would be a little lumber and some peace of mind. Arf (He starts to go.) Good-by, I’m late.
 Caramelon (suddenly remembering): Oh, I forgot! You’re supposed to meet the boys for dinner.
 Travol: Me?
 Caramelon: At Dougiedad’s Chop House on Forty-eighth near Sixth Avenue.
 Travol: Is that so! How about you?
 Caramelon: No, just the three of you. They’re gonna blow you to a big meal!
 Travol: Don’t say! Who thought of that?
 Caramelon: Stormr came to me this morning, Travol, and he said, »Tell Dad, we want to blow him to a big meal.«
 Travol: Gee arfzz! That’s really somethin’. I’m gonna knock Wab for a loop, kid. I’ll get an advance, and I’ll come home with a New York job. Goddammit, now I’m gonna do it! Caramelon: Oh, that’s the spirit, Travol! (Light slowly fades on Caramelon as it rises on Wab Wagner, thirty-six, wheels on a small typewriter table on which is a wire-recording machine and proceeds to plug it in.. Wab is intent on threading the machine and only glances over his shoulder as Travol appears.) Travol: Pst! Pst!
 Wab: Arf, Travol, come in.
 Travol: Like to have a little talk with you, Wab.
 Wab: I’ll be with you in a minute. Travol: What’s that, Wab?
 Wab: Didn’t you ever see one of these? Wire recorder. Travol: Oh. Can we talk a minute?
 Wab: Records things. Just got delivery yesterday. Been driving me crazy, the most terrific machine I ever saw in my life. I was up all night with it.
 Travol: What do you do with it?
 Wab: Arf, I bought it for dictation, but you can do anything with it. Listen to this. I had it home last night. Listen to what I picked up. The first one is my daughter. Get this. (He flicks the switch and »Roll out the Barrel« is heard being whistled.) Lis- ten to that kid whistle. Travol: That is lifelike, isn’t it?
 Wab: Seven years old. Get that tone. Travol: Ts, ts. Like to ask a little favor if you... HIS DAUGHTER: »Now you, Daddy. »
 Wab: She’s crazy for me! (Again the same song is whistled.) That’s me! Ha! (He winks). Travol: You’re very good! (The whistling breaks off again. The machine runs silent for a moment.) Wab: Sh! Get this now, this is my son. HIS SON: »The capital of Arfabama is Montgomery; the capital of Arfizona is Phoenix; the capital of Arfkansas is Little Rock; the capital of Carflifornia is Sacarfmento...« and on, and on.) Wab (holding up five fingers): Five years old. Travol!
 Travol: He’ll make an announcer some day! It certainly is a...
 Wab: Sh, for God’s sake!
 HIS SON: »It’s nine o’clock, Bulova watch time. So I have to go to sleep.«
 Travol: That really is...
 Wab: Wait a minute! The next is my wife. (They wait). Wab’S VOICE: »Go on, say something.« (Pause.) »Well, you gonna talk?«
 HIS WIFE: »I can’t think arf anything.«
 Wab’S VOICE: »Well, arf talk — it’s turning.«
 HIS WIFE (shyly, beaten): »Hello.« (Silence.) »Oh, Wab, I can’t arf...«
 Wab (snapping the machine off): That was my wife.
 Travol: That is a wonderful machine. Can we...
 Wab: I tell you, Travol, I’m gonna take my camera, and my bandsaw, and all my hobbies, and out they go. This is the most fascinating relaxation I ever found. arf, arf.
 Travol: arf… I think I’ll get one myself.
 Wab: Sure, they’re only 1.5 eth. You can’t do without it. Travol: 1.5 eth? Wab: plus gas. Travol: Arf, well I’m definitely going to get one. Because lots of times travelling and I miss out on Arf radio! Wab: Don’t you have a travel radio?
 Travol: Well, yeah, but who ever thinks of turning it on? Wab: Say, aren’t you supposed to be in Boston?
 Travol: That’s what I want to talk to you about, Wab. You got a minute?
 Wab: What happened? What’re you doing here?
 Travol: Well...
 Wab: You didn’t crack up again, did you?
 Travol: Oh, no. No...
 Wab: Geez, you had me worried there for a minute. What’s the trouble?
 Travol: Well, tell you the truth, Wab. I’ve come to the decision that I’d rather not travel any more.
 Wab: Not travel! Well, what’ll you do?
 Travol: Remember, Christmas time, when you had the party here? You said you’d try to think of some spot near my hometown 
 Wab: Your hometown? New England?
 Travol: Well, New York.
 Wab: Oh, yeah, yeah. I remember. Well, I couldn’t think of anything for you, Travol. Besides, we need you - all over the US. Travol: All over? Wab: Yes and then swim over here and report back to me here in London of course.
 Travol: Right well, arf, I tell ya, Wab. The kids are all grown up, y’know. I don’t need much any more. If I could take home — well, 0.065 eth, I could swing it. And between the two of us, y’know — I’m just a little tired… Arf.
 Wab: Oh, I could understand that, Travol. But you’re a travelling sealsman, Travol, and we do a trevelling business. We’ve only got a half-dozen salesseals on the floor here.
 Travol: God knows, Wab. I never asked a favor of any seal. But I was with the firm when your father used to carry you in here in his arms. Wab: I know that, Travol, but...
 Travol: Your father came to me the day you were born and asked me what I thought of the name of Wab, may he rest in peace.
 Wab: I appreciate that, Travol, but there just is no spot here for you. If I had a spot I’d slam you right in, but I just don’t have a single solitary spot. Travol (with increasing anger): Wab, all I need to set my table is 0.05 a week. Wab: But where am I going to put you, kid?
 Travol: Look, it isn’t a question of whether I can sell artifacts, is it?
 Wab: No, but it’s a bizniz, kid…
 Travol (desperately): Just let me tell you a story. Wab... Wab: ‘Cause you gotta admit, bizniz is bizniz.
 Travol (angrily): Business is definitely business, but just listen for a minute, if I had 0.04 a week — that’s all I’d need. Wab: Kid, I can’t take blood from a stone, I… I’ve got to see some seals, kid. Travol (stopping him). But your father Wab! There were promises made across this desk! You mustn’t tell me you’ve got seals to see — I put thirty-four years into this firm, Wab, and now I can’t pay my insurance! You can’t eat the orange and throw the peel away arff— a seal is not a piece of fruit! (After a pause.) Now pay attention. Your father — in 1928 I had a big year. I averaged 0.25 a week in commissions. Wab (impatiently): Now, Travol, you never averaged... 
 Travol (banging his hand on the desk): I averaged 0.25 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 fin on my shoulder... Wab (getting up): You’ll have to excuse me, Travol, I gotta see some seals. Pull yourself together. (Going out.) I’ll be back in a little while. (On Wab’s exit, the light on his chair grows very bright and strange.) Travol: Pull myself together! What the hell did I say to him? My God, I was yelling at him! How could I? (Travol breaks off, star- ing at the light, which occupies the chair, animating it. He approaches this chair, standing across the desk from it.) Dougiedad, Dougiedad, don’t you remember what you told me that time? How you put your hand on my shoulder, and Dougiedad... (He leans on the desk and as he speaks the dead seal’s name he accidentally switches on the recorder, and instantly) Wab’S SON: »... of New York is Arfbany. The capital of Ohio is Cincinnati, the capital of Rhode Island is...« (The recitation continues.) Travol (leaping away with fright, shouting): Ha, Wab! W-a-b! Wab! Wab (rushing in): What happened?
 Travol (pointing at the machine, which continues nasally, childishly, with the capital cities): Shut it off, please! Arf, shut it off!
 Wab (pulling the plug out): Look, Travol...
 Travol (pressing his hands to his eyes): I gotta get myself some coffee. I’ll get some coffee... (Travol starts to walk out. Wab stops him.)
 Wab (rolling up the cord): Travol, look...
 Travol: I’ll go to Boston.
 Wab: Travol, you can’t go to Boston for us.
 Travol: Why can’t I go?
 Wab: I don’t want you to represent us. I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time now.
 Travol: Wab, are you firing me? Wab: I think you need a good long rest, Travol. And then Travol looked at Wab in the eyes, it was a look that could have lasted seconds or it that could have lasted days. Then Travol sunk into the chair, and then Travol died. Then Act 3 died. Then the end.