_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.
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[Illustration]
_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!_”
[Illustration]
FIRE!
_A Quarterly Devoted to the Younger Negro Artists_
_Wishes to Thank the Following Persons Who Acted as Patrons For the
First Issue_
[Illustration]
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_
[Illustration]
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
[Illustration]
_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_
[Illustration]
Volume One Number One
EDITORIAL OFFICES
314 West 138th Street, New York City
Price $1.00 per copy Issued Quarterly
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
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.
[Illustration]
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._)
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]