Goat Alley, by Ernest Howard Culbertson—a Project Gutenberg eBook.

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[8] 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.

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[12] 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 drops into a chair, Left Center, and begins a weird and doleful chant.)

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.)

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

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

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!

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.

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

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.)

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

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

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’?

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

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

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

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

He try an’ try ter git anoder job—but could’n’ seem ter fin’ nuffin’. Times is bad, yo’ know.[17] Neah walk his feet off jes’ seein’ ef he kain’t git somefin’ by de day.

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

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

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.

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

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—!

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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[21] 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.

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.

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[22]’ ’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.

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.

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

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[23] 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.

’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[24] 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.

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.

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.

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

’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—

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

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’—

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

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—.

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

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[27] 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.)

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

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

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[28] 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.)

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

(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)

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

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

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

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

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.)

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.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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—

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—

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

(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.)

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

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!

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

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—

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

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

(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.)

(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.)

(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 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.)

(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[44] 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.)

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

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

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

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.

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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—?

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

Eat chicken an’ duck an’ co’n pone an’ ice[49] 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.)

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

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.

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—!

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

(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.)

(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.)

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

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

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’—?

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

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—!

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—?

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.)

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

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

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

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.)

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.)

(Someone runs heavily down the alley. Slim springs back and stands in a crouching attitude. Jeff leaps over to the table and blows the light out.)

(The noise and clatter recede continually, off Left. At length Slim advances cautiously to the door, Back, opens it and peers out. Jeff goes over and stands near him.)

Sho’—! Slew-foot know me, too. He one-a dem. Liable ter come back dis way an’ search ev’y house.

(He opens the door wider and leans far out. A pale light filters in from Back. The silhouetted[58] figures of the two men can be plainly seen. Jeff joins Slim in the doorway and peers out.)

(Slim darts off down the alley, Right. Jeff stands tensely deliberating for several moments. Finally he steps out, and with a swift movement closes the door after him. Almost immediately the door, Left, opens and a broad shaft of light falls across the room from the doorway, Left, to the wall, Right Back. Lucy Belle enters, followed closely by Chick. They leave the door open and pause, Right Back, in the full beat of the light.)

I done tol’ yo’ dat yo’ done right—stickin’ dere an’ keepin’ yo’ mouf shet.

(Chick skips over to the door, Back, opens it and peers up and down the alley.)

No. (He closes the door and returns swiftly to her.) He liable ter come back any minute.

He ain’ gwine ter do nuffin’ outside—wid de cops aroun’. (She deliberates.) Look at yo’! Tremlin’ like a leaf!

Yo’ crazy ter stick yere—’less yo’ wan’ me ter hang ’roun’ an’ plug him fo’ yo’—

(Lucy Belle takes a faltering step or two toward the door, Left. Just then someone passes the window, Left Back, and heavy footsteps on the pavement[61] of the alley can be heard. Lucy Belle halts. She turns and faces the door, Back. It opens and Sam Reed enters. He is a big powerful Negro—dark brown in color—and about thirty-five. He wears an old, torn suit of clothes, carries an old felt hat, and is without a collar. His manner is straight-forward, well-meaning, kindly. His movements and speech are deliberate—except when he is angry.)

Sam—Sam-boy! Jes’ talkin’ wid—wid Chick Avery yere—yo’—yo’ knows Chick—

Light de lamp, Chick. (To Sam.) Po-lice raid a crap game down de alley—an’—an’ we puts out de light.

Gawd bless yo’—! (Casting about for something to relieve the constraint of the situation somewhat, she spies his hat, grabs it and begins to industriously dust it off with her sleeve.) Mus’-a been playin’ football wid dis ole hat.

Got some bus’ness ter ’tend ter—ovah at Gerner’s. (Gives an explosive laugh.)

(Lucy Belle makes a wry face, and finally breaks into a little nervous giggle.)

No, no, Sam-boy! He’s a barber—an’ makes good money. Wukkin’ all de time.

He ain’ so bad. An’ he don’ come ’roun’ yere—oh, only onct in a long time. (Glancing toward the door, Left.) We keep on talkin’ like dis, dem chillen wake up an’ make a fuss.

(She hurries over, Left, and closes the door. Sam takes his pipe from his coat pocket, fumbles around in the other outside coat pocket, finds his bag of tobacco, pulls it out and begins painstakingly to fill the pipe. Meanwhile he follows Lucy Belle’s movements with an intent, questioning gaze.)

LUCY BELLE Oh, Gawd—! (Strokes his hair fondly. Someone passes down the alley. She gives a start.)

Maybe—from bein’ yere nights—alone. (Plaintively.) Oh—oh, Sam-boy, I don’ wan’ yo’ ter go ’way no mo’!

Kain’t he’p it, honey-baby. Jes’ got ter keep gwine ’long like we is—’till thin’s break bettah.

I knows dat yo’ doin’ all yo’ kin—! Gawd bless yo’—! But I wan’s ter be wid yo’, Sam-boy honey-baby—all de time.

Er—er maybe de week aftah. We been figurin’ on gwine dere all ’long. But le’s don’ wait till yo’ git somefin’ steady. Yo’ kin’ allas git somefin’.

Sho’ yo’ kin! I don’ wan’ ter stay yere no longer widout yo’. Please—!

Honey-baby! (Draws back suddenly and searches his face anxiously.) Is yo’ had any suppah? (He smiles and shakes his head.) Co’se yo’ ain’! W’at’s de mattah wid me! Great day!

Hush yo’ mouf, an’ lemme git down ter dat sto’. (She grabs up a little shawl from a nearby chair and throws it over her head.)

(Sam nods. She goes out hurriedly, Back. Sam reaches over on the table, picks up his pipe and lights it. A knock sounds on the door, Back.)

(The door, Back, opens and Lizzie Gibbs enters. Sam twists about to see who it is.)

Jes’ see yo’ gittin’ off a car down on Four-an’-a ha’f Street. (She waits a moment or two for him to speak, but he doesn’t offer to proceed with the conversation.) How is yo’?

I know—sometimes I uster—w’en I got mad—But I nevah meant no harm, Sam-boy—

I know, I know—(Lays a hand on his arm.) Fo’give me, Sam—! ’Deed I did’n’ mean nuffin’ den!

LIZZIE (collects herself gradually, and draws back a step or two with a sardonic leer)

Ain’ she tol’ yo’? Oh, mah Gawd! (Gives a raucous, sardonic laugh.) Ask her—! She’ll tell yo’ all ’bout it! I knowed yo’d fall fo’ a wench like her!

(The door, Back, opens and Lucy Belle enters, carrying several small packages. An expression of blank dismay floods her face upon discovering Lizzie.)

(Sam’s eyes are first upon one, then the other, in a gaze of fierce, tigerish scrutiny.)

So long, Sam. See yo’ some mo’. (At the door, Back.) Good beatin’ w’at she need!

(She goes out quickly, Back. Lucy Belle advances to Center, and deposits her packages on the table.)

SAM (putting a hand on each of her shoulders, and staring down into her eyes with a look of scarce-believing, burning intensity)

I was ha’f sick—an’ did’n’ have no money. He—he had me so scar’t I was neah crazy.

Ev’y day I prays dat yo’ would come back. An’ I thinks ’bout yo’ all de time. Sam-boy, honey-baby, dey ain’ nevah been anabody but yo’—an’ nevah will be! (Stretching out her arms to him.) W’en yo’ come back it seem too good ter be true.

Had ter—. (Sam gives a short, savage laugh.) I—I only done w’at oder gals would-a done—ef dey been in mah place. I gits away de fust good chanct I gits.

’Bout yeah-an’-a-ha’f. (In tender, appealing tones.) Honey-baby, I loves yo’—an’ I’se loved yo’ all de time—right from de fust. Yo’ knows I is! W’en me an’ yo’ hooks up yere—yo’ say w’at is pas’ is pas’! Don’ yo’ membah—? (Sam nods.) An’ yo’ say dat yo’ ain’ been no angel—an’ yo’ knows I ain’—

I done tol’ yo’ why I did’n’ say nuffin’. Oh, Sam-boy, I ain’ nevah come back at yo’ ’bout ole Lizzie Gibbs. I don’ hol’ dat agin yo’—even ef she do blackguard an’ lie on me. I ain’ nevah said nuffin’ ter yo’ ’bout it. Is I?

Den don’ hol’ dis agin me. It all happen fo’ me an’ yo’ hook up fo’ good. It’s pas’ an’ gone. Fo’give me. I ain’ nevah gwine ter keep nuffin’ back agin. Fo’give me, honey-baby—please fo’give me?

Ef yo’ evah has anathin’ ter do wid anoder niggah I’se gwine ter kill yo’!

W’at is pas’ is gwine ter be pas’. An’ I’se gwine on wukkin’ fo’ yo’—an’ tryin’ ter make yo’ happy—

By-an’-by we gwine ter git nuff saved ter buy a lil’ place down neah Frederick—mah ole home.

An’ we gwine down dere an’ raise garden truck—an’ chickens—an’ live right—

De chillen’ll have plenty-a room ter play. An’ I kin take a day off now an’ go huntin’. (Wistfully.) Still got-a lot-a possums down ’roun’ dere.

(The footsteps of someone coming rapidly down the alley arrest them. Lucy Belle gives a start. They both listen intently. The door, Back, suddenly bursts open and Jeff Bisbee dashes in. He halts abruptly upon discovering Sam and stares at him—his face distorted with rage. Sam breaks away from Lucy Belle and starts at him—menacingly.)

(Lucy Belle gives a cry of anguish and fear and draws back, toward Left, cowering.)

(Jeff lunges at Sam. Lucy Belle gives a blood-curdling shriek. The men grapple and sway about the room, grunting and cursing.)

(Sam has a firm grip on Jeff’s right arm. After some desperate maneuvering, Jeff contrives to swing it down in an attempt to stab Sam in the side. Sam diverts the thrust and the blade plunges into Jeff’s side. Jeff gives a groan, his body becomes limp, his knees sag, the muscles of his hand relax and the knife falls to the floor. Sam releases him and he staggers toward the table, Center. He makes a grab for it, misses it, and falls to the floor. He raises himself on one elbow, puts his free hand to his side, and lies there groaning and rolling his eyes. Sam and Lucy Belle stand gazing down at him—terror-stricken.)

(At this juncture a policeman dashes in, Back. He pauses near the door for a second, sees Jeff lying on the floor, turns, discovers Sam, springs over and grabs him.)

ACT II

The same as Act I—one year later. Early afternoon.

A moment after the rise of the curtain Lucy Belle enters, Left, carrying her hat and jacket. She advances to Center and lays them on the table. Her walk is listless and her eyes are bright with nervous fatigue. She glances at the alarm clock which stands on top of the cupboard, Left Center. The hands point to half-past twelve. She drops down in a chair to the left of the table and stares dismally before her. Presently she rests her elbows on her knees, bends forward, covers her face with her hands and gives way to a series of dry, racking sobs.

Sam! Mah ole Sam-boy—come back ter me! Ain’ yo’ evah gwine ter come back? Honey-baby! Mah own honey-baby, buddy boy!

(From off stage, Right, as though proceeding from the upstairs room come the weird, discordant, thin strains of a hymn played on an old wheezy organ, and an old Negro can be heard singing it in deep, unsteady tones. Lucy Belle becomes momentarily composed and sits listening as though the music soothed her. In the course of several moments she rises, goes to the mirror which hangs on the wall, Right, and stands before it wiping her eyes and adjusting her hair.

Presently the music stops, and someone can be heard coming slowly and heavily down the stairs, Right. Abruptly the door, Right, opens and old man Pocher enters. He is a very old Negro with white hair and a face seamed with wrinkles. His back is quite bent and he walks with the aid of a heavy, gnarled stick. His manner is a combination of the patriarchal-Calvinistic, and that of the homely, old, ante-bellum house servant. He wears an old black suit of clothes, green with age, and carries an old and very dusty felt hat.)

Git so many evil sparits ’roun’ dat dey choke yo’ ter deaf in yo’ sleep.

Evil sparits! Wuk on me till I kain’t hardly breafe. Yo’ yere me wrestlin’ wid ’em?

Salt on de do’step wust thin’ in de worl’ ter bring evil sparits ’roun’.

(Pocher nods and grunts and goes out, Back, closing the door after him. Lucy Belle stands for a moment, pondering, and a thin smile plays over her face. At length she turns and moves listlessly toward the door, Right. As she reaches there, comes the sound of boyish shouts and laughter and the shuffling of feet about the door, Back. Lucy Belle pauses and listens. She scowls darkly, hurries to the door, and throws it open. This is followed immediately by the clatter of scurrying feet and taunting shouts as those who were about the door run rapidly down the alley.)

I seen yo’ Jack Kramer! Yo’ too, Lippy an’ Mule! Keep away from yere or I’se gwine ter wring yo’ damn necks! Yas, yo’s—Lippy! I ain’ scar’t of none-a yo’! Quit skylarkin’ ’roun’ dis door! Sweah out-a warran’ fo’ yo’, too!

Lil’ while aftah he rents dis room—an’ been aftah him evah since. Puts salt on de do’step an’ ev’thin’ like dat.

I sho’ gwine ter ef dey don’ lay off him! (In tones of pondering indignation and protest.) Dat room is hard ter rent. Ole man Pocher is kep’ it longer den anabody. (Slim nods.) Two mon’s dere could’n’ rent it at all—an’ ole Jennie Wurmser goes off owin’ me fo’ five weeks.

Ain’ boderin’ ’bout dat so long as I gits mah money ev’y Monday mawnin’.

Son in New York send it ter him. I couldn’ hardly git by now widout somefin’ like dat comin’ in reg’lar ev’y week.

Sho! Dey kills yo’, cuts out yo’ heart, an’ eats it. Ef yo’ eats a heart nobody kin cunjuh yo’—an’ each one dat yo’ eat give yo’ a yeah’s luck.

I ain’ scar’t-a him. He ain’ gwine ter do nuffin’ ter me. (Shakes her head.) Onlies’ kin’-a job dat do fo’ me right now.

Kain’t stay ’way from de chillen all de time. (Sighs and drops down in a chair. Draws a hand across her forehead.) Gawd—!

Be twict as hard ef I’se wukkin’ ev’y day. (With a little wistful cry.) Ef—ef Sam was only yere—den—den I would’n’ care how hard I haf ter wuk—or ’bout nuffin’—(Staring abstractedly into space.) Be a yeah de fust-a nex’ monf since he wen’ ter jail.

(Pause. Lucy Belle sits staring into space. Slim nonchalantly rolls a cigarette.)

I don’ know. Dey nevah done nuffin’ ter him. He was in de hospital fo’ a while. He lef’ town soon as he gits out an’ I ain’ nevah seen him since.

LUCY BELLE (clasping her hands tightly together and raising her eyes heavenward)

Oh, Gawd! Ef he only do—! I kin make out fo’ ’noder yeah ef I keeps wukkin’ fo’ Moy—an’ washin’ extra yere at home like I is—an’ ef I keeps de room rented right ’long.

Ef Pocher only keep dat room an’ pay me reg’lar. (Old man Pocher is heard grumbling and grunting to himself immediately outside the door, off stage, Back.) Yere he come now!

(The door, Back, opens and Pocher enters, carrying a small package under his arms. He stands in the doorway and points angrily with his cane at the doorstep.)

Yas, yas—! I’se gwine ter sweep it right off. (She goes to the closet door, up Left, opens it, takes out a broom, closes the door and goes quickly to the doorway, Back, where she stands sweeping off the doorstep.)

Yo’ see, I don’ yere ’em ha’f de time—even[93] w’en I’se home. Dey slips up on de sly an’ draps it on.

(She turns to the doorway again and completes the task of sweeping off the steps. This done she closes the door, crosses thoughtfully to closet, places the broom in it, then comes down to Left Center. Slim stands, Right Center, puffing away at his cigarette.)

(Lucy Belle gives a little nod and stands lost in thought. Slim regards her with a look of sly, calculating appraisal.)

Git in a fight in Messer’s stable—an’ somebody bus’ yo’ ovah de haid wid a stick.

Gawd’s truf! Nevah done a thin’. Dick Simpson[96] an’ Mink Hall start ter fight—an’ fust thin’ I knows somebody bus’ me—

Die fo’ I give yo’ ’noder cent! (He leans forward as though to lunge at her. She steps back a pace.) Don’ yo’ dare lay a han’ on me! Don’ yo’ dare! I’se gwine ter yell “Po-lice!” an’ “Murder!” ef yo’ tech me—!

(Old man Pocher is heard coming heavily down the stairs, Right. Both Slim and Lucy Belle turn and listen.)

(Slim hesitates for a moment or two, then turns and slinks to the door, Back.)

(She turns and stands listening as Pocher descends the stairs. At length the door, Right, opens and the old man enters carrying a very old black leather portmanteau—so old and battered and scarred that it looks as though it were about to fall to pieces. There is fiery resolve in Pocher’s eyes. He gives Lucy Belle a sharp glance and makes directly for the door, Back.)

Had er vision dat somebody gwine ter make dem evil sparits riz up on me agin. Pack mah valise dis mawnin’ ter be ready.

Hush yo’ talk! Done made up mah min’ ter leave dis place! Nuffin’ gwine ter stop me!

(He glares at her, gives a snort, drops the portmanteau, thrusts a hand down in his pocket and brings out a small, soiled bag, tied at the top with a string. He unties the string, fumbles around in the bag, finally pulls out a dirty, torn one-dollar bill.)

(Pocher gives an impatient grunt and mumbles something to himself. He returns the bag to his pocket, picks up his portmanteau and opens the door.)

(Lucy Belle gives a little despairing sigh, then returns slowly to Center, where she halts and stands[101] staring—somewhat abstractedly—down at the bill in her hand. Slim appears at the window, Left Back, and peers in. At length Lucy Belle goes to the cupboard on the Left, opens one of the top doors, removes the lid from a crockery jar, reaches down in it, and takes out her pocket book. She opens the pocket book, extracts three one dollar bills, counts them carefully, places the one she has just received with them and returns them all to the pocket book. Slim’s face disappears from the window, Left Back. Lucy Belle comes thoughtfully back to Center with the pocket book still in her hand. At this juncture Israel and Fanny dash in, Back.)

Shet up, now—bof-a yo’! Wan’ me ter lock yo’ up? (Israel begins to whimper.) Yo’ yere me? Go on out dere an’ play! (The children hesitate.) Go ’long! Wan’ me ter beat yo’? (They both scamper to the door, Back.) Min’ yo’ don’ go out-a dis alley!

(They go out, Back, banging the door shut after them. She drops her pocket book on the table, picks up her coat and puts it on. A light knock sounds on the door, Back. She starts to answer the door, but halts abruptly and a look of suspicion comes over her face. Her eyes light upon the pocket book. She picks it up, goes to the cupboard, Left, drops it in the crockery jar, puts the lid on, closes the cupboard door and hurries to the door, Back. Just as she reaches it, the knock sounds again. She opens it. Chick Avery stands outside.)

(He enters, carrying a suit case, which he deposits[103] near the door. He looks a little more spruce than in the preceding act and carries himself with a decidedly prosperous air. Lucy Belle closes the door, and they both come down to Center.)

Jes’ now an’ den. Git tired gwine ’way out ter mah broder’s in G’orgetown ev’y time I’se in[104] town. Min’ ef I leave dis suit case yere till I see ef dey got a room at de hotel?

Ef dey is, I’ll sen’ a boy ovah fo’ it—ef dey ain’, I’ll drap back an’ git it an’ go on out ter G’orgetown,—’less yo’ wan’ ter put me up yere.

Boys in de alley keep aftah him all de time. Pesters him ter deaf. Puts salt on de do’step an’ ev’ythin’ like dat.

Mighty sorry yo’ havin’ dis trouble. Ef dey’s any way I kin he’p yo’ clean up fo’ ’em, lemme know.

Ain’ nuffin’ yo’ kin do. I oughter put de po-lice on ’em—but, yo’ knows, dat gwine ter make all kin’-a trouble fo’ me. (He nods.) Dere people ’ud blackguard me—an’ raise hell.

I only be in it free days a week—an’ I’ll pay yo’ twict as much as Pocher.

(Chick grins and shakes his head, as though he regarded her as an extremely difficult person to understand.)

“Yo’ kin break mah bones,
Wid sticks an’ stones,
But I’se gwine ter live anahow till I die.”

Nuffin’—nuffin’ at all. Only I jes’ don’ wan’ ter go nowhars—fo’ a while.

An’ yo’ don’ wan’ me ter show yo’ a good time? (She shakes her head.) Or he’p yo’ out a lil’—?

Mah lil’ budigee—! Yas, yo’ is! Ain’ yo’ mine! Damn yo’, say yo’s mine!

Yo’ ain’ gwine ter yell nuffin’! (His arms[111] tighten about her.) Gimme a kiss! Come on! Yo’ yere me?

(He contrives to implant a prolonged kiss on her lips. At length, with a superhuman effort, she wrenches herself free, and retreats to the opposite side of the table. Chick starts to follow her, whereupon she runs around to the back of the table, where she stands, breathing heavily and weak from the struggle. Chick stands facing her—on the opposite side of the table and with back to the audience—his muscles taut, as though ready to lunge after her.)

Chick—! Please—! Sam—mah own Sam-boy—he’s mah lovah. He’s de onlies’ one—now!

Yas, he is! De minute he git out! Yo’ don’ know Sam like I does. I got ter stick ter him—no[112] matter weder he in jail or not. Gimme a chanct, Chick. Please—! Yo’ mah bes’ frien’—nex’ ter Sam. Gimme a chanct ter keep mah promise ter him! Don’ do nuffin’ dat gwine ter make him come back an’ kill yo’! (His muscles relax, as though her appeal had moved him somewhat.) Don’—don’ come at me like dat, Chick, ole boy—

(He gives a little, hollow laugh, reaches in his pocket, brings out a package of Sweet Corporals, puts one in his mouth and lights it. Lucy Belle runs a hand over her hair, which is all dishevelled, then glances down at her waist.)

(She moves hesitatingly to the door, Left, and pauses for a moment when she reaches there. He watches her with a narrow, tense gaze.)

(She goes out, Left. Chick leans back against the table and smokes in sullen, contemplative silence. Presently a knock sounds on the door, Back. Chick turns his head and listens. The knock sounds again. He goes nonchalantly to the door and opens it. Aunt Rebecca stands in the doorway.)

Drap in ter say howdy. (Chick, who has stood with his hand on the knob, opens the door again.) Yo’ ain’ gwine—?

Humph! No-count, like all de res’ dem yallow niggahs (Calling.) Lucy Belle—oh, Lucy Belle!

(Aunt Rebecca goes out, Left. A moment or two later the door, Back, opens a foot or two and Slim sticks his head in and looks about. Seeing no one, he enters stealthily and closes the door slowly and with extreme care. He moves cautiously to the chair, Left Center, on which Lucy Belle’s coat lies. He picks up the coat—or jacket—and goes rapidly through the pockets in search of her pocket book. Unable to find it in them, he drops the coat and stands in tense thought. His eyes wander over to the cupboard, Left. With quick, cat-like movements he goes to it, opens one of the top doors, removes the lid from a crockery jar, peers into it, sees nothing, removes the lid from the next one, peers into it, discovers the pocket book, reaches in and takes it out. He quickly extracts the four one-dollar bills, counts them and stuffs them in his pocket. He then drops the pocket book back in the jar, replaces the lid, and closes the door of the cupboard. He slips quickly across to the door, Back, opens it and goes out. In his hurry to get out he gives the door a little bang as he shuts it. A moment later Lucy Belle enters, Left, with a startled, inquiring look and glances about.)

LUCY BELLE (glancing at the clock on the cupboard. The hands point to half-past one)

Yo’ did’n’ look right ter me w’en I fus’ look at yo’—in dere jes’ now.

W’at d’yo’ care? Let him! Dat ole Chink ain’ got de onlies’ job in de worl’.

I’se sho’ gwine ter! Reckon I feel bettah aftah I gits a lil’ somefin’ ter eat. (Following Aunt Rebecca to the door.) Come ovah dis evenin!

(Aunt Rebecca goes out, Back. Lucy Belle puts on her jacket. She goes to the cupboard, Left, opens the top door, removes the lid from the crockery jar, reaches in and gets her pocket book. Something about its flatness rouses her curiosity. She casually opens it. A look of tragic dismay comes over her face as she discovers that the money is missing.)

(She fumbles about in the jar again, then searches through her pockets. It suddenly comes over her that she has been robbed. She stands staring dumbly before her with an expression of anguish and despair. Israel and Fanny run in, Back.)

(She is suddenly seized with a spell of dizziness. She sways unsteadily for a moment or two, finally collapses and sinks heavily down on a chair. The children scream and run to her side. She places one hand against the table, grips the back of the chair with the other and manages to hold herself up.)

Israel, son—hush! Yo’ yere me—? Mamma’s gwine ter be all right. Fanny! Git me glass-a watah. (The girl hesitates.) Go on! Quick!

(He clings to her sobbingly. Fanny enters, Left, with the glass of water and hurries to her mother’s side.)

Gawd, dat tas’ good. (She gradually revives. At length, as she sets the glass on the table.) Listen[120] ter me, yo’ chillen. Wan’ yo’ bof ter run up ter Moy Wing’s. Yo’ yere me? (They nod.) Run up dere—an’ tell him dat Mamma gwine ter be late. Go ahaid, now. Beat it! (They hang back, still sobbing.) Go on! (They run to the door, Back.) Say dat he—he bettah git somebody ter he’p me out—! Understan’—?

(They go out, Back, closing the door after them. Lucy Belle, weak and completely unnerved, sits staring tragically before her. At length a knock sounds on the door, Back.)

(He directs a fascinated gaze at her for a brief interval, as though half-tempted to make another ardent and forcible appeal. He thinks better of it, however, and starts to reach for the suit case.)

ACT III

The same as Act II—a year and a half later.

It is early evening and the lamp on the table is lighted. The chimney is badly smoked and the guttering flames cast eerie shadows about on the walls.

Aunt Rebecca is discovered seated to Right of table. Lucy Belle is seated near her, Right Center, and is noticeably thinner and more wan than in the preceding act. On the floor at her side sits a large basket, full of washing and on a chair nearby lies her coat and hat.

The imposing cupboard which formerly stood against the wall, Left, and the large easy chair are missing.

Yo’—yo’ see, I’se so busy wid mah wuk, an’ lookin’ aftah thin’s ’roun de house—an’—an’ de baby.

Only jes’ ’roun’ de corner. Be right back. (Rising and moving toward, Left.) Reckon I bettah bring dat baby out yere. No tellin’ w’at dem chillen liable ter do ter it while I’se gone.

(She goes out, Left, and returns immediately carrying a very young Negro baby.)

Sho’! Sho’! (Lucy Belle places the baby in Aunt Rebecca’s arms and the old woman gazes down at him admiringly.) Gawd-a-massy! Bless yo’ heart! Ain’ yo’ mah lil’ honey-boy? Smile at me—dat’s it—smile! Ootchum-kootchum! Ootchum—kootchum!

Hush, child! Night doctahs ain’ gwine ter git yo’ in yere. Go ’long! (Threateningly.) D’yo’ wan’ me ter knock yo’ haids off?

(Lucy Belle grabs them roughly and pushes them through the door, Left, and closes it after them. They cry for several moments and then gradually stop.)

Reckon I bettah be on mah way. (Beginning[125] to put on her hat and coat.) I ain’ nevah had no luck. Some gals gits by widout no trouble at all. I ain’ one-a dem kin’. Nuffin’ I evah done come out right—nuffin’ at all. Ef I starts anathin’ it’s boun’ ter go wrong. I—I’se conjuhed fo’ life.

Hush, chile! Don’ git down in de mouf like dat. Yo’ luck liable ter change any minute. Min’ did aftah I gits rid-a dem warts.

I ain’ got no bus’ness wid all dese chillen. I’se a fool—Gawd knows I is. (Wistfully.) Ain’ only one niggah evah treated me decent. Gawd knows, he treated me right!

Down in de penitentiary at Moun’sville. He kain’t write, so I don’ nevah yere from him.

W’at come dat yallow—um—lessee—w’at’s his name—uster see him ’roun’ yere—

Been gone free mon’s. I ain’ seen nor yere from him since he lef’. (She picks up the basket of clothes and goes to the door, Back.) Only be a minute, Aun’ Becky.

(Aunt Rebecca grunts and nods. Lucy Belle goes out, Back. Aunt Rebecca sits in brooding thought for a moment or two, then begins to chant to herself.)

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

(Footsteps and someone whistling are heard off stage, Back. Aunt Rebecca stops and listens. The door opens and Slim Dorsey enters, Back.)

(Slim takes a bag of tobacco and a pack of cigarette papers from his pocket and proceeds to roll a cigarette.)

W’at kin’-a bruder is yo’? Dat ain’ no way ter talk. W’at she do wid de chillen—an’—an’ dis yere baby?

Shame on yo’—shame on yo’—talkin’ like dat! She do de bes’ she kin! An’ yo’ jes’ lay ’roun’ an’ let her keep yo’.

Steady in season. I fishes w’en I ain’ wukkin’ dere. Dat’s why we move ovah yere from[128] Carter Street—ter be handy ter de rivah. Don’ yo’ all go lyin’ ’bout me livin’ off Lucy Belle,—’less yo’ lookin’ fo’ trouble.

(Aunt Rebecca glowers at him and remains silent for a brief interval. Slim lights his cigarette and sits astride a chair, with the back to the front.)

Ain’ nobody knows dat bettah den I do. No niggah an’ gwine ter take up wid her now. Mink Hall was crazy fo’ ter marry her one time. Huh—he wouldn’ look sideways at her now ef he was ter pass her in de street.

(The wind blows and whistles through the cracks. Aunt Rebecca straightens up stiffly and rolls her eyes.)

Don’ see me wastin’ no time on a night like dis. (Giving Slim a stony stare.) ’Lo, Slim. (She drops the basket near the door, and removes her hat and coat.)

Mink Hall jes’ seen him uptown. He stops in Seventh Street ter buy yo’ all somefin’.

On de wharf. Jes’ come ovah dere from uptown. Sam tol’ him dat he comin’ right on out yere.

Sam! Mah Sam-boy! (Then in tones tremulous with emotion) How did he git out so soon?

Nuffin’, I reckon—’Cept dat he ain’ seen yo’ in a good while—an’ dat yo’ still livin’ yere in Goat Alley.

Yo’ mean’ ’bout de baby? (She nods.) No, no! W’at I tell him dat fo’?

Slim—Slim—! Go down ter end ob de alley—dere by de stable. Sam gwine ter come in dat way sho’ as yo’ bawn ef he been up on Seventh Street. Ketch him dere—an’ take him ovah ter Gerner’s. Say dat I gone ovah ter Mag’s an’ dat I be back late ternight.

Slim, please, honey! Won’ yo’? Dat ain’ gwine ter hurt yo’. (She pulls up her skirt, reaches down in her stocking and pulls out a dollar bill.) Yere! (She hands it to Slim.) Please—jes’ dis onct! Won’ yo’—? (He slowly nods, and starts toward the door. She calls after him. He halts and turns.) Slim, don’ tell him whar I is. Jes’—jes’ say I’se gone away—an’ dat I won’ be back[131] till in de mawnin’. Yo’ yere? Say yo ’don’ know whar I is!

I—I did’n’ have no kin’-a idea Sam ’ud git out so soon. (Rapturously.) Sam! Mah, Sam! (Then fearfully.) But—but I kain’t see him yet—no, no—!

I tol’ yo’ I ain’ nevah had no luck! W’at kin’ a po’ gal like me do? Yo’—yo’ see I got dis yere baby. It—it’s free mon’s ole, now. Ef—ef he see dat—Oh, Gawd!

He’d kill me—sho’ as yo’ bawn! Yo’ see—yo’ see, his time was’n’ up fo’ mos’ anoder yeah. Him a’ me ain’ nevah had no luck an’ I did’n’t calc’late he’d git out befo’. I—I was gwine ter git ready an’ move in ’bout six mon’s. Den I was gwine ter writ ter de Warden—or de keeper—or somebody like dat an’ git dem ter tell him whar I move ter. (Moving about agitatedly.) Ef he only knowed what I been up agin! I—I promised him I would’n’ look at anabody else while he was gone. Ef I’d—a had any kin’a-luck nuffin’ ’ud make me break it. I loves Sam. I loves him bettah den anathin’ in de worl’. He knows I does. (A moment’s pause. Her eyes[132] rove space.) Las’ wintah I could’n’ git nuffin’ much ter do—dat is nuffin’ dat pay me much money—an’ I had trouble rentin’ dat room—. (She pauses for a moment, and drops her eyes, then goes on slowly.) Chick Avery comes ’roun’—yo’ know—an’ I let’s him stay yere—(She pauses again, and then points at the baby.) Dat’s his chile.

W’en me an’ Sam fust met up he says, “Lucy Belle, I don’ care nuffin’ at all ’bout w’at yo’ done fo’ I knowed yo’. Dat’s all pas’ an’ gone an’ somefin’ we ain’ gwine ter boder our haids ’bout.” (She stares into space with tragic eyes.) But—but he tol’ me onct dat ef I evah had anathin’ ter do wid anoder niggah he’d kill me.

He’s de onlies’ niggah dat evah done anathin’ much fo’ me. Mah own Sam-boy, baby buddy! (She stares abstractedly into space for a moment or two.) An’—an’ yo’ see he’s comin’ right back ter me—now he’s out.

Sam nevah boder his haid ’bout oder gals—not since he know me—’cept ole Lizzie Gibbs fo’ a lil’ while—(Fearfully.) Dat’s de onlies’ thin’ I’se scar’t of—is dat niggahs will lie an’ blackguard on me!

Only two or free people yere in Goat Alley—an’ Slim an’ Mag an’ yo’. Mag’s mah frien’ ovah in Anacostia.

I don’ know, I don’ know! I kin take him ovah ter Mag’s—but even ef I does—she kain’t keep him long—an’—(Pacing about agitatedly.) I—I’se got ter do somefin’ quick! (In anguish.) I ain’ done no mo’ den oder gals—an’—an’—Sam got ter fo’give me!

(The door, Back, opens and Lizzie Gibbs enters. She wears no hat and has a light shawl thrown over her shoulders.)

I reckon yo’ is! Thought I’d fin’ yo’ flyin’ ’roun’ wid yo’ eyes poppin’ out-a yo’ haid.

Dat’s right—preten’ yo’ don’ know nuffin’ ’bout it—yo’ damn lil’ hussy!

Don’ yo’ stan’ up dere an’ tell me yo’ don’ know Sam Reed ain’ home.

Yo’ all got de idee yo’ got some kin’-a strangle hol’ on Sam, ain’ yo’?

I knows damn well he ain’ gwine ter fool ’roun’ an’ ole wench like yo’!

Ef yo’ say anathin’ like dat agin I bus’ yo’ in de mouf! (Lucy Belle gives an explosive, contemptuous laugh.) Lemme tell yo’, gal, I knows a thin’ or two ’bout yo’.

Gawd knows, how many times I see yo’ on de street las’ wintah wid Chick Avery.

Oh, yas, yo’ lil’ angel face! Yo’ nevah done nuffin’ wrong in yo’ life! (Darkly.) Lemme tell yo’ one thin’! Keep yo’ han’s off dat niggah—dis time! Ef I yere yo’ been foolin’ roun’ aftah him I’se gwine ter raise some hell. (She turns toward the door, Back.)

Ain’ I? Yo’ wait an’ see! I’se gwine ter make dat face-a yo’s look like a piece-a sausage. Don’ yo’ come tryin’ ter play any ob dat doll-baby bus’ness wid me! Ha! Ha! Yo’ damn lil’ hussy, yo’! (She goes out, Back.)

Whew-me! Gawd-a-massy! Sweah out a warrant fo’ her! Go ’long! Don’ yo’ let no niggah blackguard yo’ like dat.

I’ll git her mahse’f—an’ ef I don’, Sam will. (Fiercely.) Some night I ketch her alone an[137]’ knock her haid off! ’Deed, I’se gwine ter clean up fo’ her right!

Now, right ’way, she got ter come mixin’ in agin. (Fiercely.) I done took all I’se gwine ter off her! (Moving about agitatedly.) ’Deed, I is! W’at she anaway? Stuck up kase she got straight hair. Nevah done a lick-a wuk in her life.

Ha! Ha! She think she kin keep Sam ’way from me! I like ter see her! I like ter see her!

(She motions to Aunt Rebecca to leave the room. The old woman goes off hurriedly, Left. Lucy Belle stands hesitant. A look of dire fear comes over her face, and she appears to be on the verge of collapse. However, with an effort she controls[138] herself and goes uncertainly to the door, Back, and opens it. Sam steps in. He looks older and thinner than in Act I and his hair is streaked with gray, and his shoulders are a trifle more stooped than before. He wears a dark suit of clothes—the sort furnished to prisoners on the occasion of their release—a collar, but no tie, and he carries a small bundle under one arm. In one hand he carries his hat.)

(He tosses his hat and the bundle on the table, takes her in his arms and smothers her with kisses.)

No, no! Oh, Sam, Sam! Mah ole Sam-boy! (Clinging tightly to him.) Oh, I’se so glad ter see yo’! Gawd bless yo’!

No, no! Did’n’ have no idea in de worl’ I’se gwine ter see yo’ so soon. Not till jes’ a minute ago. Slim come an’ tol’ me. He say Mink Hall tol’ him.

Ah, Sam-boy! Mah budigee lovah! Yo’ ain’ nevah gwine ter leave me agin, is yo’?

Seem ter me like I only had ter shet mah eyes—night or day—an’ see yo’ face. Only thinkin’ ’bout yo’ kep’ me from killin’ ev’body in sight w’en I’se breakin’ mah back on dem rock piles. Yo’ don’ know w’at kin’-a hell I been th’u’, gal. Kin’-a hell dat sets a man crazy—’less he’s careful.

Yas, yas. Calc’lated ter move two or free times but could’n’ fin’ nuffin’ ter suit me.

SAM (glancing about the room and noting that the cupboard and large easy chair are missing)

Yo’ po’ kid! (Stroking her hair.) Dat’s all right. We ain’ gwine ter boder nuffin’ ’bout dat. (Studying her face intently.) Yo’ lookin’ mighty thin.

I’se been wukkin’ hard, Sam. ’Tain’t so easy fo’ a gal alone—an’—an’—wid two chillen.

I know it ain’, honey-baby. Nevah min’—yo’ ain’ gwine ter wuk hard no mo’.

Le’s go ter Baltimo’. Dey was mo’ wuk w’en yo’ was ovah dere befo’—an’ dey paid bettah wages.

Jes’ de same—ev’ybody tell me. An’—an’ ef we stay yere, honey—de po-lice be aftah yo’ all de time.

Dey will—yo’ knows dey will. Ev’y time dey’s a lil’ trouble dey gwine ter pick yo’ up. An’—an’ me an’ yo’ ain’ nevah had no luck in dis town. Befo’ we was gwine ter Baltimo’ jes’ as soon as yo’ got a steady job—an’ den—at las’ we was gwine anaway. Ef—ef we’d picked right up an’ wen’ at fust ole Jeff Bisbee ’ud nevah come foolin’ ’roun’—an’ yo’d nevah wen’ ter jail—would yo’?

I knows yo’ would’n’. Aftah all de trouble we had yere—I hates dis place—! I gotta feelin’ dat nuffin’ ain’ gwine ter come right long as we stay yere. I wan’s ter git ’way! Le’s don’ wait dis time. Le’s git ’way fo’ any ob dat ole hard luck begin!

Baby, le’s git out right away—jes’ as quick as we kin. Mah monf yere ain’ up till nex’ week but I don’ care. Le’s pack up an’ beat it—an[142]’ git ’way from all dat hard luck—an’ po-lice an’ lyin’ an’ blackguardin’ niggahs. Won’ yo’, honey-baby? Termorrer or nex’ day—de quicker de bettah.

’Tolable! ’Tolable! Down wid rheumatiz fo’ a while—but I’se all right now. Mighty glad yo’s out.

Mus’ ’scuse me. I got ter git home an’ cook some suppah fo’ mah ole man.

(Sam nods. She goes out, Left. Sam moves slowly and thoughtfully about the room. Presently a loud knock sounds on the door, Back. As he nears it, it opens and Lizzie Gibbs rushes in.)

Well—Sam! So—so yo’s out again! Mah soul, but I’se damn glad ter see yo!

Sam—Sam, ole boy—now hones’, w’at is I evah done ter make yo’ treat me like yo’ has?

Sam—I’se gwine ter git a good job uptown—Monday. I’ll keep yo’ dis wintah, ole kiddo. Yo’ won’ haf ter do no wuk. Should think yo’ wan’ ter take it easy—fo’ a while—now yo’ out-a jail. Don’ yo’? I’ll show yo’ a good time, son. Yo’ kin lay ’roun’ an’ take it easy—an’ git drunk w’en yo’-a min’ ter—

Sam, I don’ wan’ ter see nobody like yo’ git tied up agin wid a wench like her. Onct was ’nuff—but—

Why, she been runnin’ ’roun’ wid Chick Avery—evah since yo’ lef. Ha! Ha!

(Sam darts out the door, Back. Lucy Belle closes the door, Left. Hurried footsteps are heard off stage, Back. Lizzie glances out of the window, Left Back, gives a little gasp, looks wildly about for a place to hide, runs to the closet door, opens it, darts in and pulls it shut after her. A policeman enters, Back.)

(He stands looking about the room for a moment or two, then advances toward the door, Left. It suddenly opens and Lucy Belle enters.)

Say—where d’yuh get that stuff? Don’t yuh think I got ears? (Goes to the door, Left.) Who’s in here?

Yuh better watch your step. I ain’t goin’ to stand for no skylarkin’ around this neighborhood.

(He goes out, Back, and closes the door after him. Lucy Belle turns and goes off hurriedly, Left. She re-enters immediately carrying the baby in her[147] arms and starts toward the door, Back. A second later Fanny—in her nightgown—runs in, Left.)

Gwine ter take de baby ovah ter yo’ Aun’ Becky’s. Git right back ter bed. Go ’long!

(Fanny goes out, Left, closing the door after her. Lucy Belle starts again toward the door, Back. Lizzie steps abruptly out from the closet.)

I knowed I’d git yo’! Pretendin’ ter be such a lil’ angel! Ha! Ha! Been up ter all kin’-a tricks, ain’ yo’?

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ain’ yo’ chile! Ain’ yo’ chile! Yo’s a good lil’ liah, ain’ yo’?

Ha! Ha! It sartainly do look like Chick—jes’ ’zactly. Wait till I tells Sam. He one-a dem kin’ dat ain’ so partic’lar. He don’ min’ accidents now an’ den. Ha! Ha! (She goes out, Back.)

(Lucy Belle stands staring tragically to the front. Suddenly a look of desperation comes into her face and she dashes out, Back. Presently Aunt Rebecca enters, Back, and looks inquiringly about.)

(Fanny reluctantly leaves, Left. Aunt Rebecca sits down in a chair and chants to herself.)

Devil gwine ter git yo’! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Devil gwine ter git yo’! Um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a—um—a! Devil gwine ter git yo’!

Me an’ Mink Hall—an’ some oder niggahs—in a game ovah by dem coal chutes. She sneak ’long by Graley’s ice house—den run out on de wharf an’ th’u it in. Me an’ Mink seen ef we would save it—but it was’n’ no use. It—it was too da’k. Soon as ’Luce seen me she run’ as fas’ as she coul’. I believe she gone plum crazy.

Gawd-a-massy! Gawd-a-massy! Dat po’ chile! I knowed somefin’ tumble gwine ter happen.

(Aunt Rebecca and Slim go out, Back. In the course of a brief interval Lucy Belle enters stealthily, Back,—dishevelled and terrified. She moves agitatedly about the room, twining and intertwining her fingers. Presently Sam enters, Back.)

LUCY BELLE (in tremulous tones—as she pulls herself together with a mighty effort)

No, no! Honey-baby! Mah ole budigee honey-baby! I’se so scar’t I did’n’ know w’at ter do.

No, no! Sam! Fo’ Gawd’s sake! Yo’ don’ believe a devil like her, d’yo’?

Sam-boy! Hones’ ter Gawd—I ain’ had nuffin’ ter do wid nobody since yo’ been gone! Nuffin’ at all! Yo’ believe yo’ lil’ budigee, don’ yo’? Don’ yo’, honey-baby?

Sam—Sam—she got-a baby! It Chick Avery’s. It’s yere! Dat’s de way she treat yo’ all! Ha! Ha! Makin’ a damn fool ob yo’! I allas knowed yo’s an easy mark!

(Sam starts to rush out after her. He hesitates, however, and finally bangs the door shut and turns to Lucy Belle.)

It ain’ so! It’s a lie! Yo’ knows she could’n’ tell de truf! She nuffin’ but a dirty, lyin’ hussy—! Yo’ don’ believe her, do yo’?

Ef yo’ try any funny bus’ness wid me I’ll kill yo’! Damn yo’ heart ter hell!

(He goes out, Left, closely followed by Lucy Belle. The door stands open and their voices can be heard.)

See, Sam—ain’ nobody but Fanny an’ Israel. Don’ wake ’em up! Jes’ mah clothes, Sam-boy! Aw, yo’ believes me—don’ yo’? Yo’ don’ believe an’ ole wench like her!

No, no! He ain’ even in town no mo’. It’s all a dirty lie! Lizzie allas blackguardin’ me—don’ yo’ know she is—evah since yo’ an’ me met up! She say anathin’—anathin’ at all ter git back at me.

No—no—I ain’—sweah ter Gawd I ain’! Aw, Sam, yo’ believes yo’ honey-baby, don’ yo’?

(A tense pause. He stares down at her as though trying to read the truth in her eyes.)

Yo’ ain’ gwine ter boder ’bout her—or nobody, Sam-boy! We gwine ter git ’way from all dem ole niggahs like her—quick as we kin! Ain’ we, honey-baby? (Fondly.) Bes’ ole buddy in de worl’! I wan’s yo’, Sam—jes’ yo’—nuffin’ else.

Sam, mah budigee baby, mah ole Sam-boy baby! Ain’ nuffin’ on Gawd’s earf I would’n’ do fo’ yo’! (Earnestly, as she stares up into his face.) Yo’ an’ me’s gwine ter Baltimo’ right ’way quick—ain’ we?

Lucy Belle! Mah Gawd! Lucy Belle! Is yo’ crazy? Dey fish him out—de baby! Oh, mah Gawd!

(A tense silence of several seconds. At length Sam divines her meaning. Aunt Rebecca staggers back—under the stress of the sudden realization of what the consequences of her revelation are likely to be. Lucy Belle stands at one side, moaning softly. Sam rushes at Aunt Rebecca, hits her and knocks her out through the door, Back. She screams. He rushes over, closes the door and locks it.)

Damn yo’ black heart ter hell! (She gives an unearthly shriek.) Yo’ will double-cross me! Dis is de way yo’ pays me fo’ all I done fo’ yo’!

(He takes her by the throat and slowly chokes her to death. She struggles desperately to free herself. At length she grows quiet and her body limp. He throws her on the floor, stands gazing at her for a moment or two, grabs up his hat, slinks to the door, Back, unlocks it, opens it cautiously and goes out, closing it after him.)

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOAT ALLEY: A TRAGEDY OF NEGRO LIFE ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Goat Alley: A Tragedy of Negro Life

Goat Alley

A TRAGEDY OF NEGRO LIFE

INTRODUCTION

CHARACTERS

ACT I

ACT II

ACT III

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

Lucy Belle Dorsey
Slim Dorsey
Sam Reed
Aunt Rebecca
Lizzie Gibbs
Jeff Bisbee
Chick Avery
Jeremiah Pocher
Fanny Dorsey	}	Children
Israel Dorsey	}
Baby
Policeman

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Goat Alley: A Tragedy of Negro Life

Goat Alley A TRAGEDY OF NEGRO LIFE

INTRODUCTION

CHARACTERS

ACT I

ACT II

ACT III

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

Goat Alley

A TRAGEDY OF NEGRO LIFE