Class of 29 | Page 3

Ken, they like it Americanskee. They approve of the way we do our living, if not of the way we get it.
KEN. They like our gadgets. The plans I sent to Moscow were all American inside. But the exteriors were different.
TIPPY. [Slaps him on shoulder and returns to pants pressing.] Well, keep at it, old man. All things come to those who work while they wait.
KEN. Work. I just do this to keep from going nuts.
TIPPY. O. K. Keep occupied. American recovery may yet prove speedier than Soviet red tape.
KEN. I've given up hope of hearing from Moscow. It's been five months ...
TIPPY. Make allowances for bureaucracy, Ken.
They're in such a hurry over there they haven't time to do anything.
KEN. [Starts to remove drawing.] I don't want Martin to see this. He'd never forgive me if he knew I'd quit working on stuff for Russia.
TIPPY. Hi, Ted! Give a look on your fellow artist's work.
[KEN stands aside, TED rises politely, keeping finger in place in book and looking at drawing briefly.]
TED. [Indifferently.] It's very nice.
[He goes back to couch and his book, KEN removes drawing and rolls it up. TIPPY finishes pants and cuts off iron, MARTIN'S voice heard in hall, singing.]
MARTIN. Belaya armeya chornee barone Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee trone [MARTIN enters, marching and singing.] No ot tigee doe bretanskeye Morye [Stamps and accents each syllable.] Anneya krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.
TIPPY. Jesus, Martin, why don't you get Billy Rose to write a new song for the Red Army?
MARTIN. As soon as Ken learns Krasnaya Armeya I'll teach him the International.
TIPPY. I can bellyache the Armeya better now than he can.
MARTIN. Damned pity you won't study Russian with us. You have a natural gift for languages.
TIPPY. The reason Russian is easy for me is because I never learned the alphabet.
KEN. Boy, what an alphabet!
MARTIN. [Snapping his fingers.] Da, da, da--ah, be, ve, ge.
TIPPY. [Picking up book.] Ya, ya, ya,--vas ist das? Das ist ein buch.
KEN. Da, da, da,--chto etto takoye? Etto kneega.
MARTIN. Fine. Let's go. [Holds up pencil.] Chto etto takoe?
KEN. Etta karandash.
MARTIN. [Stands book on table.] Chto?
KEN. Kneega stoeet na stolom.
MARTIN. [Throws book under table.] Gdye kneega?
KEN. Kneega pod stalom.
MARTIN. Great! Now make a sentence of your own.
KEN. [Lamely.] Tovarisch Stalin ... [Stalls.]
TIPPY. [Cutting in smartly.] Krasnaya armeya pod stalom. [TIPPY hangs pants on chair back, and puts away ironing paraphernalia.]
[MARTIN goes to book shelf and gets Russian reader and dictionary.]
MARTIN. I've only a few minutes. But we can do half a page. We'll never get it unless we keep at it eternally.
KEN. For eternity you mean.
MARTIN. You're doing fine with the reading. It'll help you no end when you get to Russia.
KEN. God, what faith you have!
MARTIN. Sure you're going to Russia. They have millions of buildings to build, and they can't train architects fast enough. [Finds place in book.]
[KEN hesitates.]
KEN. I'm not kidding myself.--I've been doing this more to help you.
MARTIN. Listen, Ken. Even if you don't go, you should know Russian so you can read Soviet architectural journals. The years we wasted on dead languages!--Russia's alive. They're doing things, new things, big things! Russian is the language of the next great sweep in world progress.
TIPPY. Sez you.
MARTIN. You read the New York Times. Where does the real news come from?
TIPPY. That depends on who is shooting which.
MARTIN. Shooting isn't news. War isn't news. War is old--atavistic, a confession of failure, evidence of retrogression. News deals with new things: progress, science, art, invention, the conquest of nature. That's real news. And where is it coming from today?
TIPPY. All right, all right. When you have learned six thousand more verbs, each with a hundred irregular forms, then you can read it in Pravda.
[TIPPY carries board out to kitchen, MARTIN sits at table, KEN with him. MARTIN finds place in book and points to a word.]
KEN. [Slowly, pronouncing all syllables in monotone, as TIPPY enters.] Al-yek-tree-feet-see-row-von-nuim ...
MARTIN. [In disgust.] Stuck on the first word. [Starts thumbing dictionary.]
TIPPY. Word? It sounded to me like a derogatory sentence.
[Knock on the door, TIPPY sees envelope that was stuck under it and picks it up. He is opening envelope when knock is repeated. He opens door and KATE enters.]
KATE. Hello, Tippy.
TIPPY. Hello, Kate.
KATE. Hi, Ted.
TED. [Closing book.] Hello, Kate.
KATE. [Starts toward him but stops at table.] Hello, you bums. How's the Red Army?
KEN. [Rising, glad of chance to get away from book.] Tippy just put it under the table.
KATE. Good for Tippy! He's the only real American among you.
TIPPY. The only real American by conviction. Ted's American by innocence. He won't know there was a Russian revolution until it becomes a classic.
KATE. [Fondly] That makes him very English. [Takes TED'S book.] Is it Chaucer? Or just dear old Ben Jonson?
TED. No such luck. It's a first edition of Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises." For