Act 1 — ACT I

15

ACT ONE SCENE ONE

Scene—A corner in lower New York, at the edge of a colored district. Three narrow streets converge. A triangular building in the rear, red brick, four-storied, its ground floor a grocery. Four-story tenements stretch away down the skyline of the two streets. The fire escapes are crowded with people. In the street leading left, the faces are all white; in the street leading right, all black. It is hot Spring. On the sidewalk are eight children, four boys and four girls. Two of each sex are white, two black. They are playing marbles. One of the black boys is Jim Harris. The little blonde girl, her complexion rose and white, who sits behind his elbow and holds his marbles is Ella Downey. She is eight. They play the game with concentrated attention for a while. People pass, black and white, the Negroes frankly participants in the spirit of Spring, the whites laughing constrainedly, awkward in natural emotion. Their words are lost. One only hears their laughter. It expresses the difference in race. There are street 16noises—the clattering roar of the Elevated, the puff of its locomotives, the ruminative lazy sound of a horse-car, the hooves of its team clacking on the cobbles. From the street of the whites a high-pitched, nasal tenor sings the chorus of “Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage.” On the street of the blacks a Negro strikes up the chorus of: “I Guess I’ll Have to Telegraph My Baby.” As this singing ends, there is laughter, distinctive in quality, from both streets. Then silence. The light in the street begins to grow brilliant with the glow of the setting sun. The game of marbles goes on.

White Girl—[Tugging at the elbow of her brother.] Come on, Mickey!

Her Brother—[Roughly.] Aw, gwan, youse!

White Girl—Aw right, den. You kin git a lickin’ if you wanter. [Gets up to move off.]

Her Brother—Aw, git off de eart’!

White Girl—De old woman’ll be madder’n hell!

Her Brother—[Worried now.] I’m comin’, ain’t I? Hold your horses.

Black Girl—[To a black boy.] Come on, you Joe. We gwine git frailed too, you don’t hurry.

Joe—Go long!

Mickey—Bust up de game, huh? I gotta run! [Jumps to his feet.]

Other White Boy—Me, too! [Jumps up.]

Other Black Girl—Lawdy, it’s late!

17Joe—Me for grub!

Mickey—[To Jim Harris.] You’s de winner, Jim Crow. Yeh gotta play tomorrer.

Jim—[Readily.] Sure t’ing, Mick. Come one, come all! [He laughs.]

Other White Boy—Me too! I gotta git back at yuh.

Jim—Aw right, Shorty.

Little Girls—Hurry! Come on, come on! [The six start off together. Then they notice that Jim and Ella are hesitating, standing awkwardly and shyly together. They turn to mock.]

Joe—Look at dat Jim Crow! Land sakes, he got a gal! [He laughs. They all laugh.]

Jim—[Ashamed.] Ne’er mind, you Chocolate!

Mickey—Look at de two softies, will yeh! Mush! Mush! [He and the two other boys take this up.]

Little Girls—[Pointing their fingers at Ella.] Shame! Shame! Everybody knows your name! Painty Face! Painty Face!

Ella—[Hanging her head.] Shut up!

Little White Girl—He’s been carrying her books!

Colored Girl—Can’t you find nuffin better’n him, Ella? Look at de big feet he got! [She laughs. They all laugh. Jim puts one foot on top of the other, looking at Ella.]

Ella—Mind yer own business, see! [She strides toward them angrily. They jump up and dance in an ecstasy, screaming and laughing.]

18All—Found yeh out! Found yeh out!

Mickey—Mush-head! Jim Crow de Sissy! Stuck on Painty Face!

Joe—Will Painty Face let you hold her doll, boy?

Shorty—Sissy! Softy! [Ella suddenly begins to cry. At this they all howl.]

All—Cry-baby! Cry-baby! Look at her! Painty Face!

Jim—[Suddenly rushing at them, with clenched fists, furiously.] Shut yo’ moufs! I kin lick de hull of you! [They all run away, laughing, shouting, and jeering, quite triumphant now that they have made him, too, lose his temper. He comes back to Ella, and stands beside her sheepishly, stepping on one foot after the other. Suddenly he blurts out:] Don’t bawl no more. I done chased ’em.

Ella—[Comforted, politely.] T’anks.

Jim—[Swelling out.] It was a cinch. I kin wipe up de street wid any one of dem. [He stretches out his arms, trying to bulge out his biceps.] Feel dat muscle!

Ella—[Does so gingerly—then with admiration.] My!

Jim—[Protectingly.] You mustn’t never be scared when I’m hanging round, Painty Face.

Ella—Don’t call me that, Jim—please!

Jim—[Contritely.] I didn’t mean nuffin’. I didn’t know you’d mind.

Ella—I do—more’n anything.

19Jim—You oughtn’t to mind. Dey’s jealous, dat’s what.

Ella—Jealous? Of what?

Jim—[Pointing to her face.] Of dat. Red ‘n’ white. It’s purty.

Ella—I hate it!

Jim—It’s purty. Yes, it’s—it’s purty. It’s—outa sight!

Ella—I hate it. I wish I was black like you.

Jim—[Sort of shrinking.] No you don’t. Dey’d call you Crow, den—or Chocolate—or Smoke.

Ella—I wouldn’t mind.

Jim—[Somberly.] Dey’d call you nigger sometimes, too.

Ella—I wouldn’t mind.

Jim—[Humbly.] You wouldn’t mind?

Ella—No, I wouldn’t mind. [An awkward pause.]

Jim—[Suddenly.] You know what, Ella? Since I been tuckin’ yo’ books to school and back, I been drinkin’ lots o’ chalk ‘n’ water tree times a day. Dat Tom, de barber, he tole me dat make me white, if I drink enough. [Pleadingly.] Does I look whiter?

Ella—[Comfortingly.] Yes—maybe—a little bit——

Jim—[Trying a careless tone.] Reckon dat Tom’s a liar, an’ de joke’s on me! Dat chalk only makes me feel kinder sick inside.

20Ella—[Wonderingly.] Why do you want to be white?

Jim—Because—just because—I lak dat better.

Ella—I wouldn’t. I like black. Let’s you and me swap. I’d like to be black. [Clapping her hands.] Gee, that’d be fun, if we only could!

Jim—[Hesitatingly.] Yes—maybe——

Ella—Then they’d call me Crow, and you’d be Painty Face!

Jim—They wouldn’t never dast call you nigger, you bet! I’d kill ’em! [A long pause. Finally she takes his hand shyly. They both keep looking as far away from each other as possible.]

Ella—I like you.

Jim—I like you.

Ella—Do you want to be my feller?

Jim—Yes.

Ella—Then I’m your girl.

Jim—Yes. [Then grandly.] You kin bet none o’ de gang gwine call you Painty Face from dis out! I lam’ ’em good! [The sun has set. Twilight has fallen on the street. An organ grinder comes up to the corner and plays “Annie Rooney.” They stand hand-in-hand and listen. He goes away. It is growing dark.]

Ella—[Suddenly.] Golly, it’s late! I’ll git a lickin’!

Jim—Me, too.

Ella—I won’t mind it much.

Jim—Me nuther.

21Ella—See you going to school tomorrow?

Jim—Sure.

Ella—I gotta skip now.

Jim—Me, too.

Ella—I like you, Jim.

Jim—I like you.

Ella—Don’t forget.

Jim—Don’t you.

Ella—Good-by.

Jim—So long. [They run away from each other—then stop abruptly, and turn as at a signal.]

Ella—Don’t forget.

Jim—I won’t, you bet!

Ella—Here! [She kisses her hand at him, then runs off in frantic embarrassment.]

Jim—[Overcome.] Gee! [Then he turns and darts away, as

[The Curtain Falls]

22

ACT ONE SCENE TWO

Scene—The same corner. Nine years have passed. It is again late Spring at a time in the evening which immediately follows the hour of Scene One. Nothing has changed much. One street is still all white, the other all black. The fire escapes are laden with drooping human beings. The grocery store is still at the corner. The street noises are now more rhythmically mechanical, electricity having taken the place of horse and steam. People pass, white and black. They laugh as in Scene One. From the street of the whites the high-pitched nasal tenor sings: “Gee, I Wish That I Had a Girl,” and the Negro replies with “All I Got Was Sympathy.” The singing is followed again by laughter from both streets. Then silence. The dusk grows darker. With a spluttering flare the arc-lamp at the corner is lit and sheds a pale glare over the street. Two young roughs slouch up to the corner, as tough in manner as they can make themselves. One is the Shorty of Scene One; the other the Negro, Joe. They 23stand loafing. A boy of seventeen or so passes by, escorting a girl of about the same age. Both are dressed in their best, the boy in black with stiff collar, the girl in white.

Shorty—[Scornfully.] Hully cripes! Pipe who’s here. [To the girl, sneeringly.] Wha’s matter, Liz? Don’t yer recernize yer old fr’ens?

Girl—[Frightenedly.] Hello, Shorty.

Shorty—Why de glad rags? Goin’ to graduation? [He tries to obstruct their way, but, edging away from him, they turn and run.]

Joe—Har-har! Look at dem scoot, will you! [Shorty grins with satisfaction.]

Shorty—[Looking down other street.] Here comes Mickey.

Joe—He won de semi-final last night easy?

Shorty—Knocked de bloke out in de thoid.

Joe—Dat boy’s suah a-comin’! He’ll be de champeen yit.

Shorty—[Judicially.] Got a good chanct—if he leaves de broads alone. Dat’s where he’s wide open. [Mickey comes in from the left. He is dressed loudly, a straw hat with a gaudy band cocked over one cauliflower ear. He has acquired a typical “pug’s” face, with the added viciousness of a natural bully. One of his eyes is puffed, almost closed, as a result of his battle the night before. He swaggers up.]

Both—Hello, Mickey.

24Mickey—Hello.

Joe—Hear you knocked him col’.

Mickey—Sure. I knocked his block off. [Changing the subject.] Say. Seen ’em goin’ past to de graduation racket?

Shorty—[With a wink.] Why? You int’rested?

Joe—[Chuckling.] Mickey’s gwine roun’ git a good conduct medal.

Mickey—Sure. Dey kin pin it on de seat o’ me pants. [They laugh.] Listen. Seen Ella Downey goin’?

Shorty—Painty Face? No, she ain’t been along.

Mickey—[With authority.] Can dat name, see! Want a bunch o’ fives in yer kisser? Den nix! She’s me goil, understan’?

Joe—[Venturing to joke.] Which one? Yo’ number ten?

Mickey—[Flattered.] Sure. De real K. O. one.

Shorty— [Pointing right—sneeringly.] Gee! Pipe Jim Crow all dolled up for de racket.

Joe—[With disgusted resentment.] You mean tell me dat nigger’s graduatin’?

Shorty—Ask him. [Jim Harris comes in. He is dressed in black, stiff white collar, etc.—a quiet-mannered Negro boy with a queerly-baffled, sensitive face.]

Jim—[Pleasantly.] Hello, fellows. [They grunt in reply, looking over him scornfully.]

25Joe—[Staring resentfully.] Is you graduatin’ tonight?

Jim—Yes.

Joe—[Spitting disgustedly.] Fo’ Gawd’s sake! You is gittin’ high-falutin’!

Jim—[Smiling deprecatingly.] This is my second try. I didn’t pass last year.

Joe—What de hell does it git you, huh? Whatever is you gwine do wid it now you gits it? Live lazy on yo’ ol’ woman?

Jim—[Assertively.] I’m going to study and become a lawyer.

Joe—[With a snort.] Fo’ Chris’ sake, nigger!

Jim—[Fiercely.] Don’t you call me that—not before them!

Joe—[Pugnaciously.] Does you deny you’s a nigger? I shows you——

Mickey—[Gives them both a push—truculently.] Cut it out, see! I’m runnin’ dis corner. [Turning to Jim insultingly.] Say, you! Painty Face’s gittin’ her ticket tonight, ain’t she?

Jim—You mean Ella——

Mickey—Painty Face Downey, dat’s who I mean! I don’t have to be perlite wit’ her. She’s me goil!

Jim—[Glumly.] Yes, she’s graduating.

Shorty—[Winks at Mickey.] Smart, huh?

Mickey—[Winks back—meaningly.] Willin’ to loin, take it from me! [Jim stands tensely as if a struggle were going on in him.]

26Jim—[Finally blurts out.] I want to speak to you, Mickey—alone.

Mickey—[Surprised—insultingly.] Aw, what de hell——!

Jim—[Excitedly.] It’s important, I tell you!

Mickey—Huh? [Stares at him inquisitively—then motions the others back carelessly and follows Jim down front.]

Shorty—Some noive!

Joe—[Vengefully.] I gits dat Jim alone, you wait!

Mickey—Well, spill de big news. I ain’t got all night. I got a date.

Jim—With—Ella?

Mickey—What’s dat to you?

Jim—[The words tumbling out.] What—I wanted to say! I know—I’ve heard—all the stories—what you’ve been doing around the ward—with other girls—it’s none of my business, with them—but she—Ella—it’s different—she’s not that kind——

Mickey—[Insultingly.] Who told yuh so, huh?

Jim—[Draws back his fist threateningly.] Don’t you dare—! [Mickey is so paralyzed by this effrontery that he actually steps back.]

Mickey—Say, cut de comedy! [Beginning to feel insulted.] Listen, you Jim Crow! Ain’t you wise I could give yuh one poke dat’d knock yuh into next week?

Jim—I’m only asking you to act square, Mickey.

27Mickey—What’s it to yuh? Why, yuh lousy goat, she wouldn’t spit on yuh even! She hates de sight of a coon.

Jim—[In agony.] I—I know—but once she didn’t mind—we were kids together——

Mickey—Aw, ferget dat! Dis is now!

Jim—And I’m still her friend always—even if she don’t like colored people——

Mickey—Coons, why don’t yuh say it right! De trouble wit’ you is yuh’re gittin’ stuck up, dat’s what! Stay where yeh belong, see! Yer old man made coin at de truckin’ game and yuh’re tryin’ to buy yerself white—graduatin’ and law, for Hell’s sake! Yuh’re gittin’ yerself in Dutch wit’ everyone in de ward—and it ain’t cause yer a coon neider. Don’t de gang all train wit’ Joe dere and lots of others? But yuh’re tryin’ to buy white and it won’t git yuh no place, see!

Jim—[Trembling.] Some day—I’ll show you——

Mickey—[Turning away.] Aw, gwan!

Jim—D’you think I’d change—be you—your dirty white——!

Mickey—[Whirling about.] What’s dat?

Jim—[With hysterical vehemence.] You act square with her—or I’ll show you up—I’ll report you—I’ll write to the papers—the sporting writers—I’ll let them know how white you are!

Mickey—[Infuriated.] Yuh damn nigger, I’ll bust yer jaw in! [Assuming his ring pose he weaves 28toward Jim, his face set in a cruel scowl. Jim waits helplessly but with a certain dignity.]

Shorty—Cheese it! A couple bulls! And here’s de Downey skoit comin’, too.

Mickey—I’ll get yuh de next time! [Ella Downey enters from the right. She is seventeen, still has the same rose and white complexion, is pretty but with a rather repelling bold air about her.]

Ella—[Smiles with pleasure when she sees Mickey.] Hello, Mick. Am I late? Say, I’m so glad you won last night. [She glances from one to the other as she feels something in the air.] Hello! What’s up?

Mickey—Dis boob. [He indicates Jim scornfully.]

Jim—[Diffidently.] Hello, Ella.

Ella—[Shortly, turning away.] Hello. [Then to Mickey.] Come on, Mick. Walk down with me. I got to hurry.

Jim—[Blurts out.] Wait—just a second. [Painfully.] Ella, do you hate—colored people?

Mickey—Aw, shut up!

Jim—Please answer.

Ella—[Forcing a laugh.] Say! What is this—another exam?

Jim—[Doggedly.] Please answer.

Ella—[Irritably.] Of course I don’t! Haven’t I been brought up alongside—Why, some of my oldest—the girls I’ve been to public school the longest with——

29Jim—Do you hate me, Ella?

Ella—[Confusedly and more irritably.] Say, is he drunk? Why should I? I don’t hate anyone.

Jim—Then why haven’t you ever hardly spoken to me—for years?

Ella—[Resentfully.] What would I speak about? You and me’ve got nothing in common any more.

Jim—[Desperately.] Maybe not any more—but—right on this corner—do you remember once——?

Ella—I don’t remember nothing! [Angrily.] Say! What’s got into you to be butting into my business all of a sudden like this? Because you finally managed to graduate, has it gone to your head?

Jim—No, I—only want to help you, Ella.

Ella—Of all the nerve! You’re certainly forgetting your place! Who’s asking you for help, I’d like to know? Shut up and stop bothering me!

Jim—[Insistently.] If you ever need a friend—a true friend——

Ella—I’ve got lots of friends among my own—kind, I can tell you. [Exasperatedly.] You make me sick! Go to—hell! [She flounces off. The three men laugh. Mickey follows her. Jim is stricken. He goes and sinks down limply on a box in front of the grocery store.]

Shorty—I’m going to shoot a drink. Come on, Joe, and I’ll blow yuh.

Joe—[Who has never ceased to follow every move of Jim’s with angry, resentful eyes.] Go long. 30I’se gwine stay here a secon’. I got a lil’ argyment. [He points to Jim.]

Shorty—Suit yerself. Do a good job. See yuh later. [He goes, whistling.]

Joe—[Stands for a while glaring at Jim, his fierce little eyes peering out of his black face. Then he spits on his hands aggressively and strides up to the oblivious Jim. He stands in front of him, gradually working himself into a fury at the other’s seeming indifference to his words.] Listen to me, nigger: I got a heap to whisper in yo’ ear! Who is you, anyhow? Who does you think you is? Don’t yo’ old man and mine work on de docks togidder befo’ yo’ old man gits his own truckin’ business? Yo’ ol’ man swallers his nickels, my ol’ man buys him beer wid dem and swallers dat—dat’s the on’y diff’rence. Don’t you ‘n’ me drag up togidder?

Jim—[Dully.] I’m your friend, Joe.

Joe—No, you isn’t! I ain’t no fren o’ yourn! I don’t even know who you is! What’s all dis schoolin’ you doin’? What’s all dis dressin’ up and graduatin’ an’ sayin’ you gwine study be a lawyer? What’s all dis fakin’ an’ pretendin’ and swellin’ out grand an’ talkin’ soft and perlite? What’s all dis denyin’ you’s a nigger—an’ wid de white boys listenin’ to you say it! Is you aimin’ to buy white wid yo’ ol’ man’s dough like Mickey say? What is you? [In a rage at the other’s silence.] You don’t talk? Den I takes it out o’ yo’ hide! [He grabs Jim by the throat with one hand and draws the other fist back.] 31Tell me befo’ I wrecks yo’ face in! Is you a nigger or isn’t you? [Shaking him.] Is you a nigger, Nigger? Nigger, is you a nigger?

Jim—[Looking into his eyes—quietly.] Yes. I’m a nigger. We’re both niggers. [They look at each other for a moment. Joe’s rage vanishes. He slumps onto a box beside Jim’s. He offers him a cigarette. Jim takes it. Joe scratches a match and lights both their cigarettes.]

Joe—[After a puff, with full satisfaction.] Man, why didn’t you ’splain dat in de fust place?

Jim—We’re both niggers. [The same hand-organ man of Scene One comes to the corner. He plays the chorus of “Bonbon Buddie,” the “Chocolate Drop.” They both stare straight ahead listening. Then the organ man goes away. A silence. Joe gets to his feet.]

Joe—I’ll go get me a cold beer. [He starts to move off—then turns.] Time you was graduatin’, ain’t it? [He goes, Jim remains sitting on his box staring straight before him as

[The Curtain Falls]

32

ACT ONE SCENE THREE

Scene—The same corner five years later. Nothing has changed much. It is a night in Spring. The arc-lamp discovers faces with a favorless cruelty. The street noises are the same but more intermittent and dulled with a quality of fatigue. Two people pass, one black and one white. They are tired. They both yawn, but neither laughs. There is no laughter from the two streets. From the street of the whites the tenor, more nasal than ever and a bit drunken, wails in high barber-shop falsetto the last half of the chorus of “When I Lost You.” The Negro voice, a bit maudlin in turn, replies with the last half of “Waitin’ for the Robert E. Lee.” Silence. Shorty enters. He looks tougher than ever, the typical gangster. He stands waiting, singing a bit drunkenly, peering down the street.

Shorty—[Indignantly.] Yuh bum! Ain’t yuh ever comin’? [He begins to sing: “And sewed up in her yeller kimona, She had a blue-barreled forty-five gun, For to get her man Who’d done her wrong.” 33Then he comments scornfully.] Not her, dough! No gat for her. She ain’t got de noive. A little sugar. Dat’ll fix her. [Ella enters. She is dressed poorly, her face is pale and hollow-eyed, her voice cold and tired.]

Shorty—Yuh got de message?

Ella—Here I am.

Shorty—How yuh been?

Ella—All right. [A pause. He looks at her puzzledly.]

Shorty—[A bit embarrassedly.] Well, I s’pose yuh’d like me to give yuh some dope on Mickey, huh?

Ella—No.

Shorty—Mean to say yuh don’t wanter know where he is or what he’s doin’?

Ella—No.

Shorty—Since when?

Ella—A long time.

Shorty—[After a pause—with a rat-like viciousness.] Between you’n me, kid, you’ll get even soon—you’n all de odder dames he’s tossed. I’m on de inside. I’ve watched him trainin’. His next scrap, watch it! He’ll go! It won’t be de odder guy. It’ll be all youse dames he’s kidded—and de ones what’s kidded him. Youse’ll all be in de odder guy’s corner. He won’t need no odder seconds. Youse’ll trow water on him, and sponge his face, and take de kinks out of his socker—and Mickey’ll catch it on de button—and he won’t be able to take it no more—‘cause all your weight—you and de odders—’ll be 34behind dat punch. Ha ha! [He laughs an evil laugh.] And Mickey’ll go—down to his knees first—[He sinks to his knees in the attitude of a groggy boxer.]

Ella—I’d like to see him on his knees!

Shorty—And den—flat on his pan—dead to de world—de boidies singin’ in de trees—ten—out! [He suits his action to the words, sinking flat on the pavement, then rises and laughs the same evil laugh.]

Ella—He’s been out—for me—a long time. [A pause.] Why did you send for me?

Shorty—He sent me.

Ella—Why?

Shorty—To slip you this wad o’ dough. [He reluctantly takes a roll of bills from his pocket and holds it out to her.]

Ella—[Looks at the money indifferently.] What for?

Shorty—For you.

Ella—No.

Shorty—For de kid den.

Ella—The kid’s dead. He took diphtheria.

Shorty—Hell yuh say! When?

Ella—A long time.

Shorty—Why didn’t you write Mickey——?

Ella—Why should I? He’d only be glad.

Shorty—[After a pause.] Well—it’s better.

Ella—Yes.

Shorty—You made up wit yer family?

Ella—No chance.

35Shorty—Livin’ alone?

Ella—In Brooklyn.

Shorty—Workin’?

Ella—In a factory.

Shorty—You’re a sucker. There’s lots of softer snaps fer you, kid——

Ella—I know what you mean. No.

Shorty—Don’t yuh wanter step out no more—have fun—live?

Ella—I’m through.

Shorty—[Mockingly.] Jump in de river, huh? T’ink it over, baby. I kin start yuh right in my stable. No one’ll bodder yuh den. I got influence.

Ella—[Without emphasis.] You’re a dirty dog. Why doesn’t someone kill you?

Shorty—Is dat so! What’re you? They say you been travelin’ round with Jim Crow.

Ella—He’s been my only friend.

Shorty—A nigger!

Ella—The only white man in the world! Kind and white. You’re all black—black to the heart.

Shorty—Nigger-lover! [He throws the money in her face. It falls to the street.] Listen, you! Mickey says he’s off of yuh for keeps. Dis is de finish! Dat’s what he sent me to tell you. [Glances at her searchingly—a pause.] Yuh won’t make no trouble?

Ella—Why should I? He’s free. The kid’s dead. I’m free. No hard feelings—only—I’ll be there in spirit at his next fight, tell him! I’ll take your tip—the 36other corner—second the punch—nine—ten—out! He’s free! That’s all. [She grins horribly at Shorty.] Go away, Shorty.

Shorty—[Looking at her and shaking his head—maudlinly.] Groggy! Groggy! We’re all groggy! Gluttons for punishment! Me for a drink. So long. [He goes. A Salvation Army band comes toward the corner. They are playing and singing “Till We Meet at Jesus’ Feet.” They reach the end as they enter and stop before Ella. The Captain steps forward.]

Captain—Sister——

Ella—[Picks up the money and drops it in his hat—mockingly.] Here. Go save yourself. Leave me alone.

A Woman Salvationist—Sister——-

Ella—Never mind that. I’m not in your line—yet. [As they hesitate, wonderingly.] I want to be alone. [To the thud of the big drum they march off. Ella sits down on a box, her hands hanging at her sides. Presently Jim Harris comes in. He has grown into a quietly-dressed, studious-looking Negro with an intelligent yet queerly-baffled face.]

Jim—[With a joyous but bewildered cry.] Ella! I just saw Shorty——

Ella—[Smiling at him with frank affection.] He had a message from Mickey.

Jim—[Sadly.] Ah!

Ella—[Pointing to the box behind her.] Sit 37down. [He does so. A pause—then she says indifferently.] It’s finished. I’m free, Jim.

Jim—[Wearily.] We’re never free—except to do what we have to do.

Ella—What are you getting gloomy about all of a sudden?

Jim—I’ve got the report from the school. I’ve flunked again.

Ella—Poor Jim.

Jim—Don’t pity me. I’d like to kick myself all over the block. Five years—and I’m still plugging away where I ought to have been at the end of two.

Ella—Why don’t you give it up?

Jim—No!

Ella—After all, what’s being a lawyer?

Jim—A lot—to me—what it means. [Intensely.] Why, if I was a Member of the Bar right now, Ella, I believe I’d almost have the courage to——

Ella—What?

Jim—Nothing. [After a pause—gropingly.] I can’t explain—just—but it hurts like fire. It brands me in my pride. I swear I know more’n any member of my class. I ought to, I study harder. I work like the devil. It’s all in my head—all fine and correct to a T. Then when I’m called on—I stand up—all the white faces looking at me—and I can feel their eyes—I hear my own voice sounding funny, trembling—and all of a sudden it’s all gone in my head—there’s nothing remembered—and I hear myself stuttering—and give up—sit down—— They don’t 38laugh, hardly ever. They’re kind. They’re good people. [In a frenzy.] They’re considerate, damn them! But I feel branded!

Ella—Poor Jim.

Jim—[Going on painfully.] And it’s the same thing in the written exams. For weeks before I study all night. I can’t sleep anyway. I learn it all, I see it, I understand it. Then they give me the paper in the exam room. I look it over, I know each answer—perfectly. I take up my pen. On all sides are white men starting to write. They’re so sure—even the ones that I know know nothing. But I know it all—but I can’t remember any more—it fades—it goes—it’s gone. There’s a blank in my head—stupidity—I sit like a fool fighting to remember a little bit here, a little bit there—not enough to pass—not enough for anything—when I know it all!

Ella—[Compassionately.] Jim. It isn’t worth it. You don’t need to——

Jim—I need it more than anyone ever needed anything. I need it to live.

Ella—What’ll it prove?

Jim—Nothing at all much—but everything to me.

Ella—You’re so much better than they are in every other way.

Jim—[Looking up at her.] Then—you understand?

Ella—Of course. [Affectionately.] Don’t I know how fine you’ve been to me! You’ve been the only one in the world who’s stood by me—the only 39understanding person—and all after the rotten way I used to treat you.

Jim—But before that—way back so high—you treated me good. [He smiles.]

Ella—You’ve been white to me, Jim. [She takes his hand.]

Jim—White—to you!

Ella—Yes.

Jim—All love is white. I’ve always loved you. [This with the deepest humility.]

Ella—Even now—after all that’s happened!

Jim—Always.

Ella—I like you, Jim—better than anyone else in the world.

Jim—That’s more than enough, more than I ever hoped for. [The organ grinder comes to the corner. He plays the chorus of “Annie Laurie.” They sit listening, hand in hand.] Would you ever want to marry me, Ella?

Ella—Yes, Jim.

Jim—[As if this quick consent alarmed him.] No, no, don’t answer now. Wait! Turn it over in your mind! Think what it means to you! Consider it—over and over again! I’m in no hurry, Ella. I can wait months—years——

Ella—I’m alone. I’ve got to be helped. I’ve got to help someone—or it’s the end—one end or another.

Jim—[Eagerly.] Oh, I’ll help—I know I can 40help—I’ll give my life to help you—that’s what I’ve been living for——

Ella—But can I help you? Can I help you?

Jim—Yes! Yes! We’ll go abroad where a man is a man—where it don’t make that difference—where people are kind and wise to see the soul under skins. I don’t ask you to love me—I don’t dare to hope nothing like that! I don’t want nothing—only to wait—to know you like me—to be near you—to keep harm away—to make up for the past—to never let you suffer any more—to serve you—to lie at your feet like a dog that loves you—to kneel by your bed like a nurse that watches over you sleeping—to preserve and protect and shield you from evil and sorrow—to give my life and my blood and all the strength that’s in me to give you peace and joy—to become your slave!—yes, be your slave—your black slave that adores you as sacred! [He has sunk to his knees. In a frenzy of self-abnegation, as he says the last words he beats his head on the flagstones.]

Ella—[Overcome and alarmed.] Jim! Jim! You’re crazy! I want to help you, Jim—I want to help——

[The Curtain Falls]

41

ACT ONE SCENE FOUR

Scene—Some weeks or so later. A street in the same ward in front of an old brick church. The church sets back from the sidewalk in a yard enclosed by a rusty iron railing with a gate at center. On each side of this yard are tenements. The buildings have a stern, forbidding look. All the shades on the windows are drawn down, giving an effect of staring, brutal eyes that pry callously at human beings without acknowledging them. Even the two tall, narrow church windows on either side of the arched door are blanked with dull green shades. It is a bright sunny morning. The district is unusually still, as if it were waiting, holding its breath.

From the street of the blacks to the right a Negro tenor sings in a voice of shadowy richness—the first stanza with a contented, childlike melancholy—

Sometimes I feel like a mourning dove,

Sometimes I feel like a mourning dove,

I feel like a mourning dove.

42The second with a dreamy, boyish exultance—

Sometimes I feel like an eagle in the air,

Sometimes I feel like an eagle in the air,

I feel like an eagle in the air.

The third with a brooding, earthbound sorrow—

Sometimes I wish that I’d never been born,

Sometimes I wish that I’d never been born,

I wish that I’d never been born.

As the music dies down there is a pause of waiting stillness. This is broken by one startling, metallic clang of the church-bell. As if it were a signal, people—men, women, children—pour from the two tenements, whites from the tenement to the left, blacks from the one to the right. They hurry to form into two racial lines on each side of the gate, rigid and unyielding, staring across at each other with bitter hostile eyes. The halves of the big church door swing open and Jim and Ella step out from the darkness within into the sunlight. The doors slam behind them like wooden lips of an idol that has spat them out. Jim is dressed in black. Ella in white, both with extreme plainness. They stand in the sunlight, shrinking and confused. All the hostile eyes are now concentrated on them. They become aware of the two lines through which they must pass; they hesitate 43and tremble; then stand there staring back at the people as fixed and immovable as they are. The organ grinder comes in from the right. He plays the chorus of “Old Black Joe.” As he finishes the bell of the church clangs one more single stroke, insistently dismissing.

Jim—[As if the sound had awakened him from a trance, reaches out and takes her hand.] Come. Time we got to the steamer. Time we sailed away over the sea. Come, Honey! [She tries to answer but her lips tremble; she cannot take her eyes off the eyes of the people; she is unable to move. He sees this and, keeping the same tone of profound, affectionate kindness, he points upward in the sky, and gradually persuades her eyes to look up.] Look up, Honey! See the sun! Feel his warm eye lookin’ down! Feel how kind he looks! Feel his blessing deep in your heart, your bones! Look up, Honey! [Her eyes are fixed on the sky now. Her face is calm. She tries to smile bravely back at the sun. Now he pulls her by the hand, urging her gently to walk with him down through the yard and gate, through the lines of people. He is maintaining an attitude to support them through the ordeal only by a terrible effort, which manifests itself in the hysteric quality of ecstasy which breaks into his voice.] And look at the sky! Ain’t it kind and blue! Blue for hope. Don’t they say blue’s for hope? Hope! That’s for us, Honey. All those blessings 44in the sky! What’s it the Bible says? Falls on just and unjust alike? No, that’s the sweet rain. Pshaw, what am I saying? All mixed up. There’s no unjust about it. We’re all the same—equally just—under the sky—under the sun—under God—sailing over the sea—to the other side of the world—the side where Christ was born—the kind side that takes count of the soul—over the sea—the sea’s blue, to——. Let’s not be late—let’s get that steamer! [They have reached the curb now, passed the lines of people. She is looking up to the sky with an expression of trancelike calm and peace. He is on the verge of collapse, his face twitching, his eyes staring. He calls hoarsely:] Taxi! Where is he? Taxi!

[The Curtain Falls]

45