GOAT ALLEY

Goat Alley
A TRAGEDY OF NEGRO LIFE

By
ERNEST HOWARD CULBERTSON

CINCINNATI
STEWART KIDD COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
STEWART KIDD COMPANY

All rights reserved

All acting rights, both amateur and professional, are fully protected
under copyright law and are reserved by the author. Application
to produce Goat Alley must be made to him, in care of
the publishers, Stewart-Kidd Company, Cincinnati.

Printed in the United States of America
The Caxton Press

TO

FREDERIC AND ALICE MULHERN ROBINSON

INTRODUCTION

In a dingy little hall on a side street Mr. Ernest Howard Culbertson began rehearsals of “Goat Alley,” his tragedy of Negro life in a Washington slum. The actors were, with one exception, amateurs—colored working people who gave their time and services for the sake of what they felt to be an artistic expression of the life of their race. The author had no sociological intention; he had no ambition to be a propagandist. He had not even a special interest in the racial problem. He thought that he had come upon an action that has the quality of tragic inevitableness. He thought, furthermore, that tragedy does not reside in pomp and circumstance, but in the profound realities of human helpfulness and human suffering, and that poor Lucy Belle struggling to maintain her spiritual integrity in Goat Alley was a protagonist worthy of the sternest art and the largest sympathy.

He built up his action from within. He saw that the Negro cannot yet hope, like the white man, to transcend common standards. He must first reach them. Hence the Negro girl’s struggle for her own integrity is not yet the struggle of Nora or Magda—the struggle to be true to herself; it is the struggle to remain true to the man of her real choice. To transcend a necessary order one must first have achieved it. The achievement of social order in the moral sense is therefore the right and necessary aim of the Negro proletarian and the right and necessary theme of a drama dealing with his life.

In the play, Lucy Belle fights valiantly her losing fight. Loneliness, poverty, ignorance, terror, drive her from disaster to disaster, from one unwilling infidelity to another. But she never wavers in her soul. In her utter confusion and failure she kills the child that stands between her and all her hopes and at once expiates that action with her own death. Neither the subject nor the circumstances are new. But novelty is no mark of fine literature. The motives, the people, the place, the color of life—these are new. Every triangle play is a “Medea”. There are subjects that are classical because they are native to the character and circumstances of mankind. Such is the subject of “Goat Alley”. The structure is pure and uncompromising. No American play has had a finer or truer moment than that at the end of the second act when Lucy Belle, her lodger lost, her money stolen, her child crying with hunger, consents quietly, yet in such despair, to rent her vacant room to the worthless, ingratiating barber. Hauptmann would not have disdained that quiet moment of rich, tragic implications; Galsworthy would have approved it.

No competent observer will fail to note here the evidence of an effort as serious, as intelligent, as sensitive to the character and quality of what makes tragedy as our recent theatre has produced.

Ludwig Lewisohn.

New York, July, 1921.

GOAT ALLEY

CHARACTERS

Goat Alley was first publicly presented at the Bijou Theatre, New York City, on the evening of June 20, 1921.

ACT I

The curtain rises on the sitting-room of a Negro’s squalid dwelling in Goat Alley, Washington, D. C. At Right Back, there is a door giving directly on the street and when it is open one gets a glimpse of the miserable, tumble-down houses on the opposite side. At Left Back is a window, with one pane broken and an old shirt stuffed in the hole. The one or two old rag-carpet rugs which lie on the floor serve only in a small measure to cover its bareness. Several old, broken and battered chairs stand here and there about the room. At Left Center is a door leading into the other downstairs room of the house. Between it and the wall, Back, is a door opening into a closet.

There is another door, down Right, giving on a flight of stairs which lead to the one upper room of the house. Near the door, Left Center, and toward the front stands a battered table on which lie, in disordered array newspapers and one or two dog-eared books with their backs off. It is evening and a lighted oil lamp, with the chimney badly smoked, rests in the center. The wick is turned low and the guttering flame causes countless shadows to disport themselves eerily about the room. Between the door, Left Center, and the door, up Left, stands a fancy cupboard. There is a large easy chair between the table and the wall, Left Center. Both of these pieces of furniture look out of place in the room.

Flamboyant lithographs, a gilt-framed picture of Jack Johnson, wearing his golden smile, a framed engraving of Abraham Lincoln, and several grotesque crayon portraits of members of the family adorn the dirty and discolored walls. An old corset, a half-eaten roll, and a doll, with its head off, lie about on the floor. A horseshoe is nailed over the center of the door, Back.

Aunt Rebecca, an old coal-black Negress, enters, Back. She wears no hat and has just a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She presents the appearance of an animated mummy. Her eyes are small and bead-like and shine with an uncanny lustre; her hands are long and bony, resembling the talons of a hawk. She glances about inquiringly, gives an impatient grunt, then turns and slowly closes the door.

AUNT REBECCA (in high-pitched raspy tones as she moves to the Center)

Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle!

LUCY BELLE (from the next room)

Dat yo’, Aun’ Becky?

AUNT REBECCA

Yas, honey.

LUCY BELLE

Jes’ a minute. Changin’ mah skirt.

(Aunt Rebecca drops into a chair, Left Center, and begins a weird and doleful chant.)

AUNT REBECCA

Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble! (High treble) Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a!

(Lucy Belle enters, Left. She is a frail, light brown young Negress of about twenty-eight. She has a nervous, hesitant—and sometimes wistful—manner. She wears a plain black waist and a black skirt, patched in several places.)

LUCY BELLE (feelingly, as she kisses Aunt Rebecca)

Aun’ Becky! I’se so glad ter see yo’ agin! ’Deed I is! (Draws up a chair and sits near her.)

AUNT REBECCA (affectionately)

Po’ful glad ter see yo’, honey!

LUCY BELLE

Seem like ole times—seein’ yo’! Lessee—how-some long yo’ all been ’way?

AUNT REBECCA (reflectively)

Um! Um! (Puts a hand to her head and purses her lips.) Dat gin got mah haid all tangle up! Um! Keep tellin’ G’orge whiskey suit me bettah—but he like gin. How long? Um! Um! Gawd-a-massy! Be a yeah in Feb-wary!

(Lucy Belle exclaims incredulously.)

LUCY BELLE

Go ’long!

AUNT REBECCA

Sho’ has! I—I was free mon’s in Cumberlan’ wid Sadie—she dat slim yallow one, yo’ know—got a mole on dis cheek. (Indicates.) Some say dat de reason she so lucky. I ain’ sayin’. Up dere mos’ six mon’s wid Em’ly—she dat fat brown gal. (Lucy Belle nods.) An’ den I reckon ’bout fo’ mon’s in Frederick wid Henry. (Throws back her head proudly.) Henry great big fine lookin’ niggah. Ain’ so lucky, dough. Bawn in de da’k ob de moon.

LUCY BELLE

I ’member him. I ’member seein’ him ’roun’ yere w’en his fader died—ole Uncle Henry,—

AUNT REBECCA (scornfully)

Huh! Dat niggah was’n’ his fader. No, indeedy! Dat lil’ scrootchin’ monkey was’n’ calc’lated ter be de fader ob no boy like Henry.

(Lucy Belle gives an exclamation of surprise. Aunt Rebecca sits in perplexed preoccupation for several moments. At length she speaks very slowly—dragging out the words, one after another.)

AUNT REBECCA

’Deed chile, I kain’t seem ter ’member who Henry’s fader was. Dat gin got mah haid so tangle up.

LUCY BELLE

Lot done happen since yo’ been ’way.

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ I know it! Don’ I know it!

(Fanny Dorsey, a little Negro girl of eight, and Israel Dorsey, a little Negro boy of four, run in, Left.)

FANNY

Mamma! Yo’ all gwine ’way?

LUCY BELLE

I ain’ gwine nowhar.

ISRAEL

Mamma! Git me some candy!

LUCY BELLE (harshly, as she rises)

Yo’ all hush! I ain’ gwine ter git yo’ nuffin!

FANNY

Mamma! I wan’ ter go out an’ play wid Gordy!

LUCY BELLE

Shet up! Yo’ ain’ gwine ter play wid nobody! Git in dere an’ git ter bed! Go ’long! Yo’ yere me? (Threateningly.) Wan’ me ter beat yo’?

ISRAEL

Mamma! Git me—

(Lucy Belle grabs them roughly and pushes them through the door, Left, closing it after them. Their cries are heard for several moments and then gradually cease.)

LUCY BELLE (irritably)

Some day I’se gwine ter git good an’ mad an’ knock dere haids off!

AUNT REBECCA

How’s Sam—?

LUCY BELLE (drops down on a chair near Aunt Rebecca and exclaims ecstatically)

Jes’ great! Aun’ Becky, he’s de bes’ ole budigee in de worl’!

AUNT REBECCA

Ain’ nobody got nuffin’ on Sam.

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ said it! Jes’ as good ter me as he know how ter be. Do ev’ythin’ I ask him.

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ haf ter tell me dat.

LUCY BELLE

He’s de onlies’ niggah I evah loved.

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ make ’em no bettah den Sam.

LUCY BELLE

He’s mah honey-baby, buddy boy!

AUNT REBECCA (with a good-natured chuckle)

Listen ter yo!

LUCY BELLE (her face clouding)

But he ain’ had such good luck lately—.

AUNT REBECCA

How come dat—?

LUCY BELLE

I dunno—. Till ’bout a monf ago he wuk steady fo de Simpson Express Company. Drive a wagon fo’ dem.

AUNT REBECCA

Dat w’at he doin’ w’en I lef’.

LUCY BELLE

Sho’, sho’—. Good job, too. But de wuk gits slack—an’ dey lets him out.

AUNT REBECCA

Go ’long!

LUCY BELLE

He try an’ try ter git anoder job—but could’n’ seem ter fin’ nuffin’. Times is bad, yo’ know. Neah walk his feet off jes’ seein’ ef he kain’t git somefin’ by de day.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ don’ say!

LUCY BELLE

Sam’s as steady as dey make ’em. Ef he ain’ wukkin he jes’ ’bout goes crazy.

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ I know it.

LUCY BELLE

So finally he up an’ gwine ter Baltimo’—an’ gits a job wid de Street Departmen’—diggin’ ditches fo’ wattah mains.

AUNT REBECCA

In Baltimo’—!

LUCY BELLE

Yas, indeedy! I been at him fo’ a long time ter go ovah dere.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ is—!

LUCY BELLE

Aun’ Becky, dey’s some niggahs ’roun’ dis town—dat jes’ watchin’ dere chanct ter blackguard him an me—git back at us any way dey kin.

AUNT REBECCA (with a little snort)

Go ’long, now—w’at yo’ talkin’ ’bout.

LUCY BELLE

Dey sho’ is—! An’ jes as soon as he git somefin’ steady—an’ dat pay a lil’ bettah we gwine ter move ovah dere.

AUNT REBECCA (with a wail)

Gawd-a-massy, w’at yo’ po’ ole Aun’ Becky gwine ter do!

LUCY BELLE

Be mighty sorry ter leave yo’, Aun’ Becky—!

AUNT REBECCA (with facetious fervor)

Why, chile, w’at yo’ ’spose I done come back ter Wash’nin’ fo’?

LUCY BELLE

I know yo’ gwine ter miss me—an’ I’se gwine ter miss yo’—but it tain’ so far away dat I kain’t git ovah—now an’ den. An’ yo’ kin come ovah an’ see me—!

AUNT REBECCA (shaking her head)

Lawsy, lawsy—dat’s de way. Jes’ as soon as yo’ git ter likin’ somebody—dey up an’ gwine ’way.

LUCY BELLE

It gwine ter be bes’ fo’ bof ob us, Aun’ Becky—!

AUNT REBECCA

I reckon yo’ know—but jes’ de same—

LUCY BELLE

An’—an’ terday I feels mo’ like we got ter git ’way den evah.

AUNT REBECCA

How come dat—?

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ know Sam ain’ nevah had nuffin’ much ter do wid oder gals.

AUNT REBECCA (with a nod)

He don’ look like he ’ud chase ’em much.

LUCY BELLE

He don’! He ain’ dat kin’! But—but fo’ de las’ free weeks dey’s a gal dat he uster know—long time ago—keep comin’ ’roun’ yere.

AUNT REBECCA

Go ’long!

LUCY BELLE

Her name Lizzie Gibbs—an’ she de hardes’ ole yallow gal yo’ evah seen.

AUNT REBECCA

She come ’roun’ yere—!

LUCY BELLE

Sam only gits home onct or twict a week—mos’ly only onct. I allas goes ter de do’ w’en he’s yere—an’ ef she come—he duck upstairs fo’ she kin lay eyes on him.

AUNT REBECCA

Would’n’ stan’ fo’ nuffin’ like dat!

LUCY BELLE

W’at yo’ gwine ter do? She so hard she liable ter do anathin’. She—she was yere dis mawnin’. She say she gwine ter keep comin’ ’till she see Sam.

AUNT REBECCA

Gawd-a-massy! Put de po-lice on her—!

LUCY BELLE (shakes her head)

Ef I do dat, she liable ter make trouble—

AUNT REBECCA

W’at trouble kin she make ef dey locks her up?

LUCY BELLE

She might make trouble ’tween me an’ Sam—ef she’s a min’ ter—

AUNT REBECCA

’Tween yo’ an’ Sam—! Go ’long!

LUCY BELLE

Sam don’ care no mo’ fo’ her den he do a rat—but she crazy jealous—

AUNT REBECCA

’Co’se she is—an’ dat’s de reason—

LUCY BELLE (touches Aunt Rebecca on the knee)

I tell yo’ why I got ter go easy wid her—till I see mah way out. Maybe yo’ kin he’p me—

AUNT REBECCA

Sho’—!

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ see she’s de onlies’ one ob all dem blackguardin’ niggahs dat uster live ’roun’ me ovah dere in Carter Street—fo’ I moves yere ter Goat Alley—(Breaks off and stares sombrely into space for several moments, then proceeds with a slight catch in her voice.) Aun’ Becky, I’se had it hard. Ain’ nevah had much luck—’deed I ain’—’cept meetin’ up wid Sam agin.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ ain’ nevah tol’ me much ’bout yo’se’f.

LUCY BELLE

Nevah tol’ nobody—much. W’at’s de use?

AUNT REBECCA

Go on! W’at’s on yo’ min’?

LUCY BELLE

Mah moder died w’en I’se fifteen—an’ Pap goes off ter Texas an’ I ain’ nevah seen him since. Slim—mah bro’der—he was jes’ a lil’ kid—baby mos’—an’ I did’n’ have no oder people.

AUNT REBECCA

Bless yo’ soul—!

LUCY BELLE

Done mos’ anathin’ I could—jes’ ter make a livin’. Wuk in laundries, cook, wait on tables—. Starts gwine ’roun’ wid de boys, too. Yo’ know how a gal is. Meets up wid Sam an’ Jeff Bisbee an’ Ed Cales—an’ a bunch-a oders like dem. Jeff hang ’roun’ aftah me mos’ all de time—an’ Sam do, too. Sam allas a wuk steady—but Jeff, he nevah wukked ’less he had ter. He’s—he a hard niggah—allas drunk, an’ fightin’ an’ shootin’ crap. But—well—yo’ know how a gal is—(Aunt Rebecca grunts and nods.) He looks good ter me, kase he wear swell clothes, an’ spend money free, an’ boas’ how many cops he cut. Was’n’ long, dough, fo’ Jeff git crazy jealous-a Sam—an’ one day—down yere in Four-an’-a-ha’f Street—dey meets up an’ has a fight. (As though somewhat thrilled by the memory of it.) Man-day, but dey flew at each oder! Like a couple-a wildcats! But de po-lice bus’ in on ’em. Dey ketch Jeff—but Sam git away.

AUNT REBECCA

Mah soul—!

LUCY BELLE

Jeff gits six mon’s in de wukhouse. I meets up wid Sam a few days aftah. Like de fool I is—I ’cuses him ob startin’ de fight.

AUNT REBECCA

Hush yo’ mouf!

LUCY BELLE

I did’n’ know who did—’zactly—but I was sore kase Jeff was in jail. He been takin’ me ’roun’, yo’ see—spendin’ lots-a money on me—an’—an’—Oh, well I jes’ a damn fool, kase I ain’ got nobody ter look aftah me. (Shakes her head remorsefully.) Sam gits mad—an’ quits comin’ ’roun’ ter see me. Tells me, now, dat he git de idea dat I didn’t care nuffin’ at all ’bout him. All de time he crazy ’bout me! (Pauses a moment in reverent thought.) He was livin’ ovah in M Street. Ole Lizzie Gibbs livin’ dere, too. Dat’s whar he meets up wid her. She had been foolin’ ’roun’ aftah him fo’ a long time. Aftah dat scrap me an’ him had, he gits so down in de mouf dat he takes up wid her fo’ a while.

AUNT REBECCA

Dat ole yallaw gal yo’ jes’ tellin’ me ’bout?

LUCY BELLE (nodding)

Yas. But only fo’ a lil’ while—he say. He seen right away how hard she was—an’ dat she was’n’ no good—an’ he draps her like a hot tater.

AUNT REBECCA

Reckon he would—!

LUCY BELLE

Den he decides ter beat it—an’ goes off ter Atlanta. Stays dere five yeahs. Only come back yere ’bout a yeah ago.

AUNT REBECCA

An’ yo’ ain’ seen him—all dat time?

LUCY BELLE

No.

AUNT REBECCA

Gawd-a-massy!

LUCY BELLE

But he say he was thinkin’ ’bout me all de time! Nevah fo’git me an’ nevah seen any oder gal dat he like bettah! (Shakes her head.) An’ I sho’ nevah did fo’git him! Ef I’d only stuck ter him. Would’n’ have had ha’f de trouble I is. Yo’ see—yo’ see, aftah he’d been gone a while I began ter see w’at a good fellah he’d been. (Pauses a moment in sombre thought.) While Jeff was in de wukhouse I marries Ed Cales. He uster bootblack on de Avenue an’ carry sample cases fo’ drummers. Fo’ a lil’ while he drive a wagon fo’ a white man dat run a meat stan’ on Louisiana Avenue. But mos’ de time he don’ do nuffin’ but lay ’roun de house. (Contemptuously.) He wasn’ no good—jes’ a loafin’, no-count niggah dat lay ’roun an’ let a gal wuk fo’ him—long as she would stan’ fo’ it. I lives wid him two yeahs. Den one day he say he gwine down ter Richmon’ fo’ a few days, beats it off—an’ I ain’ nevah seen him since.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ lucky ter git rid-a him so easy!

LUCY BELLE (nodding)

’Deed I was! (Sighs heavily.) ’Bout free mon’s aftah dat I meets Jeff Bisbee ovah in Gerner’s one day—an’—an’ he walks home wid me. I’se livin’ ovah in Carter Street den. (Gives a little nervous shudder.) He shoot off his mouf great. Tol’ me how much he think-a me—an’ dat I is de onlies’ gal dat evah got him goin’—an’ all dat kin’-a stuff. He say dat he broke—but dat he ’spec’ ter collec’ some money in a week or two—an’ dat he don’ know w’at he gwine ter do till den. Begs me ter let him stay dere wid me fo’ a few days. (Drops her head and sighs.) I finally does. De longer he stay de harder he git, an’ by-an’-by he say ef I don’ let him stay dere all de time he gwine ter kill me. He say ef I call de po-lice he gwine ter lay fo’ me—an’ watch his chanct—night an’ day—till he git me. Hones’, I gits so scar’t I did’n’ hardly know w’at ter do. An’—an’ so he keeps livin’ on dere wid me—an’ I keeps thinkin’ mo’ an’ mo’ ’bout Sam—an’ wishin’ I’d stuck ter him—an’ dat I knowed whar he was.

AUNT REBECCA

’Deed, honey, I knows how yo’ must-a felt.

LUCY BELLE

He wuk in a livery stable ovah on C Street fo’ a while. Couldn’ git him ter do nuffin’ steady. Mos’ de time he jes’ lay ’roun’ de house an’ guzzle gin—guzzle gin—an’ w’en he ain’ doin’ dat, he out in de alley shootin’ crap wid Mink Hall an’ Slim an’ dat gang.

AUNT REBECCA

He wuss den no-count!

LUCY BELLE

I was a fool, I knows—ter stick ter him. ’Deed I was! But I’se so scar’t an’ down in de mouf dat I ain’ got good sense. (Aunt Rebecca nods sympathetically.) All de time Jeff keep gittin’ harder an’ harder. An’ me wukkin’ mah haid off ter feed him an’ de chillen. Ev’y onct in while he gits mad an’ beats me up. Finally I’se pretty neah crazy. One night w’en he’s away I gits mah broder Slim ter come ovah an’ he’p me. We packs ev’ythin’ up an’ moves ovah yere—an’ I did’n’ tell nobody whar I was gwine.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ look like yo’ had somefin’ on yo’ min’—dat fust day I seen yo’ yere!

LUCY BELLE

’Deed I did! (Shakes her head.) Ain’ seen hide nor hair-a him since. (Abruptly, after a moment or two of troubled thought.) Yo’—yo’ see, Aun’ Becky, ef dey’s anabody in de worl’ dat Sam hate—it—it Jeff Bisbee—

AUNT REBECCA

Sho! Sho!

LUCY BELLE

Hate him like poison! (Hesitatingly.) I—I ain’ nevah tol’ him dat I live wid Jeff.

AUNT REBECCA

Yo’ ain’—?

LUCY BELLE

Ain’ had de nerve! He know dat I married Ed Cales—an’ I tol’ him mos’ ev’ythin’ else—an’ he say w’at is pas is pas’. But yo’ see it was Jeff dat bus’ him an’ me up befo’—an’ he call him de hardes’ niggah in Wash’nin’—

AUNT REBECCA

Any way ob him findin’ out—?

LUCY BELLE

Only ef somebody tell him.

AUNT REBECCA

Who know—?

LUCY BELLE

Slim, an’ dem people in Carter Street, an’ ole Lizzie Gibbs—

AUNT REBECCA

She know—?

LUCY BELLE (nodding)

Sho’.

AUNT REBECCA

Den’ yo’ bettah watch out—kase ef she like w’at yo’ tell me she ain’ gwine ter keep it to herse’f.

LUCY BELLE

I reckon she ain’—an’ dat’s w’at got me so worried. Yo see, she yere Sam talk so much ’bout me dat it make her crazy jealous. W’en he gwine ’way ter Atlanta, she figure dat ef he come back he mos’ likely come ter me fust. Leas’-ways dat w’at I think she figure. So she move ovah dere ter Carter Street, an’ take a house near me, wid de idea dat maybe she kin bus’ me an’ Sam up—ef he come back. I was married ter Ed Cales den—but aftah while I takes up wid Jeff—like I done tol’ yo’—an’ all de time she’s watchin’ me like a hawk widout me knowin’ it—.

AUNT REBECCA

Tryin’ ter git somefin’ on yo’—!

LUCY BELLE

Sho’! An’ now—now dat she found out whar I live—an’ dat he’s back—she’s comin’ at me agin—!

AUNT REBECCA

Put de po-lice on her!

LUCY BELLE

Den she boun’ ter tell Sam—an’ lie an’ blackguard on me wuss den evah—! Don’ yo’ see—? (Twining and intertwining her fingers and staring into space with a distraught expression.) I don’ know w’at ter do!

(The children suddenly give vent to shouts and can be heard romping wildly in the room, off Left.)

LUCY BELLE (rising)

Listen ter dem chillen—! (Moving toward, Left.) ’Scuse me while I puts dem ter bed.

(Aunt Rebecca sits in a brown study.)

AUNT REBECCA (as Lucy Belle nears the door, Left)

Lucy Belle—!

LUCY BELLE (pausing)

Yas.

AUNT REBECCA

Who de fader ob Fanny?

LUCY BELLE

Ed Cales. (Hesitatingly) Is-Israel is—is Jeff’s.

(Aunt Rebecca grunts and nods. Lucy Belle goes out, Left. Aunt Rebecca sits pondering for several moments and then begins to chant.)

AUNT REBECCA (chanting)

Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Trouble in mah soul! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a!

(A knock sounds on the door, Back. Aunt Rebecca glances toward the door and gives an annoyed grunt. The knock sounds again. Aunt Rebecca gets up, grumbling to herself, goes to the door and opens it. Lizzie Gibbs steps in. She is a large, voluptuous, mulatto woman. She has straight hair, high cheek bones, and large coarse features. Her manner is over-bearing and insolent.)

LIZZIE

H’yo’—?

AUNT REBECCA (surveying her with an air of frank suspicion and disapproval)

W’at yo’ wan’—?

LIZZIE (swaggering down toward Center with her hands on her hips)

Sam Reed live yere, don’ he—?

AUNT REBECCA

None ob yo’ bus’ness weder he do or weder he don’—!

LIZZIE (savagely)

Go ’long, yo’ ole black wench! Don’ yo’ give me no back talk! (Glaring at her malevolently.) Don’ yo ’spose I knows he live yere—! Is he home?

AUNT REBECCA (sullenly)

Don’ know.

LIZZIE

Whar is he—?

AUNT REBECCA

Don’ know.

LIZZIE

Yo’ don’ know nuffin’, d’yo’—?

(Aunt Rebecca stands glaring fiercely at Lizzie. Lucy Belle can be heard in the next room speaking to the children.)

LIZZIE

Lucy Belle’s yere, ain’ she—?

AUNT REBECCA (shortly)

I reckon so.

LIZZIE

Tell her I wan’ ter see her.

(Aunt Rebecca hesitates for a moment, then shuffles over toward the door on the left, and goes out. Lizzie swaggers about the room, examining various objects with an expression of sardonic contempt. Presently Lucy Belle enters, Left—falteringly.)

LIZZIE (pausing, hunching herself down on one hip, and gazing at Lucy Belle with an expression of sneering venom)

’Lo Luce!

LUCY BELLE

W’at yo’ wan’—?

LIZZIE (with an explosive, sardonic laugh)

Listen ter yo’—!

LUCY BELLE

I—I done tol’ yo’ dat I don’ know whar Sam is!

LIZZIE (harshly)

Look yere, gal, d’yo’ think yo’ puttin’ somefin’ ovah on me?

LUCY BELLE

Dat’s de Gawd’s truf—I’m tellin’ yo’.

LIZZIE

Tryin’ ter make out he ain’ nevah yere—!

LUCY BELLE

He ain’—! Hones’—

LIZZIE

Yo’ lie—! Yo’ knows whar he is—an’ w’en he come home as well as yo’ standin’ dere—!

LUCY BELLE

I ain’ seen him in Gawd knows w’en—!

LIZZIE

People in de neighborhood tell me dey see him yere ev’y few days—!

LUCY BELLE

Dey crazy—! Shootin’ off dey moufs ’bout somefin’ dey don’ know nuffin’ ’bout—!

LIZZIE

Does yo’ think yo’ gwine ter salt him away—an’ nevah let nobody lay eyes on him agin?

LUCY BELLE

W’at ’ud I be doin’ anathin’ like dat fo’—?

LIZZIE (mockingly)

Yas—w’at would yo’ be doin’ anathin’ like dat fo’—?

LUCY BELLE

Nevah git away wid it—ef I did!

LIZZIE

An’ yo’ ain’ gwine git away wid nuffin’ like dis—neder!

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ don’ know w’at yo’ talkin’ ’bout—!

LIZZIE

I’se knowed Sam as long as yo’ is.

LUCY BELLE

Who say yo’ ain’—?

LIZZIE

Yo’ stan’ dere an’ act like somebody was gwine ter steal him—right from under yo’ nose—!

LUCY BELLE

I don’ know w’at yo’ talkin’ ’bout—!

LIZZIE (mockingly)

No—yo’ don’ know nuffin’—! To yere yo’ talk, yo’d think yo’ owned Sam—got him chain up like a dawg—! Mah soul—! (Vehemently.) Listen ter me, gal—he’s an’ ole frien’-a mine—an’ I wants ter see him—’bout some bus’ness—an’ ef yo’ know w’ats good fo’ yo’—yo’ bettah quit dis lyin’ an’ beatin’ ’roun’ de bush—an’—

(Footsteps and whistling are heard off stage, Back. Lizzie breaks off abruptly and both stand listening. A moment later the door, Back, opens and Slim Dorsey enters. He is a tall, slender, light-colored Negro of about twenty-four. He wears a cap pulled around so that the visor slants over one ear, and an old ragged suit of clothes. He glares at Lizzie and nods.)

SLIM (as he slouches toward Left Center)

’Lo Luce.

LIZZIE (as she sidles toward the door, Back—to Lucy Belle)

Yo’ yered w’at I said—! Dat goes bof ways—an’ all ’roun’ de squah. (With a hand on the doorknob). Jes’ remembah dat I’se knowed yo’ a good while, too. (With drawling, veiled menace.) Is—is yo’ evah tol’ Sam how much yo’ love Jeff Bisbee—?

(Lucy Belle’s body becomes rigid, she clenches her hands, and speaks in a choking voice.)

LUCY BELLE

Yo’—yo’ shet up—!

LIZZIE (with a bellowing, sardonic laugh)

Ha! Ha! Why don’ yo’ tell him someday—?

(She goes out, Back.)

LUCY BELLE (violently)

Damn her! I’se gwine ter break ev’y bone in her body—ef she keep aftah me!

SLIM

W’at’s de mattah—?

LUCY BELLE

She—she de hardes’ ole gal in Wash’nin—

SLIM

Jes’ fin’ dat out—?

LUCY BELLE

Allas gwine ’roun’ makin’ trouble fo’ somebody—!

SLIM

W’at she comin’ at yo’ ’bout—?

LUCY BELLE (slowly gets control of herself—and ponders for a moment)

Oh—oh, nuffin’—!

SLIM

Aftah Sam—ain’ she—?

LUCY BELLE

She think she is—!

SLIM

Bettah watch her—!

LUCY BELLE

Don’ yo’ worry—I is! (She goes to the window, Left Back, and peers out, then turns and comes slowly down to Center.)

SLIM

How is yo’—?

LUCY BELLE

I don’ know—not so good dis week—!

SLIM

Whar Sam—?

LUCY BELLE

Baltimo’—! W’at d’yo’ know—?

SLIM

A lot. (He takes a bag of tobacco and a package of papers from his pocket and proceeds leisurely to roll a cigarette.)

LUCY BELLE

W’at—?

SLIM (as he painstakingly rolls the cigarette)

Seen Jeff dis mawnin’—.

LUCY BELLE (with a gasp)

Jeff—! Jeff Bisbee—!

SLIM (with a nonchalant nod)

Sho’ nuff—!

LUCY BELLE (clutching his arm)

Whar—?

SLIM

Bennings—.

LUCY BELLE

De race track—.

SLIM

Yas.

LUCY BELLE

Did he see yo’—?

SLIM

Sho’ he seen me—!

LUCY BELLE

Say anathin’—?

SLIM (nodding)

Come up an’ grab me.

LUCY BELLE

Gawd sakes—!

SLIM

Wan’ ter know right off whar yo’ is.

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ did’n’ tell him—?

SLIM

W’at de hell yo’ take me fo’?

LUCY BELLE

W’at did yo’ do?

SLIM

Tol’ him I did’n’ know nuffin’ ’bout yo’.

LUCY BELLE (gratefully)

Yo’ did, Slim—yo’ did—?

SLIM

W’at yo’ think I is—some kin’-a fool dat has ter be tol’ w’at ter say?

LUCY BELLE

No, no, Slim. But I thought maybe yo’ might-a been scar’t—an’ say somefin’ fo’ yo’ think.

SLIM (with a sneer)

Take somebody mo’ den him ter scare me.

LUCY BELLE

W’at did he do?

SLIM

Say he gwine ter fin’ yo’—he don’ care how long it takes.

LUCY BELLE (with a cry of anguish and indignation)

He bettah lay off me—!

SLIM

Say he gwine ter bus’ hell out-a yo’ ef yo’ don’ come back ter him.

LUCY BELLE

He ain’ gwine ter do nuffin’—!

SLIM

Picks up a fence rail an’ comes at me—kase I would’n’ tell him whar yo’ is—!

LUCY BELLE

Oh, mah Gawd! Hit yo’—?

SLIM (with contempt)

Been in de undertaker’s now ef he had.

LUCY BELLE

Did yo’ bus’ him—?

SLIM

I picks up a brick an’ dares him ter come at me. Mink Hall an’ some of mah oder buddies comes ’long right den an’ he beats it. (With a laugh.) Mink makes a grab fo’ him an’ he jumps th’u’ a stable window.

LUCY BELLE

Ain’ seen or heard-a him fo’ so long—I been hopin’ dat he gone away fo’ good.

SLIM

Been follerin’ de races—norf an’ souf—fo’ de las’ yeah—so he say—an’ jes’ got in town yisterday.

LUCY BELLE

I knows he ain’ been ’roun’ Wash’nin’. (Twining and intertwining her fingers, and her gaze roving abstractedly about.) I don’ care. He ain’ gwine ter do nuffin’. Me an’ Sam’ll be livin’ in Baltimo’ soon—maybe dis time nex’ monf—

SLIM

Watch yo’se’f—.

LUCY BELLE

I sho’ is gwine ter!

SLIM

Don’ go travelin’ roun’ at night by yo’se’f.

LUCY BELLE (shaking her head)

Don’ yo’ worry—I ain’ gwine ter take no chances. (A sudden look of apprehension coming into her face.) He gwine ter beat it right ovah ter Carter Street—

SLIM

Nobody ovah dere know whar yo’ livin’.

LUCY BELLE

Nobody—nobody ’cept—(She breaks off and stares fixedly before her.)

SLIM

Who—?

LUCY BELLE

Lizzie Gibbs.

(Aunt Rebecca enters, Left, and closes the door carefully after her.)

AUNT REBECCA (discovering Slim)

H’yo’, Slim.

SLIM (shortly)

’Lo Aun’ Becky.

AUNT REBECCA

How is yo’?

SLIM

Fine an’ dandy.

AUNT REBECCA (to Lucy Belle)

Done put dem chillen ter bed fo’ yo’.

LUCY BELLE (gratefully, as she goes to her)

Thank yo’, Aun’ Becky,—sartainly mighty good-a yo’.

AUNT REBECCA

Dat’s all right. Israel ’sleep already—

LUCY BELLE

Bof so tired dey could’n’ hardly stan’ up.

(Aunt Rebecca moves toward the door, Back.)

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ ain’ gwine—?

AUNT REBECCA

Mus’, chile. Jes’ drap in on mah way ter de sto’. Oughter been on mah way long fo’ dis.

LUCY BELLE

W’en I see yo’ agin?

AUNT REBECCA

May drap in later on dis evenin’.

LUCY BELLE

Do, honey, please—!

AUNT REBECCA (in a low voice—as they pause at the door)

Did’n’ put nuffin’ ovah on yo’, did she—?

LUCY BELLE

No, indeedy! An’ she ain’ gwine ter!

AUNT REBECCA

Dat’s talkin’! See yo’ some mo’.

LUCY BELLE

Yas, yas. Goodbye.

SLIM

See yo’ some mo’, Aun’ Becky.

AUNT REBECCA

Goodbye. (She goes out, Back.)

(Lucy Belle closes the door and returns, slowly to Center. Slim has dropped into a chair, Right Center, and sits nonchalantly puffing away at his cigarette.)

SLIM (casually)

Luce—

LUCY BELLE

Yas—?

SLIM

I’se broke.

LUCY BELLE

Dat ain’ doin’ me no good.

SLIM

I ain’ had nuffin’ ter eat since dis mawnin’.

LUCY BELLE (irritably)

I kain’t he’p dat.

SLIM

Len’ me a couple-a dollahs.

LUCY BELLE

I ain’ got no money ter len’ ter yo’.

SLIM

Yas, yo’ is—!

LUCY BELLE

Git out an’ git yo’se’f a job.

SLIM

I is got a job.

LUCY BELLE (incredulously)

Whar—?

SLIM

At de race track.

LUCY BELLE

W’at doin’—?

SLIM

Feedin’ hosses an’ rubbin’ ’em down.

LUCY BELLE

Den w’at yo’ come ’roun’ yere askin’ me fo’ money—?

SLIM

I only had it free days—an’ dey don’ pay till Saturday.

LUCY BELLE

I give yo’ a couple-a dollahs las’ Monday.

SLIM

Yo’ ’spec’ dat ter las’ me a week?

LUCY BELLE

I keeps givin’ yo’ money an’ givin’ yo’ money an’ yo’ ain’ nevah pay me back a nickel.

SLIM

I been playin’ in hard luck.

LUCY BELLE

So is I.

SLIM (rising)

Yo’ got money.

LUCY BELLE

Don’ make no difference weder I is or weder I ain’—.

SLIM

Ain’ I jes’ tol’ yo’ ’bout Jeff Bisbee—?

LUCY BELLE

No mo’ den yo’ had a right ter do!

SLIM

I did’n’ haf ter boder ’bout comin’ in yere.

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ be de meanes’ niggah in Wash’nin’ ef yo’ had’n’!

SLIM

Go on—he’p me out dis time.

LUCY BELLE

I tol’ yo’ Monday dat I ain’ gwine ter give yo’ no mo’ money!

SLIM (hotly)

De nex’ time I keep mah mouf shet!

LUCY BELLE (angrily)

Keep it shet!

SLIM

Yo’ damn right I will!

LUCY BELLE

An’ keep yo’ face out-a dis house! (Harshly, as she surveys him with a glare.) Yo’ ain’ nevah done nuffin’ fo’ me—nuffin’ at all!

SLIM

Yo’ lie—! Ef it had’n’ been fo’ me yo’ been cleaned up a dozen times.

LUCY BELLE (with a derisive laugh)

Listen ter yo’!

SLIM

W’at ’bout dat time yo’s sick—?

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ wuk fo’ a week—an’ buy de stuff we eat. Nevah give me a cent!

SLIM

Yo’ died ef it had’n’ been fo’ me!

LUCY BELLE

Been sick a dozen times since den an’ yo’ ain’ raised a han’ ter he’p me! (Harshly.) Yo’ ain’ no good, Slim—an’ yo’ ain’ nevah gwine ter be no good—’less yo’ change mighty quick. Yo’ nevah keeps a job ovah a week. All yo’ is good fo’ is ter guzzle gin, shoot crap an’ chase gals—

SLIM

Go on blackguardin’ me—ef yo’ lookin’ fo’ trouble!

LUCY BELLE

I’se tellin’ de truf—an’ yo’ knows I is!

SLIM (loudly)

I tol’ yo’ I ain’ had nuffin’ ter eat since dis mawnin’.

LUCY BELLE

I’ll go down ter de sto’ an’ git some stuff.

SLIM

I ain’ got time ter hang ’roun’ yere while yo’ cooks it.

LUCY BELLE

All yo’ wan’s dat two dollahs fo’ is ter git in a crap game.

SLIM (advancing toward her menacingly)

Gimme some money!

LUCY BELLE (defiantly)

Nuffin’ doin’!

SLIM

Gimme it! Yo’ yere—?

LUCY BELLE

I give yo’ nuffin’!

SLIM (grabbing her by the wrist)

Come on! Gimme two dollahs!

LUCY BELLE (fiercely)

No, no—! Slim—le’ go! W’at’s de mattah wid yo’! Le’ go!

SLIM

Gimme it, or I’ll twis’ yo’ damn arm off! (He slowly twists her wrist.)

LUCY BELLE (crying out in pain and fright)

Oh, mah Gawd! Slim! Slim! Stop—! Le’go! Don’—I’ll kill yo’ fo’ dis!

SLIM (between his teeth)

Git it! Git it!

LUCY BELLE

Slim! Fo’ Gawd’s sake! Oh, mah soul—don’—don’—(Writhing with torture, she sinks to her knees.)

SLIM

Yo’ wan’ me ter twis’ it off—?

LUCY BELLE (choking with pain)

A-all right—Stop! All right, Slim. I’ll git it fo’ yo’!

SLIM

Will yo’—?

LUCY BELLE

Yas, yas. Stop—please—! Lemme up—lemme up—Slim—

(He slowly turns her wrist back to normal and relaxing his grip somewhat allows her to rise. She stands limp and dazed for several moments, as though endeavoring to pull herself together. She draws her free hand slowly across her forehead.)

SLIM (with savage impatience)

Come on!

(He tightens his hold somewhat. She gives a little cry of pain, and her knees give. With Slim still gripping her wrist, she moves unsteadily to table, Center.)

LUCY BELLE

All right—all right, Slim. I’ll git it fo’ yo’—.

(He drops her wrist. She opens the small drawer of the table and takes out an old and worn leather pocket book. She extracts two one-dollar bills, hands them to him, then deftly stuffs the pocket book down in one of her stockings. Slim jams the bills into his pocket, turns and moves swiftly to the door, Back, and goes out.)

LUCY BELLE (crying out after him)

Yo’s a dirty dog! I—I’ll git yo’ fo’ dat—!

(Lucy Belle sinks down into a chair and covers her face with her hands. She looks up once and her face presents the picture of fierce, tearful rage. Presently a knock sounds on the door, Back. Lucy Belle jumps up with a start. The knock sounds again.)

LUCY BELLE (in faltering tones)

Come in!

(The door opens and Chick Avery enters. He is a weak-faced, but passably good-looking mulatto, of about thirty-five. He wears a suit of smart clothes, somewhat the worse for wear. His feet are encased in a pair of patent leather shoes which are slit about the toes to relieve the pressure on those members. He is partially bald, but what remains of his straight, jet-black hair is shiny from the generous use of hair oil, and is carefully brushed to cover the bald spots as much as possible. His manner for the most part, is extremely urbane and, by fits and starts, exuberantly mirthful.)

CHICK (doing a sort of clog dance toward her)

H’yo’, Luce—!

LUCY BELLE (exclaiming in mild surprise)

Why—why, ’lo, Chick—!

CHICK

How’s de baby—?

LUCY BELLE

Pretty good, I reckon.

CHICK

All by yo’ lonesome—?

LUCY BELLE

Look like it, don’ it?

CHICK

W’at d’yo’ know—?

LUCY BELLE

Nuffin’ much—! (He puts his arm around her and attempts to draw her to him.) Stop yo’ foolin’—! (She pulls away from him.)

CHICK

Ain’ yo’ got a kiss fo’ me?

LUCY BELLE

I’ll bus’ yo’ in de nose, Chick Avery!

CHICK

Mah soul, but yo’ gittin’ skittish—! How much dey cos’ now?

LUCY BELLE

Mo’ den yo’ kin pay.

CHICK (with an explosive laugh)

Sam got yo’ gwine, ain’ he?

LUCY BELLE

Good thin’s come high.

CHICK

Yo’ said somefin’! (Sitting on the edge of the table.) How he makin’ out in Baltimo’—?

LUCY BELLE

Who—?

CHICK

Sam.

LUCY BELLE

Oh—oh, he ain’ makin’ out so bad.

CHICK

Git home often?

LUCY BELLE

Onct or twict a week—depen’s on hard dey’s wukkin’ him.

CHICK

An’ yo’ stick home an’ wuks yo’ haid off.

LUCY BELLE (shortly)

I does mah share.

CHICK

Nevah seen yo’ lately w’en yo’ was’n’ played out from wukkin’ yo’ haid off.

LUCY BELLE (querulously)

None-a yo’ bus’ness how hard I wuks! (Sharply.) W’at yo’ doin’ now?

CHICK

Barbarin’. Jes’ git a job on de Norfolk boat.

LUCY BELLE

W’at doin’?

CHICK

Same thin’—barbarin’. Dey’s got two chairs. I’se gwine ter run one-a dem. Starts in nex’ week. Got a chanct ter make some real money, now.

LUCY BELLE

Sho’ soun’ like a mighty good job.

CHICK (pointedly)

Yo’ allas tied up ter some niggah dat make yo’ wuk like hell.

LUCY BELLE

Shet up! Yo’ don’ know w’at yo’ ’s talkin’ ’bout. Ev’body got ter wuk hard dese days ter git by.

CHICK (satirically)

Is dey?

LUCY BELLE

Ef dey’s any good, dey is! W’at yo’ gittin’ at anyway?

CHICK

I’se allas been yo’ lef’ han’ed budigee—.

LUCY BELLE

’Deed yo’ ain’ been nuffin’ but a frien’!

CHICK

Dat’s w’at I means. (With a significant smile.) Ef I been yo’ real budigee, I sho’ nevah make yo’ wuk like yo’ is!

LUCY BELLE (derisively)

No! Yo’d make me wuk like a dog.

CHICK

Not on yo’ life!

LUCY BELLE

Make me git out an hussle while yo’ lays home an’ guzzle gin.

(They both laugh explosively. Lucy Belle unbends somewhat.)

CHICK (surveying her critically)

Yo’ gittin’ ole, Luce—

LUCY BELLE (sharply)

So is yo’! Look at dat damned ole haid ob yo’s. Noder yeah an’ yo’ won’ have a hair lef’.

CHICK (gives an explosive laugh, and runs a hand over his head)

Dat’s no lie! (Throwing back his shoulders.) De older I gits de bettah I feels.

LUCY BELLE

So does I!

CHICK (pointedly)

Been ter any dances?

LUCY BELLE

Don’ care nuffin’ ’bout dancin’ no mo’.

CHICK (with a little exclamation of incredulity)

Uster be crazy ’bout it!

LUCY BELLE

Uster be crazy ’bout a lot-a thin’s.

CHICK

Membah dat dance ob de Golden Eagle Club at de ole Mawnin’ Star?

LUCY BELLE (with a reminiscent smile)

Sho’ do—!

CHICK

Somebody th’u’ a beer bottle—

LUCY BELLE (in joyous memory)

An’ miss yo’ by free inches!

(They both laugh uproariously.)

CHICK

Mah soul! Dat was some night! Git home ’bout seven o’clock in mawnin’.

LUCY BELLE (with just a note of wistfulness in her tones)

Still have dances up dere?

CHICK (exclaiming)

Do dey? ’Bout ev’y night. (In ardent admiration.) Yo’s de bes’ lil’ dancer I evah knowed.

LUCY BELLE

Go ’long! (She drops down into a chair, gives a little sigh and stares abstractedly into space.)

CHICK

Membah de time we goes down ter Rivahview an’ comin’ home de ole boat gits stuck on dem mud flats dere by de Eastern Branch—?

LUCY BELLE

’Deed I does! (In ecstatic memory.) We dance on de deck—in de moonlight—

CHICK (with a rapturous chuckle)

Ole Beverly Johnson chase Mink Hall wid a razor—

LUCY BELLE (laughing)

Mink jump ovahboard an’ swim ter shore!

CHICK (laughing)

Great day! An’ membah de fair down at—er—lessee—Manassas?

LUCY BELLE (nodding)

Eat chicken an’ duck an’ co’n pone an’ ice cream till I neahly bus’! Ride on de merry-go-roun’—shoot de shoots—an’ sing an’ dance till I kain’t hardly stan’ up—! Den dey was preachin’ ovah in de grove at night—(She breaks off—lost in the romantic memory of it.)

CHICK

Bet yo’ ain’ had no times like dem since!

LUCY BELLE (deprecatingly)

I was jes’ a kid den.

CHICK

Dere’s gwine ter be a dance at de Mawnin’ Star termorrer night.

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ gwine—?

CHICK

Sho’! Come on an’ go wid me.

LUCY BELLE (shaking her head)

Nuffin’ doin’.

CHICK (earnestly)

Come on! W’at’s dis settin’ ’roun’ de house gittin’ yo’—? Jes’ dis onct fo’ ole times’ sake.

LUCY BELLE (shaking her head more emphatically)

Nuffin’ doin’, Chick. No use ter axe me.

CHICK (slides off the table and moves to her side)

Luce—jes’ dis onct—!

LUCY BELLE (loudly)

No—!

(Pause. Chick surveys her ruefully. Lucy Belle glowers at him.)

CHICK (at length)

Den come on ovah ter Gerner’s an’ have a glass-a gin.

LUCY BELLE

Not ternight, Chick.

CHICK

Yo’ tired—an’ it set yo’ up great.

LUCY BELLE

Not ternight.

CHICK

Dey got a phonograph in de back room an’ we kin have a couple-a lil’ dances. Ef yo’ kain’t go ter de Mawnin’ Star—yo’ kin leas’ git yo’se’f in a lil’ dance ovah dere.

LUCY BELLE

No, no—!

CHICK

Come on! Jes’ fo’ ole times’ sake! Good Lawd, yo’ got ter git out an’ have a lil’ fun now an’ den. Yo’ kain’t stick home yere all de time! (Puts a hand on her arm.) Come on, baby—!

LUCY BELLE

Nuffin’ doin’—!

(A loud knock sounds on the door, Back. Lucy Belle jumps up and stands listening.)

CHICK (in a low voice)

Who dat—?

LUCY BELLE (shaking her head)

Don’ know.

(The person outside kicks the door violently. An expression of dire apprehension comes into Lucy Belle’s face. She swings about, points at the door, Left, and speaks in peremptory tones.)

LUCY BELLE

Git in dere a minute.

CHICK (in low, guarded tones as he hurries toward Left)

Is it Sam—?

(She shakes her head. Chick goes out, Left. Lucy Belle, after a moment or two of deliberation, advances warily toward the door, Back. When almost there she halts again, as though debating whether or not to answer the door. Suddenly the kicking is renewed with increased vigor. Lucy Belle draws back shudderingly, as though to turn and flee. Abruptly the door opens and Jeff Bisbee lunges in. He slams the door shut after him. He is a short, stocky Negro of about thirty—brown in color—with a short, thick neck, a bullet head and a mean, leering manner.)

LUCY BELLE (with a gasp of terror)

Jeff—!

JEFF

I knowed I’d find yo’—! (Swaying toward her menacingly.) W’at yo’ leave me fo’?

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ know why—!

JEFF

Sneak off like a cat—!

LUCY BELLE

I was starvin’ ter deaf—.

JEFF

Like hell yo’ was!

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ was’n’ wukkin—.

JEFF

Yo’ know why!

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ did’n’ want ter—!

JEFF

I’ll bus’ yo’ in de mouf! (Takes a step toward her.) I was havin’ some hard luck den.

LUCY BELLE

Dat’s w’at yo’ allas say. It was allas hard luck—or somefin’!

JEFF (pulls back an arm as though to strike her)

Yo’ knows I was! Could’n’ git nuffin’—!

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ did’n’ ha’f try.

JEFF

Yo’ lie—! Times was hard. Look fo’ a monf—an’ could’n’ fin’ nuffin’—! (As though he were on the point of leaping upon her and choking her.) Watched yo’ chanct—did’n’ yo’—?

LUCY BELLE

No, no—!

JEFF

Watched yo’ chanct—an’ run—! Did’n’ stop ter figur’ w’at I’d done fo’ yo’—!

LUCY BELLE (with a cry of derision)

Yo’ nevah done nuffin’ fo’ me—!

JEFF

Yo’ be on de streets ef it had’n’ been fo’ me! (Lucy Belle sneers audibly.) Did’n’ have no mo’ sense den a chicken—!

LUCY BELLE

Ain’ on ’em now, is I?

JEFF

It ain’ yo’ fault—!

LUCY BELLE (her tones gradually becoming more and more tremulous)

Yo’ crazy—!

JEFF

Watch till mah back is tuhned—an’ run ter anoder niggah.

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ dreamin’—!

JEFF

I got de dope on yo’—an’ got it right—!

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ think yo’ have—!

JEFF

Yo’ come yere ter Sam—!

LUCY BELLE

No, no—!

JEFF

Come yere ter dat damned ole loon! Beat it ter de man dat git me sent up! Dat’s de way yo’ pay me back, huh—?

LUCY BELLE

Yo’ don’ know w’at yo’ talkin’ ’bout—!

JEFF

Livin’ yere wid him—!

LUCY BELLE

No, no—!

JEFF (savagely)

Don’ yo’ go lyin’ ter me—! I knows! Yo’ kain’t put nuffin’ ovah on me! (She starts to back away from him.) Yo’ yere—? (He grabs her by the arm.)

LUCY BELLE (pulling away from him)

Jeff—please—

JEFF (menacingly)

Come yere—!

LUCY BELLE (getting around to the other side of the table)

Jeff—please—

JEFF

Yo’ gwine wid me—!

LUCY BELLE

No, no—!

JEFF

An’ yo’ gwine damn quick!

LUCY BELLE

Jeff—fo’ Gawd’s sake—!

JEFF

I’se gwine back ter Havre de Grace in de mawnin’ an’ yo’ gwine wid me—!

LUCY BELLE (defiantly)

I ain’ gwine nowhar wid yo’!

(Jeff reaches in a back pocket, whips out a knife, snaps open the blade, and poises it in the air.)

JEFF

I’ll cut yo’ God-damn heart out!

LUCY BELLE (terror-stricken as he makes a move to come around after her)

Oh, mah Gawd, Jeff—! Don’—don’—! (Puts a hand to her throat, and glances wildly about, struggling for self-control.) Jes’-a minute—

JEFF (savagely)

Come on—!

LUCY BELLE

Mah clothes—!

JEFF

Git ’em—git ’em!

LUCY BELLE

An’ de chillen—!

JEFF

Ter hell wid dem—!

LUCY BELLE

Got—got ter leave ’em wid somebody.

JEFF (sardonically)

Leave ’em wid Sam.

LUCY BELLE (as though she hadn’t heard his remark)

Got ter leave ’em wid somebody dat kin see after ’em right.

JEFF

Git busy den!

LUCY BELLE (after a moment of tense, anguished deliberation)

I—I reckon I could leave ’em wid Aun’ Becky—

JEFF

Who she?

LUCY BELLE

Ole woman—live down de alley yere.

JEFF

Hussle.

LUCY BELLE (after a moment of hesitancy)

Dey’re in yere. Got ter git ’em ready. (Moves swiftly toward the door, Left. Jeff takes a step or two, as though he were going to follow her. She pauses as she places a hand on the door knob.) Only take a minute.

(She opens the door quickly, slides out and closes it. Something about her manner and the quickness with which she closes the door rouse Jeff’s suspicions. He stands—body tense—glaring after her. Absolute silence ensues. The lock in the door clicks. With a cry of rage Jeff leaps forward and tries to force the door open.)

JEFF (ferociously)

Open de do’! Open it—or I’ll knock yo’ haid off! Open it! (Muttering and cursing to himself he puts his shoulder against it and presses hard, but it fails to yield.) Open up! Open up!

(Baffled, at length he turns away, springs to Left Center, and grabs up a chair. Realizing, however, that it is perhaps not quite heavy enough for his purpose, he slowly sets it down, stands with his hands resting on its back, and looks about in search of a more formidable weapon. Suddenly shouts, the footsteps of people running, and the noises of panicky commotion issue from the alley, immediately off stage, Back. It proceeds down the alley, Left, and the noise rapidly lessens in volume, and distinctness. All at once the door, Back, bursts open and Slim dashes in. He bangs the door shut after him, and stands wild-eyed and breathing heavily.)

JEFF

W’at’s de mattah—?

SLIM (with a gulp—as he recognizes Jeff)