Help me, Willy, I can’t cry. It seems to me that you’re just on another trip and I keep expecting you. Why did you do it? I search and search – and I search, and I – can’t understand it, Willy. I made the last payment on the house today. Today, dear. And there’ll be nobody home. We’re free and clear. We’re free. We’re free. We’re free.
I am not saying he’s a great man. Willy Loman never earned a lot of money. His name was never in the paper. He’s not the finest character that ever lived. But he’s a human being – and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He must not be allowed to fall into his grave like an old dog. Attention! Attention must be finally paid to such a person! You called him crazy…
Are they any worse than his sons? He drives seven hundred miles, and when he gets there no one knows him any more, no one welcomes him. And what goes through a man’s mind, driving seven hundred miles home without having earned a cent? Why shouldn’t he talk to himself? Why not? When he has to go to Charley every week and borrow fifty dollars from him and pretend to me it’s his pay? Now, how long can that go on? How long? And you tell me he has no character? The man who never worked a day but for your benefit? When does he get the medal for that? Is this his reward?
