# Rachel (Grimke 1920)/Act II

Layout 2
ACT II
ACT II.
Time: October sixteenth, four years later; seven o’clock in the morning.
Scene: The same room. There have been very evident improvements made. The room is not so bare; it is cosier. On the shelf, before each window, are potted red geraniums. At the windows are green denim drapery curtains covering fresh white dotted Swiss inner curtains. At each doorway are green denim portieres. On the wall between the kitchenette and the entrance to the outer rooms of the flat, a new picture is hanging, Millet’s “The Man With the Hoe.” Hanging against the side of the run that faces front is Watts’s “Hope.” There is another easy-chair at the left front. The table in the center is covered with a white table-cloth. A small asparagus fern is in the middle of this. When the curtain rises there is the clatter of dishes in the kitchenette. Presently Rachel enters with dishes and silver in her hands. She is clad in a bungalow apron. She is noticeably all of four years older. She frowns as she sets the table. There is a set expression about the mouth. A child’s voice is heard from the rooms within.
Jimmy (Still unseen): Ma Rachel!
Rachel (Pauses and smiles): What is it, Jimmy boy?
Jimmy (Appearing in rear doorway, half-dressed, breathless, and tremendously excited over something. Rushes toward Rachel): Three guesses! Three guesses! Ma Rachel!
​Rachel (Her whole face softening): Well, let’s see—maybe there is a circus in town.
Jimmy: No siree! (In a sing-song) You’re not right! You’re not right!
Rachel: Well, maybe Ma Loving’s going to take you somewhere.
Jimmy: No! (Vigorously shaking his head) It’s—
Rachel (Interrupting quickly) You said I could have three guesses, honey. I’ve only had two.
Jimmy: I thought you had three. How many are three?
Rachel (Counting on her fingers): One! Two! Three! I’ve only had one! two!—See? Perhaps Uncle Tom is going to give you some candy.
Jimmy (Dancing up and down): No! No! No! (Catches his breath) I leaned over the bath-tub, way over, and got hold of the chain with the button on the end, and dropped it into the little round place in the bottom. And then I runned lots and lots of water in the tub and climbed over and fell in splash! just like a big stone; (Loudly) and took a bath all by myself alone.
Rachel (Laughing and hugging him): All by yourself, honey? You ran the water, too, boy, not “runned” it. What I want to know is, where was Ma Loving all this time?
Jimmy: I stole in “creepy-creep” and looked at Ma Loving and she was awful fast asleep. (Proudly) Ma Rachel, I’m a “nawful,” big boy now, aren’t I? I are almost a man, aren’t I?
Rachel: Oh! Boy, I’m getting tired of correcting you—“I am almost a man, am I not?” Jimmy, boy, what will Ma Rachel do, if you grow up? Why, I won’t have a little boy any more! Honey, you mustn’t grow up, do you hear? You mustn’t.
​Jimmy: Oh, yes, I must; and you’ll have me just the same, Ma Rachel. I’m going to be a policeman and make lots of money for you and Ma Loving and Uncle Tom, and I’m going to buy you some trains and fire-engines, and little, cunning ponies, and some rabbits, and some great ’normous banks full of money—lots of it. And then, we are going to live in a great, big castle and eat lots of ice cream, all the time, and drink lots and lots of nice pink lemonade.
Rachel: What a generous Jimmy boy! (Hugs him). Before I give you “morning kiss,” I must see how clean my boy is. (Inspects teeth, ears and neck). Jimmy, you’re sweet and clean enough to eat. (Kisses him; he tries to strangle her with hugs). Now the hands. Oh! Jimmy, look at those nails! Oh! Jimmy! (Jimmy wriggles and tries to get his hands away). Honey, get my file off of my bureau and go to Ma Loving; she must be awake by this time. Why, honey, what’s the matter with your feet?
Jimmy. I don’t know. I thought they looked kind of queer, myself. What’s the matter with them?
Rachel (Laughing): You have your shoes on the wrong feet.
Jimmy (Bursts out laughing): Isn’t that most ’normously funny? I’m a case, aren’t I—(pauses thoughtfully) I mean—am I not, Ma Rachel?
Rachel: Yes, honey, a great big case of molasses. Come, you must hurry now, and get dressed. You don’t want to be late for school, you know.
Jimmy: Ma Rachel! (Shyly) I—I have been making something for you all the morning—ever since I waked up. It’s awful nice. It’s—stoop down, Ma Rachel, please—a great, big (puts both arms about her neck and gives her a noisy kiss. Rachel kisses him in return, then pushes ​his head back. For a long moment they look at each other; and, then, laughing joyously, he makes believe he is a horse, and goes prancing out of the room. Rachel, with a softer, gentler expression, continues setting the table. Presently, Mrs. Loving, bent and worn-looking, appears in the doorway in the rear. She limps a trifle.)
Mrs. Loving: Good morning, dearie. How’s my little girl, this morning? (Looks around the room). Why, where’s Tom? I was certain I heard him running the water in the tub, sometime ago. (Limps into the room).
Rachel (Laughing): Tom isn’t up yet. Have you seen Jimmy?
Mrs. Loving: Jimmy? No. I didn’t know he was awake, even.
Rachel (Going to her mother and kissing her): Well! What do you think of that! I sent the young gentleman to you, a few minutes ago, for help with his nails. He is very much grown up this morning, so I suppose that explains why he didn’t come to you. Yesterday, all day, you know, he was a puppy. No one knows what he will be by tomorrow. All of this, Ma dear, is preliminary to telling you that Jimmy boy has stolen a march on you, this morning.
Mrs. Loving: Stolen a march! How?
Rachel: It appears that he took his bath all by himself and, as a result, he is so conceited, peacocks aren’t in it with him.
Mrs. Loving: I heard the water running and thought, of course, it was Tom. Why, the little rascal! I must go and see how he has left things. I was just about to wake him up.
Rachel: Rheumatism’s not much better this morning, Ma dear. (Confronting her mother) Tell me the truth, now, did you or did you not try that liniment I bought you yesterday?
​Mrs. Loving (Guiltily): Well, Rachel, you see—it was this way, I was—I was so tired, last night,—I—I really forgot it.
Rachel: I thought as much. Shame on you!
Mrs. Loving: As soon as I walk around a bit it will be all right. It always is. It’s bad, when I first get up—that’s all. I’ll be spry enough in a few minutes. (Limps to the door; pauses) Rachel, I don’t know why the thought should strike me, but how very strangely things turn out. If any one had told me four years ago that Jimmy would be living with us, I should have laughed at him. Then it hurt to see him; now it would hurt not to. (Softly) Rachel, sometimes—I wonder—if, perhaps, God—hasn’t relented a little—and given me back my boy,—my George.
Rachel: The whole thing was strange, wasn’t it?
Mrs. Loving: Yes, God’s ways are strange and often very beautiful; perhaps all would be beautiful—if we only understood.
Rachel: God’s ways are certainly very mysterious. Why, of all the people in this apartment-house, should Jimmy’s father and mother be the only two to take the smallpox, and the only two to die. It’s queer!
Mrs. Loving: It doesn’t seem like two years ago, does it?
Rachel: Two years, Ma dear! Why it’s three the third of January.
Mrs. Loving: Are you sure, Rachel?
Rachel (Gently): I don’t believe I could ever forget that, Ma dear.
Mrs. Loving: No, I suppose not. That is one of the differences between youth and old age—youth attaches tremendous importance to dates,—old age does not.
Rachel (Quickly): Ma dear, don’t talk like that. You’re not old.
​Mrs. Loving: Oh! yes, I am, dearie. It’s sixty long years since I was born; and I am much older than that, much older.
Rachel: Please, Ma dear, please!
Mrs. Loving (Smiling): Very well, dearie, I won’t say it any more. (A pause). By the way,—how—does Tom strike you, these days?
Rachel (Avoiding her mother’s eye): The same old, bantering, cheerful Tom. Why?
Mrs. Loving: I know he’s all that, dearie, but it isn’t possible for him to be really cheerful. (Pauses; goes on wistfully) When you are little, we mothers can kiss away all the trouble, but when you grow up—and go out—into the world—and get hurt—we are helpless. There is nothing we can do.
Rachel: Don’t worry about Tom, Ma dear, he’s game. He doesn’t show the white feather.
Mrs. Loving: Did you see him, when he came in, last night?
Rachel: Yes.
Mrs. Loving: Had he had—any luck?
Rachel: No. (Firmly) Ma dear, we may as well face it—it’s hopeless, I’m afraid.
Mrs. Loving: I’m afraid—you are right. (Shakes her head sadly) Well, I’ll go and see how Jimmy has left things and wake up Tom, if he isn’t awake yet. It’s the waking up in the mornings that’s hard. (Goes limping out rear door. Rachel frowns as she continues going back and forth between the kitchenette and the table. Presently Tom appears in the door at the rear. He watches Rachel several moments before he speaks or enters. Rachel looks grim enough).
Tom (Entering and smiling): Good-morning, “Merry Sunshine”! Have you, perhaps, been taking a—er—prolonged draught of that very delightful beverage—vine​gar? (Rachel, with a knife in her hand, looks up unsmiling. In pretended fright) I take it all back, I’m sure. May I request, humbly, that before I press my chaste, morning salute upon your forbidding lips, that you—that you—that you—er—in some way rid yourself of that—er—knife? (Bows as Rachel puts it down). I thank you. (He comes to her and tips her head back; gently) What’s the matter with my little Sis?
Rachel (Her face softening): Tommy dear, don’t mind me. I’m getting wicked, I guess. At present I feel just like— —like curdled milk. Once upon a time, I used to have quite a nice disposition, didn’t I, Tommy?
Tom (Smiling): Did you, indeed! I’m not going to flatter you. Well, brace yourself, old lady. Ready, One! Two! Three! Go! (Kisses her, then puts his hands on either side of her face, and raising it, looks down into it). You’re a pretty, decent little sister, Sis, that’s what T. Loving thinks about it; and he knows a thing or two. (Abruptly looking around) Has the paper come yet?
Rachel: I haven’t looked, it must have, though, by this time. (Tom, hands in his pockets, goes into the vestibule. He whistles. The outer door opens and closes, and presently he saunters back, newspaper in hand. He lounges carelessly in the arm-chair and looks at Rachel).
Tom: May T. Loving be of any service to you?
Rachel: Service! How?
Tom: May he run, say, any errands, set the table, cook the breakfast? Anything?
Rachel (Watching the lazy figure): You look like working.
Tom (Grinning): It’s at least—polite—to offer.
Rachel: You can’t do anything; I don’t trust you to do it right. You may just sit there, and read your paper—and try to behave yourself.
​Tom (In affectedly meek tones): Thank you, ma’am. (Opens the paper, but does not read. Jimmy presently enters riding around the table on a cane. Rachel peeps in from the kitchenette and smiles. Tom puts down his paper). ’Lo! Big Fellow, what’s this?
Jimmy (Disgustedly): How can I hear? I’m miles and miles away yet. (Prances around and around the room; presently stops near Tom, attempting a gruff voice) Good-morning!
Tom (Lowering his paper again): Bless my stars! Who’s this? Well, if it isn’t Mr. Mason! How-do-you-do, Mr. Mason? That’s a beautiful horse you have there. He limps a trifle in his left, hind, front foot, though.
Jimmy: He doesn’t!
Tom: He does!
Jimmy (Fiercely): He doesn’t!
Tom (As fiercely): I say he does!
Mrs. Loving (Appearing in the doorway in the rear): For Heaven’s sake! What is this? Good-morning, Tommy.
Tom (Rising and going toward his mother, Jimmy following astride of the cane in his rear): Good-morning, Ma. (Kisses her; lays his head on her shoulder and makes believe he is crying; in a high falsetto) Ma! Jimmy says his horse doesn’t limp in his hind, front right leg, and I say he does.
Jimmy (Throws his cane aside, rolls on the floor and kicks up his heels. He roars with laughter): I think Uncle Tom is funnier than any clown in the “Kickus.”
Tom (Raising his head and looking down at Jimmy; Rachel stands in the kitchenette doorway): In the what, Jimmy?
Jimmy: In the “kickus,” of course.
Tom: “Kickus”! “Kickus”! Oh, Lordy! (Tom and Rachel shriek with laughter; Mrs. Loving looks amused; Jimmy, very much affronted, gets upon his feet again. ​Tom leans over and swings Jimmy high in the air). Boy, you’ll be the death of me yet. Circus, son! Circus!
Jimmy (From on high, soberly and with injured dignity): Well, I thinks “Kickus” and circus are very much alike. Please put me down.
Rachel (From the doorway): We laugh, honey, because we love you so much.
Jimmy (Somewhat mollified, to Tom): Is that so, Uncle Tom?
Tom: Surest thing in the world! (Severely) Come, get down, young man. Don’t you know you’ll wear my arms out? Besides, there is something in my lower vest pocket, that’s just dying to come to you. Get down, I say.
Jimmy (Laughing): How can I get down? (Wriggles around).
Tom: How should I know? Just get down, of course. (Very suddenly puts Jimmy down on his feet. Jimmy tries to climb up over him).
Jimmy: Please sit down, Uncle Tom?
Tom (In feigned surprise): Sit down! What for?
Jimmy (Pummeling him with his little fists, loudly): Why, you said there was something for me in your pocket.
Tom (Sitting down): So I did. How forgetful I am!
Jimmy (Finding a bright, shiny penny, shrieks): Oh! Oh! Oh! (Climbs up and kisses Tom noisily).
Tom: Why, Jimmy! You embarrass me. My! My!
Jimmy: What is ’barrass?
Tom: You make me blush.
Jimmy: What’s that?
Mrs. Loving: Come, come, children! Rachel has the breakfast on the table. (Tom sits in Jimmy’s place and Jimmy tries to drag him out).
Tom: What’s the matter, now?
Jimmy: You’re in my place.
​Tom: Well, can’t you sit in mine?
Jimmy (Wistfully): I wants to sit by my Ma Rachel.
Tom: Well, so do I.
Rachel: Tom, stop teasing Jimmy. Honey, don’t you let him bother you; ask him please prettily.
Jimmy: Please prettily, Uncle Tom.
Tom: Oh! well then. (Gets up and takes his own place. They sit as they did in Act I. only Jimmy sits between Tom, at the end, and Rachel).
Jimmy (Loudly): Oh, goody! goody! goody! We’ve got sau-sa-ges.
Mrs. Loving: Sh!
Jimmy (Silenced for a few moments; Rachel ties a big napkin around his neck, and prepares his breakfast. He breaks forth again suddenly and excitedly): Uncle Tom!
Tom: Sir?
Jimmy: I took a bath this morning, all by myself alone, in the bath-tub, and I ranned, no (Doubtfully) I runned, I think—the water all in it, and got in it all by myself; and Ma Loving thought it was you; but it was me.
Tom (In feignedly severe tones): See here, young man, this won’t do. Don’t you know I’m the only one who is allowed to do that here? It’s a perfect waste of water—that’s what it is.
Jimmy (Undaunted): Oh! no, you’re not the only one, ’cause Ma Loving and Ma Rachel and me—alls takes baths every single morning. So, there!
Tom: You ’barrass me. (Jimmy opens his mouth to ask a question; Tom quickly) Young gentleman, your mouth is open. Close it, sir; close it.
Mrs. Loving: Tom, you’re as big a child exactly as Jimmy.
Tom (Bowing to right and left): You compliment me. I thank you, I am sure.
(They finish in silence.)
Jimmy (Sighing with contentment): I’m through, Ma Rachel.
Mrs. Loving: Jimmy, you’re a big boy, now, aren’t you? (Jimmy nods his head vigorously and looks proud.) I wonder if you’re big enough to wash your own hands, this morning?
Jimmy (Shrilly): Yes, ma’am.
Mrs. Loving: Well, if they’re beautifully clean, I’ll give you another penny.
Jimmy (Excitedly to Rachel): Please untie my napkin, Ma Rachel! (Rachel does so.) “Excoose” me, please.
Mrs. Loving and Rachel: Certainly. (Jimmy climbs down and rushes out at the rear doorway.)
Mrs. Loving (Solemnly and slowly; breaking the silence): Rachel, do you know what day this is?
Rachel (Looking at her plate; slowly): Yes, Ma dear.
Mrs. Loving: Tom.
Tom (Grimly and slowly): Yes, Ma.
(A silence.)
Mrs. Loving (Impressively): We must never—as long—as we live—forget this day.
Rachel: No, Ma dear.
Tom: No, Ma.
(Another silence)
Tom (Slowly; as though thinking aloud): I hear people talk about God’s justice—and I wonder. There, are you, Ma. There isn’t a sacrifice—that you haven’t made. You’re still working your fingers to the bone—sewing—just so all of us may keep on living. Rachel is a graduate in Domestic Science; she was high in her class; most of the girls below her in rank have positions in the schools. I’m an electrical engineer—and I’ve tried steadily for several months—to practice my profession. It seems our educations aren’t of much use to us: we ​aren’t allowed to make good—because our skins are dark. (Pauses) And, in the South today, there are white men—(Controls himself). They have everything; they’re well-dressed, well-fed, well-housed; they’re prosperous in business; they’re important politically; they’re pillars in the church. I know ail this is true—I’ve inquired. Their children (our ages, some of them) are growing up around them; and they are having a square deal handed out to them—college, position, wealth, and best of all, freedom, without galling restrictions, to work out their own salvations. With ability, they may become—anything; and all this will be true of their children’s children after them. (A pause). Look at us—and look at them. We are destined to failure—they, to success. Their children shall grow up in hope; ours, in despair. Our hands are clean;—theirs are red with blood—red with the blood of a noble man—and a boy. They’re nothing but low, cowardly, bestial murderers. The scum of the earth shall succeed. —God’s justice, I suppose.
Mrs. Loving (Rising and going to Tom; brokenly): Tom, promise me—one thing.
Tom (Rises gently): What is it, Ma?
Mrs. Loving: That—you’ll try—not to lose faith—in God. I’ve been where you are now—and it’s black. Tom, we don’t understand God’s ways. My son, I know, now—He is beautiful. Tom, won’t you try to believe, again?
Tom (Slowly, but not convincingly): I’ll try, Ma.
Mrs. Loving (Sighs): Each one, I suppose, has to work out his own salvation. (After a pause) Rachel, if you’ll get Jimmy ready, I’ll take him to school. I’ve got to go down town shopping for a customer, this morning. (Rachel rises and goes out the rear doorway; Mrs. Loving, limping very slightly now, follows. She turns and looks back yearningly at Tom, who has seated himself again, ​and is staring unseeingly at his plate. She goes out. Tom sits without moving until he hears Mrs. Loving’s voice within and Rachel’s faintly; then he gets the paper, sits in the arm-chair and pretends to read).
Mrs. Loving (From within): A yard, you say, Rachel? You’re sure that will be enough. Oh! you’ve measured it. Anything else?—What?—Oh! all right. I’ll be back by one o’clock, anyway. Good-bye. (Enters with Jimmy. Both are dressed for the street. Tom looks up brightly at Jimmy).
Tom: Hello! Big Fellow, where are you taking my mother, I’d like to know? This is a pretty kettle of fish.
Jimmy (Laughing): Aren’t you funny, Uncle Tom! Why, I’m not taking her anywhere. She’s taking me. (Importantly) I’m going to school.
Tom: Big Fellow, come here. (Jimmy comes with a rush). Now, where’s that penny I gave you? No, I don’t want to see it. All right. Did Ma Loving give you another? (Vigorous noddings of the head from Jimmy). I wish you to promise me solemnly—Now, listen! Here, don’t wriggle so! not to buy—Listen! too many pints of ice-cream with my penny. Understand?
Jimmy (Very seriously): Yes, Uncle Tom, cross my “tummy”! I promise.
Tom: Well, then, you may go. I guess that will be all for the present. (Jimmy loiters around looking up wistfully into his face). Well?
Jimmy: Haven’t you—aren’t you—isn’t you—forgetting something?
Tom (Grabbing at his pockets): Bless my stars! what now?
Jimmy: If you could kind of lean over this way. (Tom leans forward). No, not that way. (Tom leans toward the side away from Jimmy). No, this way, this way! ​(Laughs and pummels him with his little fists). This way!
Tom (Leaning toward Jimmy): Well, why didn’t you say so, at first?
Jimmy (Puts his arms around Tom’s neck and kisses him): Good-bye, dear old Uncle Tom. (Tom catches him and hugs him hard). I likes to be hugged like that—I can taste—sau-sa-ges.
Tom: You ’barrass me, son. Here, Ma, take your boy. Now remember all I told you, Jimmy.
Jimmy: I ’members.
Mrs. Loving: God bless you, Tom. Good luck.
Jimmy (To Tom): God bless you, Uncle Tom. Good luck!
Tom (Much affected, but with restraint, rising): Thank you—Good-bye. (Mrs. Loving and Jimmy go out through the vestibule. Tom lights a cigarette and tries to read the paper. He soon sinks into a brown study. Presently Rachel enters humming. Tom relights his cigarette; and Rachel proceeds to clear the table. In the midst of this, the bell rings three distinct times).
Rachel and Tom: John!
Tom: I wonder what’s up—It’s rather early for him.—I’ll go. (Rises leisurely and goes out into the vestibule. The outer door opens and shuts. Men’s voices are heard. Tom and John Strong enter. During the ensuing conversation Rachel finishes clearing the table, takes the fern off, puts on the green table-cloth, places a doily carefully in the centre, and replaces the fern. She apparently pays no attention to the conversation between her brother and Strong. After she has finished, she goes to the kitchenette. The rattle of dishes can be heard now and then).
​Rachel (Brightly): Well, stranger, how does it happen you’re out so early in the morning?
Strong: I hadn’t seen any of you for a week, and I thought I’d come by, on my way to work, and find out how things are going. There is no need of asking how you are, Rachel. And the mother and the boy?
Rachel: Ma dear’s rheumatism still holds on.—Jimmy’s fine.
Strong: I’m sorry to hear that your mother is not well. There isn’t a remedy going that my mother doesn’t know about. I’ll get her advice and let you know. (Turning to Tom) Well, Tom, how goes it? (Strong and Tom sit).
Tom (Smiling grimly): There’s plenty of “go,” but no “git there.” (There is a pause).
Strong: I was hoping for better news.
Tom: If I remember rightly, not so many years ago, you tried—and failed. Then, a colored man had hardly a ghost of a show;—now he hasn’t even the ghost of a ghost. (Rachel has finished and goes into the kitchenette).
Strong: That’s true enough. (A pause). What are you going to do?
Tom (Slowly): I’ll do this little “going act” of mine the rest of the week; (pauses) and then, I’ll do anything I can get to do. If necessary, I suppose, I can be a “White-wing.”
Strong: Tom, I came— (Breaks off; continuing slowly) Six years ago, I found I was ttp against a stone wall—your experience, you see, to the letter. I couldn’t let my mother starve, so I became a waiter. (Pauses). I studied waiting; I made a science of it, an art. In a comparatively short time, I’m a head-waiter and I’m up against another stonewall. I’ve reached my limit. I’m thirty-two now, and I’ll die a head-waiter. (A pause). ​College friends, so-called, and acquaintances used to come into the restaurant. One or two at first—attempted to commiserate with me. They didn’t do it again. I waited upon them I did my best. Many of them tipped me. (Pauses and smiles grimly). I can remember my first tip, still. They come in yet; many of them are already powers, not only in this city, but in the country. Some of them make a personal request that I wait upon them. I am an artist, now, in my proper sphere. They tip me well, extremely well—the larger the tip, the more pleased they are with me. Because of me, in their own eyes, they’re philanthropists. Amusing, isn’t it? I can stand their attitude now. My philosophy—learned hard, is to make the best of everything you can, and go on. At best, life isn’t so very long. You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this. I wish you to see things exactly as they are. There are many disadvantages and some advantages in being a waiter. My mother can live comfortably; I am able, even, to see that she gets some of the luxuries. Tom, it’s this way—I can always get you a job as a waiter; I’ll teach you the art. If you care to begin the end of the week—all right. And remember this, as long as I keep my job—this offer holds good.
Tom: I—I— (Breaks off) Thank you. (A pause; then smiling wryly) I guess it’s safe enough to say, you’ll see me at the end of the week. John you’re— (Breaking off again. A silence interrupted presently by the sound of much vigorous rapping on the outer door of the flat. Rachel appears and crosses over to the vestibule). Hear the racket! My kiddies gently begging for admittance. It’s about twenty minutes of nine, isn’t it? (Tom nods). I thought so. (Goes into the entryway; presently reappears with a group of six little girls ranging in age from five to about nine. All are fighting to be close to her; and ​all are talking at once. There is one exception: the smallest tot is self-possessed and self-sufficient. She carries a red geranium in her hand and gives it her full attention).
Little Mary: It’s my turn to get “Morning kiss” first, this morning, Miss Rachel. You kissed Louise first yesterday. You said you’d kiss us “alphebettically.” (Ending in a shriek). You promised! (Rachel kisses Mary, who subsides).
Little Nancy (Imperiously): Now, me. (Rachel kisses her, and then amid shrieks, recriminations, pulling of hair, jostling, etc., she kisses the rest. The small tot is still oblivious to everything that is going on).
Rachel (Laughing): You children will pull me limb from limb; and then I’ll be all dead; and you’ll be sorry—see, if you aren’t. (They fall back immediately. Tom and John watch in amused silence. Rachel loses all self-consciousness, and seems to bloom in the children’s midst). Edith! come here this minute, and let me tie your hair-ribbon again. Nancy, I’m ashamed of you, I saw you trying to pull it off. (Nancy looks abashed but mischievous). Louise, you look as sweet as sweet, this morning; and Jenny, where did you get the pretty, pretty dress?
Little Jenny (Snuffling, but proud): My mother made it. (Pauses with more snuffles). My mother says I have a very bad cold. (There is a brief silence interruped by the small tot with the geranium).
Little Martha (In a sweet, little voice): I—have—a—pitty—’ittle flower.
Rachel: Honey, it’s beautiful. Don’t you want “Morning kiss” too?
Little Martha: Yes, I do.
​Rachel: Come, honey. (Rachel kisses her). Are you going to give the pretty flower to Jenny’s teacher? (Vigorous shakings of the head in denial). Is it for—mother? (More shakings of the head). Is it for—let’s see—Daddy? (More shakings of the head). I give up. To whom are you going to give the pretty flower, honey?
Little Martha (Shyly): “Oo.”
Rachel: You, darling!
Little Martha: Muzzer and I picked it—for “oo.” Here ’t is. (Puts her finger in her mouth, and gives it shyly).
Rachel: Well, I’m going to pay you with three big kisses. One! Two! Three!
Little Martha: I can count, One! Two! Free! Tan’t I? I am going to school soon; and I wants to put the flower in your hair.
Rachel (Kneels): All right, baby. (Little Martha fumbles and Rachel helps her).
Little Martha (Dreamily): Miss Rachel, the ’ittle flower loves you. It told me so. It said it wanted to lie in your hair. It is going to tell you a pitty ’ittle secret. You listen awful hard—and you’ll hear. I wish I were a fairy and had a little wand, I’d turn everything into flowers. Wouldn’t that be nice, Miss Rachel?
Rachel: Lovely, honey!
Little Jenny (Snuffling loudly): If I were a fairy and had a wand, I’d turn you, Miss Rachel, into a queen—and then I’d always be near you and see that you were happy.
Rachel: Honey, how beautiful!
Little Louise: I’d make my mother happy—if I were a fairy. She cries all the time. My father can’t get anything to do.
Little Nancy: If I were a fairy, I’d turn a boy in my school into a spider. I hate him.
Rachel: Honey, why?
​Little Nancy: I’ll tell you sometime—I hate him.
Little Edith: Where’s Jimmy, Miss Rachel?
Rachel: He went long ago; and chickies, you’ll have to clear out, all of you, now, or you’ll be late. Shoo! Shoo! (She drives them out prettily before her. They laugh merrily. They all go into the vestibule).
Tom (Slowly): Does it ever strike you—how pathetic and tragic a thing—a little colored child is?
Strong: Yes.
Tom: Today, we colored men and women, everywhere—are up against it. Every year, we are having a harder time of it. In the South, they make it as impossible as they can for us to get an education. We’re hemmed in on all sides. Our one safeguard—the ballot—in most states, is taken away already, or is being taken away. Economically, in a few lines, we have a slight show—but at what a cost! In the North, they make a pretence of liberality: they give us the ballot and a good education, and then—snuff us out. Each year, the problem just to live, gets more difficult to solve. How about these children—if we’re fools enough to have any? (Rachel reenters. Her face is drawn and pale. She returns to the kitchenette.)
Strong (Slowly, with emphasis): That part—is damnable! (A silence.)
Tom (Suddenly looking at the clock): It’s later than I thought. I’ll have to be pulling out of here now, if you don’t mind. (Raising his voice) Rachel! (Rachel still drawn and pale, appears in the doorway of the kitchenette. She is without her apron). I’ve got to go now, Sis. I leave John in your hands.
Strong: I’ve got to go, myself, in a few minutes.
Tom: Nonsense, man! Sit still. I’ll begin to think, in a minute, you’re afraid of the ladies.
​Strong: I am.
Tom: What! And not ashamed to acknowledge it?
Strong: No.
Tom: You’re lots wiser than I dreamed. So long! (Gets hat out in the entry-way and returns; smiles wryly.) “Morituri Salutamus”. (They nod at him—Rachel wistfully. He goes out. There is the sound of an opening and closing door. Rachel sits down. A rather uncomfortable silence, on the part of Rachel, ensues. Strong is imperturbable.)
Rachel (Nervously): John!
Strong: Well?
Rachel: I—I listened.
Strong: Listened! To what?
Rachel: To you and Tom.
Strong: Well,—what of it?
Rachel: I didn’t think it was quite fair not to tell you. It—it seemed, well, like eavesdropping.
Strong: Don’t worry about it. Nonsense!
Rachel: I’m glad—I want to thank you for what you did for Tom. He needs you, and will need you. You’ll help him?
Strong: (Thoughtfully): Rachel, each one—has his own little battles. I’ll do what I can. After all, an outsider doesn’t help much.
Rachel: But friendship—just friendship—helps.
Strong: Yes. (A silence). Rachel, do you hear anything encouraging from the schools? Any hope for you yet?
Rachel: No, nor ever will be. I know that now. There’s no more chance for me than there is for Tom,—or than there was for you—or for any of us with dark skins. It’s lucky for me that I love to keep house, and cook, and sew. I’ll never get anything else. Ma dear’s sewing, the little work Tom has been able to get, and the little ​sewing I sometimes get to do—keep us from the poor-house. We live. According to your philosophy, I suppose, make the best of it—it might be worse.
Strong (Quietly): You don’t want to get morbid over these things, you know.
Rachel (Scornfully): That’s it. If you see things as they are, you’re either pessimistic or morbid.
Strong: In the long run, do you believe, that attitude of mind—will be—beneficial to you? I’m ten years older than you. I tried your way. I know. Mine is the only sane one. (Goes over to her slowly; deliberately puts his hands on her hair, and tips her head back. He looks down into her face quietly without saying anything).
Rachel (Nervous and startled): Why, John, don’t! (He pays no attention, but continues to look down into her face).
Strong (Half to himself): Perhaps—if you had—a little more fun in your life, your point of view would be—more normal. I’ll arrange it so I can take you to some theatre, one night, this week.
Rachel (Irritably): You talk as though I were a—a jellyfish. You’ll take me, how do you know I’ll go?
Strong: You will.
Rachel (Sarcastically): Indeed! (Strong makes no reply). I wonder if you know how—how—maddening you are. Why, you talk as though my will counts for nothing. It’s as if you’re trying to master me. I think a domineering man is detestable.
Strong (Softly): If he’s, perhaps, the man?
Rachel (Hurriedly, as though she had not heard): Besides, some of these theatres put you off by yourself as though you had leprosy. I’m not going.
Strong (Smiling at her): You know I wouldn’t ask you to go, under those circumstances. (A silence). Well, I ​must be going now. (He takes her hand, and looks at it reverently. Rachel, at first resists; but he refuses to let go. When she finds it useless, she ceases to resist. He turns his head and smiles down into her face). Rachel, I am coming back to see you, this evening.
Rachel: I’m sure we’ll all be very glad to see you.
Strong (Looking at her calmly): I said—you. (Very deliberately, he turns her hand palm upwards, leans over and kisses it; then he puts it back into her lap. He touches her cheek lightly). Good-bye—little Rachel. (Turns in the vestibule door and looks back, smiling). Until tonight. (He goes out. Rachel sits for some time without moving. She is lost in a beautiful day-dream. Presently she sighs happily, and after looking furtively around the room, lifts the palm John has kissed to her lips. She laughs shyly and jumping up, begins to hum. She opens the window at the rear of the room and then commences to thread the sewing-machine. She hums happily the whole time. A light rapping is heard at the outer door. Rachel listens. It stops, and begins again. There is something insistent, and yet hopeless in the sound. Rachel looking puzzled, goes out into the vestibule. . . The door closes. Rachel, a black woman, poorly dressed, and a little ugly, black child come in. There is the stoniness of despair in the woman’s face. The child is thin, nervous, suspicious, frightened).
Mrs. Lane (In a sharp, but toneless voice): May I sit down? I’m tired.
Rachel (Puzzled, but gracious; draws up a chair for her): Why, certainly.
Mrs. Lane: No, you don’t know me—never even heard of me—nor I of you. I was looking at the vacant flat on this floor—and saw your name—on your door,—“Lov​ing!” It’s a strange name to come across—in this world.—I thought, perhaps, you might give me some information. (The child hides behind her mother and looks around at Rachel in a frightened way).
Rachel (Smiling at the woman and child in a kindly manner): I’ll be glad to tell you anything, I am able Mrs.—
Mrs. Lane: Lane. What I want to know is, how do they treat the colored children in the school I noticed around the corner? (The child clutches at her mother’s dress).
Rachel (Perplexed): Very well—I’m sure.
Mrs. Lane (Bluntly): What reason have you for being sure?
Rachel: Why, the little boy I’ve adopted goes there; and he’s very happy. All the children in this apartment-house go there too; and I know they’re happy.
Mrs. Lane: Do you know how many colored children there are in the school?
Rachel: Why, I should guess around thirty.
Mrs. Lane: I see. (Pauses). What color is this little adopted boy of yours?
Rachel (Gently): Why—he’s brown.
Mrs. Lane: Any black children there?
Rachel (Nervously): Why—yes.
Mrs. Lane: Do you mind if I send Ethel over by the piano to sit?
Rachel: N—no, certainly not. (Places a chair by the piano and goes to the little girl holding out her hand. She smiles beautifully. The child gets farther behind her mother).
Mrs. Lane: She won’t go to you—she’s afraid of everybody now but her father and me. Come Ethel. (Mrs. Lane takes the little girl by the hand and leads her to the chair. In a gentler voice) Sit down, Ethel. (Ethel obeys. ​When her mother starts back again toward Rachel, she holds out her hands pitifully. She makes no sound). I’m not going to leave you, Ethel. I’ll be right over here. You can see me. (The look of agony on the child’s face, as her mother leaves her, makes Rachel shudder). Do you mind if we sit over here by the sewing-machine? Thank you. (They move their chairs).
Rachel (Looking at the little, pitiful figure watching its mother almost unblinkingly): Does Ethel like apples, Mrs. Lane?
Mrs. Lane: Yes.
Rachel: Do you mind if I give her one?
Mrs. Lane: No. Thank you, very much.
Rachel (Goes into the kitchenette and returns with a fringed napkin, a plate, and a big, red apple, cut into quarters. She goes to the little girl, who cowers away from her; very gently). Here, dear, little girl, is a beautiful apple for you. (The gentle tones have no appeal for the trembling child before her).
Mrs. Lane (Coming forward): I’m sorry, but I’m afraid she won’t take it from you. Ethel, the kind lady has given you an apple. Thank her nicely. Here! I’ll spread the napkin for you, and put the plate in your lap. Thank the lady like a good little girl.
Ethel (Very low): Thank you. (They return to their seats. Ethel with difficulty holds the plate in her lap. During the rest of the interview between Rachel and her mother, she divides her attention between the apple on the plate and her mother’s face. She makes no attempt to eat the apple, but holds the plate in her lap with a care that is painful to watch. Often, too, she looks over her shoulder fearfully. The conversation between Rachel and her mother is carried on in low tones).
Mrs. Lane: I’ve got to move—it’s Ethel.
​Rachel: What is the matter with that child? It’s—it’s heartbreaking to see her.
Mrs. Lane: I understand how you feel,—I don’t feel anything, myself, any more. (A pause). My husband and I are poor, and we’re ugly and we’re black. Ethel looks like her father more than she does like me. We live in 55th Street—near the railroad. It’s a poor neighborhood, but the rent’s cheap. My husband is a porter in a store; and, to help out, I’m a caretaker. (Pauses). I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. We had a nice little home—and the three of us were happy. Now we’ve got to move.
Rachel: Move! Why?
Mrs. Lane: It’s Ethel. I put her in school this September. She stayed two weeks. (Pointing to Ethel) That’s the result.
Rachel (In horror): You mean—that just two weeks—in school—did that?
Mrs. Lane: Yes. Ethel never had a sick day in her life—before. (A brief pause). I took her to the doctor at the end of the two weeks. He says she’s a nervous wreck.
Rachel: But what could they have done to her?
Mrs. Lane (Laughs grimly and mirthlessly): I’ll tell you what they did the first day. Ethel is naturally sensitive and backward. She’s not assertive. The teacher saw that, and, after I had left, told her to sit in a seat in the rear of the class. She was alone there—in a corner. The children, immediately feeling there was something wrong with Ethel because of the teacher’s attitude, turned and stared at her. When the teacher’s back was turned they whispered about her, pointed their fingers at her and tittered. The teacher divided the class into two parts, divisions, I believe, they are called. She forgot all about Ethel, of course, until the last minute, and then, looking back, said sharply: “That little girl there may join this ​division,” meaning the group of pupils standing around her. Ethel naturally moved slowly. The teacher called her sulky and told her to lose a part of her recess. When Ethel came up—the children drew away from her in every direction. She was left standing alone. The teacher then proceeded to give a lesson about kindness to animals. Funny, isn’t it, kindness to animals? The children forgot Ethel in the excitement of talking about their pets. Presently, the teacher turned to Ethel and said disagreeably: “Have you a pet?” Ethel said, “Yes,” very low. “Come, speak up, you sulky child, what is it?” Ethel said: “A blind puppy.” They all laughed, the teacher and all. Strange, isn’t it, but Ethel loves that puppy. She spoke up: “It’s mean to laugh at a little blind puppy. I’m glad he’s blind.” This remark brought forth more laughter. “Why are you glad,” the teacher asked curiously. Ethel refused to say. (Pauses). When I asked her why, do you know what she told me? “If he saw me, he might not love me any more.” (A pause). Did I tell you that Ethel is only seven years old?
Rachel (Drawing her breath sharply): Oh! I didn’t believe any one could be as cruel as that—to a little child.
Mrs. Lane: It isn’t very pleasant, is it? When the teacher found out that Ethel wouldn’t answer, she said severely: “Take your seat!” At recess, all the children went out. Ethel could hear them playing and laughing and shrieking. Even the teacher went too. She was made to sit there all alone—in that big room—because God made her ugly—and black. (Pauses). When the recess was half over the teacher came back. “You may go now,” she said coldly. Ethel didn’t stir. “Did you hear me?” “Yes’m.” “Why don’t you obey?” “I don’t want to go out, please.” “You don’t, don’t you, you stubborn child! Go immediately!” Ethel went. She stood by the school steps. ​No one spoke to her. The children near her moved away in every direction. They stopped playing, many of them, and watched her. They stared as only children can stare. Some began whispering about her. Presently one child came up and ran her hand roughly over Ethel’s face. She looked at her hand and Ethel’s face and ran screaming back to the others, “It won’t come off! See!” Other children followed the first child’s example. Then one boy spoke up loudly: “I know what she is, she’s a nigger!” Many took up the cry. God or the devil interfered—the bell rang. The children filed in. One boy boldly called her “Nigger!” before the teacher. She said, “That isn’t nice,”—but she smiled at the boy. Things went on about the same for the rest of the day. At the end of school, Ethel put on her hat and coat—the teacher made her hang them at a distance from the other pupils’ wraps; and started for home. Quite a crowd escorted her. They called her “Nigger!” all the way. I made Ethel go the next day. I complained to the authorities. They treated me lightly. I was determined not to let them force my child out of school. At the end of two weeks—I had to take her out.
Rachel (Brokenly): Why,—I never—in all my life—heard anything—so—pitiful.
Mrs. Lane: Did you ever go to school here?
Rachel: Yes. I was made to feel my color—but I never had an experience like that.
Mrs. Lane: How many years ago were you in the graded schools?
Rachel: Oh!—around ten.
Mrs. Lane (Laughs grimly): Ten years! Every year things are getting worse. Last year wasn’t as bad as this. (Pauses.) So they treat the children all right in this school?
​Rachel: Yes! Yes! I know that.
Mrs. Lane: I can’t afford to take this flat here, but I’ll take it. I’m going to have Ethel educated. Although, when you think of it,—it’s all rather useless—this education! What are our children going to do with it, when they get it? We strive and save and sacrifice to educate them—and the whole time—down underneath, we know—they’ll have no chance.
Rachel (Sadly): Yes, that’s true, all right.—God seems to have forgotten us.
Mrs. Lane: God! It’s all a lie about God. I know.—This fall I sent Ethel to a white Sunday-school near us. She received the same treatment there she did in the day school. Her being there, nearly broke up the school. At the end, the superintendent called her to him and asked her if she didn’t know of some nice colored Sunday-school. He told her she must feel out of place, and uncomfortable there. That’s your Church of God!
Rachel: Oh! how unspeakably brutal. (Controls herself with an effort; after a pause) Have you any other children?
Mrs. Lane (Dryly): Hardly! If I had another—I’d kill it. It’s kinder. (Rising presently) Well, I must go, now. Thank you, for your information—and for listening. (Suddenly) You aren’t married, are you?
Rachel: No.
Mrs. Lane: Don’t marry—that’s my advice. Come, Ethel. (Ethel gets up and puts down the things in her lap, carefully upon her chair. She goes in a hurried, timid way to her mother and clutches her hand). Say good-bye to the lady.
Ethel (Faintly): Good-bye.
Rachel (Kneeling by the little girl—a beautiful smile on her face) Dear little girl, won’t you let me kiss you ​good-bye? I love little girls. (The child hides behind her mother; continuing brokenly) Oh!—no child—ever did—that to me—before!
Mrs. Lane (In a gentler voice): Perhaps, when we move in here, the first of the month, things may be better. Thank you, again. Good-morning! You don’t belie your name. (All three go into the vestibule. The outside door opens and closes. Rachel as though dazed and stricken returns. She sits in a chair, leans forward, and clasping her hands loosely between her knees, stares at the chair with the apple on it where Ethel Lane has sat. She does not move for some time. Then she gets up and goes to the window in the rear center and sits there. She breathes in the air deeply and then goes to the sewing-machine and begins to sew on something she is making. Presently her feet slow down on the pedals; she stops; and begins brooding again. After a short pause, she gets up and begins to pace up and down slowly, mechanically, her head bent forward. The sharp ringing of the electric bell breaks in upon this. Rachel starts and goes slowly into the vestibule. She is heard speaking dully through the tube).
Rachel: Yes!—All right! Bring it up! (Presently she returns with a long flower box. She opens it listlessly at the table. Within are six, beautiful crimson rosebuds with long stems. Rachel looks at the name on the card. She sinks down slowly on her knees and leans her head against the table. She sighs wearily) Oh! John! John!—What are we to do?—I’m—I’m—afraid! Everywhere it is the same thing. My mother! My little brother! Little, black, crushed Ethel! (In a whisper) Oh! God! You who I have been taught to believe are so good, so beautiful how could—You permit—these—things? (Pauses, raises her head and sees the rosebuds. Her face softens and grows beautiful, very sweetly). ​Dear little rosebuds—you—make me think—of sleeping, curled up, happy babies. Dear beautiful, little rosebuds! (Pauses; goes on thoughtfully to the rosebuds) When—I look—at you—I believe—God is beautiful. He who can make a little exquisite thing like this, and this can’t be cruel. Oh! He can’t mean me—to give up—love—and the hope of little children. (There is the sound of a small hand knocking at the outer door. Rachel smiles). My Jimmy! It must be twelve o’clock. (Rises). I didn’t dream it was so late. (Starts for the vestibule). Oh! the world can’t be so bad. I don’t believe it. I won’t. I must forget that little girl. My little Jimmy is happy—and today John—sent me beautiful rosebuds. Oh, there are lovely things, yet. (Goes into the vestibule. A child’s eager cry is heard; and Rachel carrying Jimmy in her arms comes in. He has both arms about her neck and is hugging her. With him in her arms, she sits down in the armchair at the right front).
Rachel: Well, honey, how was school today?
Jimmy (Sobering a trifle): All right, Ma Rachel. (Suddenly sees the roses) Oh! look at the pretty flowers. Why, Ma Rachel, you forgot to put them in water. They’ll die.
Rachel: Well, so they will. Hop down this minute, and I’ll put them in right away. (Gathers up box and flowers and goes into the kitchenette. Jimmy climbs back into the chair. He looks thoughtful and serious. Rachel comes back with the buds in a tall, glass vase. She puts the fern on top of the piano, and places the vase in the centre of the table). There, honey, that’s better, isn’t it? Aren’t they lovely?
Jimmy: Yes, that’s lots better. Now they won’t die, will they? Rosebuds are just like little “chilyun,” aren’t they, Ma Rachel? If you are good to them, they’ll grow up into lovely roses, won’t they? And if you hurt them, ​Page:Rachel (Grimke 1920).djvu/75 ​Page:Rachel (Grimke 1920).djvu/76 ​Page:Rachel (Grimke 1920).djvu/77