Broken Glass by Arthur Miller

SCENE ONE
    A lone cellist is discovered, playing a simple tune. The tune finishes. Light goes out on the cellist and rises on....
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Office of Dr. Harry Hyman in his home. Alone on stage Phillip Gellburg, an intense man in his late forties, waits in perfect stillness, legs crossed. He is in a black suit, black tie and shoes, and white shirt.
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Margaret Hyman, the doctor’s wife, enters. She is lusty, energetic, carrying pruning shears.
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MARGARET: He’ll be right with you, he’s just changing. Can I get you something? Tea?
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GELLBURG, faint reprimand: He said seven o’clock sharp.
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MARGARET: He was held up in the hospital, that new union’s pulled a strike, imagine? A strike in a hospital? It’s incredible. And his horse went lame.
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GELLBURG: His horse?
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MARGARET: He rides on Ocean Parkway every afternoon.
    GELLBURG, attempting easy familiarity: Oh yes, I heard about that... it’s very nice. You’re Mrs. Hyman?
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MARGARET: I’ve nodded to you on the street for years now, but you’re too preoccupied to notice.
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GELLBURG, a barely hidden boast: Lot on my mind, usually. A certain amused loftiness. —So you’re his nurse, too.
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MARGARET: We met in Mount Sinai when he was interning. He’s lived to regret it. She laughs in a burst.
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GELLBURG: That’s some laugh you’ve got there. I sometimes hear you all the way down the block to my house.
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MARGARET: Can’t help it, my whole family does it. I’m originally from Minnesota. It’s nice to meet you finally, Mr. Goldberg.
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GELLBURG: :—It’s Gellburg, not Goldberg.
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MARGARET: Oh, I’m sorry.
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GELLBURG: G-e-l-l-b-u-r-g. It’s the only one in the phone book.
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MARGARET: It does sound like Goldberg.
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GELLBURG: But it’s not, it’s Gellburg. A distinction. We’re from Finland originally.
    MARGARET: Oh! We came from Lithuania ... Kazauskis?
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GELLBURG, put down momentarily: Don’t say.
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MARGARET, trying to charm him to his ease: Ever been to Minnesota?
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GELLBURG: New York State’s the size of France, what would I go to Minnesota for?
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MARGARET: Nothing. Just there’s a lot of Finns there.
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GELLBURG: Well there’s Finns all over.
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MARGARET, defeated, shows the clipper: ... I’ll get back to my roses. Whatever it is, I hope you’ll be feeling better.
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GELLBURG: It’s not me.
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MARGARET: Oh.’Cause you seem a little pale.
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GELLBURG: Me?—I’m always this color. It’s my wife.
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MARGARET: I’m sorry to hear that, she’s a lovely woman. It’s nothing serious, is it?
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GELLBURG: He’s just had a specialist put her through some tests, I’m waiting to hear. I think it’s got him mystified.
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MARGARET: Well, I mustn’t butt in. Makes to leave but can’t resist. Can you say what it is?
    GELLBURG : She can’t walk.
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MARGARET: What do you mean?
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GELLBURG, an overtone of protest of some personal victimization: Can’t stand up. No feeling in her legs.—I’m sure it’ll pass, but it’s terrible.
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MARGARET: But I only saw her in the grocery ... can’t be more than ten days ago ...
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GELLBURG: It’s nine days today.
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MARGARET: But she’s such a wonderful-looking woman. Does she have fever?
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GELLBURG: No.
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MARGARET: Thank God, then it’s not polio.
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GELLBURG: No, she’s in perfect health otherwise.
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MARGARET: Well Harry’ll get to the bottom of it if anybody can. They call him from everywhere for opinions, you know ... Boston, Chicago ... By rights he ought to be on Park Avenue if he only had the ambition, but he always wanted a neighborhood practice. Why, I don’t know—we never invite anybody, we never go out, all our friends are in Manhattan. But it’s his nature, you can’t