Chapter II: The Technic of the One-Act Play (6)
MRS. BAUER. You was at school.
KARL. Papa didn't want us to keep Blacky.
MRS. BAUER. So many cats and dogs around....
FRITZI. [_Wailing at the door._] Blacky was my cat.
MRS. BAUER. S-s-h! What do you know about Blacky?
FRITZI. I was listening. Why did papa kill Blacky?
MRS. BAUER. Hush!
FRITZI. Why was papa took to jail?
MRS. BAUER. Fritzi! If papa was to hear....
[MRS. BAUER _goes out_.
FRITZI. [_Sidling up to_ KARL.] Miau! Miau!
KARL. You shut up that. Didn't mama tell you?
FRITZI. When I'm a man I'm going to get arrested. I'll shoot Henny Nies.
KARL. [_Contemptuously._] Yes, you'll do a lot of shooting.
[FRITZI _punches_ KARL _in back_.
KARL. [_Striking at_ FRITZI.] You're as big a tough as Henny Nies.
FRITZI. [_Proud of this alleged likeness._] I'm going to be a man just like my father; I'll holler and make them stand around.
KARL. [_With conviction._] What you need is a good licking.
[_Telephone rings_; KARL _goes to it_.
KARL. No, ma'am, we're just going to eat now.
FRITZI. [_Sits down beside the table._] Blacky was a nice cat; she purred just like a steam-engine.
KARL. Mama told you not to bring her in.
FRITZI. Papa said I could.
[_There is the sound of footfalls._ BAUER _and his wife come in and
close the door behind them_.
MRS. BAUER. [_Putting the dinner on the table._] Come, children. [_To_ BAUER.] Sit down, Fritz.
[_She serves the dinner._ KARL _pulls_ FRITZI _out of his father's
chair and pushes him into his own; then he takes his place next to
his mother_.
MRS. BAUER. [_To_ BAUER, _who sits looking at his food_.] Eat somethin', Friedrich. [_She sits down._
BAUER. I can't eat nothin'. I'm full up to here.
[_He touches his throat._
MRS. BAUER. If you haven't done nothin' wrong, why do you let it worry you so?
[_Children are absorbed in eating._
FRITZI. [_Suddenly._] Gee, didn't Blacky like liver!
[MRS. BAUER _and_ KARL _look at him warningly_.
MRS. BAUER. [_Fiercely._] You eat your dinner.
BAUER. [_Affectionately, laying his hand on_ FRITZI'S _arm_.] Fritzi.
FRITZI. [_Points toward the inner room._] I'm going to have a gun, too, when I'm a man.
[BAUER _follows_ FRITZI'S _gesture and falls to musing. There is a
look of brooding misery on his face._ KARL _nudges_ FRITZI
_warningly and watches his father furtively_. BAUER _sits
motionless, staring straight ahead of him_.
MRS. BAUER. [_To_ BAUER.] Now drink your coffee.
BAUER. Don't you see, Miene, don't you see?... Nothing makes it right now; no one believes me--no one believes--no one.
MRS. BAUER. What do you care, if you didn't do it?
BAUER. I care like hell.
MRS. BAUER. [_With a searching took at her husband._] Fritzi, when you go on like this, people won't believe you didn't do it. You ought to act like you don't care.... [_She fixes him with a beseeching glance._] If you _didn't_ do it.
[BAUER _looks at his wife as though a hidden meaning to her words
had suddenly bitten into his mind_.
BAUER. [_As though to himself._] A man can't stand that. I've gone hungry ... I've been in the hospital ... I've worked when I couldn't stand up hardly....
MRS. BAUER. [_Coaxingly._] Drink your coffee, drink it now, Fritz, while it's hot.
[_He tries to swallow a little coffee and then puts down the cup._
BAUER. I've never asked favors of no man.
MRS. BAUER. Well, an' if you did ...
BAUER. I've always kept my good name ...
MRS. BAUER. If a man hasn't done nothin' wrong it don't matter. Just go ahead like always--if----
BAUER. [_Muttering._] If--if----
MRS. BAUER. [_To the boys._] Get your caps now, it's time to go to school.
[KARL _gets up, passes behind his father and beckons to_ FRITZI _to
follow him_.
FRITZI. [_Keeping his seat._] Do we have to go to school?
BAUER. [_Suddenly alert._] Why, what's the matter?
FRITZI. The boys----
MRS. BAUER. [_Breaking in._] Fritzi!
[_The boys go into the inner room._ BAUER _collapses again_.
MRS. BAUER. [_Looking at him strangely._] Fritzi--if you didn't----
BAUER. I can't prove nothing--and no one believes me. [_A pause. She is silent under his gaze._] No one! [_He waits for her to speak. She sits with averted face. He sinks into a dull misery. The expression in his eyes changes from beseeching to despair as her silence continues, and he cries out hoarsely._] No one! Even if you kill a cat--what's a cat against a man's life!
MRS. BAUER. [_Tensely, her eyes fastened on his._] But you _didn't_ kill it?
[_A pause._
MRS. BAUER. [_In a low, appealing voice._] Did you? Fritz? Did you?
[BAUER _gets up slowly. He stands very still and stares at his
wife._
KARL'S VOICE. Mama, Fritzi's fooling with papa's gun.
[_Both children rush into the room._
KARL. You oughta lock it up.
MRS. BAUER. [_To_ FRITZI.] Bad boy! [_To_ KARL.] Fritzi wants to kill himself--that's what. Go on to school.
[_Boys run past area._
VOICES. Who killed the cat! Who killed the cat!
[_At the sound of the voices the boys start back. Instinctively_
MRS. BAUER _lays a protecting hand on each. She looks around at her
husband with a sudden anxiety which she tries to conceal from the
children, who whisper together._ BAUER _rises heavily to his feet
and walks staggeringly toward the inner room_.
MRS. BAUER. [_In a worried tone, as the pushes the children out._] Go on to school.
[_At the threshold of the inner room_ BAUER _stops, half turns back
with distorted features, and then hurries in. The door slams behind
him._ MRS. BAUER _closes the outer door, turns, takes a step as
though to follow_ BAUER, _hesitates, then crosses to the kitchen
table and starts to clear up the dishes. The report of a revolver
sounds from the inner room. Terror-stricken_, MRS. BAUER _rushes
in_.
MRS. BAUER'S VOICE. Fritz! Fritz! Speak to me! Look at me, Fritz! You didn't do it, Fritz! I know you didn't do it!
[_Sound of low sobbing.... After a few seconds the telephone
bell.... It rings continuously while the Curtain slowly falls._
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
(A BISQUE-PLAY)
BY
ALFRED KREYMBORG
_Manikin and Minikin_ is reprinted by special permission of Alfred Kreymborg. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address Norman Lee Swartout, Summit, New Jersey.
ALFRED KREYMBORG
Alfred Kreymborg, one of the foremost advocates of free-verse rhythmical drama, was born in New York City, 1883. He founded and edited _The Globe_ while it was in existence; and under its auspices issued the first anthology of imagist verse (Ezra Pound's Collection, 1914). In July, 1915, he founded _Others, a Magazine of the New Verse_, and _The Other Players_ in March, 1918, an organization devoted exclusively to American plays in poetic form. At present Mr. Kreymborg is in Italy, launching a new international magazine, _The Broom_.
Mr. Kreymborg has been active in both poetry and drama. He has edited several anthologies of free verse, and has published his own free verse as _Mushrooms_ and _The Blood of Things_. His volume of plays, all in free rhythmical verse, is _Plays for Poem--Mimes_. The most popular plays in this volume are _Lima Beans_, and _Manikin and Minikin_.
_Manikin and Minikin_ aptly exemplifies Mr. Kreymborg's idea of rhythmical, pantomimic drama. It is a semi-puppet play in which there are dancing automatons to an accompaniment of rhythmic lines in place of music. Mr. Kreymborg is a skilled musician and he composes his lines with musical rhythm in mind. His lines should be read accordingly.
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
(A BISQUE-PLAY)
_Seen through an oval frame, one of the walls of a parlor. The
wall-paper is a conventionalized pattern. Only the shelf of the
mantelpiece shows. At each end, seated on pedestals turned slightly
away from one another, two aristocratic bisque figures, a boy in
delicate cerise and a girl in cornflower blue. Their shadows join
in a grotesque silhouette. In the centre, an ancient clock whose
tick acts as the metronome for the sound of their high voices.
Presently the mouths of the figures open and shut, after the mode
of ordinary conversation._
SHE. Manikin!
HE. Minikin?
SHE. That fool of a servant has done it again.
HE. I should say, she's more than a fool.
SHE. A meddlesome busybody----
HE. A brittle-fingered noddy!
SHE. Which way are you looking? What do you see?
HE. The everlasting armchair, the everlasting tiger-skin, the everlasting yellow, green, and purple books, the everlasting portrait of milord----
SHE. Oh, these Yankees!--And I see the everlasting rattan rocker, the everlasting samovar, the everlasting noisy piano, the everlasting portrait of milady----
HE. Simpering spectacle!
SHE. What does she want, always dusting?
HE. I should say--that is, I'd consider the thought----
SHE. You'd consider a lie--oh, Manikin--you're trying to defend her!
HE. I'm not defending her----
SHE. You're trying to----
HE. I'm not trying to----
SHE. Then, what are you trying to----
HE. Well, I'd venture to say, if she'd only stay away some morning----
SHE. That's what I say in my dreams!
HE. She and her broom----
SHE. Her everlasting broom----
HE. She wouldn't be sweeping----
SHE. Every corner, every cranny, every crevice----
HE. And the dust wouldn't move----
SHE. Wouldn't crawl, wouldn't rise, wouldn't fly----
HE. And cover us all over----
SHE. Like a spider-web--ugh!
HE. Everlasting dust has been most of our life----
SHE. Everlasting years and years of dust!
HE. You on your lovely blue gown----
SHE. And you on your manly pink cloak.
HE. If she didn't sweep, we wouldn't need dusting----
SHE. Nor need taking down, I should say----
HE. With her stupid, clumsy hands----
SHE. Her crooked, monkey paws----
HE. And we wouldn't need putting back----
SHE. I with my back to you----
HE. I with my back to you.
SHE. It's been hours, days, weeks---- by the sound of that everlasting clock---- and the coming of day and the going of day---- since I saw you last!
HE. What's the use of the sun with its butterfly wings of light-- what's the use of a sun made to see by-- if I can't see you!
SHE. Manikin!
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Say that again!
HE. Why should I say it again--don't you know?
SHE. I know, but sometimes I doubt----
HE. Why do you, what do you doubt?
SHE. Please say it again!
HE. What's the use of a sun----
SHE. What's the use of a sun?
HE. That was made to see by----
SHE. That was made to see by?
HE. If I can't see you!
SHE. Oh, Manikin!
HE. Minikin?
SHE. If you hadn't said that again, my doubt would have filled a balloon.
HE. Your doubt--which doubt, what doubt?
SHE. And although I can't move, although I can't move unless somebody shoves me, one of these days when the sun isn't here, I would have slipped over the edge of this everlasting shelf----
HE. Minikin!
SHE. And fallen to that everlasting floor into so many fragments, they'd never paste Minikin together again!
HE. Minikin, Minikin!
SHE. They'd have to set another here--some Minikin, I'm assured!
HE. Why do you chatter so, prattle so?
SHE. Because of my doubt--because I'm as positive as I am that I sit here with my knees in a knot--that that human creature--loves you.
HE. Loves me?
SHE. And you her!
HE. Minikin!
SHE. When she takes us down she holds you much longer.
HE. Minikin!
SHE. I'm sufficiently feminine--and certainly old enough--I and my hundred and seventy years--I can see, I can feel by her manner of touching me and her flicking me with her mop--the creature hates me--she'd like to drop me, that's what she would!
HE. Minikin!
SHE. Don't you venture defending her! Booby--you don't know live women! When I'm in the right position I can note how she fondles you, pets you like a parrot with her finger-tip, blows a pinch of dust from your eye with her softest breath, holds you off at arm's length and fixes you with her spider look, actually holds you against her cheek--her rose-tinted cheek--before she releases you! If she didn't turn us apart so often, I wouldn't charge her with insinuation; but now I know she loves you--she's as jealous as I am--and poor dead me in her live power! Manikin? */
HE. Minikin?
SHE. If you could see me--the way you see her----
HE. But I see you--see you always--see only you!
SHE. If you could see me the way you see her, you'd still love me, you'd love me the way you do her! Who made me what I am? Who dreamed me in motionless clay?
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. No!
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. No.
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. Yes.
HE. I love you----
SHE. No!
HE. I've always loved you----
SHE. No.
HE. You doubt that?
SHE. Yes!
HE. You doubt that?
SHE. Yes.
HE. You doubt that?
SHE. No. You've always loved me--yes--but you don't love me now--no--not since that rose-face encountered your glance--no.
HE. Minikin!
SHE. If I could move about the way she can-- if I had feet-- dainty white feet which could twinkle and twirl-- I'd dance you so prettily you'd think me a sun butterfly-- if I could let down my hair and prove you it's longer than larch hair-- if I could raise my black brows or shrug my narrow shoulders, like a queen or a countess-- if I could turn my head, tilt my head, this way and that, like a swan-- ogle my eyes, like a peacock, till you'd marvel, they're green, nay, violet, nay, yellow, nay, gold-- if I could move, only move just the moment of an inch-- you would see what I could be! It's a change, it's a change, you men ask of women!
HE. A change?
SHE. You're eye-sick, heart-sick of seeing the same foolish porcelain thing, a hundred years old, a hundred and fifty, and sixty, and seventy-- I don't know how old I am!
HE. Not an exhalation older than I--not an inhalation younger! Minikin?
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. No!
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. No!
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. Yes.
HE. I don't love that creature----
SHE. You do.
HE. I can't love that creature----
SHE. You can.
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. Yes-- if you'll tell me-- if you'll prove me-- so my last particle of dust-- the tiniest speck of a molecule-- the merest electron----
HE. Are you listening?
SHE. Yes!
HE. To begin with-- I dislike, suspect, deplore-- I had best say, feel compassion for what is called humanity-- or the animate, as opposed to the inanimate----
SHE. You say that so wisely-- you're such a philosopher-- say it again!
HE. That which is able to move can never be steadfast, you understand? Let us consider the creature at hand to whom you have referred with an undue excess of admiration adulterated with an undue excess of envy----
SHE. Say that again!
HE. To begin with-- I can only see part of her at once. She moves into my vision; she moves out of my vision; she is doomed to be wayward.
SHE. Yes, but that which you see of her----
HE. Is ugly, commonplace, unsightly. Her face a rose-face? It's veined with blood and the skin of it wrinkles-- her eyes are ever so near to a hen's-- her movements, if one would pay such a gait with regard-- her gait is unspeakably ungainly-- her hair----
SHE. Her hair?
HE. Luckily I've never seen it down-- I dare say it comes down in the dark, when it looks, most assuredly, like tangled weeds.
SHE. Again, Manikin, that dulcet phrase!
HE. Even were she beautiful, she were never so beautiful as thou!
SHE. Now you're a poet, Manikin!
HE. Even were she so beautiful as thou--lending her your eyes, and the exquisite head which holds them--like a cup two last beads of wine, like a stone two last drops of rain, green, nay, violet, nay, yellow, nay, gold----
SHE. Faster, Manikin!
HE. I can't, Minikin! Words were never given to man to phrase such a one as you are-- inanimate symbols can never embrace, embody, hold the animate dream that you are-- I must cease.
SHE. Manikin!
HE. And even were she so beautiful as thou, she couldn't stay beautiful.
SHE. Stay beautiful?
HE. Humans change with each going moment. That is a gray-haired platitude. Just as I can see that creature only when she touches my vision, so I could only see her once, were she beautiful-- at best, twice or thrice-- you're more precious than when you came!
SHE. And you!
HE. Human pathos penetrates still deeper when one determines their inner life, as we've pondered their outer. Their inner changes far more desperately.
SHE. How so, wise Manikin?
HE. They have what philosophy terms moods, and moods are more pervious to modulation than pools to idle breezes. These people may say, to begin with-- I love you. This may be true, I'm assured-- as true as when _we_ say, I love you. But they can only say, I love you, so long as the mood breathes, so long as the breezes blow, so long as water remains wet. They are honest-- they mean what they say-- passionately, tenaciously, tragically-- but when the mood languishes, they have to say, if it be they are honest-- I do not love you. Or they have to say, I love you, to somebody else.
SHE. To somebody else?
HE. Now, you and I-- we've said that to each other-- we've had to say it for a hundred and seventy years-- and we'll have to say it always.
SHE. Say always again!
HE. The life of an animate--
SHE. Say always again!
HE. Always! The life of an animate is a procession of deaths with but a secret sorrowing candle, guttering lower and lower, on the path to the grave-- the life of an inanimate is as serenely enduring-- as all still things are.
SHE. Still things?
HE. Recall our childhood in the English museum-- ere we were moved, from place to place, to this dreadful Yankee salon-- do you remember that little old Greek tanagra of the girl with a head like a bud-- that little old Roman medallion of the girl with a head like a----
SHE. Manikin, Manikin-- were they so beautiful as I-- did you love them, too-- why do you bring them back?
HE. They were not so beautiful as thou-- I spoke of them-- recalled, designated them-- well, because they were ages old-- and--and----
SHE. And--and?
HE. And we might live as long as they-- as they did and do! I hinted their existence because they're not so beautiful as thou, so that by contrast and deduction----
SHE. And deduction?
HE. You know what I'd say----
SHE. But say it again!
HE. I love you.
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Then even though that creature has turned us apart, can you see me?
HE. I can see you.
SHE. Even though you haven't seen me for hours, days, weeks-- with your dear blue eyes-- you can see me-- with your hidden ones?
HE. I can see you.
SHE. Even though you are still, and calm, and smooth, and lovely outside-- you aren't still and calm and smooth and lovely inside?
HE. Lovely, yes--but not still and calm and smooth!
SHE. Which way are you looking? What do you see?
HE. I look at you. I see you.
SHE. And if that fool of a servant--oh, Manikin--suppose she should break the future--our great, happy centuries ahead--by dropping me, throwing me down?
HE. I should take an immediate step off this everlasting shelf--
SHE. But you cannot move!
HE. The good wind would give me a blow!
SHE. Now you're a punster! And what would your fragments do?
HE. They would do what Manikin did.
SHE. Say that again!
HE. They'd do what Manikin did....
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Shall I tell you something?
HE. Tell me something.
SHE. Are you listening?
HE. With my inner ears.
SHE. I wasn't jealous of that woman----
HE. You weren't jealous?
SHE. I wanted to hear you talk----
HE. You wanted to hear me talk?
SHE. You talk so wonderfully!
HE. Do I, indeed? What a booby I am!
SHE. And I wanted to hear you say----
HE. You cheat, you idler, you----
SHE. Woman----
HE. Dissembler!
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Everlastingly?
HE. Everlastingly.
SHE. Say it again!
HE. I refuse----
SHE. You refuse?
HE. Well----
SHE. Well?
HE. You have ears outside your head--I'll say that for you--but they'll never hear--what your other ears hear!
SHE. Say it--down one of the ears--outside my head?
HE. I refuse.
SHE. You refuse?
HE. Leave me alone.
SHE. Manikin?
HE. I can't say it!
SHE. Manikin! */
[_The clock goes on ticking for a moment. Its mellow chimes strike
the hour._
CURTAIN
WHITE DRESSES
(A TRAGEDY OF NEGRO LIFE)
BY
PAUL GREENE
_White Dresses_ is reprinted by special permission of Professor Frederick H. Koch. Copyrighted by the Carolina Playmakers, Inc., Chapel Hill, North Carolina. For permission to produce, address Frederick H. Koch, director.
PAUL GREENE
Paul Greene, one of the most promising of the University of North Carolina Playmakers, was born in 1894 on a farm near Lillington, North Carolina. He has received his education at Buies Creek Academy and at the University of North Carolina, from which he received his bachelor's degree in 1921. He saw service with the A. E. F. in France, with the 105th United States Engineers.
In addition to _White Dresses_, Mr. Greene has written a number of one-act plays: _The Last of the Lowries_ (to be included in a forthcoming volume of Carolina Folk-Plays, published by Henry Holt & Company), _The Miser_, _The Old Man of Edenton_, _The Lord's Will_, _Wreck P'int_, _Granny Boling_ (in _The Drama_ for August-September, 1921). The first three plays named above were produced originally by the Carolina Playmakers at Chapel Hill.
_White Dresses_ is an excellent example of folk-play of North Carolina. This play was written in English 31, the course in dramatic composition at the University of North Carolina conducted by Professor Frederick H. Koch. "The Aim of the Carolina Playmakers," says Professor Koch, "is to build up a genuinely native drama, a fresh expression of the folk-life in North Carolina, drawn from the rich background of local tradition and from the vigorous new life of the present day. In these simple plays we hope to contribute something of lasting value in the making of a new folk-theatre and a new folk-literature."
Out of the many conflicts of American life, past and present, Mr. Greene sees possibilities for a great native drama. _White Dresses_ presents a fundamental aspect of the race problem in America.
CHARACTERS
CANDACE MCLEAN, _an old negro woman_, MARY'S _aunt_
MARY MCLEAN, _a quadroon girl, niece of_ CANDACE
JIM MATTHEWS, _Mary's lover_
HENRY MORGAN, _the landlord, a white man_
WHITE DRESSES
TIME: _The evening before Christmas, 1900_.
SCENE: _The scene is laid in a negro cabin, the home of_ CANDACE
_and_ MARY MCLEAN, _in eastern North Carolina_.
_In the right corner of the room is a rough bed covered with a
ragged counterpane. In the centre at the rear is an old bureau with
a cracked mirror, to the left of it a door opening to the outside.
In the left wall is a window with red curtains. A large chest
stands near the front on this side, and above it hang the family
clothes, several ragged dresses, an old bonnet, and a cape. At the
right, toward the front, is a fireplace, in which a small fire is
burning. Above and at the sides of the fireplace hang several pots
and pans, neatly arranged. Above these is a mantel, covered with a
lambrequin of dingy red crape paper. On the mantel are bottles and
a clock. A picture of "Daniel in the Lion's Den" hangs above the
mantel. The walls are covered with newspapers, to which are pinned
several illustrations clipped from popular magazines. A rough table
is in the centre of the room. A lamp without a chimney is on it.
Several chairs are about the room. A rocking-chair with a rag
pillow in it stands near the fire. There is an air of cleanliness
and poverty about the whole room._
_The rising of the curtain discloses the empty room. The fire is
burning dimly._ AUNT CANDACE _enters at the rear, carrying several
sticks of firewood under one arm. She walks with a stick, and is
bent with rheumatism. She is dressed in a slat bonnet, which hides
her face in its shadow, brogan shoes, a man's ragged coat, a
checkered apron, a dark-colored dress. She mumbles to herself and
shakes her head as she comes in. With great difficulty she puts the
wood on the fire, and then takes the poker and examines some
potatoes that are cooking in the ashes. She takes out her snuff-box
and puts snuff in her lip. As she does this her bonnet is pushed
back, and in the firelight her features are discernible--sunken
eyes, high cheek-bones, and big, flat nose. Upon her forehead she
wears a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles._
_She sits down in a rocking-chair, now and then putting her hand to
her head, and groaning as if in pain. She turns and looks
expectantly toward the door. After a moment she hobbles to the
chest on the right and takes out an old red crocheted fascinator.
Shivering she wraps it around her neck and stands looking down in
the chest. She lifts out a little black box and starts to unfasten
it, when the door suddenly opens and_ MARY MCLEAN _comes in_. AUNT
CANDACE _puts the box hastily back into the chest, and hurries to
the fire_.
MARY MCLEAN _has a "turn" of collards in one arm and a paper bundle
in the other. She lays the collards on the floor near the window
and puts her shawl on the bed. She is a quadroon girl about
eighteen years old, with an oval face and a mass of fine dark hair,
neatly done up. There is something in her bearing that suggests a
sort of refinement. Her dress is pitifully shabby, her shoes
ragged. But even this cannot hide the lines of an almost perfect
figure. For a negro she is pretty. As she comes up to the fire her
pinched lips and the tired expression on her face are plainly
visible. Only her eyes betray any signs of excitement._
AUNT CANDACE. Honey, I's been a-waitin' foh you de las' two hours. My haid's been bad off. Chile, whah you been? Miss Mawgin must a had a pow'ful washin' up at de big house.
[MARY _opens her hand and shows her a five-dollar bill_.
AUNT CANDACE. De Lawd help my life, chile!
MARY. An' look here what Mr. Henry sent you, too. [_She undoes the bundle, revealing several cooked sweet potatoes, sausages, spareribs, and some boiled ham._] He said as 'twas Christmas time he sent you this with the collards there.
[_She points toward the collards at the window._ AUNT CANDACE _pays
little attention to the food as_ MARY _places it in her lap, but
continues to look straight into_ MARY'S _face. The girl starts to
give her the money, but she pushes her away._
AUNT CANDACE. [_Excitedly._] Whah'd you git dat, honey? Whah'd you git it? Mr. Henry ain't never been dat kind befo'. Dey ain't no past Christmas times he was so free wid 'is money. He ain't de kind o' man foh dat. An' he a-havin' 'is washin' done on Christmas Eve. [_Her look is direct and troubled._] Chile, Mr. Hugh didn't give you dat money, did he?
MARY. [_Still looking in the fire._] Aunty, I ain't said Mr. Henry sent you this money. Yes'm, Mr. Hugh sent it to you. I done some washin' for him. I washed his socks and some shirts--pure silk they was. [_She smiles at the remembrance._] An' he give me the money an' tole me to give it to you--said he wished he could give you somethin' more.
[_She hands the money to_ AUNT CANDACE, _who takes it quickly_.
AUNT CANDACE. Help my soul an' body! De boy said dat! Bless 'is soul! He ain't fo'got 'is ol' aunty, even if he ain't been to see 'er since he come back from school way out yander. De Lawd bless 'im! Allus was a good boy, an' he ain't changed since he growed up nuther. When I useter nuss 'im he'd never whimper, no suh. Bring me de tin box, honey. An' don't notice what I's been sayin'. I spects I's too perticler 'bout you. I dunno.
[MARY _goes to the bureau and gets a tin box. She puts the money
in it, returns it, and lights the lamp._ AUNT CANDACE _takes off
her bonnet and hangs it behind her on the rocking-chair. Then she
begins to eat greedily, now and then licking the grease off her
fingers. Suddenly she utters a low scream, putting her hands to her
head and rocking to and fro. She grasps her stick and begins
beating about her as if striking at something, crying out in a loud
voice._
AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah, I'll git you! I'll git you!
[MARY _goes to her and pats her on the cheek_.
MARY. It's your poor head, ain't it, aunty? You rest easy, I'll take care of you. [_She continues to rub her cheek and forehead until the spell passes._] Set still till I git in a turn of light-wood. It's goin' to be a terrible cold night an' looks like snow.
[_After a moment_ AUNT CANDACE _quiets down and begins eating
again_. MARY _goes out and brings in an armful of wood which she
throws into the box. She takes a bottle and spoon from the mantel,
and starts to pour out some medicine._
AUNT CANDACE. I's better now, honey. Put it back up. I ain't gwine take none now. D'ain't no use ... d'ain't no use in dat. I ain't long foh dis world, ain't long. I's done my las' washin' an' choppin' an' weighed up my las' cotton. Medicine ain't no mo' good.
MARY. You're allus talkin' like that, aunty. You're goin' to live to be a hundred. An' this medicine----
AUNT CANDACE. I ain't gwine take it, I say. No, suh, ain't gwine be long. I's done deef. I's ol' an' hipshot now. No, suh, I don't want no medicine. [_Childishly._] I's got a taste o' dese heah spareribs an' sausages, an' I ain't gwine take no medicine. [MARY _puts the bottle and spoon back on the mantel and sits down_. AUNT CANDACE _stops eating and looks at_ MARY'S _dreaming face_.] Honey, what makes you look like dat? [_Excitedly._] Mr. Henry ain't said ... he ain't said no mo' 'bout us havin' to leave, has he?
MARY. [_Looking up confusedly._] No'm, he ... no'm, he said ... he said to-day that he'd 'bout decided to let us stay right on as long as we please.
AUNT CANDACE. Huh, what's dat?
MARY. He said it might be so we could stay right on as long as we please.
AUNT CANDACE. [_Joyously._] Thank de Lawd! Thank de Lawd! I knowed he's gwine do it. I knowed. But I's been pow'ful feared, chile, he's gwine run us off. An' he ain't never liked Mr. Hugh's takin' up foh us. But now I c'n rest in peace. Thank de Lawd, I's gwine rest my bones rat whah I loves to stay till dey calls foh me up yander. [_Stopping._] Has you et?
MARY. Yes'm, I et up at Mr. Henry's. Mr. Hugh ... [_hesitating_] he said 'twas a shame for me to come off without eatin' nothin' an' so I et.
[AUNT CANDACE _becomes absorbed in her eating_. MARY _goes to the
chest, opens it, and takes out a faded cloak and puts it on. Then
she goes to the bureau, takes out a piece of white ribbon, and ties
it on her hair. For a moment she looks at her reflection in the
mirror. She goes to the chest and stands looking down in it. She
makes a movement to close it. The lid falls with a bang._ AUNT
CANDACE _turns quickly around_.
AUNT CANDACE. What you want, gal? You ain't botherin' de li'l box, is you?
MARY. [_Coming back to the fire._] Botherin' that box! Lord, no, I don't worry about it no more ... I'm just dressin' up a little.
AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah, but you better not be messin' 'round de chist too much. You quit puttin' you' clothes in dere. I done tol' you. What you dressin' up foh? Is Jim comin' round to-night?
[_She wraps up the remainder of her supper and puts it in the
chimney corner._
MARY. [_Not noticing the question._] Aunty, don't I look a little bit like a white person?
AUNT CANDACE. [_Taking out her snuff-box._] Huh, what's dat?
MARY. I don't look like a common nigger, do I?
AUNT CANDACE. Lawd bless you, chile, you's purty, you is. You's jes' as purty as any white folks. You's lak yo' mammy what's dead an' gone. Yessuh, you's her very spit an' image, 'ceptin' you's whiter. [_Lowering her voice._] Yes, suh, 'ceptin' you's whiter. [_They both look in the fire._] 'Bout time foh Jim to be comin', ain't it?
MARY. Yes'm, he'll be comin', I reckon. They ain't no gittin' away from him an' his guitar.
AUNT CANDACE. _What_ you got agin Jim? Dey ain't no better nigger'n Jim. He's gwine treat you white, an' it's time you's gittin' married. I's done nussin' my fust chile at yo' age, my li'l Tom 'twas. Useter sing to 'im. [_Pausing._] Useter sing to 'im de sweetest kin' o' chunes, jes' lak you, honey, jes' lak you. He's done daid an' gone do'. All my babies is. De Marster he call an' tuck 'em. An' 'druther'n let 'em labor an' sweat below, he gi'n 'em a harp an' crown up dere. Tuck my ol' man from 'is toil an' trouble, too, an' I's left heah alone now. Ain't gwine be long do', ain't gwine be long. [_Her voice trails off into silence. All is quiet save for the ticking of the clock._ AUNT CANDACE _brushes her hand across her face, as if breaking the spell of her revery_.] Yessuh, I wants you to git married, honey. I told you, an' told you. We's lived long enough by ourselves. I's lak to nuss yo' li'l uns an' sing to 'em fo' I go. Mind me o' de ol' times.
MARY. [_Lost in abstraction, apparently has not been listening._] Aunty, you ought to see him now. He's better to me than he ever was. He's as kind as he can be. An' he wears the finest clothes! [_She stares in the fire._
AUNT CANDACE. Dat he do. Dey ain't no 'sputin' of it. I allus said he's de best-lookin' nigger in de country. An' dey ain't nobody kinder'n Jim. No, suh.
MARY. An' to-day he said 'twas a pity I had to work an' wash like a slave for a livin'. He don' treat me like I was a nigger. He acts like I'm white folks. Aunty, you reckon ...
AUNT CANDACE. [_Gazing at her with a troubled look of astonishment._] I knows it, honey, I knows it. Course dey ain't no better nigger'n Jim an' I wants you to marry Jim. He's awaitin' an' ...
MARY. [_Vehemently._] I ain't talkin' 'bout Jim. What's Jim? He ain't nothin'.
AUNT CANDACE. [_Guessing at the truth, half rises from her seat._] What you mean? Huh! What you talkin' 'bout?
MARY. [_Wearily sitting down._] Nothin', aunty, jes' talkin'.
AUNT CANDACE. Jes' talkin'? Chile ... chile ...
MARY. Aunty, did you ever wish you was white?
AUNT CANDACE. [_Troubled._] Laws a mercy! Huh! White! Wish I's white? Lawdy, no! What I want to be white foh? I's born a nigger, an' I's gwine die a nigger. I ain't one to tear up de work o' de Lawd. He made me an' I ain't gwine try to change it. What's in yo' haid, chile? [_Sadly._] Po' thing, don't do dat. Yo' po' mammy useter talk lak dat ... one reason she ain't livin' to-day. An' I ain't done prayin' foh 'er nuther. Chile, you git such notions ra't out'n yo' haid. [_She shakes her head, groaning._] Oh, Lawdy! Lawdy! [_Then, screaming, she puts her hands to her head. She grasps her stick and begins striking about her, shrieking._] Dey's after me! Dey's after me! [_She continues beating around her._] Open de do'! Open de do'!
[MARY _puts her arms around her and tries to soothe her, but she
breaks away from her, fighting with her stick. Then_ MARY _runs and
opens the door, and_ AUNT CANDACE _drives the imaginary devils
out_.
MARY. They're gone now, they're gone.
[_She closes the door and leads her back to her seat._ AUNT CANDACE
_sits down, mumbling and groaning. The spell passes and the wild
look dies from her face._
AUNT CANDACE. [_Looking up._] I's had another spell, ain't I, honey?
MARY. Yes'm, but you're all right now.
[_She pours out some medicine and gives it to her._
AUNT CANDACE. Some dese days I's gwine be carried off by 'em, chile; I's ol' an' po'ly, ol' an' po'ly now. Dem debbils gwine git me yit. [_She mumbles._
MARY. No, they ain't, aunty. I ain't goin' to let 'em.
[_There is a knock at the door, and stamping of feet._
AUNT CANDACE. What's dat?
MARY. Nothin'. Somebody at the door. [_The low strumming of guitar is heard._] That's Jim. Come in!
[JIM MATTHEWS _enters. He is a young negro about twenty-two years
old, and as black as his African ancestors. He carries a guitar
slung over his shoulders, wears an old derby hat, tan shirt with a
dark tie, well-worn blue suit, the coat of which comes to his
knees, and tan shoes, slashed along the sides to make room for his
feet. As he comes in he pulls off his hat and smiles genially,
showing his white teeth. With better clothes he might call himself
a spo't._
JIM. Good even', ladies. [_He lays his derby an the bed._
AUNT CANDACE. [_Turning around in her chair._] What does he say?
MARY. He says good evenin'.
AUNT CANDACE. _Ah_-hah! Good even', Jim. Take a seat. I's sho glad you come. Mary's been talkin' 'bout you. [_He smiles complacently._] We's sho glad you come.
[_He takes a seat between_ AUNT CANDACE _and_ MARY.
JIM. Yes'm. An' I's sho glad to be wid you all. I's allus glad to be wid de ladies.
AUNT CANDACE. What's he say?
JIM. [_Louder._] I's glad to be wid you all.
AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah! [JIM _pulls out a large checkered handkerchief from his breast-pocket, wipes his forehead, and then flips the dust from his shoes. He folds it carefully and puts it back in his pocket._] Any news, Jim?
JIM. No'm, none 'tall. Any wid you?
AUNT CANDACE. Hah? No, nothin' 'tall, 'ceptin' Mr. Henry done said ... said ...
[_Here she groans sharply and puts her hand to her head._
JIM. What's that she's sayin'? [_As_ AUNT CANDACE _continues groaning_.] Still havin' them spells, is she, Miss Mary?
MARY. Yes, she has 'em about every night.
[_Making a movement as if to go to_ AUNT CANDACE. _She stops and stares in the fire._
AUNT CANDACE. Ne' min' me. I's all right now. An' you chillun go on wid yo' cou'tin'. I's gwine peel my 'taters.
[_Raking the potatoes from the ashes, she begins peeling them. Then
she takes a piece of sausage from the package in the corner._ JIM
_smiles sheepishly and strums his guitar once or twice. He moves
his chair nearer to_ MARY. _She moves mechanically from him, still
gazing in the fire._
JIM. Er ... Miss Mary, you's lookin' 'ceedin' snatchin' wid dat white ribbon an' new cloak. I's glad to see you thought I's comin' 'round. Yes'm, I tells all de gals you got 'em beat a mile. [_He stops._ MARY _pays no attention to him_.] From here slam to France an' back, I ain't seed no gals lak you. Yes'm, dat's what I tells 'em all, an' I oughta know, kaze I's an ol' road nigger. I's seen de world, I has. But I's tired of 'tall, an' I wants to settle down ... an' ... you knows me.... [_He stops and fidgets in his chair, strums his guitar, feels of his necktie, takes out his handkerchief and wipes his forehead._] Miss Mary, I's ...
MARY. Jim, I done tol' you, you needn't come messin' 'round here. I ain't lovin' you. I ain't goin' to marry--nobody, never!
JIM. [_Taken aback._] Now, Miss Mary ... er ... honey. I knows jas' how you feels. It's kaze I been a rounder, but you'll hadder forgive me. An' I's gwine 'form, I is. I's quit all dem tother gals, near 'bout broke dey hearts, but I hadder do it. Dey's only one foh me, you know. To-day I's talkin' to dat young feller, Hugh Mawgin, an' ...
MARY. Hugh what! What you sayin', Jim Matthews! Mr. Hugh, you mean.
JIM. [_Hurriedly._] Yes'm, I said "Mr. Hugh." Didn't you hear me, Miss Mary?
MARY. What'd you say to him?
JIM. I told 'im I's callin' 'round here 'casionally, an' he said ... he ...
MARY. [_Looking straight at_ JIM.] He said what?
JIM. He axed me if I's a-courtin', an' I told 'im I mought ... er ... be ...
MARY. Go on; tell me. Did he say I ought to marry you?
JIM. [_Eagerly._] Yes'm.... [MARY _gasps_.] No'm, not ezzactly.... He said as how it was a pity you had nobody to take care o' you, an' had to work so hard lak a slave every day. An' he said you's most too purty an' good to do it. An' I tuck from 'is talk dat he meant he thought you's good enough foh me, an' wanted me to take care o' you, so's you wouldn't hadder work.
MARY. _Oh!..._ Yes, I reckon so. [_She is silent._
JIM. He's a eddicated boy, an' he knows. Dey teaches 'im how to know everything out yander at dat college place. He sees my worf', he does. Co'se I ain't braggin', but de gals all do say ... oh, you know what dey says.
MARY. [_Jumping up from her chair._] Jim Matthews, you think I'd marry a ... oh, I'd ...
AUNT CANDACE. [_Turning around._] What's you sayin', gal?
MARY. [_Sittin' down._] Oh, aunty! I ... I ... was just askin' Jim to play a piece. [_To_ JIM _in a lower voice_.] For the Lord's sake play somethin'....
[_She hides her face in her apron._
AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah.... Play us a piece on yo' box, Jim.
[JIM, _at a loss as to the meaning of_ MARY'S _tears, but feeling
that they are somehow a further proof of his power with the ladies,
smiles knowingly, tunes his guitar, and begins strumming a chord.
After playing a few bars, he starts singing in a clear voice, with
"Ohs" and "Ahs" thrown in._
JIM. Oh, whah you gwine, my lover? Gwine on down de road. Oh, whah you gwine, my lover? Gwine on down de road. (_Bass_) Gwine ... on ... gwine on down de road.
She th'owed her arms aroun' me An' cast me silver an' gold. Said, "Whah you gwine, my lover?" Gwine on down de road. (_Bass_) Oh, Lawd! ... Oh, Lawd! Gwine ... on ... down ... de ... road.
[MARY _still leans forward, with her face in her hands_. JIM _stops
playing and speaks softly_.
JIM. Miss Mary, I's sho' sorry I made you cry. Honey, I don't want you to cry 'bout me lak dat ...
[_She remains silent. He smiles in self-gratulation, but utters a
mournful sigh for her benefit. Pulling his guitar further up on his
lap, he takes out his pocket-knife, fits it between his fingers in
imitation of the Hawaiians, clears his throat and strikes another
chord._
AUNT CANDACE. [_Noticing the silence, looks at_ MARY.] What's de trouble wid you, gal? What's de trouble, chile? Oh, Lawdy me! [_Passing her hand across her forehead._
MARY. [_Raising her head._] Nothin', nothin'. I'm tickled at Jim. [_To_ JIM.] Go on, play her piece about the hearse. Play it!
JIM. [_Strums his guitar, tunes it, and begins._]
Hearse done carried somebody to de graveyard.
Lawd, I know my time ain't long.
Hearse done carried somebody to de graveyard.
Lawd, I know my time ain't long.
[_He sings louder, syncopating with his feet._]
Preacher keeps a-preachin' an' people keep a-dyin'.
Lawd, I know my time ain't long.
[AUNT CANDACE _begins swaying rhythmically with the music, clapping
her hands, and now and then exclaiming_.
AUNT CANDACE. Jesus! Lawdy, my Lawd!
[_She and_ JIM _begin to sing alternately, she the first verse and_
JIM _the refrain. While this is going on_ MARY, _unobserved, goes
to the window, pulls open the curtain and looks out, stretching her
clenched hands above her head. She turns to the mirror, smooths
back her heavy hair, shakes her head, snatches off the ribbon and
throws it on the floor. Then she pulls off her cloak and lays it on
the bed. She picks up the ribbon and puts it in the bureau.
Meanwhile the music has continued._
Hammer keep ringin' on somebody's coffin.
JIM. _Lawd_, I know my time ain't long.
[_They repeat these lines._
AUNT CANDACE. _Gwine_ roll 'em up lak leaves in de judgment.
JIM. Lawd, I know my time ain't long.
[_After these lines have been repeated_, JIM, _noticing_ MARY'S
_absence from his side, stops and looks around_. AUNT CANDACE
_keeps on singing a verse or two. She stops and looks around, seas_
MARY _standing in an attitude of despair_. JIM _speaks_.
JIM. Miss Mary!
AUNT CANDACE. What is it, honey?
[_There is a stamping of feet outside._ MARY _raises her head with
an expectant look an her face. She runs to the door and opens it.
Her expression changes to one of disappointment and fear as_ HENRY
MORGAN _enters. He is a man of powerful build, about fifty years
old, rough and overbearing. A week's growth of grizzled beard
darkens his face. He wears a felt hat, long black overcoat, ripped
at the pockets and buttoned up to his chin, big laced boots, and
yarn mittens. In his hand he carries a package, which he throws
contemptuously on the bed. He keeps his hat on._ MARY _closes the
door and stands with her back to it, clasping the latch-string_.
AUNT CANDACE _and_ JIM _offer their seats_. JIM'S _look is one of
servile respect, that of Aunt Candace one of troubled expectancy_.
MORGAN. [_In a booming voice._] Dad burn you, Jim. Still a-courtin', eh? Set down, Candace. I ain't goin't to stay long.
AUNT CANDACE. [_Querulously._] What's he say?
MARY. [_Coming to the centre of the room._] He says for you to set down. He ain't goin' to stay long.
AUNT CANDACE. [_Sitting down._] Ah-hah ... Oh, Lawdy! Lawdy!
MORGAN. [_Coming closer to_ AUNT CANDACE.] How you gettin' 'long now, Candace?
AUNT CANDACE. Po'ly, po'ly, Mr. Mawgin. Ain't got much longer down here, ain't much longer.
MORGAN. [_Laughing._] Aw come on, Candace, cut out your foolin'. You ain't half as bad off as you make out. [JIM _moves his chair to the corner and sits down_.] I understand you. If you'd git up from there an' go to work you'd be well in a week.
AUNT CANDACE. Oh, Lawd, Mr. Mawgin, I sho' is po'ly! I hopes you'll never have to suffer lak me.
[_Mumbling, she shakes her head, rocks to and fro without taking
her feet from the floor, punctuating her movements by tapping with
her stick._ MORGAN _sees_ MARY _looking at the package_.
MORGAN. That's for Mary. I was comin' down this way an' caught up with John. He said he was comin' here to bring it. An' so I took an' brought it, though he acted sort of queer about it, like he didn't want me even to save him a long walk. Wonder what that nigger can be givin' you. [MARY _starts toward the bed_.] No, you ain't goin' to see it now, gal. We got a little business to 'tend to first. Did you tell Candace what I said?
MARY. Mr. Morgan, how could I?... I couldn't do it, not to-night.
MORGAN. Uh-huh ... I knowed it. Knowed I'd better come down here an' make sure of it. Durn me, you been cryin', ain't you? [_His voice softens._] What's the trouble, gal?
MARY. Nothin', nothin'. I ... I been tickled at Jim.
JIM. Tickled at Jim?
AUNT CANDACE. What does he say?
MORGAN. [_Turning to her._] Keep quiet, can't you, Candace; I got a little business with Mary. [AUNT CANDACE _becomes silent and begins watching the package. She half starts from her chair, then settles back, staring hard at the bundle._ MORGAN _speaks to_ MARY.] You ain't been cryin' about what I told you this evenin', have you?
MARY. No, sir. I was tickled at Jim. It wan't nothin', honest it wan't.
MORGAN. Well, go on lyin' if you want to.
MARY. Mr. Morgan, I was jes' ...
MORGAN. No matter. [_Brusquely._] Well, what you goin' to do about what I said? [_He looks at her squarely._ JIM _watches them both with open mouth_. AUNT CANDACE _keeps staring at the bundle on the bed, and now and then glancing around to see if any one is watching her. She is oblivious of the conversation._ MARY _stands with bowed head_.] Well, what about it? I've done told you you got to get out at the first o' the year if you ain't a mind to marry Jim. [JIM _straightens up_.] At least you've got to marry somebody that can come here and work. I told you to tell Candace to look out for it. Why didn't you tell her like I said?
MARY. I couldn't do it. It'd kill her to leave here. You know it. She's been good to me all my life. Oh, I can't do it.
[AUNT CANDACE _stealthily slips across the room and picks up the
package from the bed, unseen by any one but_ JIM.
MORGAN. Can't do it? Well, what you want me to do? Lose money on you till the end of time! You ain't earned enough to keep you in clothes for the last three years since Candace got down, an' ...
[_A terrible cry rings out._ AUNT CANDACE _stands by the bed,
holding a white dress up before her_. MORGAN _looks perplexed.
Suddenly he starts back in astonishment._
MARY. [_Starting forward._] It's for me! [_Joyously._] It's mine!
MORGAN. [_Catching_ MARY _by the arm_.] What--what is it?... Heigh! Don't you move, gal! Wait a minute!
[_He pulls her back._ AUNT CANDACE _looks at_ MORGAN. _Gradually he
lowers his head._
AUNT CANDACE. I's a-feared on it. I knowed it ... I knowed it. [_She throws the dress back on the bed and hobbles to the fire, groaning._] Oh, Lawdy! Oh, Lawdy! My po' li'l gal! My po' li'l gal!
[_She rocks to and fro._ MORGAN'S _hand falls from_ MARY'S
_shoulder, and she runs to the bed_.
MARY. He sent it to me! He sent it to me! I knowed he wouldn't forget. [_She hugs the dress to her._
MORGAN. [_Turning to her._] Well, and what nigger's sending you presents now? [_With suspicion fully aroused._] Who give you that, Mary!
MARY. He did!
MORGAN. [_Sternly._] Who?
MARY. [_Impetuously._] It was him! An' I don't care if you do know it!
MORGAN. Who? You don't mean ...
MARY. I do too--an' ...
MORGAN. God a'mighty, my ... it can't be so.
[MARY _goes to the window and holds the dress in front of her_.
MARY. It is, too. Mr. Hugh sent it to me. [MORGAN _groans_.] He told me to-day he's sorry for me. I knowed he'd remember me; I knowed it. An', after all, I ain't been workin' the whole year for nothin'. He's got a heart if nobody else ain't.
MORGAN. What in the devil! I wonder ... Lord!
[AUNT CANDACE _still looks in the fire. For a moment_ MORGAN
_stands lost in abstraction, then he speaks fiercely_.
MORGAN. Mary, put them damned things up. Put 'em up, I say. [_He goes toward her. She shrinks back; holding the dress to her. He snatches it from her and throws it on the bed, then he pushes her out in the middle of the floor. She wipes the tears from her eyes with her apron._] You listen here, gal. We're goin' to settle it right here and now, once and for all. You're goin' to marry Jim?
MARY. Mr. Morgan ... oh ... I can't marry him. I can't! I won't! Let me stay. Don't drive her out; she'll die. I'll work, I'll hoe an' wash, day an' night. I'll do anything, I'll ...
MORGAN. [_Fiercely._] You've tole me that a thousand times, an' you've got to say one or the other right now. Right now! Do you hear! Marry Jim, I tell you, and it'll be all right. He's smart and he'll take care of you ...
MARY. I can't do it, I tell you. I can't! I'd rather die. Look at me. Ain't I almost white? Look at him. He's black and I hate him. I can't marry no nigger. Oh, don't make me do it.
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Contemporary One-Act PlaysChapter II: The Technic of the One-Act Play (6)
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