Chapter I: Part 1

_Read_--

_Some Southern Snapshots_

by GEORGE S. SCHUYLER

in the December issue of

NEW MASSES

In this article Mr. Schuyler, a Negro writer, gives short sketches of Negro-white incidents in various Southern states. Negro boys and girls, men and women, insulted, arrested, hounded out of town, beaten, molested, and killed for imaginary, or at the most, ridiculously small and superficial acts. New details of the same old stories.

See the November and December issues of
NEW MASSES
_for our Special Christmas Book Offers_
25 CENTS A COPY

---------------------------------------------------------------------
_Rip This Off and Mail_

NEW MASSES
39 West Eighth Street, New York.

Enclosed find {$2.00} for a {year’s } subscription to the NEW
MASSES:
{$1.00} {6 months’}

_Name_
--------------------------------
_Address_
--------------------------------

--------------------------------

Please send sample copies to:

1. _Name_
------------------------------
_Address_
------------------------------

------------------------------

2. _Name_
------------------------------
_Address_
------------------------------

------------------------------

_Foreword_

_FIRE_ ... _flaming, burning, searing, and penetrating far beneath the superficial items of the flesh to boil the sluggish blood._

_FIRE_ ... _a cry of conquest in the night, warning those who sleep and revitalizing those who linger in the quiet places dozing._

_FIRE_ ... _melting steel and iron bars, poking livid tongues between stone apertures and burning wooden opposition with a cackling chuckle of contempt._

_FIRE_ ... _weaving vivid, hot designs upon an ebon bordered loom and satisfying pagan thirst for beauty unadorned ... the flesh is sweet and real ... the soul an inward flush of fire.... Beauty?... flesh on fire--on fire in the furnace of life blazing._...

“_Fy-ah,
Fy-ah, Lawd,
Fy-ah gonna burn ma soul!_”

FIRE!

_A Quarterly Devoted to the Younger Negro Artists_

_Wishes to Thank the Following Persons Who Acted as Patrons For the First Issue_

MAURINE BOIE, _Minneapolis, Minn._
NELLIE R. BRIGHT, _Philadelphia, Pa._
ARTHUR HUFF FAUSET, _Philadelphia, Pa._
DOROTHY HUNT HARRIS, _New York City_
ARTHUR P. MOOR, _Harrisburg, Pa._
DOROTHY R. PETERSON, _Brooklyn, N. Y._
MR. AND MRS. JOHN PETERSON, _New York City_
E. B. TAYLOR, _Baltimore, Md._
CARL VAN VECHTEN, _New York City_

Being a non-commercial product interested only in the arts, it is necessary that we make some appeal for aid from interested friends. For the second issue of Fire we would appreciate having fifty people subscribe ten dollars each, and fifty more to subscribe five dollars each.

We make no eloquent or rhetorical plea. Fire speaks for itself.

Gratefully,
THE BOARD OF EDITORS.

FIRE!

_A Quarterly Devoted to the Younger Negro Artists_

_Premier Issue Edited by_
WALLACE THURMAN

_In Association With_

Langston Hughes
Gwendolyn Bennett
Richard Bruce
Zora Neale Hurston
Aaron Douglas
John Davis

_Table of Contents_

COVER DESIGNS _Aaron Douglas_

FOREWORD 1

DRAWING _Richard Bruce_ 4

CORDELIA THE CRUDE, A Harlem Sketch _Wallace Thurman_ 5

COLOR STRUCK, A Play in Four Scenes _Zora Neale Hurston_ 7

FLAME FROM THE DARK TOWER _A Section of Poetry_ 15

_Countee Cullen_
_Edward Silvera_
_Langston Hughes_
_Helene Johnson_
_Waring Cuney_
_Arna Bontemps_
_Lewis Alexander_

DRAWING _Richard Bruce_ 24

WEDDING DAY, A Story _Gwendolyn Bennett_ 25

THREE DRAWINGS _Aaron Douglas_ 29

SMOKE, LILIES AND JADE, A Novel, Part I _Richard Bruce_ 33

SWEAT, A Story _Zora Neale Hurston_ 40

INTELLIGENTSIA, An Essay _Arthur Huff Fauset_ 45

FIRE BURNS, Editorial Comment _Wallace Thurman_ 47

INCIDENTAL ART DECORATIONS _Aaron Douglas_

Volume One Number One

EDITORIAL OFFICES
314 West 138th Street, New York City
Price $1.00 per copy Issued Quarterly

FIRE!!
DEVOTED T^o YOUNGER NEGRO ARTISTS
]

Cordelia the Crude

_Physically_, if not mentally, Cordelia was a potential prostitute, meaning that although she had not yet realized the moral import of her wanton promiscuity nor become mercenary, she had, nevertheless, become quite blasé and bountiful in the matter of bestowing sexual favors upon persuasive and likely young men. Yet, despite her seeming lack of discrimination, Cordelia was quite particular about the type of male to whom she submitted, for numbers do not necessarily denote a lack of taste, and Cordelia had discovered after several months of active observation that one could find the qualities one admires or reacts positively to in a varied hodge-podge of outwardly different individuals.

The scene of Cordelia’s activities was The Roosevelt Motion Picture Theatre on Seventh Avenue near 145th Street. Thrice weekly the program changed, and thrice weekly Cordelia would plunk down the necessary twenty-five cents evening admission fee, and saunter gaily into the foul-smelling depths of her favorite cinema shrine. The Roosevelt Theatre presented all of the latest pictures, also, twice weekly, treated its audiences to a vaudeville bill, then too, one could always have the most delightful physical contacts ... hmm....

Cordelia had not consciously chosen this locale nor had there been any conscious effort upon her part to take advantage of the extra opportunities afforded for physical pleasure. It had just happened that the Roosevelt Theatre was more close to her home than any other neighborhood picture palace, and it had also just happened that Cordelia had become almost immediately initiated into the ways of a Harlem theatre chippie soon after her discovery of the theatre itself.

It is the custom of certain men and boys who frequent these places to idle up and down the aisle until some female is seen sitting alone, to slouch down into a seat beside her, to touch her foot or else press her leg in such a way that it can be construed as accidental if necessary, and then, if the female is wise or else shows signs of willingness to become wise, to make more obvious approaches until, if successful, the approached female will soon be chatting with her baiter about the picture being shown, lolling in his arms, and helping to formulate plans for an after-theatre rendezvous. Cordelia had, you see, shown a willingness to become wise upon her second visit to The Roosevelt. In a short while she had even learned how to squelch the bloated, lewd faced Jews and eager middle aged Negroes who might approach as well as how to inveigle the likeable little yellow or brown half men, embryo avenue sweetbacks, with their well modeled heads, stickily plastered hair, flaming cravats, silken or broadcloth shirts, dirty underwear, low cut vests, form fitting coats, bell-bottom trousers and shiny shoes with metal cornered heels clicking with a brave, brazen rhythm upon the bare concrete floor as their owners angled and searched for prey.

Cordelia, sixteen years old, matronly mature, was an undisciplined, half literate product of rustic South Carolina, and had come to Harlem very much against her will with her parents and her six brothers and sisters. Against her will because she had not been at all anxious to leave the lackadaisical life of the little corn pone settlement where she had been born, to go trooping into the unknown vastness of New York, for she had been in love, passionately in love with one John Stokes who raised pigs, and who, like his father before him, found the raising of pigs so profitable that he could not even consider leaving Lintonville. Cordelia had blankly informed her parents that she would not go with them when they decided to be lured to New York by an older son who had remained there after the demobilization of the war time troops. She had even threatened to run away with John until they should be gone, but of course John could not leave his pigs, and John’s mother was not very keen on having Cordelia for a daughter-in-law--those Joneses have bad mixed blood in ’em--so Cordelia had had to join the Gotham bound caravan and leave her lover to his succulent porkers.

However, the mere moving to Harlem had not doused the rebellious flame. Upon arriving Cordelia had not only refused to go to school and refused to hold even the most easily held job, but had also victoriously defied her harassed parents so frequently when it came to matters of discipline that she soon found herself with a mesmerizing lack of home restraint, for the stress of trying to maintain themselves and their family in the new environment was far too much of a task for Mr. and Mrs. Jones to attend to facilely and at the same time try to control a recalcitrant child. So, when Cordelia had refused either to work or to attend school, Mrs. Jones herself had gone out for day’s work, leaving Cordelia at home to take care of their five room railroad flat, the front room of which was rented out to a couple “living together,” and to see that the younger children, all of whom were of school age, made their four trips daily between home and the nearby public school--as well as see that they had their greasy, if slim, food rations and an occasional change of clothing. Thus Cordelia’s days were full--and so were her nights. The only difference being that the days belonged to the folks at home while the nights (since the folks were too tired or too sleepy to know or care when she came in or went out) belonged to her and to--well--whosoever will, let them come.

Cordelia had been playing this hectic, entrancing game for six months and was widely known among a certain group of young men and girls on the avenue as a fus’ class chippie when she and I happened to enter the theatre simultaneously. She had clumped down the aisle before me, her open galoshes swishing noisily, her two arms busy wriggling themselves free from the torn sleeve lining of a shoddy imitation fur coat that one of her mother’s wash clients had sent to her. She was of medium height and build, with overly developed legs and bust, and had a clear, keen light brown complexion. Her too slick, too naturally bobbed hair, mussed by the removing of a tight, black turban was of an undecided nature, i.e., it was undecided whether to be kinky or to be kind, and her body, as she sauntered along in the partial light had such a conscious sway of invitation that unthinkingly I followed, slid into the same row of seats and sat down beside her.

Naturally she had noticed my pursuit, and thinking that I was eager to play the game, let me know immediately that she was wise, and not the least bit averse to spooning with me during the evening’s performance. Interested, and, I might as well confess, intrigued physically, I too became wise, and played up to her with all the fervor, or so I thought, of an old timer, but Cordelia soon remarked that I was different from mos’ of des’ sheiks, and when pressed for an explanation brazenly told me in a slightly scandalized and patronizing tone that I had not even felt her legs...!

At one o’clock in the morning we strolled through the snowy bleakness of one hundred and forty-fourth street between Lenox and Fifth Avenues to the walk-up tenement flat in which she lived, and after stamping the snow from our feet, pushed through the double outside doors, and followed the dismal hallway to the rear of the building where we began the tedious climbing of the crooked, creaking, inconveniently narrow stairway. Cordelia had informed me earlier in the evening that she lived on the top floor--four flights up east side rear--and on our way we rested at each floor and at each half way landing, rested long enough to mingle the snowy dampness of our respective coats, and to hug clumsily while our lips met in an animal kiss.

Finally only another half flight remained, and instead of proceeding as was usual after our amourous demonstration I abruptly drew away from her, opened my overcoat, plunged my hand into my pants pocket, and drew out two crumpled one dollar bills which I handed to her, and then, while she stared at me foolishly, I muttered good-night, confusedly pecked her on her cold brown cheek, and darted down into the creaking darkness.

Six months later I was taking two friends of mine, lately from the provinces, to a Saturday night house-rent party in a well known whore house on one hundred and thirty-fourth street near Lenox Avenue. The place as we entered seemed to be a chaotic riot of raucous noise and clashing color all rhythmically merging in the red, smoke filled room. And there I saw Cordelia savagely careening in a drunken abortion of the Charleston and surrounded by a perspiring circle of handclapping enthusiasts. Finally fatigued, she whirled into an abrupt finish, and stopped so that she stared directly into my face, but being dizzy from the calisthenic turns and the cauterizing liquor she doubted that her eyes recognized someone out of the past, and, visibly trying to sober herself, languidly began to dance a slow drag with a lean hipped pimply faced yellow man who had walked between her and me. At last he released her, and seeing that she was about to leave the room I rushed forward calling Cordelia?--as if I was not yet sure who it was. Stopping in the doorway, she turned to see who had called, and finally recognizing me said simply, without the least trace of emotion--’Lo kid....

And without another word turned her back and walked into the hall to where she joined four girls standing there. Still eager to speak, I followed and heard one of the girls ask: Who’s the dicty kid?...

And Cordelia answered: The guy who gimme ma’ firs’ two bucks....

WALLACE THURMAN.

Color Struck

_A Play in Four Scenes_

_Time: Twenty years ago and present._ _Place: A Southern City._

PERSONS

JOHN _A light brown-skinned man_
EMMALINE _A black woman_
WESLEY _A boy who plays an accordion_
EMMALINE’S DAUGHTER _A very white girl_
EFFIE _A mulatto girl_
A RAILWAY CONDUCTOR A DOCTOR
_Several who play mouth organs, guitars, banjos._
_Dancers, passengers, etc._

SETTING.--_Early night. The inside of a “Jim Crow” railway coach. The car is parallel to the footlights. The seats on the down stage side of the coach are omitted. There are the luggage racks above the seats. The windows are all open. There are exits in each end of the car--right and left._

ACTION.--_Before the curtain goes up there is the sound of a locomotive whistle and a stopping engine, loud laughter, many people speaking at once, good-natured shrieks, strumming of stringed instruments, etc. The ascending curtain discovers a happy lot of Negroes boarding the train dressed in the gaudy, tawdry best of 1900. They are mostly in couples--each couple bearing a covered-over market basket which the men hastily deposit in the racks as they scramble for seats. There is a little friendly pushing and shoving. One pair just miss a seat three times, much to the enjoyment of the crowd. Many “plug” silk hats are in evidence, also sun-flowers in button holes. The women are showily dressed in the manner of the time, and quite conscious of their finery. A few seats remain unoccupied._

_Enter Effie (left) above, with a basket._ ONE OF THE MEN (_standing, lifting his “plug” in a grand manner_). Howdy do, Miss Effie, you’se lookin’ jes lak a rose.

(_Effie blushes and is confused. She looks up and down for a seat._) Fack is, if you wuzn’t walkin’ long, ah’d think you _wuz_ a rose--(_he looks timidly behind her and the others laugh_). Looka here, where’s Sam at?

EFFIE (_tossing her head haughtily_). I don’t know an’ I don’t keer.

THE MAN (_visibly relieved_). Then lemme scorch you to a seat. (_He takes her basket and leads her to a seat center of the car, puts the basket in the rack and seats himself beside her with his hat at a rakish angle._)

MAN (_sliding his arm along the back of the seat_). How come Sam ain’t heah--y’ll on a bust?

EFFIE (_angrily_). A man dat don’t buy me nothin tuh put in _mah_ basket, ain’t goin’ wid _me_ tuh no cake walk. (_The hand on the seat touches her shoulder and she thrusts it away_). Take yo’ arms from ’round me, Dinky! Gwan hug yo’ Ada!

MAN (_in mock indignation_). Do you think I’d look at Ada when Ah got a chance tuh be wid you? Ah always wuz sweet on you, but you let ole Mullet-head Sam cut me out.

ANOTHER MAN (_with head out of the window_). Just look at de darkies coming! (_With head inside coach._) Hey, Dinky! Heah come Ada wid a great big basket.

(_Dinky jumps up from beside Effie and rushes to exit right. In a moment they re-enter and take a seat near entrance. Everyone in coach laughs. Dinky’s girl turns and calls back to Effie._)

GIRL. Where’s Sam, Effie?

EFFIE. Lawd knows, Ada.

GIRL. Lawd a mussy! Who you gointer walk de cake wid?

EFFIE. Nobody, Ah reckon, John and Emma gointer win it nohow. They’s the bestest cake walkers in dis state.

ADA. You’se better than Emma any day in de week. Cose Sam cain’t walk lake John. (_She stands up and scans the coach._) Looka heah, ain’t John an’ Emma going? They ain’t on heah!

(_The locomotive bell begins to ring._)

EFFIE. Mah Gawd, s’pose dey got left!

MAN (_with head out of window_). Heah they come, nip and tuck--whoo-ee! They’se gonna make it! (_He waves excitedly._) Come on Jawn! (_Everybody crowds the windows, encouraging them by gesture and calls. As the whistle blows twice, and the train begins to move, they enter panting and laughing at left. The only seat left is the one directly in front of Effie._)

DINKY (_standing_). Don’t y’all skeer us no mo’ lake dat! There couldn’t be no cake walk thout y’all. Dem shad-mouf St. Augustine coons would win dat cake and we would have tuh kill ’em all bodaciously.

JOHN. It was Emmaline nearly made us get left. She says I wuz smiling at Effie on the street car and she had to get off and wait for another one.

EMMA (_removing the hatpins from her hat, turns furiously upon him_). You wuz grinning at her and she wuz grinning back jes lake a ole chessy cat!

JOHN (_positively_). I wuzn’t.

EMMA (_about to place her hat in rack_). You wuz. I seen you looking jes lake a possum.

JOHN. I wuzn’t. I never gits a chance tuh smile at nobody--you won’t let me.

EMMA. Jes the same every time you sees a yaller face, you _takes_ a chance. (_They sit down in peeved silence for a minute._)

DINKY. Ada, les we all sample de basket. I bet you got huckleberry pie.

ADA. No I aint, I got peach an’ tater pies, but we aint gonna tetch a thing tell we gits tuh de hall.

DINKY (_mock alarm_). Naw, don’t do dat! It’s all right tuh save the fried chicken, but pies is _always_ et on trains.

ADA. Aw shet up! (_He struggles with her for a kiss. She slaps him but finally yields._)

JOHN (_looking behind him_). Hellow, Effie, where’s Sam?

EFFIE. Deed, I don’t know.

JOHN. Y’all on a bust?

EMMA. None ah yo’ bizness, you got enough tuh mind yo’ own self. Turn ’round!

(_She puts up a pouting mouth and he snatches a kiss. She laughs just as he kisses her again and there is a resounding smack which causes the crowd to laugh. And cries of_ “Oh you kid!” “Salty dog!”)

(_Enter conductor left calling tickets cheerfully and laughing at the general merriment._)

CONDUCTOR. I hope somebody from Jacksonville wins this cake.

JOHN. You live in the “Big Jack?”

CONDUCTOR. Sure do. And I wanta taste a piece of that cake on the way back tonight.

JOHN. Jes rest easy--them Augustiners aint gonna smell it. (_Turns to Emma._) Is they, baby?

EMMA. Not if Ah kin help it.

_Somebody with a guitar sings_: “Ho babe, mah honey taint no lie.”

(_The conductor takes up tickets, passes on and exits right._)

WESLEY. Look heah, you cake walkers--y’all oughter git up and limber up yo’ joints. I heard them folks over to St. Augustine been oiling up wid goose-grease, and over to Ocala they been rubbing down in snake oil.

A WOMAN’S VOICE. You better shut up, Wesley, you just joined de church last month. Somebody’s going to tell the pastor on you.

WESLEY. Tell it, tell it, take it up and smell it. Come on out you John and Emma and Effie, and limber up.

JOHN. Naw, we don’t wanta do our walking steps---nobody won’t wanta see them when we step out at the hall. But we kin do something else just to warm ourselves up.

(_Wesley begins to play “Goo Goo Eyes” on his accordion, the other instruments come in one by one and John and Emma step into the aisle and “parade” up and down the aisle--Emma holding up her skirt, showing the lace on her petticoats. They two-step back to their seat amid much applause._)

WESLEY. Come on out, Effie! Sam aint heah so you got to hold up his side too. Step on out. (_There is a murmur of applause as she steps into the aisle. Wesley strikes up “I’m gointer live anyhow till I die.” It is played quite spiritedly as Effie swings into the pas-me-la_--)

WESLEY (_in ecstasy_). Hot stuff I reckon! Hot stuff I reckon! (_The musicians are stamping. Great enthusiasm. Some clap time with hands and feet. She hurls herself into a modified Hoochy Koochy, and finishes up with an ecstatic yell._)

_There is a babble of talk and laughter and exultation._

JOHN (_applauding loudly_). If dat Effie can’t step nobody can.

EMMA. Course you’d say so cause it’s her. Everything she do is pretty to you.

JOHN (_caressing her_). Now don’t say that, Honey. Dancing is dancing no matter who is doing it. But nobody can hold a candle to you in nothing.

(_Some men are heard tuning up--getting pitch to sing. Four of them crowd together in one seat and begin the chorus of “Daisies Won’t Tell.” John and Emma grow quite affectionate._)

JOHN (_kisses her_). Emma, what makes you always picking a fuss with me over some yaller girl. What makes you so jealous, nohow? I don’t do nothing.

(_She clings to him, but he turns slightly away. The train whistle blows, there is a slackening of speed. Passengers begin to take down baskets from their racks._)

EMMA. John! John, don’t you want me to love you, honey?

JOHN (_turns and kisses her slowly_). Yes, I want you to love me, you know I do. But I don’t like to be accused o’ ever light colored girl in the world. It hurts my feeling. I don’t want you to be jealous like you are.

(_Enter at right Conductor, crying “St. Augustine, St. Augustine.” He exits left. The crowd has congregated at the two exits, pushing good-naturedly and joking. All except John and Emma. They are still seated with their arms about each other._)

EMMA (_sadly_). Then you don’t want my love, John, cause I can’t help mahself from being jealous. I loves you so hard, John, and jealous love is the only kind I got.

(_John kisses her very feelingly._)

EMMA. Just for myself alone is the only way I knows how to love.

(_They are standing in the aisle with their arms about each other as the curtain falls._)

SCENE II

SETTING.--_A weather-board hall. A large room with the joists bare. The place has been divided by a curtain of sheets stretched on a rope across from left to right. From behind the curtain there are occasional sounds of laughter, a note or two on a stringed instrument or accordion. General stir. That is the dance hall. The front is the ante-room where the refreshments are being served. A “plank” seat runs all around the hall, along the walls. The lights are kerosene lamps with reflectors. They are fixed to the wall. The lunch-baskets are under the seat. There is a table on either side upstage with a woman behind each. At one, ice cream is sold, at the other, roasted peanuts and large red-and-white sticks of peppermint candy._

_People come in by twos and threes, laughing, joking, horse-plays, gauchily flowered dresses, small waists, bulging hips and busts, hats worn far back on the head, etc. People from Ocala greet others from Palatka, Jacksonville, St. Augustine, etc._

_Some find seats in the ante-room, others pass on into the main hall._

_Enter the Jacksonville delegation, laughing, pushing proudly._

DINKY. Here we is, folks--here we is. Gointer take dat cake on back tuh Jacksonville where it belongs.

MAN. Gwan! Whut wid you mullet-head Jacksonville Coons know whut to do wid a cake. It’s gointer stay right here in Augustine where de _good_ cake walkers grow.

DINKY. Taint no ‘Walkers’ never walked till John and Emmaline prance out--you mighty come a tootin’.

_Great laughing and joshing as more people come in. John and Emma are encouraged, urged on to win._

EMMA. Let’s we git a seat, John, and set down.

JOHN. Sho will--nice one right over there.

(_They push over to wall seat, place basket underneath, and sit. Newcomers shake hands with them and urge them on to win._)

(_Enter Joe Clarke and a small group. He is a rotund, expansive man with a liberal watch chain and charm._)

DINKY (_slapping Clarke on the back_). If you don’t go ’way from here! Lawdy, if it aint Joe.

CLARKE (_jovially_). Ah thought you had done forgot us people in Eatonville since you been living up here in Jacksonville.

DINKY. Course Ah aint. (_Turning._) Looka heah folks! Joe Clarke oughta be made chairman uh dis meetin’--Ah mean Past Great-Grand Master of Ceremonies, him being the onliest mayor of de onliest colored town in de state.

GENERAL CHORUS. Yeah, let him be--thass fine, etc.

DINKY (_setting his hat at a new angle and throwing out his chest_). And Ah’ll scorch him to de platform. Ahem!

(_Sprinkling of laughter as Joe Clarke is escorted into next room by Dinky._)

(_The musicians are arriving one by one during this time. A guitar, accordion, mouth organ, banjo, etc. Soon there is a rapping for order heard inside and the voice of Joe Clarke._)

JOE CLARKE. Git yo’ partners one an’ all for de gran’ march! Git yo’ partners, gent-mens!

A MAN (_drawing basket from under bench_). Let’s we all eat first.

(_John and Emma go buy ice-cream. They coquettishly eat from each other’s spoons. Old Man Lizzimore crosses to Effie and removes his hat and bows with a great flourish._)

LIZZIMORE. Sam ain’t here t’night, is he, Effie.

EFFIE (_embarrassed_). Naw suh, he aint.

LIZZ. Well, you like chicken? (_Extends arm to her._) Take a wing!

(_He struts her up to the table amid the laughter of the house. He wears no collar._)

JOHN (_squeezes Emma’s hand_). You certainly is a ever loving mamma--when you aint mad.

EMMA (_smiles sheepishly_). You oughtn’t to make me mad then.

JOHN. Ah don’t make you! You makes yo’self mad, den blame it on me. Ah keep on tellin’ you Ah don’t love nobody but you. Ah knows heaps uh half-white girls Ah could git ef Ah wanted to. But (_he squeezes her hard again_) Ah jus’ wants _you_! You know what they say! De darker de berry, de sweeter de taste!

EMMA (_pretending to pout_). Oh, you tries to run over me an’ keep it under de cover, but Ah won’t let yuh. (_Both laugh._) Les’ we eat our basket!

JOHN. Alright. (_He pulls the basket out and she removes the table cloth. They set the basket on their knees and begin to eat fried chicken._)

MALE VOICE. Les’ everybody eat--motion’s done carried. (_Everybody begins to open baskets. All have fried chicken. Very good humor prevails. Delicacies are swapped from one basket to the other. John and Emma offer the man next them some supper. He takes a chicken leg. Effie crosses to John and Emma with two pieces of pie on a plate._)

EFFIE. Y’ll have a piece uh mah blueberry pie--it’s mighty nice! (_She proffers it with a timid smile to Emma who “freezes” up instantly._)

EMMA. Naw! We don’t want no pie. We got cocoanut layer-cake.

JOHN. Ah--Ah think ah’d choose a piece uh pie, Effie. (_He takes it._) Will you set down an’ have a snack wid us? (_He slides over to make room._)

EFFIE (_nervously_). Ah, naw, Ah got to run on back to mah basket, but Ah thought maybe y’ll mout’ want tuh taste mah pie. (_She turns to go._)

JOHN. Thank you, Effie. It’s mighty good, too. (_He eats it. Effie crosses to her seat. Emma glares at her for a minute, then turns disgustedly away from the basket. John catches her shoulder and faces her around._)

JOHN (_pleadingly_). Honey, be nice. Don’t act lak dat!

EMMA (_jerking free_). Naw, you done ruint mah appetite now, carryin’ on wid dat punkin-colored ole gal.

JOHN. Whut kin Ah do? If you had a acted polite Ah wouldn’t a had nothin’ to say.

EMMA. Naw, youse jus’ hog-wile ovah her cause she’s half-white! No matter whut Ah say, you keep carryin’ on wid her. Act polite? Naw Ah aint gonna be deceitful an’ bust mah gizzard fuh nobody! Let her keep her dirty ole pie ovah there where she is!

JOHN (_looking around to see if they are overheard_). Sh-sh! Honey, you mustn’t talk so loud.

EMMA (_louder_). Ah-Ah aint gonna bite mah tongue! If she don’t like it she can lump it. Mah back is broad--(_John tries to cover her mouth with his hand_). She calls herself a big cigar, but _I_ kin smoke her!

(_The people are laughing and talking for the most part and pay no attention. Effie is laughing and talking to those around her and does not hear the tirade. The eating is over and everyone is going behind the curtain. John and Emma put away their basket like the others, and sit glum. Voice of Master-of-ceremonies can be heard from beyond curtain announcing the pas-me-la contest. The contestants, mostly girls, take the floor. There is no music except the clapping of hands and the shouts of “Parse-me-lah” in time with the hand-clapping. At the end Master announces winner. Shadows seen on curtain._)

MASTER. Mathilda Clarke is winner--if she will step forward she will receive a beautiful wook fascinator. (_The girl goes up and receives it with great hand-clapping and good humor._) And now since the roosters is crowin’ foah midnight, an’ most of us got to git up an’ go to work tomorrow, The Great Cake Walk will begin. Ah wants de floor cleared, cause de representatives of de several cities will be announced an’ we wants ’em to take de floor as their names is called. Den we wants ’em to do a gran’ promenade roun’ de hall. An’ they will then commence to walk fuh de biggest cake ever baked in dis state. Ten dozen eggs--ten pounds of flour--ten pounds of butter, and so on and so forth. Now then--(_he strikes a pose_) for St. Augustine--

Miss Lucy Taylor, Mr. Ned Coles.

(_They step out amid applause and stand before stage._)

For Daytona--

Miss Janie Bradley, Enoch Nixon.

(_Same business._)

For Ocala--

Miss Docia Boger, Mr. Oscar Clarke.

(_Same business._)

For Palatka--

Miss Maggie Lemmons, Mr. Senator Lewis.

(_Same business._)

And for Jacksonville the most popular “walkers” in de state--

Miss Emmaline Beazeby, Mr. John Turner.

(_Tremendous applause. John rises and offers his arm grandiloquently to Emma._)

EMMA (_pleadingly, and clutching his coat_). John let’s we all don’t go in there with all them. Let’s we all go on home.

JOHN (_amazed_). Why, Emma?

EMMA. Cause, cause all them girls is going to pulling and hauling on you, and--

JOHN (_impatiently_). Shucks! Come on. Don’t you hear the people clapping for us and calling our names? Come on!

(_He tries to pull her up--she tries to drag him back._)

Come on, Emma! Taint no sense in your acting like this. The band is playing for us. Hear ’em? (_He moves feet in a dance step._)

EMMA. Naw, John, Ah’m skeered. I loves you--I--.

(_He tries to break away from her. She is holding on fiercely._)

JOHN. I got to go! I been practising almost a year--I--we done come all the way down here. I can walk the cake, Emma--we got to--I got to go in! (_He looks into her face and sees her tremendous fear._) What you skeered about?

EMMA (_hopefully_). You won’t go in--You’ll come on go home with me all by ourselves. Come on John. I can’t, I just can’t go in there and see all them girls--Effie hanging after you--.

JOHN. I got to go in--(_he removes her hand from his coat_)--whether you come with me or not.

EMMA. Oh--them yaller wenches! How I hate ’em! They gets everything they wants--.

VOICE INSIDE. We are waiting for the couple from Jacksonville--Jacksonville! Where is the couple from--.

(_Wesley parts the curtain and looks out._)

WESLEY. Here they is out here spooning! You all can’t even hear your names called. Come on John and Emma.

JOHN. Coming. (_He dashes inside. Wesley stands looking at Emma in surprise._)

WESLEY. What’s the matter, Emma? You and John spatting again? (_He goes back inside._)

EMMA (_calmly bitter_). He went and left me. If we is spatting we done had our last one. (_She stands and clenches her fists._) Ah, mah God! He’s in there with her--Oh, them half whites, they gets everything, they gets everything everybody else wants! The men, the jobs--everything! The whole world is got a sign on it. Wanted: Light colored. Us blacks was made for cobble stones. (_She muffles a cry and sinks limp upon the seat._)

VOICE INSIDE. Miss Effie Jones will walk for Jacksonville with Mr. John Turner in place of Miss Emmaline Beazeley.

SCENE III--_Dance Hall_

_Emma springs to her feet and flings the curtains wide open. She stands staring at the gay scene for a moment defiantly, then creeps over to a seat along the wall and shrinks into the Spanish Moss, motionless._

_Dance hall decorated with palmetto leaves and Spanish Moss--a flag or two. Orchestra consists of guitar, mandolin, banjo, accordion, church organ and drum._

MASTER (_on platform_). Couples take yo’ places! When de music starts, gentlemen parade yo’ ladies once round de hall, den de walk begins. (_The music begins. Four men come out from behind the platform bearing a huge chocolate cake. The couples are “prancing” in their tracks. The men lead off the procession with the cake--the contestants make a grand slam around the hall._)

MASTER. Couples to de floor! Stan’ back, ladies an’ gentlemen--give ’em plenty room.

(_Music changes to “Way Down in Georgia.” Orchestra sings. Effie takes the arm that John offers her and they parade to the other end of the hall. She takes her place. John goes back upstage to the platform, takes off his silk hat in a graceful sweep as he bows deeply to Effie. She lifts her skirts and curtsies to the floor. Both smile broadly. They advance toward each other, meet midway, then, arm in arm, begin to “strut.” John falters as he faces her, but recovers promptly and is perfection in his style. (Seven to nine minutes to curtain.) Fervor of spectators grows until all are taking part in some way--either hand-clapping or singing the words. At curtain they have reached frenzy._)

QUICK CURTAIN

(_It stays down a few seconds to indicate ending of contest and goes up again on John and Effie being declared winners by Judges._)

MASTER (_on platform, with John and Effie on the floor before him_). By unanimous decision de cake goes to de couple from Jacksonville! (_Great enthusiasm. The cake is set down in the center of the floor and the winning couple parade around it arm in arm. John and Effie circle the cake happily and triumphantly. The other contestants, and then the entire assembly fall in behind and circle the cake, singing and clapping. The festivities continue. The Jacksonville quartet step upon the platform and sing a verse and chorus of “Daisies won’t tell.” Cries of “Hurrah for Jacksonville! Glory for the big town,” “Hurrah for Big Jack.”_)

A MAN (_seeing Emma_). You’re from Jacksonville, aint you? (_He whirls her around and around._) Aint you happy? Whoopee! (_He releases her and she drops upon a seat. She buries her face in the moss._)

(_Quartet begins on chorus again. People are departing, laughing, humming, with quartet cheering. John, the cake, and Effie being borne away in triumph._)

SCENE IV

TIME--_present. The interior of a one-room shack in an alley. There is a small window in the rear wall upstage left. There is an enlarged crayon drawing of a man and woman--man sitting cross-legged, woman standing with her hand on his shoulder. A center table, red cover, a low, cheap rocker, two straight chairs, a small kitchen stove at left with a wood-box beside it, a water-bucket on a stand close by. A hand towel and a wash basin. A shelf of dishes above this. There is an ordinary oil lamp on the center table but it is not lighted when the curtain goes up. Some light enters through the window and falls on the woman seated in the low rocker. The door is center right. A cheap bed is against the upstage wall. Someone is on the bed but is lying so that the back is toward the audience._

ACTION--_As the curtain rises, the woman is seen rocking to and fro in the low rocker. A dead silence except for the sound of the rocker and an occasional groan from the bed. Once a faint voice says “water” and the woman in the rocker arises and carries the tin dipper to the bed._

WOMAN. No mo’ right away--Doctor says not too much. (_Returns dipper to pail.--Pause._) You got right much fever--I better go git the doctor agin.

(_There comes a knocking at the door and she stands still for a moment, listening. It comes again and she goes to door but does not open it._)

WOMAN. Who’s that?

VOICE OUTSIDE. Does Emma Beasely live here?

EMMA. Yeah--(_pause_)--who is it?

VOICE. It’s me--John Turner.

EMMA (_puts hands eagerly on the fastening_). John? Did you say John Turner?

VOICE. Yes, Emma, it’s me.

(_The door is opened and the man steps inside._)

EMMA. John! Your hand (_she feels for it and touches it_). John flesh and blood.

JOHN (_laughing awkwardly_). It’s me alright, old girl. Just as bright as a basket of chips. Make a light quick so I can see how you look. I’m crazy to see you. Twenty years is a long time to wait, Emma.

EMMA (_nervously_). Oh, let’s we all just sit in the dark awhile. (_Apologetically._) I wasn’t expecting nobody and my house aint picked up. Sit down. (_She draws up the chair. She sits in rocker._)

JOHN. Just to think! Emma! Me and Emma sitting down side by each. Know how I found you?

EMMA (_dully_). Naw. How?

JOHN (_brightly_). Soon’s I got in town I hunted up Wesley and he told me how to find you. That’s who I come to see, you!

EMMA. Where you been all these years, up North somewheres? Nobody round here could find out where you got to.

JOHN. Yes, up North. Philadelphia.

EMMA. Married yet?

JOHN. Oh yes, seventeen years ago. But my wife is dead now and so I came as soon as it was decent to find _you_. I wants to marry you. I couldn’t die happy if I didn’t. Couldn’t get over you--couldn’t forget. Forget me, Emma?

EMMA. Naw, John. How could I?

JOHN (_leans over impulsively to catch her hand_). Oh, Emma, I love you so much. Strike a light honey so I can see you--see if you changed much. You was such a handsome girl!

EMMA. We don’t exactly need no light, do we, John, tuh jus’ set an’ talk?

JOHN. Yes, we do, Honey. Gwan, make a light. Ah wanna see you.

(_There is a silence._)

EMMA. Bet you’ wife wuz some high-yaller dickty-doo.

JOHN. Naw she wasn’t neither. She was jus’ as much like you as Ah could get her. Make a light an’ Ah’ll show you her pictcher. Shucks, ah gotta look at mah old sweetheart. (_He strikes a match and holds it up between their faces and they look intently at each other over it until it burns out._) You aint changed none atall, Emma, jus’ as pretty as a speckled pup yet.

EMMA (_lighter_). Go long, John! (_Short pause_) ’member how you useter bring me magnolias?

JOHN. Do I? Gee, you was sweet! ’Member how Ah useter pull mah necktie loose so you could tie it back for me? Emma, Ah can’t see to mah soul how we lived all this time, way from one another. ’Member how you useter make out mah ears had done run down and you useter screw ’em up agin for me? (_They laugh._)

EMMA. Yeah, Ah useter think you wuz gointer be mah husban’ then--but you let dat ole--.

JOHN. Ah aint gonna let you alibi on me lak dat. Light dat lamp! You cain’t look me in de eye and say no such. (_He strikes another match and lights the lamp._) Course, Ah don’t wanta look too bossy, but Ah b’lieve you got to marry me tuh git rid of me. That is, if you aint married.

EMMA. Naw, Ah aint. (_She turns the lamp down._)

JOHN (_looking about the room_). Not so good, Emma, But wait till you see dat little place in Philly! Got a little “Rolls-Rough,” too--gointer teach you to drive it, too.

EMMA. Ah been havin’ a hard time, John, an’ Ah lost you--oh, aint nothin’ been right for me! Ah aint never been happy.

(_John takes both of her hands in his._)

JOHN. You gointer be happy now, Emma. Cause Ah’m gointer make you. Gee Whiz! Ah aint but forty-two and you aint forty yet--we got plenty time. (_There is a groan from the bed._) Gee, what’s that?

EMMA (_ill at ease_). Thass mah chile. She’s sick. Reckon Ah bettah see ’bout her.

JOHN. You got a chile? Gee, that great! Ah always wanted one, but didn’t have no luck. Now we kin start off with a family. Girl or boy?

EMMA (_slowly_). A girl. Comin’ tuh see me agin soon, John?

JOHN. Comin’ agin? Ah aint gone yet! We aint talked, you aint kissed me an’ nothin’, and you aint showed me our girl. (_Another groan, more prolonged._) She must be pretty sick--let’s see. (_He turns in his chair and Emma rushes over to the bed and covers the girl securely, tucking her long hair under the covers, too--before he arises. He goes over to the bed and looks down into her face. She is mulatto. Turns to Emma teasingly._) Talkin’ ’bout _me_ liking high-yallers--_yo_ husband musta been pretty near _white_.

EMMA (_slowly_). Ah, never wuz married, John.

JOHN. It’s alright, Emma. (_Kisses her warmly._) Everything is going to be O.K. (_Turning back to the bed._) Our child looks pretty sick, but she’s pretty. (_Feels her forehead and cheek._) Think she oughter have a doctor.

EMMA. Ah done had one. Course Ah cain’t git no specialist an’ nothin’ lak dat. (_She looks about the room and his gaze follows hers._) Ah aint got a whole lot lake you. Nobody don’t git rich in no white-folks’ kitchen, nor in de washtub. You know Ah aint no school-teacher an’ nothin’ lak dat.

(_John puts his arm about her._)

JOHN. It’s all right, Emma. But our daughter is bad off--run out an’ git a doctor--she needs one. Ah’d go if Ah knowed where to find one--you kin git one the quickest--hurry, Emma.

EMMA (_looks from John to her daughter and back again._) She’ll be all right, Ah reckon, for a while. John, you love me--you really want me sho’ nuff?

JOHN. Sure Ah do--think Ah’d come all de way down here for nothin’? Ah wants to marry agin.

EMMA. Soon, John?

JOHN. Real soon.

EMMA. Ah wuz jus’ thinkin’, mah folks is away now on a little trip--be home day after tomorrow--we could git married tomorrow.

JOHN. All right. Now run on after the doctor--we must look after our girl. Gee, she’s got a full suit of hair! Glad you didn’t let her chop it off. (_Looks away from bed and sees Emma standing still._)

JOHN. Emma, run on after the doctor, honey. (_She goes to the bed and again tucks the long braids of hair in, which are again pouring over the side of the bed by the feverish tossing of the girl._) What’s our daughter’s name?

EMMA. Lou Lillian. (_She returns to the rocker uneasily and sits rocking jerkily. He returns to his seat and turns up the light._)

JOHN. Gee, we’re going to be happy--we gointer make up for all them twenty years (_another groan_). Emma, git up an’ gwan git dat doctor. You done forgot Ah’m de boss uh dis family now--gwan, while Ah’m here to watch her whilst you’re gone. Ah got to git back to mah stoppin’-place after a while.

EMMA. You go git one, John.

JOHN. Whilst Ah’m blunderin’ round tryin’ to find one, she’ll be gettin’ worse. She sounds pretty bad--(_takes out his wallet and hands her a bill_)--get a taxi if necessary. Hurry!

EMMA (_does not take the money, but tucks her arms and hair in again, and gives the girl a drink_). Reckon Ah better go git a doctor. Don’t want nothin’ to happen to _her_. After you left, Ah useter have such a hurtin’ in heah (_touches bosom_) till she come an’ eased it some.

JOHN. Here, take some money and get a good doctor. There must be some good colored ones around here now.

EMMA (_scornfully_). I wouldn’t let one of ’em tend my cat if I had one! But let’s we don’t start a fuss.

(_John caresses her again. When he raises his head he notices the picture on the wall and crosses over to it with her--his arm still about her._)

JOHN. Why, that’s you and me!

EMMA. Yes, I never could part with that. You coming tomorrow morning, John, and we’re gointer get married, aint we? Then we can talk over everything.

JOHN. Sure, but I aint gone yet. I don’t see how come we can’t make all our arrangements now.

(_Groans from bed and feeble movement._)

Good lord, Emma, go get that doctor!

(_Emma stares at the girl and the bed and seizes a hat from a nail on the wall. She prepares to go but looks from John to bed and back again. She fumbles about the table and lowers the lamp. Goes to door and opens it. John offers the wallet. She refuses it._)

EMMA. Doctor right around the corner. Guess I’ll leave the door open so she can get some air. She won’t need nothing while I’m gone, John. (_She crosses and tucks the girl in securely and rushes out, looking backward and pushing the door wide open as she exits. John sits in the chair beside the table. Looks about him--shakes his head. The girl on the bed groans_, “water,” “so hot.” _John looks about him excitedly. Gives her a drink. Feels her forehead. Takes a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wets it and places it upon her forehead. She raises her hand to the cool object. Enter Emma running. When she sees John at the bed she is full of fury. She rushes over and jerks his shoulder around. They face each other._)

EMMA. I knowed it! (_She strikes him._) A half white skin. (_She rushes at him again. John staggers back and catches her hands._)

JOHN. Emma!

EMMA (_struggles to free her hands_). Let me go so I can kill you. Come sneaking in here like a pole cat!

JOHN (_slowly, after a long pause_). So this is the woman I’ve been wearing over my heart like a rose for twenty years! She so despises her own skin that she can’t believe any one else could love it!

(_Emma writhes to free herself._)

JOHN. Twenty years! Twenty years of adoration, of hunger, of worship! (_On the verge of tears he crosses to door and exits quietly, closing the door after him._)

(_Emma remains standing, looking dully about as if she is half asleep. There comes a knocking at the door. She rushes to open it. It is the doctor. White. She does not step aside so that he can enter._)

DOCTOR. Well, shall I come in?

EMMA (_stepping aside and laughing a little_). That’s right, doctor, come in.

(_Doctor crosses to bed with professional air. Looks at the girl, feels the pulse and draws up the sheet over the face. He turns to her._)

DOCTOR. Why didn’t you come sooner. I told you to let me know of the least change in her condition.

EMMA (_flatly_). I did come--I went for the doctor.

DOCTOR. Yes, but you waited. An hour more or less is mighty important sometimes. Why didn’t you come?

EMMA (_passes hand over face_). Couldn’t see.

(_Doctor looks at her curiously, then sympathetically takes out a small box of pills, and hands them to her._) Here, you’re worn out. Take one of these every hour and try to get some sleep. (_He departs._)

(_She puts the pill-box on the table, takes up the low rocking chair and places it by the head of the bed. She seats herself and rocks monotonously and stares out of the door. A dry sob now and then. The wind from the open door blows out the lamp and she is seen by the little light from the window rocking in an even, monotonous gait, and sobbing._)

_Flame From the Dark Tower_

A Section of Poetry

_From the Dark Tower_

_We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Nor always countenance, abject and mute,
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
Not everlastingly while others sleep
Shall we beguile their limbs with mellow flute,
Not always bend to some more subtle brute;
We were not made eternally to weep._

_The night whose sable breast relieves the stark,
White stars is no less lovely being dark,
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
In light, but crumple, piteous, and fall.
So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds,
And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds._

COUNTEE CULLEN.

_A Southern Road_

_Yolk-colored tongue
Parched beneath a burning sky,
A lazy little tune
Hummed up the crest of some
Soft sloping hill.
One streaming line of beauty
Flowing by a forest
Pregnant with tears.
A hidden nest for beauty
Idly flung by God
In one lonely lingering hour
Before the Sabbath.
A blue-fruited black gum,
Like a tall predella,
Bears a dangling figure,--
Sacrificial dower to the raff,
Swinging alone,
A solemn, tortured shadow in the air._

HELENE JOHNSON.

_Jungle Taste_

_There is a coarseness
In the songs of black men
Coarse as the songs
Of the sea.
There is a weird strangeness
In the songs of black men
Which sounds not strange
To me._

_There is beauty
In the faces of black women,
Jungle beauty
And mystery.
Dark, hidden beauty
In the faces of black women
Which only black men
See._

_Finality_

_Trees are the souls of men
Reaching skyward.
And while each soul
Draws nearer God
Its dark roots cleave
To earthly sod:
Death, only death
Brings triumph to the soul.
The silent grave alone
Can bare the goal.
Then roots and all
Must lie forgot--
To rot._

EDWARD SILVERA.

_The Death Bed_

_All the time they were praying
He watched the shadow of a tree
Flicker on the wall._

_There is no need of prayer.
He said,
No need at all._

_The kin-folk thought it strange
That he should ask them from a dying bed.
But they left all in a row
And it seemed to ease him
To see them go._

_There were some who kept on praying
In a room across the hall
And some who listened to the breeze
That made the shadows waver
On the wall._

_He tried his nerve
On a song he knew
And made an empty note
That might have come,
From a bird’s harsh throat._

_And all the time it worried him
That they were in there praying
And all the time he wondered
What it was they could be saying._

WARING CUNEY.

_Elevator Boy_

_I got a job now
Runnin’ an elevator
In the Dennison Hotel in Jersey,
Job aint no good though.
No money around.
Jobs are just chances
Like everything else.
Maybe a little luck now,
Maybe not.
Maybe a good job sometimes:
Step out o’ the barrel, boy.
Two new suits an’
A woman to sleep with.
Maybe no luck for a long time.
Only the elevators
Goin’ up an’ down,
Up an’ down,
Or somebody else’s shoes
To shine,
Or greasy pots in a dirty kitchen.
I been runnin’ this
Elevator too long.
Guess I’ll quit now._

LANGSTON HUGHES.

_Railroad Avenue_

_Dusk dark
On Railroad Avenue.
Lights in the fish joints,
Lights in the pool rooms.
A box car some train
Has forgotten
In the middle of the block.
A player piano,
A victrola.
942
Was the number.
A boy
Lounging on the corner.
A passing girl
With purple powdered skin.
Laughter
Suddenly
Like a taut drum.
Laughter
Suddenly
Neither truth nor lie.
Laughter
Hardening the dusk dark evening.
Laughter
Shaking the lights in the fish joints,
Rolling white balls in the pool rooms,
And leaving untouched the box car
Some train has forgotten._

LANGSTON HUGHES.

_Length of Moon_

_Then the golden hour
Will tick its last
And the flame will go down in the flower._

_A briefer length of moon
Will mark the sea-line and the yellow dune._

_Then we may think of this, yet
There will be something forgotten
And something we should forget._