{"product_id":"the-babylon-line-isbn-9780399576553","title":"The Babylon Line","description":"\u003cb\u003eAn electrifying new play by Tony Award–winning playwright Richard Greenberg, \u003ci\u003eThe Babylon Line\u003c\/i\u003e opens at Lincoln Center Theater on December 5, 2016. \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA thirty-eight-year-old writer from Greenwich Village, Aaron is painfully aware of his failures as an artist when his desperate need for a job forces him to commute along the Babylon Line to Levittown to teach. What awaits him is a classroom of varyingly unwilling students, some who attend because their preferred course was full, others who are attentive enough but sit silently at their desks—and all of whom have yet to set pen to paper. Over the course of the semester, Aaron’s adult pupils write increasingly more honest life accounts and stories, and cracks begin to appear in their small-town community. A particularly bold and troubled student, Joan, strikes up a rapport with Aaron that threatens to become something more, as the pair bond over their failing marriages and creative frustrations. In the end, we observe the life-changing effects of artistic expression as Greenberg maps out the rest of each of the characters’ lives, full of triumphs and newfound joy that can be traced back directly to those few weeks in a classroom in 1967.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Richard Greenberg's intelligent, nuanced, and perceptive dialogue has been described by the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e as \"exquisite . . . sparkling gems that [he] delivers with gratifying frequency.\" One of America's most loved and frequently produced playwrights, Greenberg has  wisdom that runs deep, and his humor and charm make his work destined to be read and performed for generations to come.\u003cb\u003eRichard Greenberg\u003c\/b\u003e has written two dozen plays, including the Tony Award–winning \u003ci\u003eTake Me Out\u003c\/i\u003e, which was a Pulitzer Prize finalist, as was his play \u003ci\u003eThree Days of Rain\u003c\/i\u003e. He is the winner of \u003ci\u003eNewsday\u003c\/i\u003e’s\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eGeorge Oppenheimer Award for Best New Playwright and the PEN\/Laura Pels Award for a playwright in mid-career. He lives in New York City.***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof*** \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCopyright © 2016 Richard Greenberg\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003eAARON: The End.\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003eBy which I mean what exactly?\u003cbr\u003eOnce, briefly, I loved someone who hated quotations: she claimed they’d ruined her life.\u003cbr\u003eNevertheless:\u003cbr\u003e“Death sanctions all stories,” wrote Walter Benjamin. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut does it?\u003cbr\u003eAnd even if it does,\u003cbr\u003ethe end that comes with death is by definition \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esomeone else’s\u003cbr\u003eand so can’t really bring us close to the notion. And for a \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elapsed atheist like me—\u003cbr\u003eby which I mean, I continue to believe there is no God but \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esuspect for me He might make an exception—even that final \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eending is, possibly,\u003cbr\u003enot so final.\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003eBut this is no kind of introduction. All right, then:\u003cbr\u003eThe year is 2014 and I am eighty-five years old. I look wonderful.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo much has turned out nicely.\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003eAnd that’s about that for 2014. Listen:\u003cbr\u003eThere’s a story I’ve been meaning to tell and, I guess, avoiding\u003cbr\u003efor a long time.\u003cbr\u003eIt’s a simple story about a few events\u003cbr\u003ethat took place in late fall and early winter forty-seven years ago\u003cbr\u003eand I may not come off well in it.\u003cbr\u003eBut\u003cbr\u003eif not now—when? So.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOkay:\u003cbr\u003eThe year is 1967 and I am thirty-eight years old. I look fretful.\u003cbr\u003eSo much has turned out badly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLights on a high school classroom. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eNight.\u003cbr\u003eAaron is with Frieda and Anna.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: We wanted Anna and I\u003cbr\u003eto take Contemporary Events and Politics, but that sold out \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike a shot\u003cbr\u003ewhen they announced that Dr. Rose Franzblau might be a \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGuest Speaker,\u003cbr\u003ewhich I hear\u003cbr\u003eis not the case—\u003cbr\u003eSo back to registration and they ask us if we’d like to take \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFlower Arranging, instead. It’s taught by John Scorfutto?\u003cbr\u003eYou know,\u003cbr\u003ehe owns Hempstead Turnpike Bloomery? (Oh, that’s right, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou’re not from here.) Well, I never use them.\u003cbr\u003eEverything there is carnations; so cheap. Anyway, when it \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecomes to Flower Arranging I think I’m more of an expert than \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJohn Scorfutto.\u003cbr\u003eWhereas Anna, whenever she’s tried,\u003cbr\u003eher flowers come out looking like gloves that nobody’s wearing. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo, no, thank you to Flower Arranging,\u003cbr\u003eand they wonder, can we do Wednesdays?\u003cbr\u003eAs it happens, we can and writing was available so here we are.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: Actually, for me there was more to it than that. I’ve always \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebeen a good writer.\u003cbr\u003eI won a writing award in high school.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Which was before they invented the pencil. You didn’t have \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea dirty fingernail, you had to recite from memory.\u003cbr\u003eNo, I’m kidding, \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHowever, my question is:\u003cbr\u003eWill we be, in this class, expected actually to write?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: It’s a writing class.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Uh-huh.\u003cbr\u003eNow, that perturbs me a little.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Don’t let it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: I’m no James Michener.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: I should hope not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: I’m not claiming to be James Michener.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: Can we write about current affairs?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: You may.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: Because that was the class we wanted to take.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: I believe I knew that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: Though this is exciting, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: But we haven’t been formally introduced: I’m Frieda Cohen.\u003cbr\u003eYou may have seen my house on the way over. It’s the one \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith the well-known garden:\u003cbr\u003eIf you haven’t seen it in person, it was featured in \u003ci\u003eNewsday.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy husband, Lou, is a chemist and I have two boys.\u003cbr\u003eTodd is nineteen, Brian is seventeen—they’re the joy of my life.\u003cbr\u003eAnd now let me introduce you\u003cbr\u003eto one of the most magnificent people you’re ever going to meet:\u003cbr\u003eThis is Anna Cantor,\u003cbr\u003ewho, for whatever reason, got started late in the childbearing game\u003cbr\u003eand has two adorable five-year-olds, Seth and Abby, who are twins!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: You don’t have to tell him they’re twins.\u003cbr\u003eWhat? I have two five-year-olds who aren’t twins?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: I was just pointing out—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA (TO AARON): Twins are a lot more common than is generally known.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMidge enters.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Midge! I didn’t know you were taking this class!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: French Cooking was full.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Anna, you know Midge—from the Sisterhood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: I’ve known her twenty years; you introduce us every time we meet. Hi, Midge. You look terrific!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: Vitamin E.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Mr. Port, this is another uncommonly superb person— Midge Braverman. Her husband is a CPA.\u003cbr\u003eHer son is, what, fifteen? Michael. And her other son, Stewart, is a year or so older.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Nice to meet you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE (RE: AARON): He’s a baby!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Only comparatively—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: I’m a lot older than I—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: \u003ci\u003eThis\u003c\/i\u003e is going to teach us to write?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: I hope so—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eJack Hassenpflug enters, finds a seat.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: This gentleman I don’t know, you’re on your own with him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: If you’ll excuse me. I have to . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe heads for his desk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarc Adams enters, pauses in doorway, tentative.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Oh my God—I don’t believe it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: Who is that?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: Marge Adams’ boy, Marc.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: It’s such a pity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: Which is Marge Adams?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: You’d only know her from the PTA, but she was before your time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: She’s not Sisterhood?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Marge \u003ci\u003eAdams\u003c\/i\u003e?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: He’s not right, this Marc.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: He’s not right in the head. He had so much promise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: A sports star.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: A bully, though, kind of a mean kid—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: What happened?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA AND FRIEDA: Drugs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: Ooohh. What drugs?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: Dope.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: And marijuana.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE (GETTING IT): He was a user.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: This brilliant kid, isn’t that terrible?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: On course to be valedictorian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: Now all he does is take long walks and smile at everybody.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: Hello, he says. “Hello! Hello!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: It’s—the loss—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: The loss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMarc sees them.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMARC: Hello! Hello!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe finds a seat.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: In a way, he’s pleasant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: Such a shame.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNA: It happens.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMIDGE: These times.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRIEDA: And he’s taking this class. \u003ci\u003eGuttenyu\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThey take desks.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: I guess we can start. Hello. Good evening. Welcome.\u003cbr\u003eThis is, as you know, Creative Writing.\u003cbr\u003eI’m your instructor. My name is Aaron Port.\u003cbr\u003eUh, first: Don’t feel you need to interpret the course title too rigidly. Any kind of writing is welcome: Fiction. Biography. Recipes.\u003cbr\u003eWell, maybe not recipes.\u003cbr\u003eWhat I mean to say is, this is not a highly formalized class.\u003cbr\u003eThat doesn’t seem appropriate to adult ed.\u003cbr\u003eAnyway, that’s not how I like to learn so it won’t be how I, um, teach.\u003cbr\u003eI like to learn things obliquely. Watchcries, dogma, interest me less.\u003cbr\u003eThe way this will work is you will write, we will read, comment. Little by little, knowledge will accrue.\u003cbr\u003eHemingway, whatever we may think of him, wrote: “Write the truest sentence you know.” Or something like that. I haven’t memorized it verbatim.\u003cbr\u003eI don’t really like Hemingway much, he always sounds to me like a first-grade primer: Dick, Jane, and Ernie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo one laughs.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut the true sentence . . . I that, I stand by that. All right.\u003cbr\u003eOkay. Oh, by the way, I’m sorry but no smoking—I have asthma. So then.\u003cbr\u003eYou were asked to bring to this first class a sample of your writing, a little autobiographical something or . . .\u003cbr\u003ealong those lines.\u003cbr\u003eWho would like to read first? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSilence and abashed expressions. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShall I pick someone?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMore deeply abashed expressions. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHas anyone brought anything? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSilence.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOkay, then.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eJoan rushes in.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Am I late?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThey take her in. The three ladies look at one another with an opinion.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: A little, but—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: I’m so sorry—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: You’ve missed very little. You are Mrs. um . . . (CONSULTS PAGE)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Joan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Dellamond, is it?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: I’ll just sit here in the back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eShe does.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON (A BIT THROWN BY HER): We were saying—write the truest thing you know. Hemingway . . . wrote um . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBeat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHave \u003ci\u003eyou \u003c\/i\u003ebrought anything to read?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Oh God, no.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSubtle lights and Aaron talks to us.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: And so:\u003cbr\u003eA forty-five minute vamp.\u003cbr\u003eA general discussion of important topics in literature ensues. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMrs. Cohen, Mrs. Cantor, and Mrs. Braverman become quite heated debating Norman Mailer on David Susskind the other night and the possibility that Truman Capote is a homosexual.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eGanug.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTo the class:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSince no one has brought in anything, I’m going to end early, but I do ask that next week you come with something.\u003cbr\u003eAnything.\u003cbr\u003eA paragraph.\u003cbr\u003eAs I said, there are no restrictions. I’m\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003every excited about your potential. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGood night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe class starts to leave.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the back of the room, Joan remains.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAaron sits at his desk, takes out a paperback, and starts to read it. Then he notices Joan.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: May I help you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: No.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBeat.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Is there something—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: I’m waiting for the ladies to disperse. They’re in the parking lot now ripping you to shreds,\u003cbr\u003eI’d imagine—but cheerfully!—\u003cbr\u003eand I’m waiting for them to be gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: (NODS): Oh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBeat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhy?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: I don’t like being shunned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Do they shun you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: They do.\u003cbr\u003eWell, not \u003ci\u003ethese\u003c\/i\u003e, I’ve just met these, but . . . their ilk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBeat.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou don’t have to stay with me—or do you have to lock up?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: My train isn’t for another . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Oh, I see.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Wantagh Station has few amenities this time of night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: No.\u003cbr\u003eAnd in daylight it’s even worse. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAARON: Usually when I come it’s dusk. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJOAN: Dusk is a little better.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAARON: There’s a—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN (OVERLAPS): Dusk is\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: —clemency to it—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN (OVERLAPS): nature’s candlelight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Yes!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Tricky, tricky dusk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBeat.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo you do the reverse commute?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: I do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: My husband is a regular commuter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Ah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Works in the city; doesn’t work at home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: That’s more standard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Levittown is not where people generally come seeking opportunities.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: No.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: There have been no gold rushes in Levittown. No one, to my knowledge, auditions here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: A bedroom community.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: People do sleep here. I can attest to that.\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003eIf that should be necessary. For any reason.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSmiles awkwardly.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe smiles awkwardly back.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne would imagine that a person\u003cbr\u003ewho lives in the city and works in Levittown would be involved in some singular pursuit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe shrugs, smiles, conceding.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOr is a failure . . . ?\u003cbr\u003eA failure of some kind . . . ?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON (AMUSED?): Why do the ladies shun you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Well, I don’t know that’s the word.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: It’s your own word.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: They don’t really \u003ci\u003eshun\u003c\/i\u003e—not in a formal, not in a \u003ci\u003eli\u003c\/i\u003eteral way.\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003eNo one’s Amish.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: Ha.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m a paranoiac.\u003cbr\u003eI haven’t really made friends yet in Levittown.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: It can take a while.\u003cbr\u003eHow long have you lived here?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Eighteen years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBeat.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: That’s a long time, eighteen years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN (VAGUELY): Yes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBeat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhy do you have to travel so far to teach?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON (TOO QUICKLY): Oh, I’m not a teacher! I mean . . .\u003cbr\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003ea friend knew of this job and so—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: Yes, I think I know what you mean. Well.\u003cbr\u003eI wish you luck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAARON: You are coming back?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBacking off:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnder six people, they can make us disband.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN: I expect I’ll try . . . to try again. Even so, I wish you luck.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Plume","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300864315621,"sku":"NP9780399576553","price":24.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399576553.jpg?v=1767738243","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-babylon-line-isbn-9780399576553","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}