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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78747-0.txt b/78747-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..31469ca --- /dev/null +++ b/78747-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5875 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78747 *** + + + + + [Illustration: Full-width decoration] + + THE BLACKER + THE BERRY + + A NOVEL OF + NEGRO LIFE + + By WALLACE THURMAN + + [Illustration: Small decoration] + + + THE MACAULAY COMPANY + NEW YORK MCMXXIX + + [Illustration: Full-width decoration] + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1929, BY THE MACAULAY COMPANY + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PART I -- EMMA LOU -- 9 + + PART II -- HARLEM -- 75 + + PART III -- ALVA -- 111 + + PART IV -- RENT PARTY -- 157 + + PART V -- PYRRHIC VICTORY -- 217 + + + + + _TO MA JACK_ + + + + + The blacker the berry + The sweeter the juice... + + --_Negro folk saying_ + + + My color shrouds me in.... + + --_Countee Cullen_ + + + + +PART I + +EMMA LOU + + + + +I + +EMMA LOU + + +More acutely than ever before Emma Lou began to feel that her luscious +black complexion was somewhat of a liability, and that her marked color +variation from the other people in her environment was a decided curse. +Not that she minded being black, being a Negro necessitated having a +colored skin, but she did mind being too black. She couldn’t understand +why such should be the case, couldn’t comprehend the cruelty of the +natal attenders who had allowed her to be dipped, as it were, in indigo +ink when there were so many more pleasing colors on nature’s palette. +Biologically, it wasn’t necessary either; her mother was quite fair, +so was her mother’s mother, and her mother’s brother, and her mother’s +brother’s son; but then none of them had had a black man for a father. +Why _had_ her mother married a black man? Surely there had been some +eligible brown-skin men around. She didn’t particularly desire to have +had a “high yaller” father, but for her sake certainly some more happy +medium could have been found. + +She wasn’t the only person who regretted her darkness either. It was +an acquired family characteristic, this moaning and grieving over the +color of her skin. Everything possible had been done to alleviate the +unhappy condition, every suggested agent had been employed, but her +skin, despite bleachings, scourgings, and powderings, had remained +black--fast black--as nature had planned and effected. + +She should have been born a boy, then color of skin wouldn’t have +mattered so much, for wasn’t her mother always saying that a black boy +could get along, but that a black girl would never know anything but +sorrow and disappointment? But she wasn’t a boy; she was a girl, and +color did matter, mattered so much that she would rather have missed +receiving her high school diploma than have to sit as she now sat, +the only odd and conspicuous figure on the auditorium platform of the +Boise high school. Why had she allowed them to place her in the center +of the first row, and why had they insisted upon her dressing entirely +in white so that surrounded as she was by similarly attired pale-faced +fellow graduates she resembled, not at all remotely, that comic picture +her Uncle Joe had hung in his bedroom? The picture wherein the black, +kinky head of a little red-lipped pickaninny lay like a fly in a pan of +milk amid a white expanse of bedclothes. + +But of course she couldn’t have worn blue or black when the call was +for the wearing of white, even if white was not complementary to her +complexion. She would have been odd-looking anyway no matter what she +wore and she would also have been conspicuous, for not only was she the +only dark-skinned person on the platform, she was also the only Negro +pupil in the entire school, and had been for the past four years. Well, +thank goodness, the principal would soon be through with his monotonous +farewell address, and she and the other members of her class would +advance to the platform center as their names were called and receive +the documents which would signify their unconditional release from +public school. + +As she thought of these things, Emma Lou glanced at those who sat +to the right and to the left of her. She envied them their obvious +elation, yet felt a strange sense of superiority because of her +immunity for the moment from an ephemeral mob emotion. Get a +diploma?--What did it mean to her? College?--Perhaps. A job?--Perhaps +again. She was going to have a high school diploma, but it would mean +nothing to her whatsoever. The tragedy of her life was that she was too +black. Her face and not a slender roll of ribbon-bound parchment was +to be her future identification tag in society. High school diploma +indeed! What she needed was an efficient bleaching agent, a magic +cream that would remove this unwelcome black mask from her face and +make her more like her fellow men. + +“Emma Lou Morgan.” + +She came to with a start. The principal had called her name and stood +smiling down at her benevolently. Some one--she knew it was her Cousin +Buddie, stupid imp--applauded, very faintly, very provokingly. Some one +else snickered. + +“Emma Lou Morgan.” + +The principal had called her name again, more sharply than before and +his smile was less benevolent. The girl who sat to the left of her +nudged her. There was nothing else for her to do but to get out of that +anchoring chair and march forward to receive her diploma. But why did +the people in the audience have to stare so? Didn’t they all know that +Emma Lou Morgan was Boise high school’s only nigger student? Didn’t +they all know--but what was the use. She had to go get that diploma, +so summoning her most insouciant manner, she advanced to the platform +center, brought every muscle of her lithe limbs into play, haughtily +extended her shiny black arm to receive the proffered diploma, bowed a +chilly thanks, then holding her arms stiffly at her sides, insolently +returned to her seat in that foreboding white line, insolently returned +once more to splotch its pale purity and to mock it with her dark, +outlandish difference. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou had been born in a semi-white world, totally surrounded by an +all-white one, and those few dark elements that had forced their way in +had either been shooed away or else greeted with derisive laughter. It +was the custom always of those with whom she came into most frequent +contact to ridicule or revile any black person or object. A black cat +was a harbinger of bad luck, black crape was the insignia of mourning, +and black people were either evil niggers with poisonous blue gums or +else typical vaudeville darkies. It seemed as if the people in her +world never went half-way in their recognition or reception of things +black, for these things seemed always to call forth only the most +extreme emotional reactions. They never provoked mere smiles or mere +melancholy, rather they were the signal either for boisterous guffaws +or pain-induced and tear-attended grief. + +Emma Lou had been becoming increasingly aware of this for a long time, +but her immature mind had never completely grasped its full, and to +her, tragic significance. First there had been the case of her father, +old black Jim Morgan they called him, and Emma Lou had often wondered +why it was that he of all the people she heard discussed by her family +should always be referred to as if his very blackness condemned him to +receive no respect from his fellow men. + +She had also begun to wonder if it was because of his blackness that +he had never been in evidence as far as she knew. Inquiries netted +very unsatisfactory answers. “Your father is no good.” “He left your +mother, deserted her shortly after you were born.” And these statements +were always prefixed or followed by some epithet such as “dirty black +no-gooder” or “durn his onery black hide.” There was in fact only one +member of the family who did not speak of her father in this manner, +and that was her Uncle Joe, who was also the only person in the family +to whom she really felt akin, because he alone never seemed to regret, +to bemoan, or to ridicule her blackness of skin. It was her grandmother +who did all the regretting, her mother who did the bemoaning, her +Cousin Buddie and her playmates, both white and colored, who did the +ridiculing. + +Emma Lou’s maternal grandparents, Samuel and Maria Lightfoot, were +both mulatto products of slave-day promiscuity between male masters +and female chattel. Neither had been slaves, their own parents having +been granted their freedom because of their rather close connections +with the white branch of the family tree. These freedmen had migrated +into Kansas with their children, and when these children had grown up +they in turn had joined the westward-ho parade of that current era, and +finally settled in Boise, Idaho. + +Samuel and Maria, like many others of their kind and antecedents, had +had only one compelling desire, which motivated their every activity +and dictated their every thought. They wished to put as much physical +and mental space between them and the former home of their parents as +was possible. That was why they had left Kansas, for in Kansas there +were too many reminders of that which their parents had escaped and +from which they wished to flee. Kansas was too near the former slave +belt, too accessible to disgruntled southerners, who, deprived of their +slaves, were inculcated with an easily communicable virus, nigger +hatred. Then, too, in Kansas all Negroes were considered as belonging +to one class. It didn’t matter if you and your parents had been +freedmen before the Emancipation Proclamation, nor did it matter that +you were almost three-quarters white. You were, nevertheless, classed +with those hordes of hungry, ragged, ignorant black folk arriving from +the South in such great numbers, packed like so many stampeding cattle +in dirty, manure-littered box cars. + +From all of this these maternal grandparents of Emma Lou fled, fled +to the Rocky Mountain states which were too far away for the recently +freed slaves to reach, especially since most of them believed that +the world ended just a few miles north of the Mason-Dixon line. Then, +too, not only were the Rocky Mountain states beyond the reach of +this raucous and smelly rabble of recently freed cotton pickers and +plantation hands, but they were also peopled by pioneers, sturdy land +and gold seekers from the East, marching westward, always westward in +search of El Dorado, and being too busy in this respect to be violently +aroused by problems of race unless economic factors precipitated +matters. + +So Samuel and Maria went into the fast farness of a little known Rocky +Mountain territory and settled in Boise, at the time nothing more +than a trading station for the Indians and whites, and a red light +center for the cowboys and sheepherders and miners in the neighboring +vicinity. Samuel went into the saloon business and grew prosperous. +Maria raised a family and began to mother nuclear elements for a future +select Negro social group. + +There was of course in such a small and haphazardly populated community +some social intermixture between whites and blacks. White and black +gamblers rolled the dice together, played tricks on one another while +dealing faro, and became allies in their attempts to outfigure the +roulette wheel. White and black men amicably frequented the saloons and +dancehalls together. White and black women leaned out of the doorways +and windows of the jerry-built frame houses and log cabins of “Whore +Row.” White and black housewives gossiped over back fences and lent +one another needed household commodities. But there was little social +intercourse on a higher scale. Slue-foot Sal, the most popular high +yaller on “Whore Row,” might be a buddy to Irish Peg and Blond Liz, but +Mrs. Amos James, whose husband owned the town’s only drygoods store, +could certainly not become too familiar with Mrs. Samuel Lightfoot, +colored, whose husband owned a saloon. And it was not a matter of the +difference in their respective husbands’ businesses. Mrs. Amos James +did associate with Mrs. Arthur Emory, white, whose husband also owned a +saloon. It was purely a matter of color. + +Emma Lou’s grandmother then, holding herself aloof from the inmates of +“Whore Row,” and not wishing to associate with such as old Mammy Lewis’ +daughters, who did most of the town wash, and others of their ilk, was +forced to choose her social equals slowly and carefully. This was hard, +for there were so few Negroes in Boise anyway that there wasn’t much +cream to skim off. But as the years passed, others, who, like Maria +and her husband, were mulatto offsprings of mulatto freedmen seeking a +freer land, moved in, and were soon initiated into what was later to be +known as the blue vein circle, so named because all of its members were +fair-skinned enough for their blood to be seen pulsing purple through +the veins of their wrists. + +Emma Lou’s grandmother was the founder and the acknowledged leader of +Boise’s blue veins, and she guarded its exclusiveness passionately and +jealously. Were they not a superior class? Were they not a very high +type of Negro, comparable to the persons of color group in the West +Indies? And were they not entitled, ipso facto, to more respect and +opportunity and social acceptance than the more pure blooded Negroes? +In their veins was some of the best blood of the South. They were +closely akin to the only true aristocrats in the United States. Even +the slave masters had been aware of and acknowledged in some measure +their superiority. Having some of Marse George’s blood in their veins +set them apart from ordinary Negroes at birth. These mulattoes as a +rule were not ordered to work in the fields beneath the broiling sun at +the urge of a Simon Legree lash. They were saved and trained for the +more gentle jobs, saved and trained to be ladies’ maids and butlers. +Therefore, let them continue this natural division of Negro society. +Let them also guard against unwelcome and degenerating encroachments. +Their motto must be “Whiter and whiter every generation,” until the +grandchildren of the blue veins could easily go over into the white +race and become assimilated so that problems of race would plague them +no more. + +Maria had preached this doctrine to her two children, Jane and Joe, +throughout their apprentice years, and can therefore be forgiven +for having a physical collapse when they both, first Joe, then Emma +Lou’s mother, married not mulattoes, but a copper brown and a blue +black. This had been somewhat of a necessity, for, when the mating +call had made itself heard to them, there had been no eligible blue +veins around. Most of their youthful companions had been sent away to +school or else to seek careers in eastern cities, and those few who had +remained had already found their chosen life’s companions. Maria had +sensed that something of the kind might happen and had urged Samuel +to send Jane and Joe away to some eastern boarding school, but Samuel +had very stubbornly refused. He had his own notions of the sort of +things one’s children learned in boarding school, and of the greater +opportunities they had to apply that learning. True, they might +acquire the same knowledge in the public schools of Boise, but then +there would be some limit to the extent to which they could apply this +knowledge, seeing that they lived at home and perforce must submit to +some parental supervision. A cot in the attic at home was to Samuel a +much safer place for a growing child to sleep than an iron four poster +in a boarding school dormitory. + +So Samuel had remained adamant and the two carefully reared scions of +Boise’s first blue vein family had of necessity sought their mates +among the lower orders. However, Joe’s wife was not as undesirable as +Emma Lou’s father, for she was almost three-quarters Indian, and there +was scant possibility that her children would have revolting dark +skins, thick lips, spreading nostrils, and kinky hair. But in the case +of Emma Lou’s father, there were no such extenuating characteristics, +for his physical properties undeniably stamped him as a full blooded +Negro. In fact, it seemed as if he had come from one of the few +families originally from Africa, who could not boast of having been +seduced by some member of the southern aristocracy, or befriended by +some member of a strolling band of Indians. + +No one could understand why Emma Lou’s mother had married Jim Morgan, +least of all Jane herself. In fact she hadn’t thought much about it +until Emma Lou had been born. She had first met Jim at a church +picnic, given in a woodlawn meadow on the outskirts of the city, +and almost before she had realized what was happening she had found +herself slipping away from home, night after night, to stroll down a +well shaded street, known as Lover’s Lane, with the man her mother had +forbidden her to see. And it hadn’t been long before they had decided +that an elopement would be the only thing to assure themselves the +pleasure of being together without worrying about Mama Lightfoot’s +wrath, talkative neighbors, prying town marshals, and grass stains. + +Despite the rancor of her mother and the whispering of her mother’s +friends, Jane hadn’t really found anything to regret in her choice of a +husband until Emma Lou had been born. Then all the fears her mother had +instilled in her about the penalties inflicted by society upon black +Negroes, especially upon black Negro girls, came to the fore. She was +abysmally stunned by the color of her child, for she had been certain +that since she herself was so fair that her child could not possibly be +as dark as its father. She had been certain that it would be a luscious +admixture, a golden brown with all its mother’s desirable facial +features and its mother’s hair. But she hadn’t reckoned with nature’s +perversity, nor had she taken under consideration the inescapable +fact that some of her ancestors too had been black, and that some of +their color chromosomes were still imbedded within her. Emma Lou had +been fortunate enough to have hair like her mother’s, a thick, curly +black mass of hair, rich and easily controlled, but she had also been +unfortunate enough to have a face as black as her father’s, and a nose +which, while not exactly flat, was as distinctly negroid as her too +thick lips. + +Her birth had served no good purpose. It had driven her mother back to +seek the confidence and aid of Maria, and it had given Maria the chance +she had been seeking to break up the undesirable union of her daughter +with what she termed an ordinary black nigger. But Jim’s departure +hadn’t solved matters at all, rather it had complicated them, for +although he was gone, his child remained, a tragic mistake which could +not be stamped out or eradicated even after Jane, by getting a divorce +from Jim and marrying a red-haired Irish Negro, had been accepted back +into blue vein grace. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou had always been the alien member of the family and of the +family’s social circle. Her grandmother, now a widow, made her feel +it. Her mother made her feel it. And her Cousin Buddie made her feel +it, to say nothing of the way she was regarded by outsiders. As early +as she could remember, people had been saying to her mother, “What an +extraordinarily black child! Where did you adopt it?” or else, “Such +lovely unniggerish hair on such a niggerish-looking child.” Some had +even been facetious and made suggestions like, “Try some lye, Jane, it +may eat it out. She can’t look any worse.” + +Then her mother’s re-marriage had brought another person into her life, +a person destined to give her, while still a young child, much pain and +unhappiness. Aloysius McNamara was his name. He was the bastard son of +an Irish politician and a Negro washerwoman, and until he had been sent +East to a parochial school, Aloysius, so named because that was his +father’s middle name, had always been known as Aloysius Washington, and +the identity of his own father had never been revealed to him by his +proud and humble mother. But since his father had been prevailed upon +to pay for his education, Aloysius’ mother thought it the proper time +to tell her son his true origin and to let him assume his real name. +She had hopes that away from his home town he might be able to pass for +white and march unhindered by bars of color to fame and fortune. + +But such was not to be the case, for Emma Lou’s prospective stepfather +was so conscious of the Negro blood in his veins and so bitter because +of it, that he used up whatever talents he had groaning inwardly +at capricious fate, and planning revenge upon the world at large, +especially the black world. For it was Negroes and not whites whom he +blamed for his own, to him, life’s tragedy. He was not fair enough +of skin, despite his mother’s and his own hopes, to pass for white. +There was a brownness in his skin, inherited from his mother, which +immediately marked him out for what he was, despite the red hair and +the Irish blue eyes. And his facial features had been modeled too +generously. He was not thin lipped, nor were his nostrils as delicately +chiseled as they might have been. He was a Negro. There was no getting +around it, although he tried in every possible way to do so. + +Finishing school, he had returned West for the express purpose of +making his father accept him publicly and personally advance his +career. He had wanted to be a lawyer and figured that his father’s +political pull was sufficiently strong to draw him beyond race barriers +and set him as one apart. His father had not been entirely cold to +these plans and proposals, but his father’s wife had been. She didn’t +mind her husband giving this nigger bastard of his money, and receiving +him in his home on rare and private occasions. She was trying to be +liberal, but she wasn’t going to have people point to her and say, +“That’s Boss McNamara’s wife. Wonder if that nigger son is his’n or +hers. They do say....” So Aloysius had found himself shunted back +into the black world he so despised. He couldn’t be made to realize +that being a Negro did not necessarily indicate that one must also +be a ne’er-do-well. Had he been white, or so he said, he would have +been a successful criminal lawyer, but being considered black it was +impossible for him ever to be anything more advanced than a pullman car +porter or a dining car waiter, and acting upon this premise, he hadn’t +tried to be anything else. + +His only satisfaction in life was the pleasure he derived from +insulting and ignoring the real blacks. Persons of color, mulattoes, +were all right, but he couldn’t stand detestable black Negroes. +Unfortunately, Emma Lou fell into this latter class, and suffered at +his hands accordingly, until he finally ran away from his wife, Emma +Lou, Boise, Negroes, and all, ran away to Canada with Diamond Lil of +“Whore Row.” + + * * * * * + +Summer vacation was nearly over and it had not yet been decided what +to do with Emma Lou now that she had graduated from high school. She +herself gave no help nor offered any suggestions. As it was, she +really did not care what became of her. After all it didn’t seem to +matter. There was no place in the world for a girl as black as she +anyway. Her grandmother had assured her that she would never find a +husband worth a dime, and her mother had said again and again, “Oh, +if you had only been a boy!” until Emma Lou had often wondered why it +was that people were not able to effect a change of sex or at least a +change of complexion. + +It was her Uncle Joe who finally prevailed upon her mother to send her +to the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. There, he +reasoned, she would find a larger and more intelligent social circle. +In a city the size of Los Angeles there were Negroes of every class, +color, and social position. Let Emma Lou go there where she would not +be as far away from home as if she were to go to some eastern college. + +Jane and Maria, while not agreeing entirely with what Joe said, were +nevertheless glad that at last something which seemed adequate and +sensible could be done for Emma Lou. She was to take the four year +college course, receive a bachelor degree in education, then go South +to teach. That, they thought, was a promising future, and for once in +the eighteen years of Emma Lou’s life every one was satisfied in some +measure. Even Emma Lou grew elated over the prospects of the trip. +Her Uncle Joe’s insistence upon the differences of social contacts +in larger cities intrigued her. Perhaps he was right after all in +continually reasserting to them that as long as one was a Negro, one’s +specific color had little to do with one’s life. Salvation depended +upon the individual. And he also told Emma Lou, during one of their +usual private talks, that it was only in small cities one encountered +stupid color prejudice such as she had encountered among the blue vein +circle in her home town. + +“People in large cities,” he had said, “are broad. They do not have +time to think of petty things. The people in Boise are fifty years +behind the times, but you will find that Los Angeles is one of the +world’s greatest and most modern cities, and you will be happy there.” + +On arriving in Los Angeles, Emma Lou was so busy observing the colored +inhabitants that she had little time to pay attention to other things. +Palm trees and wild geraniums were pleasant to behold, and such strange +phenomena as pepper trees and century plants had to be admired. They +were very obvious and they were also strange and beautiful, but they +impinged upon only a small corner of Emma Lou’s consciousness. She +was minutely aware of them, necessarily took them in while passing, +viewing the totality without pondering over or lingering to praise +their stylistic details. They were, in this instance, exquisite +theatrical props, rendered insignificant by a more strange and a +more beautiful human pageant. For to Emma Lou, who, in all her life, +had never seen over five hundred Negroes, the spectacle presented by +a community containing over fifty thousand, was sufficient to make +relatively commonplace many more important and charming things than the +far famed natural scenery of Southern California. + +She had arrived in Los Angeles a week before registration day at the +university, and had spent her time in being shown and seeing the city. +But whenever these sightseeing excursions took her away from the +sections where Negroes lived, she immediately lost all interest in +what she was being shown. The Pacific Ocean in itself did not cause +her heart beat to quicken, nor did the roaring of its waves find an +emotional echo within her. But on coming upon Bruce’s Beach for colored +people near Redondo, or the little strip of sandied shore they had +appropriated for themselves at Santa Monica, the Pacific Ocean became +an intriguing something to contemplate as a background for their +activities. Everything was interesting as it was patronized, reflected +through, or acquired by Negroes. + +Her Uncle Joe had been right. Here, in the colored social circles of +Los Angeles, Emma Lou was certain that she would find many suitable +companions, intelligent, broad-minded people of all complexions, +intermixing and being too occupied otherwise to worry about either +their own skin color or the skin color of those around them. Her Uncle +Joe had said that Negroes were Negroes whether they happened to be +yellow, brown, or black, and a conscious effort to eliminate the darker +elements would neither prove nor solve anything. There was nothing +quite so silly as the creed of the blue veins: “Whiter and whiter, +every generation. The nearer white you are the more white people will +respect you. Therefore all light Negroes marry light Negroes. Continue +to do so generation after generation, and eventually white people will +accept this racially, bastard aristocracy, thus enabling those Negroes +who really matter to escape the social and economic inferiority of the +American Negro.” + +Such had been the credo of her grandmother and of her mother and of +their small circle of friends in Boise. But Boise was a provincial +town, given to the molding of provincial people with provincial minds. +Boise was a backwoods town out of the main stream of modern thought +and progress. Its people were cramped and narrow, their intellectual +concepts stereotyped and static. Los Angeles was a happy contrast in +all respects. + + * * * * * + +On registration day, Emma Lou rushed out to the campus of the +University of Southern California one hour before the registrar’s +office was scheduled to open. She spent the time roaming around, +familiarizing herself with the layout of the campus and learning the +names of the various buildings, some old and vineclad, others new and +shiny in the sun, and watching the crowds of laughing students, rushing +to and fro, greeting one another and talking over their plans for the +coming school year. But her main reason for such an early arrival on +the campus had been to find some of her fellow Negro students. She had +heard that there were to be quite a number enrolled, but in all her +hour’s stroll she saw not one, and finally somewhat disheartened she +got into the line stretched out in front of the registrar’s office, +and, for the moment, became engrossed in becoming a college freshman. + +All the while, though, she kept searching for a colored face, but it +was not until she had been duly signed up as a student and sent in +search of her advisor that she saw one. Then three colored girls had +sauntered into the room where she was having a conference with her +advisor, sauntered in, arms interlocked, greeted her advisor, then +sauntered out again. Emma Lou had wanted to rush after them--to +introduce herself, but of course it had been impossible under the +circumstances. She had immediately taken a liking to all three, each of +whom was what is known in the parlance of the black belt as high brown, +with modishly-shingled bobbed hair and well formed bodies, fashionably +attired in flashy sport garments. From then on Emma Lou paid little +attention to the business of choosing subjects and class hours, so +little attention in fact that the advisor thought her exceptionally +tractable and somewhat dumb. But she liked students to come that way. +It made the task of being advisor easy. One just made out the program +to suit oneself, and had no tedious explanations to make as to why the +student could not have such and such a subject at such and such an +hour, and why such and such a professor’s class was already full. + +After her program had been made out, Emma Lou was directed to the +bursar’s office to pay her fees. While going down the stairs she almost +bumped into two dark-brown-skinned boys, obviously brothers if not +twins, arguing as to where they should go next. One insisted that they +should go back to the registrar’s office. The other was being equally +insistent that they should go to the gymnasium and make an appointment +for their required physical examination. Emma Lou boldly stopped when +she saw them, hoping they would speak, but they merely glanced up at +her and continued their argument, bringing cards and pamphlets out of +their pockets for reference and guidance. Emma Lou wanted to introduce +herself to them, but she was too bashful to do so. She wasn’t yet used +to going to school with other Negro students, and she wasn’t exactly +certain how one went about becoming acquainted. But she finally decided +that she had better let the advances come from the others, especially +if they were men. There was nothing forward about her, and since she +was a stranger it was no more than right that the old-timers should +make her welcome. Still, if these had been girls ..., but they weren’t, +so she continued her way down the stairs. + +In the bursar’s office, she was somewhat overjoyed at first to find +that she had fallen into line behind another colored girl who turned +around immediately, and, after saying hello, announced in a loud, harsh +voice: + +“My feet are sure some tired!” + +Emma Lou was so taken aback that she couldn’t answer. People in college +didn’t talk that way. But meanwhile the girl was continuing: + +“Ain’t this registration a mess?” + +Two white girls who had fallen into line behind Emma Lou snickered. +Emma Lou answered by shaking her head. The girl continued: + +“I’ve been standin’ in line and climbin’ stairs and talkin’ and +a-signin’ till I’m just ’bout done for.” + +“It is tiresome,” Emma Lou returned softly, hoping the girl would take +a hint and lower her own strident voice. But she didn’t. + +“Tiresome ain’t no name for it,” she declared more loudly than ever +before, then, “Is you a new student?” + +“I am,” answered Emma Lou, putting much emphasis on the “I am.” + +She wanted the white people who were listening to know that she knew +her grammar if this other person didn’t. “Is you,” indeed! If this girl +was a specimen of the Negro students with whom she was to associate, +she most certainly did not want to meet another one. But it couldn’t +be possible that all of them--those three girls and those two boys for +instance--were like this girl. Emma Lou was unable to imagine how such +a person had ever gotten out of high school. Where on earth could she +have gone to high school? Surely not in the North. Then she must be a +southerner. That’s what she was, a southerner--Emma Lou curled her lips +a little--no wonder the colored people in Boise spoke as they did about +southern Negroes and wished that they would stay South. Imagine any +one preparing to enter college saying “Is you,” and, to make it worse, +right before all these white people, these staring white people, so +eager and ready to laugh. Emma Lou’s face burned. + +“Two mo’, then I goes in my sock.” + +Emma Lou was almost at the place where she was ready to take even +this statement literally, and was on the verge of leaving the line. +Supposing this creature did “go in her sock!” God forbid! + +“Wonder where all the spades keep themselves? I ain’t seen but two +’sides you.” + +“I really do not know,” Emma Lou returned precisely and chillily. She +had no intentions of becoming friendly with this sort of person. Why +she would be ashamed even to be seen on the street with her, dressed as +she was in a red-striped sport suit, a white hat, and white shoes and +stockings. Didn’t she know that black people had to be careful about +the colors they affected? + +The girl had finally reached the bursar’s window and was paying her +fees, and loudly differing with the cashier about the total amount due. + +“I tell you it ain’t that much,” she shouted through the window bars. +“I figured it up myself before I left home.” + +The cashier obligingly turned to her adding machine and once more +obtained the same total. When shown this, the girl merely grinned, +examined the list closely, and said: + +“I’m gonna’ pay it, but I still think you’re wrong.” + +Finally she moved away from the window, but not before she had turned +to Emma Lou and said, “You’re next,” and then proceeded to wait until +Emma Lou had finished. + +Emma Lou vainly sought some way to escape, but was unable to do so, and +had no choice but to walk with the girl to the registrar’s office where +they had their cards stamped in return for the bursar’s receipt. This +done, they went onto the campus together. Hazel Mason was the girl’s +name. Emma Lou had fully expected it to be either Hyacinth or Geranium. +Hazel was from Texas, Prairie Valley, Texas, and she told Emma Lou that +her father, having become quite wealthy when oil had been found on his +farm lands, had been enabled to realize two life ambitions--obtain a +Packard touring car and send his only daughter to a “fust-class” white +school. + +Emma Lou had planned to loiter around the campus. She was still eager +to become acquainted with the colored members of the student body, and +this encounter with the crass and vulgar Hazel Mason had only made her +the more eager. She resented being approached by any one so flagrantly +inferior, any one so noticeably a typical southern darky, who had no +business obtruding into the more refined scheme of things. Emma Lou +planned to lose her unwelcome companion somewhere on the campus so that +she could continue unhindered her quest for agreeable acquaintances. + +But Hazel was as anxious to meet some one as was Emma Lou, and having +found her was not going to let her get away without a struggle. She, +too, was new to this environment and in a way was more lonely and eager +for the companionship of her own kind than Emma Lou, for never before +had she come into such close contact with so many whites. Her life had +been spent only among Negroes. Her fellow pupils and teachers in school +had always been colored, and as she confessed to Emma Lou, she couldn’t +get used “to all these white folks.” + +“Honey, I was just achin’ to see a black face,” she had said, and, +though Emma Lou was experiencing the same ache, she found herself +unable to sympathize with the other girl, for Emma Lou classified Hazel +as a barbarian who had most certainly not come from a family of best +people. No doubt her mother had been a washerwoman. No doubt she had +innumerable relatives and friends all as ignorant and as ugly as she. +There was no sense in any one having a face as ugly as Hazel’s, and +Emma Lou thanked her stars that though she was black, her skin was +not rough and pimply, nor was her hair kinky, nor were her nostrils +completely flattened out until they seemed to spread all over her face. +No wonder people were prejudiced against dark skinned people when they +were so ugly, so haphazard in their dress, and so boisterously mannered +as was this present specimen. She herself was black, but nevertheless +she had come from a good family, and she could easily take her place in +a society of the right sort of people. + +The two strolled along the lawn-bordered gravel path which led to a +vine-covered building at the end of the campus. Hazel never ceased +talking. She kept shouting at Emma Lou, shouting all sorts of personal +intimacies as if she were desirous of the whole world hearing them. +There was no necessity for her to talk so loudly, no necessity for her +to afford every one on the crowded campus the chance to stare and laugh +at them as they passed. Emma Lou had never before been so humiliated +and so embarrassed. She felt that she must get away from her offensive +companion. What did she care if she had to hurt her feelings to do so. +The more insulting she could be now, the less friendly she would have +to be in the future. + +“Good-by,” she said abruptly, “I must go home.” With which she turned +away and walked rapidly in the opposite direction. She had only gone a +few steps when she was aware of the fact that the girl was following +her. She quickened her pace, but the girl caught up with her and +grabbing hold of Emma Lou’s arm, shouted, “Whoa there, Sally.” + +It seemed to Emma Lou as if every one on the campus was viewing and +enjoying this minstrel-like performance. Angrily she tried to jerk +away, but the girl held fast. + +“Gal, you sure walk fast. I’m going your way. Come on, let me drive you +home in my buggy.” + +And still holding on to Emma Lou’s arm, she led the way to the side +street where the students parked their cars. Emma Lou was powerless +to resist. The girl didn’t give her a chance, for she held tight, +then immediately resumed the monologue which Emma Lou’s attempted +leave-taking had interrupted. They reached the street, Hazel still +talking loudly, and making elaborate gestures with her free hand. + +“Here we are,” she shouted, and releasing Emma Lou’s arm, salaamed +before a sport model Stutz roadster. “Oscar,” she continued, “meet the +new girl friend. Pleased to meetcha, says he. Climb aboard.” + +And Emma Lou had climbed aboard, perplexed, chagrined, thoroughly +angry, and disgusted. What was this little black fool doing with a +Stutz roadster? And of course, it would be painted red--Negroes always +bedecked themselves and their belongings in ridiculously unbecoming +colors and ornaments. It seemed to be a part of their primitive +heritage which they did not seem to have sense enough to forget and +deny. Black girl--white hat--red and white striped sport suit--white +shoes and stockings--red roadster. The picture was complete. All Hazel +needed to complete her circus-like appearance, thought Emma Lou, was to +have some purple feathers stuck in her hat. + +Still talking, the girl unlocked and proceeded to start the car. As +she was backing it out of the narrow parking space, Emma Lou heard a +chorus of semi-suppressed giggles from a neighboring automobile. In her +anger she had failed to notice that there were people in the car parked +next to the Stutz. But as Hazel expertly swung her machine around, +Emma Lou caught a glimpse of them. They were all colored and they were +all staring at her and at Hazel. She thought she recognized one of the +girls as being one of the group she had seen earlier that morning, and +she did recognize the two brothers she had passed on the stairs. And as +the roadster sped away, their laughter echoed in her ears, although she +hadn’t actually heard it. But she had seen the strain in their faces, +and she knew that as soon as she and Hazel were out of sight, they +would give free rein to their suppressed mirth. + +Although Emma Lou had finished registering, she returned to the +university campus on the following morning in order to continue her +quest for collegiate companions without the alarming and unwelcome +presence of Hazel Mason. She didn’t know whether to be sorry for the +girl and try to help her or to be disgusted and avoid her. She didn’t +want to be intimately associated with any such vulgar person. It would +damage her own position, cause her to be classified with some one who +was in a class by herself, for Emma Lou was certain that there was not, +and could not be, any one else in the university just like Hazel. But +despite her vulgarity, the girl was not all bad. Her good nature was +infectious, and Emma Lou had surmised from her monologue on the day +before how utterly unselfish a person she could be and was. All of her +store of the world’s goods were at hand to be used and enjoyed by her +friends. There was not, as she had said, “a selfish bone in her body.” +But even that did not alter the disgusting fact that she was not one +who would be welcome by the “right sort of people.” Her flamboyant +style of dress, her loud voice, her raucous laughter, and her flagrant +disregard or ignorance of English grammar seemed inexcusable to Emma +Lou, who was unable to understand how such a person could stray so far +from the environment in which she rightfully belonged to enter a first +class university. Now Hazel, according to Emma Lou, was the type of +Negro who should go to a Negro college. There were plenty of them in +the South whose standard of scholarship was not beyond her ability. And +then, in one of those schools, her darky-like clownishness would not +have to be paraded in front of white people, thereby causing discomfort +and embarrassment to others of her race, more civilized and circumspect +than she. + +The problem irritated Emma Lou. She didn’t see why it had to be. She +had looked forward so anxiously, and so happily to her introductory +days on the campus, and now her first experience with one of her fellow +colored students had been an unpleasant one. But she didn’t intend to +let that make her unhappy. She was determined to return to the campus +alone, seek out other companions, see whether they accepted or ignored +the offending Hazel, and govern herself accordingly. + +It was early and there were few people on the campus. The grass was +still wet from a heavy overnight dew, and the sun had not yet dispelled +the coolness of the early morning. Emma Lou’s dress was of thin +material and she shivered as she walked or stood in the shade. She had +no school business to attend to; there was nothing for her to do but to +walk aimlessly about the campus. + +In another hour, Emma Lou was pleased to see that the campus walks were +becoming crowded, and that the side streets surrounding the campus were +now heavy with student traffic. Things were beginning to awaken. Emma +Lou became jubilant and walked with jaunty step from path to path, from +building to building. It then occurred to her that she had been told +that there were more Negro students enrolled in the School of Pharmacy +than in any other department of the university, so finding the Pharmacy +building she began to wander through its crowded hallways. + +Almost immediately, she saw a group of five Negro students, three boys +and two girls, standing near a water fountain. She was both excited and +perplexed, excited over the fact that she was so close to those she +wished to find, and perplexed because she did not know how to approach +them. Had there been only one person standing there, the matter would +have been comparatively easy. She could have approached with a smile +and said, “Good morning.” The person would have returned her greeting, +and it would then have been a simple matter to get acquainted. + +But five people in one bunch, all known to one another and all chatting +intimately together!--it would seem too much like an intrusion to go +bursting into their gathering--too forward and too vulgar. Then, +there was nothing she could say after having said “good morning.” One +just didn’t break into a group of five and say, “I’m Emma Lou Morgan, +a new student, and I want to make friends with you.” No, she couldn’t +do that. She would just smile as she passed, smile graciously and +friendly. They would know that she was a stranger, and her smile would +assure them that she was anxious to make friends, anxious to become a +welcome addition to their group. + +One of the group of five had sighted Emma Lou as soon as she had +sighted them: + +“Who’s this?” queried Helen Wheaton, a senior in the College of Law. + +“Some new ‘pick,’ I guess,” answered Bob Armstrong, who was Helen’s +fiance and a senior in the School of Architecture. + +“I bet she’s going to take Pharmacy,” whispered Amos Blaine. + +“She’s hottentot enough to take something,” mumbled Tommy Brown. “Thank +God, she won’t be in any of our classes, eh Amos?” + +Emma Lou was almost abreast of them now. They lowered their voices, and +made a pretense of mumbled conversation among themselves. Only Verne +Davis looked directly at her and it was she alone who returned Emma +Lou’s smile. + +“Whatcha grinnin’ at?” Bob chided Verne as Emma Lou passed out of +earshot. + +“At the little frosh, of course. She grinned at me. I couldn’t stare at +her without returning it.” + +“I don’t see how anybody could even look at her without grinning.” + +“Oh, she’s not so bad,” said Verne. + +“Well, she’s bad enough.” + +“That makes two of them.” + +“Two of what, Amos?” + +“Hottentots, Bob.” + +“Good grief,” exclaimed Tommy, “why don’t you recruit some good-looking +co-eds out here?” + +“We don’t choose them,” Helen returned. + +“I’m going out to the Southern Branch where the sight of my fellow +female students won’t give me dyspepsia.” + +“Ta-ta, Amos,” said Verne, “and you needn’t bother to sit in my car any +more if you think us so terrible.” She and Helen walked away, leaving +the boys to discuss the sad days which had fallen upon the campus. + +Emma Lou, of course, knew nothing of all this. She had gone her way +rejoicing. One of the students had noticed her, had returned her smile. +This getting acquainted was going to be an easy matter after all. It +was just necessary that she exercise a little patience. One couldn’t +expect people to fall all over one without some preliminary advances. +True, she was a stranger, but she would show them in good time that +she was worthy of their attention, that she was a good fellow and a +well-bred individual quite prepared to be accepted by the best people. + +She strolled out on to the campus again trying to find more prospective +acquaintances. The sun was warm now, the grass dry, and the campus +overcrowded. There was an infectious germ of youth and gladness abroad +to which Emma Lou could not remain immune. Already she was certain +that she felt the presence of that vague something known as “college +spirit.” It seemed to enter into her, to make her jubilant and set her +every nerve tingling. This was no time for sobriety. It was the time +for youth’s blood to run hot, the time for love and sport and wholesome +fun. + +Then Emma Lou saw a solitary Negro girl seated on a stone bench. It did +not take her a second to decide what to do. Here was her chance. She +would make friends with this girl and should she happen to be a new +student, they could become friends and together find their way into the +inner circle of those colored students who really mattered. + +Emma Lou was essentially a snob. She had absorbed this trait from the +very people who had sought to exclude her from their presence. All +of her life she had heard talk of “right sort of people,” and of “the +people who really mattered,” and from these phrases she had formed a +mental image of those to whom they applied. Hazel Mason most certainly +could not be included in either of these categories. Hazel was just a +vulgar little nigger from down South. It was her kind, who, when they +came North, made it hard for the colored people already resident there. +It was her kind who knew nothing of the social niceties or the polite +conventions. In their own home they had been used only to coarse work +and coarser manners. And they had been forbidden the chance to have +intimate contact in schools and in public with white people from whom +they might absorb some semblance of culture. When they did come North +and get a chance to go to white schools, white theaters, and white +libraries, they were too unused to them to appreciate what they were +getting, and could be expected to continue their old way of life in an +environment where such a way was decidedly out of place. + +Emma Lou was determined to become associated only with those people who +really mattered, northerners like herself or superior southerners, if +there were any, who were different from whites only in so far as skin +color was concerned. This girl, to whom she was now about to introduce +herself, was the type she had in mind, genteel, well and tastily +dressed, and not ugly. + +“Good morning.” + +Alma Martin looked up from the book she was reading, gulped in +surprise, then answered, “Good morning.” + +Emma Lou sat down on the bench. She was congeniality itself. “Are you a +new student?” she inquired of the astonished Alma, who wasn’t used to +this sort of thing. + +“No, I’m a ‘soph’,” then realizing she was expected to say more, +“you’re new, aren’t you?” + +“Oh yes,” replied Emma Lou, her voice buoyant and glad. “This will be +my first year.” + +“Do you think you will like it?” + +“I’m just crazy about it already. You know,” she advanced +confidentially, “I’ve never gone to school with any colored people +before.” + +“No?” + +“No, and I am just dying to get acquainted with the colored students. +Oh, my name’s Emma Lou Morgan.” + +“And mine is Alma Martin.” + +They both laughed. There was a moment of silence. Alma looked at her +wrist watch, then got up from the bench. + +“I’m glad to have met you. I’ve got to see my advisor at ten-thirty. +Good-by.” And she moved away gracefully. + +Emma Lou was having difficulty in keeping from clapping her hands. At +last she had made some headway. She had met a second-year student, +one who, from all appearances, was in the know, and, who, as they met +from time to time, would see that she met others. In a short time +Emma Lou felt that she would be in the whirl of things collegiate. +She must write to her Uncle Joe immediately and let him know how well +things were going. He had been right. This was the place for her +to be. There had been no one in Boise worth considering. Here she +was coming into contact with really superior people, intelligent, +genteel, college-bred, all trying to advance themselves and their race, +unconscious of intra-racial schisms, caused by differences in skin +color. + +She mustn’t stop upon meeting one person. She must find others, so +once more she began her quest and almost immediately met Verne and +Helen strolling down one of the campus paths. She remembered Verne +as the girl who had smiled at her. She observed her more closely, +and admired her pleasant dark brown face, made doubly attractive by +two evenly placed dimples and a pair of large, heavily-lidded, pitch +black eyes. Emma Lou thought her to be much more attractive than the +anemic-looking yellow girl with whom she was strolling. There was +something about this second girl which made Emma Lou feel that she was +not easy to approach. + +“Good morning.” Emma Lou had evolved a formula. + +“Good morning,” the two girls spoke in unison. Helen was about to walk +on but Verne stopped. + +“New student?” she asked. + +“Yes, I am.” + +“So am I. I’m Verne Davis.” + +“I’m Emma Lou Morgan.” + +“And this is Helen Wheaton.” + +“Pleased to meet you, Miss Morgan.” + +“And I’m pleased to meet you, too, both of you,” gushed Emma Lou. “You +see, I’m from Boise, Idaho, and all through high school I was the only +colored student.” + +“Is that so?” Helen inquired listlessly. Then turning to Verne said, +“Better come on Verne if you are going to drive us out to the ‘Branch’.” + +“All right. We’ve got to run along now. We’ll see you again, Miss +Morgan. Good-by.” + +“Good-by,” said Emma Lou and stood watching them as they went on their +way. Yes, college life was going to be the thing to bring her out, the +turning point in her life. She would show the people back in Boise +that she did not have to be a “no-gooder” as they claimed her father +had been, just because she was black. She would show all of them that +a dark skin girl could go as far in life as a fair skin one, and that +she could have as much opportunity and as much happiness. What did the +color of one’s skin have to do with one’s mentality or native ability? +Nothing whatsoever. If a black boy could get along in the world, so +could a black girl, and it would take her, Emma Lou Morgan, to prove it. + +With which she set out to make still more acquaintances. + + * * * * * + +Two weeks of school had left Emma Lou’s mind in a chaotic state. She +was unable to draw any coherent conclusions from the jumble of new +things she had experienced. In addition to her own social strivings, +there had been the academic routine to which she had had to adapt +herself. She had found it all bewildering and overpowering. The +university was a huge business proposition and every one in it had jobs +to perform. Its bigness awed her. Its blatant reality shocked her. +There was nothing romantic about going to college. It was, indeed, a +serious business. One went there with a purpose and had several other +purposes inculcated into one after school began. This getting an +education was stern and serious, regulated and systematized, dull and +unemotional. + +Besides being disappointed at the drabness and lack of romance in +college routine, Emma Lou was also depressed by her inability to +make much headway in the matter of becoming intimately associated +with her colored campus mates. They were all polite enough. They all +acknowledged their introductions to her and would speak whenever they +passed her, but seldom did any of them stop for a chat, and when she +joined the various groups which gathered on the campus lawn between +classes, she always felt excluded and out of things because she found +herself unable to participate in the general conversation. They talked +of things about which she knew nothing, of parties and dances, and of +people she did not know. They seemed to live a life off the campus to +which she was not privy, and into which they did not seem particularly +anxious to introduce her. + +She wondered why she never knew of the parties they talked about, and +why she never received invitations to any of their affairs. Perhaps +it was because she was still new and comparatively unknown to them. +She felt that she must not forget that most of them had known one +another for a long period of time and that it was necessary for people +who “belonged” to be wary of strangers. That was it. She was still a +stranger, had only been among them for about two weeks. What did she +expect? Why was she so impatient? + +The thought of the color question presented itself to her time and time +again, but she would always dismiss it from her mind. Verne Davis was +dark and she was not excluded from the sacred inner circle. In fact, +she was one of the most popular colored girls on the campus. The only +thing that perplexed Emma Lou was that although Verne too was new to +the group, had just recently moved into the city, and was also just +beginning her first year at the University, she had not been kept at a +distance or excluded from any of the major extra-collegiate activities. +Emma Lou could not understand why there should be this difference in +their social acceptance. She was certainly as good as Verne. + +In time Emma Lou became certain that it was because of her intimacy +with Hazel that the people on the campus she really wished to be +friendly with paid her so little attention. Hazel was a veritable +clown. She went scooting about the campus, cutting capers, playing the +darky for the amused white students. Any time Hazel asked or answered a +question in any of the lecture halls, there was certain to be laughter. +She had a way of phrasing what she wished to say in a manner which was +invariably laugh provoking. The very tone and quality of her voice +designated her as a minstrel type. In the gymnasium she would do buck +and wing dances and play low-down blues on the piano. She was a pariah +among her own people because she did not seem to know, as they knew, +that Negroes could not afford to be funny in front of white people even +if that was their natural inclination. Negroes must always be sober +and serious in order to impress white people with their adaptability +and non-difference in all salient characteristics save skin color. All +of the Negro students on the campus, except Emma Lou, laughed at her +openly and called her Topsy. Emma Lou felt sorry for her although she, +too, regretted her comic propensities and wished that she would be less +the vaudevillian and more the college student. + +Besides Hazel, there was only one other person on the campus who was +friendly with Emma Lou. This was Grace Giles, also a black girl, who +was registered in the School of Music. The building in which she had +her classes was located some distance away, and Grace did not get over +to the main campus grounds very often, but when she did, she always +looked for Emma Lou and made welcome overtures of friendship. It was +her second year in the university, and yet, she too seemed to be on the +outside of things. She didn’t seem to be invited to the parties and +dances, nor was she a member of the Greek letter sorority which the +colored girls had organized. Emma Lou asked her why. + +“Have they pledged you?” was Grace Giles’ answer. + +“Why no.” + +“And they won’t either.” + +“Why?” Emma Lou asked surprised. + +“Because you are not a high brown or half-white.” + +Emma Lou had thought this too, but she had been loathe to believe it. + +“You’re silly, Grace. Why--Verne belongs.” + +“Yeah,” Grace had sneered, “Verne, a bishop’s daughter with plenty of +coin and a big Buick. Why shouldn’t they ask her?” + +Emma Lou did not know what to make of this. She did not want to believe +that the same color prejudice which existed among the blue veins in +Boise also existed among the colored college students. Grace Giles was +just hypersensitive. She wasn’t taking into consideration the fact that +she was not on the campus regularly and thus could not expect to be +treated as if she were. Emma Lou fully believed that had Grace been a +regularly enrolled student like herself, she would have found things +different, and she was also certain that both she and Grace would be +asked to join the sorority in due time. + +But they weren’t. Nor did an entire term in the school change things +one whit. The Christmas holidays had come and gone and Emma Lou had +not been invited to one of the many parties. She and Grace and Hazel +bound themselves together and sought their extra-collegiate pleasures +among people not on the campus. Hazel began to associate with a group +of housemaids and mature youths who worked only when they had to, +and played the pool rooms and the housemaids as long as they proved +profitable. Hazel was a welcome addition to this particular group what +with her car and her full pocketbook. She had never been proficient in +her studies, had always found it impossible to keep pace with the other +students, and, finally realizing that she did not belong and perhaps +never would, had decided to “go to the devil,” and be done with it. + +It was not long before Hazel was absent from the campus more often +than she was present. Going to cabarets and parties, and taking long +drunken midnight drives made her more and more unwilling and unable +to undertake the scholastic grind on the next morning. Just before +the mid-term examinations, she was advised by the faculty to drop out +of school until the next year, and to put herself in the hands of a +tutor during the intervening period. It was evident that her background +was not all that it should be; her preparatory work had not been +sufficiently complete to enable her to continue in college. As it was, +they told her, she was wasting her time. So Hazel disappeared from the +campus and was said to have gone back to Texas. “Serves her right, glad +she’s gone,” was the verdict of her colored campus fellows. + +The Christmas holidays for Emma Lou were dull and uneventful. The +people she lived with were rheumatic and not much given to yuletide +festivities. It didn’t seem like Christmas to Emma Lou anyway. There +was no snow on the ground, and the sun was shining as brightly and as +warmly as it had shone during the late summer and early autumn months. +The wild geraniums still flourished, the orange trees were blossoming, +and the whole southland seemed to be preparing for the annual New +Year’s Day Tournament of Roses parade in Pasadena. + +Emma Lou received a few presents from home, and a Christmas greeting +card from Grace Giles. That was all. On Christmas Day she and Grace +attended church in the morning, and spent the afternoon at the +home of one of Grace’s friends. Emma Lou never liked the people to +whom Grace introduced her. They were a dull, commonplace lot for +the most part, people from Georgia, Grace’s former home, untutored +people who didn’t really matter. Emma Lou borrowed a word from her +grandmother and classified them as “fuddlers,” because they seemed to +fuddle everything--their language, their clothes, their attempts at +politeness, and their efforts to appear more intelligent than they +really were. + +The holidays over, Emma Lou returned to school a little reluctantly. +She wasn’t particularly interested in her studies, but having nothing +else to do kept up in them and made high grades. Meanwhile she had +been introduced to a number of young men and gone out with them +occasionally. They too were friends of Grace’s and of the same caliber +as Grace’s other friends. There were no college boys among them except +Joe Lane who was flunking out in the School of Dentistry. He did not +interest Emma Lou. As it was with Joe, so it was with all the other +boys. She invariably picked them to pieces when they took her out, and +remained so impassive to their emotional advances that they were soon +glad to be on their way and let her be. Emma Lou was determined not to +go out of her class, determined either to associate with the “right +sort of people” or else to remain to herself. + +Had any one asked Emma Lou what she meant by the “right sort of people” +she would have found herself at a loss for a comprehensive answer. +She really didn’t know. She had a vague idea that those people on the +campus who practically ignored her were the only people with whom she +should associate. These people, for the most part, were children of +fairly well-to-do families from Louisiana, Texas and Georgia, who, +having made nest eggs, had journeyed to the West for the same reasons +that her grandparents at an earlier date had also journeyed West. +They wanted to live where they would have greater freedom and greater +opportunity for both their children and themselves. Then, too, the +World War had given impetus to this westward movement. There was more +industry in the West and thus more chances for money to be made, and +more opportunities to invest this money profitably in property and +progeny. + +The greater number of them were either mulattoes or light brown in +color. In their southern homes they had segregated themselves from +their darker skinned brethren and they continued this practice in the +North. They went to the Episcopal, Presbyterian, or Catholic churches, +and though they were not as frankly organized into a blue vein society +as were the Negroes of Boise, they nevertheless kept more or less to +themselves. They were not insistent that their children get “whiter +and whiter every generation”, but they did want to keep their children +and grandchildren from having dark complexions. A light brown was the +favored color; it was therefore found expedient to exercise caution +when it came to mating. + +The people who, in Emma Lou’s phrase, really mattered, the business +men, the doctors, the lawyers, the dentists, the more moneyed pullman +porters, hotel waiters, bank janitors, and majordomos, in fact all of +the Negro leaders and members of the Negro upper class, were either +light skinned themselves or else had light skinned wives. A wife of +dark complexion was considered a handicap unless she was particularly +charming, wealthy, or beautiful. An ordinary looking dark woman was +no suitable mate for a Negro man of prominence. The college youths +on whom the future of the race depended practiced this precept of +their elders religiously. It was not the girls in the school who were +prejudiced--they had no reason to be, but they knew full well that the +boys with whom they wished to associate, their future husbands, would +not tolerate a dark girl unless she had, like Verne, many things to +compensate for her dark skin. Thus they did not encourage a friendship +with some one whom they knew didn’t belong. Thus they did not even +pledge girls like Grace, Emma Lou, and Hazel into their sorority, for +they knew that it would make them the more miserable to attain the +threshold only to have the door shut in their faces. + + * * * * * + +Summer vacation time came and Emma Lou went back to Boise. She was +thoroughly discouraged and depressed. She had been led to expect +so much pleasure from her first year in college and in Los Angeles; +but she had found that the people in large cities were after all +no different from people in small cities. Her Uncle Joe had been +wrong--her mother and grandmother had been right. There was no place in +the world for a dark girl. + +Being at home depressed her all the more. There was absolutely nothing +for her to do nor any place for her to go. For a month or more she +just lingered around the house, bored by her mother’s constant and +difficult attempts to be maternal, and irritated by her Cousin Buddy’s +freshness. Adolescent boys were such a nuisance. The only bright spot +on the horizon was the Sunday School Union picnic scheduled to be held +during the latter part of July. It was always the crowning social +event of the summer season among the colored citizens of Boise. Both +the Methodists and Baptists missions cooperated in this affair and had +their numbers augmented by all the denominationally unattached members +of the community. It was always a gala, democratic affair designed to +provide a pleasant day in the out-of-doors. It was, besides the annual +dance fostered by the local chapters of the Masons and the Elks, the +only big community gathering to which the entire colored population of +Boise looked forward. + +Picnic day came, and Emma Lou accompanied her mother, her uncle, and +her cousin to Bedney’s Meadow, a green, heavily forested acre of park +land, which lay on the outskirts of the city, surrounded on three sides +by verdant foothills. The day went by pleasantly enough. There were the +usually heavily laden wooden tables, to which all adjourned in the late +afternoon, and there were foot races, games, and canoeing. + +Emma Lou took part in all these activities and was surprised to find +that she was having a good time. The company was congenial, and she +found that since she had gone away to college she had become somewhat +of a personage. Every one seemed to be going out of his way to be +congenial to her. The blue veins did not rule this affair. They were, +in fact, only a minority element, and, for one of the few times of +the year, mingled freely and unostentatiously with their lower caste +brethren. + +All during the day, Emma Lou found herself paired off with a chap by +the name of Weldon Taylor. In the evening they went for a stroll up +the precipitous footpaths in the hills which grew up from the meadow. +Weldon Taylor was a newcomer in the West trying to earn sufficient +money to re-enter an eastern school and finish his medical education. +Emma Lou rather liked him. She admired his tall, slender body, the +deep burnish of his bronze colored skin, and his mass of black curly +hair. Here, thought Emma Lou, is the type of man I like. Only she did +wish that his skin had been colored light brown instead of dark brown. +It was better if she was to marry that she did not get a dark skin +mate. Her children must not suffer as she had and would suffer. + +The two talked of commonplace things as they walked along, comparing +notes on their school experiences, and talking of their professors and +their courses of study. It was dusk now and the sun had disappeared +behind the snow capped mountains. The sky was a colorful haze, a master +artist’s canvas on which the colors of day were slowly being dominated +by the colors of night. Weldon drew Emma Lou off the little path they +had been following, and led her to a huge bowlder which jutted out, +elbow like, from the side of a hill, and which was hidden from the +meadow below by clumps of bushes. They sat down, his arm slipped around +her waist, and, as the darkness of night more and more conquered the +evanescent light of day, their lips met, and Emma Lou grew lax in +Weldon’s arms.... + +When they finally returned to the picnic grounds all had left save a +few stragglers like themselves who had sauntered away from the main +party. These made up a laughing, half-embarrassed group, who collected +their baskets and reluctantly withdrew from the meadow to begin the +long walk back to their homes. Emma Lou and Weldon soon managed to +fall at the end of the procession, walking along slowly, his arm +around her waist. Emma Lou felt an ecstasy surging through her at +this moment greater than she had ever known before. This had been her +first intimate sexual contact, her first awareness of the physical and +emotional pleasures able to be enjoyed by two human beings, a woman and +a man. She felt some magnetic force drawing her to this man walking by +her side, which made her long to feel the pleasure of his body against +hers, made her want to know once more the pleasure which had attended +the union of their lips, the touching of their tongues. It was with +a great effort that she walked along apparently calm, for inside she +was seething. Her body had become a kennel for clashing, screaming +compelling urges and desires. She loved this man. She had submitted +herself to him, had gladly suffered momentary physical pain in order to +be introduced into a new and incomparably satisfying paradise. + +Not for one moment did Emma Lou consider regretting the loss of her +virtue, not once did any of her mother’s and grandmother’s warnings and +solicitations revive themselves and cause her conscience to plague her. +She had finally found herself a mate; she had finally come to know the +man she should love, some inescapable force had drawn them together, +had made them feel from the first moment of their introduction that +they belonged to one another, and that they were destined to explore +nature’s mysteries together. Life was not so cruel after all. There +were some compensatory moments. Emma Lou believed that at last she had +found happiness, that at last she had found her man. + +Of course, she wasn’t going back to school. She was going to stay +in Boise, marry Weldon, and work with him until they should have +sufficient money to go East, where he could re-enter medical school, +and she could keep a home for him and spur him on. A glorious panorama +of the future unrolled itself in her mind. There were no black spots in +it, no shadows, nothing but luminous landscapes, ethereal in substance. + +It was the way of Emma Lou always to create her worlds within her own +mind without taking under consideration the fact that other people and +other elements, not contained within herself, would also have to aid in +their molding. She had lived to herself for so long, had been shut out +from the stream of things in which she was interested for such a long +period during the formative years of her life, that she considered her +own imaginative powers omniscient. Thus she constructed a future world +of love on one isolated experience, never thinking for the moment that +the other party concerned might not be of the same mind. She had been +lifted into a superlatively perfect emotional and physical state. It +was unthinkable, incongruous, that Weldon, too, had not been similarly +lifted. He had for the moment shared her ecstasy, therefore, according +to Emma Lou’s line of reasoning, he would as effectively share what she +imagined would be the fruits of that ecstatic moment. + +The next two weeks passed quickly and happily. Weldon called on her +almost every night, took her for long walks, and thrilled her with +his presence and his love making. Never before in her life had Emma +Lou been so happy. She forgot all the sad past. Forgot what she had +hitherto considered the tragedy of her birth, forgot the social +isolation of her childhood and of her college days. What did being +black, what did the antagonistic mental attitudes of the people who +really mattered mean when she was in love? Her mother and her Uncle Joe +were so amazed at the change in her that they became afraid, sensed +danger, and began to be on the lookout for some untoward development; +for hitherto Emma Lou had always been sullen and morose and impertinent +to all around the house. She had always been the anti-social creature +they had caused her to feel she was and, since she was made to feel +that she was a misfit, she had encroached upon their family life +and sociabilities only to the extent that being in the house made +necessary. But now she was changed--she had become a vibrant, joyful +being. There was always a smile on her face, always a note of joy in +her voice as she spoke or sang. She even made herself agreeable to her +Cousin Buddy, who in the past she had either ignored or else barely +tolerated. + +“She must be in love, Joe,” her mother half whined. + +“That’s good,” he answered laconically. “It probably won’t last long. +It will serve to take her mind off herself.” + +“But suppose she gets foolish?” Jane had insisted, remembering no doubt +her own foolishness, during a like period of her own life, with Emma +Lou’s father. + +“She’ll take care of herself,” Joe had returned with an assurance he +did not feel. He, too, was worried, but he was also pleased at the +change in Emma Lou. His only fear was that perhaps in the end she would +make herself more miserable than she had ever been before. He did +not know much about this Weldon fellow, who seemed to be a reliable +enough chap, but no one had any way of discerning whether or no his +intentions were entirely honorable. It was best, thought Joe, not to +worry about such things. If, for the present, Emma Lou was more happy +than she had ever been before, there would be time enough to worry +about the future when its problems materialized. + +“Don’t you worry about Emma Lou. She’s got sense.” + +“But, Joe, suppose she does forget herself with this man? He is +studying to be a doctor and he may not want a wife, especially when....” + +“Damn it, Jane!” her brother snapped at her. “Do you think every one is +like you? The boy seems to like her.” + +“Men like any one they can use, but you know as well as I that no +professional man is going to marry a woman dark as Emma Lou.” + +“Men marry any one they love, just as you and I did.” + +“But I was foolish.” + +“Well?” + +“That’s right--Be unconcerned. That’s right--Let her go to the devil. +There’s no hope for her anyway. Oh--why--why did I marry Jim Morgan?” +and she had gone into the usual crying fit which inevitably followed +this self-put question. + +Then, without any warning, as if to put an end to all problems, Weldon +decided to become a Pullman porter. He explained to Emma Lou that he +could make more money on the railroad than he could as a hotel waiter +in Boise. It was necessary for his future that he make as much money +as possible in as short a time as possible. Emma Lou saw the logic +of this and agreed that it was the best possible scheme, until she +realized that it meant his going away from Boise, perhaps forever. +Oakland, California, was to be his headquarters, and he, being a new +man, would not have a regular run. It was possible that he might be +sent to different sections of the country each and every time he made a +trip. There was no way of his knowing before he reported for duty just +where he might be sent. It might be Boise or Palm Beach or Albany or +New Orleans. One never knew. That was the life of the road, and one had +to accept it in order to make money. + +It made Emma Lou shiver to hear him talk so dispassionately about the +matter. There didn’t seem to be the least note of regret in his voice, +the least suggestion that he hated to leave her or that he would miss +her, and, for the first time since the night of their physical union, +Emma Lou began to realize that perhaps after all he did not feel +toward her as she did toward him. He couldn’t possibly love her as +much as she loved him, and, at the same time, remain so unconcerned +about having to part from her. There was something radically wrong +here, something conclusive and unexpected which was going to hurt her, +going to plunge her back into unhappiness once more. Then she realized +that not once had he ever spoken of marriage or even hinted that their +relationship would continue indefinitely. He had said that he loved +her, he had treated her kindly, and had seemed as thrilled as she +over their physical contacts. But now it seemed that since he was no +longer going to be near her, no longer going to need her body, he had +forgotten that he loved her. It was then that all the old preachments +of her mother and grandmother were resurrected and began to swirl +through her mind. Hadn’t she been warned that men didn’t marry black +girls? Hadn’t she been told that they would only use her for their +sexual convenience? That was the case with Weldon! He hadn’t cared +about her in the first place. He had taken up with her only because he +was a stranger in the town and lonesome for a companion, and she, like +a damn fool, had submitted herself to him! And now that he was about +to better his condition, about to go some place where he would have a +wider circle of acquaintances, she was to be discarded and forgotten. + +Thus Emma Lou reasoned to herself and grew bitter. It never occurred +to her that the matter of her color had never once entered the mind of +Weldon. Not once did she consider that he was acting toward her as he +would have acted toward any girl under similar circumstances, whether +her face had been white, yellow, brown, or black. Emma Lou did not +understand that Weldon was just a selfish normal man and not a color +prejudiced one, at least not while he was resident in a community where +the girls were few, and there were none of his college friends about +to tease him for liking “dark meat.” She did not know that for over a +year he had been traveling about from town to town, always seeking a +place where money was more plentiful and more easily saved, and that +in every town he had managed to find a girl, or girls, who made it +possible for him to continue his grind without being totally deprived +of pleasurable moments. To Emma Lou there could only be one reason for +his not having loved her as she had loved him. She was a black girl and +no professional man could afford to present such a wife in the best +society. It was the tragic feature of her life once more asserting +itself. There could be no happiness in life for any woman whose face +was as black as hers. + +Believing this more intensely than ever before Emma Lou yet felt that +she must manage in some way to escape both home and school. That she +must find happiness somewhere else. The idea her Uncle Joe had given +her about the provinciality of people in small towns re-entered her +mind. After all Los Angeles, too, was a small town mentally, peopled by +mentally small southern Negroes. It was no better than Boise. She was +now determined to go East where life was more cosmopolitan and people +were more civilized. To this end she begged her mother and uncle to +send her East to school. + +“Can’t you ever be satisfied?” + +“Now Jane,” Joe as usual was trying to keep the peace---- + +“Now Jane, nothing! I never saw such an ungrateful child.” + +“I’m not ungrateful. I’m just unhappy. I don’t like that school. I +don’t want to go there any more.” + +“Well, you’ll either go there or else stay home.” Thus Jane ended the +discussion and could not be persuaded to reopen it. + +And rather than remain home Emma Lou returned to Los Angeles and spent +another long miserable, uneventful year in the University of Southern +California, drawing more and more within herself and becoming more and +more bitter. When vacation time came again she got herself a job as +maid in a theater, rather than return home, and studied stenography +during her spare hours. School began again and Emma Lou re-entered +with more determination than ever to escape should the chance present +itself. It did, and once more Emma Lou fled into an unknown town to +escape the haunting chimera of intra-racial color prejudice. + + + + +PART II + +HARLEM + + + + +II + +HARLEM + + +Emma Lou turned her face away from the wall, and quizzically squinted +her dark, pea-like eyes at the recently closed door. Then, sitting +upright, she strained her ears, trying to hear the familiar squeak of +the impudent floor boards, as John tiptoed down the narrow hallway +toward the outside door. Finally, after she had heard the closing +click of the double-barrelled police lock, she climbed out of the +bed, picked up a brush from the bureau and attempted to smooth the +sensuous disorder of her hair. She had just recently had it bobbed, +boyishly bobbed, because she thought this style narrowed and enhanced +the fulsome lines of her facial features. She was always trying to +emphasize those things about her that seemed, somehow, to atone for her +despised darkness, and she never faced the mirror without speculating +upon how good-looking she might have been had she not been so black. + +Mechanically, she continued the brushing of her hair, stopping every +once in a while to give it an affectionate caress. She was intensely +in love with her hair, in love with its electric vibrancy and its +unruly buoyance. Yet, this morning, she was irritated because it seemed +so determined to remain disordered, so determined to remain a stubborn +and unnecessary reminder of the night before. Why, she wondered, +should one’s physical properties always insist upon appearing awry +after a night of stolen or forbidden pleasure? But not being anxious +to find an answer, she dismissed the question from her mind, put on a +stocking-cap, and jumped back into the bed. + +She began to think about John, poor John who felt so hurt because she +had told him that he could not spend any more days or nights with her. +She wondered if she should pity him, for she was certain that he would +miss the nights more than he would the days. Yet, she must not be too +harsh in her conclusions, for, after all, there had only been two +nights, which, she smiled to herself, was a pretty good record for a +newcomer to Harlem. She had been in New York now for five weeks, and +it seemed like, well, just a few days. Five weeks--thirty-five days +and thirty-five nights, and of these nights John had had two. And now +he sulked because she would not promise him another; because she had, +in fact, boldly told him that there could be no more between them. +Mischievously, she wished now that she could have seen the expression +on his face, when, after seeming moments of mutual ecstasy, she had +made this cold, manifesto-like announcement. But the room had been +dark, and so was John. Ugh! + +She had only written home twice. This, of course, seemed quite all +right to her. She was not concerned about any one there except her +Uncle Joe, and she reasoned that since he was preparing to marry again, +he would be far too busy to think much about her. All that worried her +was the pitiful spectacle of her mother, her uncle, and her cousin +trying to make up lies to tell inquiring friends. Well, she would write +today, that is, if she did not start to work, and she must get up at +eight o’clock--was the alarm set?--and hie herself to an employment +agency. She had only thirty-five dollars left in the bank, and, unless +it was replenished, she might have to rescind her avowals to John in +order to get her room rent paid. + +She must go to sleep for another hour, for she wished to look “pert” +when she applied for a job, especially the kind of job she wanted, and +she must get the kind of job she wanted in order to show those people +in Boise and Los Angeles that she had been perfectly justified in +leaving school, home, and all, to come to New York. They all wondered +why she had come. So did she, now that she was here. But at the moment +of leaving she would have gone any place to escape having to remain in +that hateful Southern California college, or having to face the more +dreaded alternative of returning home. Home? It had never been a home. + +It did seem strange, this being in Harlem when only a few weeks before +she had been over three thousand miles away. Time and distance--strange +things, immutable, yet conquerable. But was time conquerable? Hadn’t +she read or heard somewhere that all things were subject to time, +even God? Yet, once she was there and now she was here. But even at +that she hadn’t conquered time. What was that line in Cullen’s verse, +“I run, but Time’s abreast with me?” She had only traversed space +and defied distance. This suggested a more banal, if a less arduous +thought tangent. She had defied more than distance, she had defied +parental restraint--still there hadn’t been much of that--friendly +concern--there had been still less of that, and malicious, meddlesome +gossip, of which there had been plenty. And she still found herself +unable to understand why two sets of people in two entirely different +communities should seemingly become almost hysterically excited because +she, a woman of twenty-one, with three years’ college training and +ample sophistication in the ways of sex and self-support, had decided +to take a job as an actress’ maid in order to get to New York. They +had never seemed interested in her before. + +Now she wondered why had she been so painfully anxious to come to New +York. She had given as a consoling reason to inquisitive friends and +relatives, school. But she knew too well that she had no intentions +of ever re-entering school. She had had enough of _that_ school in +Los Angeles, and her experiences there, more than anything else, had +caused this foolhardy hegira to Harlem. She had been desperately driven +to escape, and had she not escaped in this manner she might have done +something else much more mad. + +Emma Lou closed her eyes once more, and tried to sublimate her mental +reverie into a sleep-inducing lullaby. Most of all, she wanted to +sleep. One had to look “pert” when one sought a job, and she wondered +if eight o’clock would find her looking any more “pert” than she did at +this present moment. What had caused her to urge John to spend what she +knew would be his last night with her when she was so determined to be +at her best the following morning! O, what the hell was the use? She +was going to sleep. + + * * * * * + +The alarm had not yet rung, but Emma Lou was awakened gradually by the +sizzling and smell of fried and warmed-over breakfast, by the raucous +early morning wranglings and window to window greetings, and by the +almost constant squeak of those impudent hall floor boards as the +various people in her apartment raced one another to the kitchen or to +the bathroom or to the front door. How could Harlem be so happily busy, +so alive and merry at eight o’clock. Eight o’clock? The alarm rang. +Emma Lou scuttled out of the bed and put on her clothes. + +An hour later, looking as “pert” as possible, she entered the first +employment agency she came to on 135th Street, between Lenox and +Seventh Avenues. It was her first visit to such an establishment and +she was particularly eager to experience this phase of a working girl’s +life. Her first four weeks in Harlem had convinced her that jobs +were easy to find, for she had noticed that there were three or four +employment agencies to every block in business Harlem. Assuring herself +in this way that she would experience little difficulty in obtaining a +permanent and tasty position, Emma Lou had abruptly informed Mazelle +Lindsay that she was leaving her employ. + +“But, child,” her employer had objected, “I feel responsible for you. +Your--your mother! Don’t be preposterous. How can you remain in New +York alone?” + +Emma Lou had smiled, asked for her money once more, closed her ears to +all protest, bid the chagrined woman good-bye, and joyously loafed for +a week. + +Now, with only thirty-five dollars left in the bank, she thought that +she had best find a job--find a job and then finish seeing New York. Of +course she had seen much already. She had seen John--and he--oh, damn +John, she wanted a job. + +“What can I do for you?” the harassed woman at the desk was trying to +be polite. + +“I--I want a job.” R-r-ring. The telephone insistently petitioned for +attention, giving Emma Lou a moment of respite, while the machine-like +woman wearily shouted monosyllabic answers into the instrument, and, at +the same time, tried to hush the many loud-mouthed men and women in the +room, all, it seemed, trying to out-talk one another. While waiting, +Emma Lou surveyed her fellow job-seekers. Seedy lot, was her verdict. +Perhaps I should have gone to a more high-toned place. Well, this will +do for the moment. + +“What kinda job d’ye want?” + +“I prefer,” Emma Lou had rehearsed these lines for a week, “a +stenographic position in some colored business or professional office.” + +“’Ny experience?” + +“No, but I took two courses in business college, during school +vacations. I have a certificate of competency.” + +“’Ny reference?” + +“No New York ones.” + +“Where’d ya work before?” + +“I--I just came to the city.” + +“Where’d ya come...?” R-r-ring. The telephone mercifully reiterated its +insistent blare, and, for a moment, kept that pesky woman from droning +out more insulting queries. + +“Now,” she had finished again, “where’d ya come from?” + +“Los Angeles.” + +“Ummm. What other kind of work would ya take?” + +“Anything congenial.” + +“Waal, what is that, dishwashing, day work, nurse girl?” + +Didn’t this damn woman know what congenial meant? And why should a +Jewish woman be in charge of a Negro employment agency in Harlem? + +“Waal, girlie, others waiting.” + +“I’ll consider anything you may have on hand, if stenographic work is +not available.” + +“Wanta work part-time?” + +“I’d rather not.” + +“Awright. Sit down. I’ll call you in a moment.” + +“What can I do for you, young man?” Emma Lou was dismissed. + +She looked for a place to sit down, and, finding none, walked across +the narrow room to the window, hoping to get a breath of fresh air, and +at the same time an advantageous position from which to watch the drama +of some one else playing the rôle of a job-seeker. + +“R-r-ring.” + +“Whadda want? Wait a minute. Oh, Sadie.” + +A heavy set, dark-brown-skinned woman, with full, flopping breasts, and +extra wide buttocks, squirmed off a too narrow chair, and bashfully +wobbled up to the desk. + +“Wanta’ go to a place on West End Avenue? Part-time cleaning, fifty +cents an hour, nine rooms, yeah? All right? Hello, gotta girl on the +way. ’Bye. Two and a half, Sadie. Here’s the address. Run along now, +don’t idle.” + +R-r-ring. “’Lo, yes. What? Come down to the office. I can’t sell jobs +over the wire.” + +Emma Lou began to see the humor in this sordid situation, began to see +something extremely comic in all these plaintive, pitiful-appearing +colored folk, some greasy, some neat, some fat, some slim, some brown, +some black (why was there only one mulatto in this crowd?), boys and +men, girls and women, all single-filing up to the desk, laconically +answering laconic questions, impertinently put, showing thanks or +sorrow or indifference, as their cases warranted, paying off promptly, +or else seeking credit, the while the Jewish overseer of the dirty, +dingy office asserted and reasserted her superiority. + +Some one on the outside pushed hard on the warped door. Protestingly +it came open, and the small stuffy room was filled with the odor and +presence of a stout, black lady dressed in a greasy gingham housedress, +still damp in the front from splashing dishwater. On her head was a +tight turban, too round for the rather long outlines of her head. +Beneath this turban could be seen short and wiry strands of recently +straightened hair. And her face! Emma Lou sought to observe it more +closely, sought to fathom how so much grease could gather on one +woman’s face. But her head reeled. The room was vile with noise and +heat and body-smells, and this woman---- + +“Hy, Rosie. Yer late. Got a job for ya.” + +The greasy-faced black woman grinned broadly, licked her pork chop lips +and, with a flourish, sat down in an empty chair beside the desk. Emma +Lou stumbled over three pairs of number ten shoes, pulled open the door +and fled into the street. + +She walked hurriedly for about twenty-five yards, then slowed down and +tried to collect her wits. Telephone bells echoed in her ears. Sour +smells infested her nostrils. She looked up and discovered that she had +paused in front of two garbage cans, waiting on the curbstone for the +scavenger’s truck. + +Irritated, she turned around and retraced her steps. There were few +people on the street. The early morning work crowds had already been +swallowed by the subway kiosks on Lenox Avenue, and it was too early +for the afternoon idlers. Yet there was much activity, much passing +to and fro. One Hundred and Thirty-Fifth Street, Emma Lou mumbled to +herself as she strolled along. How she had longed to see it, and what +a different thoroughfare she had imagined it to be! Her eyes sought +the opposite side of the street and blinked at a line of monotonously +regular fire-escape decorated tenement buildings. She thanked whoever +might be responsible for the architectural difference of the Y. M. +C. A., for the streaming bit of Seventh Avenue near by, and for the +arresting corner of the newly constructed teachers’ college building, +which dominated the hill three blocks away, and cast its shadows on the +verdure of the terraced park beneath. + +But she was looking for a job. Sour smells assailed her nostrils once +more. Rasping voices. Pleading voices. Tired voices. Domineering +voices. And the insistent ring of the telephone bell all re-echoed in +her head and beat against her eardrums. She must have staggered, for a +passing youth eyed her curiously, and shouted to no one in particular, +“oh, _no_, now.” Some one else laughed. They thought she was drunk. +Tears blurred her eyes. She wanted to run, but resolutely she kept her +steady, slow pace, lifted her head a little higher, and, seeing another +employment agency, faltered for a moment, then went in. + +This agency, like the first, occupied the ground floor front of a +tenement house, three-quarters of the way between Lenox and Seventh +Avenue. It was cagey and crowded, and there was a great conversational +hubbub as Emma Lou entered. In the rear of the room was a door marked +“private,” to the left of this door was a desk, littered with papers +and index cards, before which was a swivel chair. The rest of the +room was lined with a miscellaneous assortment of chairs, three rows +of them, tied together and trying to be precise despite their varying +sizes and shapes. A single window looked out upon the street, and the +Y. M. C. A. building opposite. + +All of the chairs were occupied and three people stood lined up by the +desk. Emma Lou fell in at the end of this line. There was nothing else +to do. In fact, it was all she could do after entering. Not another +person could have been squeezed into that room from the outside. This +office too was noisy and hot and pregnant with clashing body smells. +The buzzing electric fan, in a corner over the desk, with all its +whirring, could not stir up a breeze. + +The rear door opened. A slender, light-brown-skinned boy, his high +cheekbones decorated with blackheads, his slender form accentuated +by a tight fitting jazz suit of the high-waistline, one-button coat, +bell-bottom trouser variety, emerged smiling broadly, cap in one hand, +a slip of pink paper in the other. He elbowed his way to the outside +door and was gone. + +“Musta got a job,” somebody commented. “It’s about time,” came from +some one else, “he said he’d been sittin’ here a week.” + +The rear door opened again and a lady with a youthful brown face and +iron-gray hair sauntered in and sat down in the swivel chair before +the desk. Immediately all talk in the outer office ceased. An air of +anticipation seemed to pervade the room. All eyes were turned toward +her. + +For a moment she fingered a pack of red index cards, then, as if +remembering something, turned around in her chair and called out: + +“Mrs. Blake says for all elevator men to stick around.” + +There was a shuffling of feet and a settling back into chairs. Noticing +this, Emma Lou counted six elevator men and wondered if she was right. +Again the brown aristocrat with the tired voice spoke up: + +“Day workers come back at one-thirty. Won’t be nothing doin’ ’til then.” + +Four women, all carrying newspaper packages, got out of their chairs, +and edged their way toward the door, murmuring to one another as they +went, “I ain’t fixin’ to come back.” + +“Ah, she keeps you hyar.” + +They were gone. + +Two of the people standing in line sat down, the third approached the +desk, Emma Lou close behind. + +“I wantsa--” + +“What kind of job do you want?” + +Couldn’t people ever finish what they had to say? + +“Porter or dishwashing, lady.” + +“Are you registered with us?” + +“No’m.” + +“Have a seat. I’ll call you in a moment.” + +The boy looked frightened, but he found a seat and slid into it +gratefully. Emma Lou approached the desk. The woman’s cold eyes +appraised her. She must have been pleased with what she saw for her +eyes softened and her smile reappeared. Emma Lou smiled, too. Maybe she +was “pert” after all. The tailored blue suit---- + +“What can I do for you?” + +The voice with the smile wins. Emma Lou was encouraged. + +“I would like stenographic work.” + +“Experienced?” + +“Yes.” It was so much easier to say than “no.” + +“Good.” + +Emma Lou held tightly to her under-arm bag. + +“We have something that would just about suit you. Just a minute, and +I’ll let you see Mrs. Blake.” + +The chair squeaked and was eased of its burden. Emma Lou thought she +heard a telephone ringing somewhere in the distance, or perhaps it was +the clang of the street car that had just passed, heading for Seventh +Avenue. The people in the room began talking again. + +“Dat last job.” “Boy, she was dressed right down to the bricks.” + +“And I told him....” “Yeah, we went to see ‘Flesh and the Devil’.” +“Some parteee.” “I just been here a week.” + +Emma Lou’s mind became jumbled with incoherent wisps of thought. Her +left foot beat a nervous tattoo upon a sagging floor board. The door +opened. The gray-haired lady with the smile in her voice beckoned, and +Emma Lou walked into the private office of Mrs. Blake. + +Four people in the room. The only window facing a brick wall on the +outside. Two telephones, both busy. A good-looking young man, fingering +papers in a filing cabinet, while he talked over one of the telephones. +The lady from the outer office. Another lady, short and brown, like +butterscotch, talking over a desk telephone and motioning for Emma +Lou to sit down. Blur of high powered electric lights, brighter than +daylight. The butterscotch lady hanging up the receiver. + +“I’m through with you young man.” Crisp tones. Metal, warm in spite of +itself. + +“Well, I ain’t through with you.” The fourth person was speaking. Emma +Lou had hardly noticed him before. Sullen face. Dull black eyes in +watery sockets. The nose flat, the lips thick and pouting. One hand +clutching a derby, the other clenched, bearing down on the corner of +the desk. + +“I have no intention of arguing with you. I’ve said my say. Go on +outside. When a cook’s job comes in, you can have it. That’s all I can +do.” + +“No, it ain’t all you can do.” + +“Well, I’m not going to give you your fee back.” + +The lady from the outside office returns to her post. The good-looking +young man is at the telephone again. + +“Why not, I’m entitled to it.” + +“No, you’re not. I send you on a job, the man asks you to do +something, you walk out, Mister Big I-am. Then, show up here two days +later and want your fee back. No siree.” + +“I didn’t walk out.” + +“The man says you did.” + +“Aw, sure, he’d say anything. I told him I came there to be a cook, not +a waiter. I----” + +“It was your place to do as he said, then, if not satisfied, to come +here and tell me so.” + +“I am here.” + +“All right now. I’m tired of this. Take either of two courses--go on +outside and wait until a job comes in or else go down to the license +bureau and tell them your story. They’ll investigate. If I’m right----” + +“You know you ain’t right.” + +“Not according to you, no, but by law, yes. That’s all.” + +Telephone ringing. Warm metal whipping words into it. The good-looking +young man yawning. He looks like a Y. M. C. A. secretary. The +butterscotch woman speaking to Emma Lou: + +“You’re a stenographer?” + +“Yes.” + +“I have a job in a real estate office, nice firm, nice people. Fill out +this card. Here’s a pen.” + +“Mrs. Blake, you know you ain’t doin’ right.” + +Why didn’t this man either shut up or get out? + +“I told you what to do. Now please do one or the other. You’ve taken up +enough of my time. The license bureau----” + +“You know I ain’t goin’ down there. I’d rather you keep the fee, if you +think it will do you any good.” + +“I only keep what belongs to me. I’ve found out that’s the best policy.” + +Why should they want three people for reference? Where had she worked +before? Lies. Los Angeles was far away. + +“Then, if a job comes in you’ll give it to me?” + +“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” + +“Awright.” And finally he went out. + +Mrs. Blake grinned across the desk at Emma Lou. “Your folks won’t do, +honey.” + +“Do you have many like that?” + +The card was made out. Mrs. Blake had it in her hand. Telephones +ringing, both at once. Loud talking in the outer office. Lies. Los +Angeles was far away. I can bluff. Mrs. Blake had finished reading over +the card. + +“Just came to New York, eh?” + +“Yes.” + +“Like it better than Los Angeles?” + +The good-looking young man turned around and stared at her coldly. +Now he did resemble a Y. M. C. A. secretary. The lady from the outer +office came in again. There was a triple criss-cross conversation +carried on. It ended. The short bob-haired butterscotch boss gave Emma +Lou instructions and information about her prospective position. She +was half heard. Sixteen dollars a week. Is that all? Work from nine to +five. Address on card. Corner of 139th Street, left side of the avenue. +Dismissal. Smiles and good luck. Pay the lady outside five dollars. +Awkward, flustered moments. Then the entrance door and 135th Street +once more. Emma Lou was on her way to get a job. + + * * * * * + +She walked briskly to the corner, crossed the street and turned north +on Seventh Avenue. Her hopes were high, her mind a medley of pleasing +mental images. She visualized herself trim and pert in her blue +tailored suit being secretary to some well-groomed Negro business man. +There had not been many such in the West, and she was eager to know and +admire one. There would be other girls in the office, too, girls who, +like herself, were college trained and reared in cultured homes, and +through these fellow workers she would meet still other girls and men, +get in with the right sort of people. + +She continued day-dreaming as she went her way, being practical only +at such fleeting moments when she would wonder,--would she be able +to take dictation at the required rate of speed?--would her fingers +be nimble enough on the keyboard of the typewriter? Oh, bother. It +wouldn’t take her over one day to adapt herself to her new job. + +A street crossing. Traffic delayed her and she was conscious of a man, +a blurred tan image, speaking to her. He was ignored. Everything was +to be ignored save the address digits on the buildings. Everything was +secondary to the business at hand. Let traffic pass, let men aching +for flirtations speak, let Seventh Avenue be spangled with forenoon +sunshine and shadow, and polka-dotted with still or moving human forms. +She was going to have a job. The rest of the world could go to hell. + +Emma Lou turned into a four-story brick building and sped up one flight +of stairs. The rooms were not numbered and directing signs in the +hallway only served to confuse. But Emma Lou was not to be delayed. She +rushed back and forth from door to door on the first floor, then to the +second, until she finally found the office she was looking for. + +Angus and Brown were an old Harlem real estate firm. They had begun +business during the first decade of the century, handling property for +a while in New York’s far-famed San Juan Hill district. When the Negro +population had begun to need more and better homes, Angus and Brown had +led the way in buying real estate in what was to be Negro Harlem. They +had been fighters, unscrupulous and canny. They had revealed a perverse +delight in seeing white people rush pell-mell from the neighborhood in +which they obtained homes for their colored clients. They had bought +three six-story tenement buildings on 140th Street, and, when the white +tenants had been slow in moving, had personally dispossessed them, +and, in addition, had helped their incoming Negro tenants fight fistic +battles in the streets and hallways, and legal battles in the court. + +Now they were a substantial firm, grown fat and satisfied. Junior real +estate men got their business for them. They held the whip. Their +activities were many and varied. Politics and fraternal activities +occupied more of their time than did real estate. They had had their +hectic days. Now they sat back and took it easy. + +Emma Lou opened the door to their office, consisting of one +medium-sized outer room overlooking 139th Street and two cubby holes +overlooking Seventh Avenue. There were two girls in the outer office. +One was busy at a typewriter; the other was gazing over her desk +through a window into the aristocratic tree-lined city lane of 139th +Street. Both looked up expectantly. Emma Lou noticed the powdered +smoothness of their fair skins and the marcelled waviness of their +shingled brown hair. Were they sisters? Hardly, for their features were +in no way similar. Yet that skin color and that brown hair----. + +“Can I do something for you?” The idle one spoke, and the other ceased +her peck-peck-pecking on the typewriter keys. Emma Lou was buoyant. + +“I’m from Mrs. Blake’s employment agency.” + +“Oh,” from both. And they exchanged glances. Emma Lou thought she saw +a quickly suppressed smile from the fairer of the two as she hastily +resumed her typing. Then---- + +“Sit down a moment, won’t you, please? Mr. Angus is out but I’ll inform +Mr. Brown that you are here.” She picked a powder puff from an open +side drawer in her desk, patted her nose and cheeks, then got up and +crossed the office to enter cubby hole number one. Emma Lou observed +that she, too, looked “pert” in a trim, blue suit and high-heeled +patent leather oxfords---- + +“Mr. Brown?” She had opened the door. + +“Come in Grace. What is it?” The door was closed. + +Emma Lou felt nervous. Something in the pit of her stomach seemed to +flutter. Her pulse raced. Her eyes gleamed and a smile of anticipation +spread over her face, despite her efforts to appear dignified and +suave. The typist continued her work. From the cubby hole came a +murmur of voices, one feminine and affected, the other masculine and +coarse. Through the open window came direct sounds and vagrant echoes +of traffic noises from Seventh Avenue. Now the two in the cubby hole +were laughing, and the girl at the typewriter seemed to be smiling to +herself as she worked. + +What did this mean? Nothing, silly. Don’t be so sensitive. Emma Lou’s +eyes sought the pictures on the wall. There was an early twentieth +century photographic bust-portrait, encased in a bevelled glass frame, +of a heavy-set good-looking, brown-skinned man. She admired his +mustache. Men didn’t seem to take pride in such hirsute embellishments +now. Mustaches these days were abbreviated and limp. They no longer +were virile enough to dominate and make a man’s face appear more +strong. Rather, they were only insignificant patches weakly keeping the +nostrils from merging with the upper lip. + +Emma Lou wondered if that was Mr. Brown. He had a brown face and wore +a brown suit. No, maybe that was Mr. Angus, and perhaps that was Mr. +Brown on the other side of the room, in the square, enlarged kodak +print, a slender yellow man, standing beside a motor car, looking as +if he wished to say, “Yeah, this is me and this is my car.” She hoped +he was Mr. Angus. She didn’t like his name and since she was to see Mr. +Brown first, she hoped he was the more flatteringly portrayed. + +The door to the cubby hole opened and the girl Mr. Brown had called +Grace, came out. The expression on her face was too business-like to be +natural. It seemed as if it had been placed there for a purpose. + +She walked toward Emma Lou, who got up and stood like a child, waiting +for punishment and hoping all the while that it will dissipate itself +in threats. The typewriter was stilled and Emma Lou could feel an extra +pair of eyes looking at her. The girl drew close then spoke: + +“I’m sorry, Miss. Mr. Brown says he has some one else in view for the +job. We’ll call the agency. Thank you for coming in.” + +Thank her for coming in? What could she say? What should she say? The +girl was smiling at her, but Emma Lou noticed that her fair skin was +flushed and that her eyes danced nervously. Could she be hoping that +Emma Lou would hurry and depart? The door was near. It opened easily. +The steps were steep. One went down slowly. Seventh Avenue was still +spangled with forenoon sunshine and shadow. Its pavement was hard and +hot. The windows in the buildings facing it, gleaming reflectors of the +mounting sun. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou returned to the employment agency. It was still crowded and +more stuffy than ever. The sun had advanced high into the sky and it +seemed to be centering its rays on that solitary defenseless window. +There was still much conversation. There were still people crowded +around the desk, still people in all the chairs, people and talk and +heat and smells. + +“Mrs. Blake is waiting for you,” the gray-haired lady with the young +face was unflustered and cool. Emma Lou went into the inner office. +Mrs. Blake looked up quickly and forced a smile. The good-looking young +man, more than ever resembling a Y. M. C. A. secretary, turned his back +and fumbled with the card files. Mrs. Blake suggested that he leave the +room. He did, beaming benevolently at Emma Lou as he went. + +“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Blake was very kind and womanly. “Mr. Brown called +me. I didn’t know he had some one else in mind. He hadn’t told me.” + +“That’s all right,” replied Emma Lou briskly. “Have you something else?” + +“Not now. Er-er. Have you had luncheon? It’s early yet, I know, but I +generally go about this time. Come along, won’t you. I’d like to talk +to you. I’ll be ready in about thirty minutes if you don’t mind the +wait.” + +Emma Lou warmed to the idea. At that moment, she would have warmed +toward any suggestion of friendliness. Here, perhaps, was a chance +to make a welcome contact. She was lonesome and disappointed, so she +readily assented and felt elated and superior as she walked out of the +office with the “boss.” + +They went to Eddie’s for luncheon. Eddie’s was an elbow-shaped +combination lunch-counter and dining room that embraced a United Cigar +Store on the northeast corner of 135th Street and Seventh Avenue. +Following Mrs. Blake’s lead, Emma Lou ordered a full noontime dinner, +and, flattered by Mrs. Blake’s interest and congeniality, began to talk +about herself. She told of her birthplace and her home life. She told +of her high school days, spoke proudly of the fact that she had been +the only Negro student and how she had graduated cum laude. Asked about +her college years, she talked less freely. Mrs. Blake sensed a cue. + +“Didn’t you like college?” + +“For a little while, yes.” + +“What made you dislike it? Surely not the studies?” + +“No.” She didn’t care to discuss this. “I was lonesome, I guess.” + +“Weren’t there any other colored boys and girls? I thought....” + +Emma Lou spoke curtly. “Oh, yes, quite a number, but I suppose I didn’t +mix well.” + +The waiter came to take the order for dessert, and Emma Lou seized +upon the fact that Mrs. Blake ordered sliced oranges to talk about +California’s orange groves, California’s sunshine--anything but the +California college she had attended and from which she had fled. In +vain did Mrs. Blake try to maneuver the conversation back to Emma Lou’s +college experiences. She would have none of it and Mrs. Blake was +finally forced to give it up. + +When they were finished, Mrs. Blake insisted upon taking the check. +This done, she began to talk about jobs. + +“You know, Miss Morgan, good jobs are rare. It is seldom I have +anything to offer outside of the domestic field. Most Negro business +offices are family affairs. They either get their help from within +their own family group or from among their friends. Then, too,” Emma +Lou noticed that Mrs. Blake did not look directly at her, “lots of our +Negro business men have a definite type of girl in mind and will not +hire any other.” + +Emma Lou wondered what it was Mrs. Blake seemed to be holding back. She +began again: + +“My advice to you is that you enter Teachers’ College and if you _will_ +stay in New York, get a job in the public school system. You can easily +take a light job of some kind to support you through your course. Maybe +with three years’ college you won’t need to go to training school. +Why don’t you find out about that? Now, if I were you....” Mrs. Blake +talked on, putting much emphasis on every “If I were you.” + +Emma Lou grew listless and antagonistic. She didn’t like this little +sawed-off woman as she was now, being business like and giving advice. +She was glad when they finally left Eddie’s, and more than glad to +escape after having been admonished not to oversleep, “But be in my +office, and I’ll see what I can do for you, dearie, early in the +morning. There’s sure to be something.” + +Left to herself, Emma Lou strolled south on the west side of Seventh +Avenue to 134th Street, then crossed over to the east side and turned +north. She didn’t know what to do. It was too late to consider visiting +another employment agency, and, furthermore, she didn’t have enough +money left to pay another fee. Let jobs go until tomorrow, then she +would return to Mrs. Blake’s, ask for a return of her fee, and find +some other employment agency, a more imposing one, if possible. She had +had enough of those on 135th Street. + +She didn’t want to go home, either. Her room had no outside vista. If +she sat in the solitary chair by the solitary window, all she could +see were other windows and brick walls and people either mysteriously +or brazenly moving about in the apartments across the court. There was +no privacy there, little fresh air, and no natural light after the sun +began its downward course. Then the apartment always smelled of frying +fish or of boiling cabbage. Her landlady seemed to alternate daily +between these two foods. Fish smells and cabbage smells pervaded the +long, dark hallway, swirled into the room when the door was opened and +perfumed one’s clothes disagreeably. Moreover, urinal and foecal smells +surged upward from the garbage-littered bottom of the court which her +window faced. + +If she went home, the landlady would eye her suspiciously and ask, +“Ain’t you got a job yet?” then move away, shaking her head and dipping +into her snuff box. Occasionally, in moments of excitement, she spat on +the floor. And the little fat man who had the room next to Emma Lou’s +could be heard coughing suggestively--tapping on the wall, and talking +to himself in terms of her. He had seen her slip John in last night. +He might be more bold now. He might even try--oh no he wouldn’t. + +She was crossing 137th Street. She remembered this corner. John had +told her that he could always be found there after work any spring or +summer evening. + +Emma Lou had met John on her first day in New York. He was employed as +a porter in the theatre where Mazelle Lindsay was scheduled to perform, +and, seeing a new maid on the premises, had decided to “make” her. He +had. Emma Lou had not liked him particularly, but he had seemed New +Yorkish and genial. It was John who had found her her room. It was +John who had taught her how to find her way up and down town on the +subway and on the elevated. He had also conducted her on a Cook’s tour +of Harlem, had strolled up and down Seventh Avenue with her evenings +after they had come uptown from the theater. He had pointed out for her +the Y. W. C. A. with its imposing annex, the Emma Ranson House, and +suggested that she get a room there later on. He had taken her on a +Sunday to several of the Harlem motion picture and vaudeville theaters, +and he had been as painstaking in pointing out the churches as he had +been lax in pointing out the cabarets. Moreover, as they strolled +Seventh Avenue, he had attempted to give her all the “inside dope” on +Harlem, had told her of the “rent parties,” of the “numbers,” of “hot” +men, of “sweetbacks,” and other local phenomena. + +Emma Lou was now passing a barber shop near 140th Street. A group of +men were standing there beneath a huge white and black sign announcing, +“Bobbing’s, fifty cents; haircuts, twenty-five cents.” They were +whistling at three school girls, about fourteen or fifteen years of +age, who were passing, doing much switching and giggling. Emma Lou +curled her lips. Harlem streets presented many such scenes. She looked +at the men significantly, forgetting for the moment that it was none of +her business what they or the girls did. But they didn’t notice her. +They were too busy having fun with those fresh little chippies. + +Emma Lou experienced a feeling of resentment, then, realizing how +ridiculous it all was, smiled it away and began to think of John +once more. She wondered why she had submitted herself to him. Was it +cold-blooded payment for his kind chaperoning? Something like that. +John wasn’t her type. He was too pudgy and dark, too obviously an +ex-cotton-picker from Georgia. He was unlettered and she couldn’t +stand for that, for she liked intelligent-looking, slender, +light-brown-skinned men, like, well ... like the one who was just +passing. She admired him boldly. He looked at her, then over her, and +passed on. + +Seventh Avenue was becoming more crowded now. School children were +out for their lunch hour, corner loafers and pool-hall loiterers were +beginning to collect on their chosen spots. Knots of people, of no +particular designation, also stood around talking, or just looking, and +there were many pedestrians, either impressing one as being in a great +hurry, or else seeming to have no place at all to go. Emma Lou was in +this latter class. By now she had reached 142nd Street and had decided +to cross over to the opposite side and walk south once more. Seventh +Avenue was a wide, well-paved, busy thoroughfare, with a long, narrow, +iron fenced-in parkway dividing the east side from the west. Emma Lou +liked Seventh Avenue. It was so active and alive, so different from +Central Avenue, the dingy main street of the black belt of Los Angeles. +At night it was glorious! Where else could one see so many different +types of Negroes? Where else would one view such a heterogeneous +ensemble of mellow colors, glorified by the night? + +People passing by. Children playing. Dogs on leashes. Stray cats +crouching by the sides of buildings. Men standing in groups or alone. +Black men. Yellow men. Brown men. Emma Lou eyed them. They eyed her. +There were a few remarks passed. She thought she got their import even +though she could not hear what they were saying. She quickened her step +and held her head higher. Be yourself, Emma Lou. Do you want to start +picking men up off of the street? + +The heat became more intense. Brisk walking made her perspire. Her +underclothes grew sticky. Harlem heat was so muggy. She could feel the +shine on her nose and it made her self-conscious. She remembered how +the “Grace” in the office of Angus and Brown had so carefully powdered +her skin before confronting her employer, and, as she remembered this, +she looked up, and sure enough, here she was in front of the building +she had sought so eagerly earlier that morning. Emma Lou drew closer +to the building. She must get that shine off of her nose. It was bad +enough to be black, too black, without having a shiny face to boot. +She stopped in front of the tailor shop directly beneath the office +of Angus and Brown, and, turning her back to the street, proceeded to +powder her shiny member. Three noisy lads passed by. They saw Emma +Lou and her reflection in the sunlit show window. The one closest to +her cleared his throat and crooned out, loud enough for her to hear, +“There’s a girl for you, ‘Fats.’” “Fats” was the one in the middle. +He had a rotund form and a coffee-colored face. He was in his shirt +sleeves and carried his coat on his arm. Bell bottom trousers hid all +save the tips of his shiny tan shoes. “Fats” was looking at Emma Lou, +too, but as he passed, he turned his eyes from her and broadcast a +withering look at the lad who had spoken: + +“Man, you know I don’t haul no coal.” There was loud laughter and +the trio merrily clicked their metal-cornered heels on the sun-baked +pavement as they moved away. + + + + +PART III + +ALVA + + + + +III + +ALVA + + +It was nine o’clock. The alarm rang. Alva’s roommate awoke cursing. + +“Why the hell don’t you turn off that alarm?” + +There was no response. The alarm continued to ring. + +“Alva!” Braxton yelled into his sleeping roommate’s ear, “Turn off that +clock. Wake up,” he began shaking him, “Wake up, damn you ... ya dead?” + +Alva slowly emerged from his stupor. Almost mechanically he reached for +the clock, dancing merrily on a chair close to the bed, and, finding +it, pushed the guilty lever back into the silent zone. Braxton watched +him disgustedly: + +“Watcha gettin’ up so early for? Don’tcha know this is Monday?” + +“Shure, I know it’s Monday, but I gotta go to Uncle’s. The landlord’ll +be here before eleven o’clock.” + +“Watcha gonna pawn?” + +“My brown suit. I won’t need it ’til next Sunday. You got your rent?” + +“I got four dollars,” Braxton advanced slowly. + +“Cantcha get the other two?” + +Braxton grew apologetic and explanatory, “Not today ... ya ... see....” + +“Aw, man, you make me sick.” + +Disgust overcoming his languor, Alva got out of the bed. This was +getting to be a regular Monday morning occurrence. Braxton was always +one, two or three dollars short of having his required half of the +rent, and Alva, who had rented the room, always had to make it up. +Luckily for Alva, both he and the landlord were Elks. Fraternal +brothers must stick together. Thus it was an easy matter to pay the +rent in installments. The only difficulty being that it was happening +rather frequently. There is liable to be a limit even to a brother +Elk’s patience, especially where money is concerned. + +Alva put on his dressing gown, and his house shoes, then went into the +little alcove which was curtained off in the rear from the rest of +the room. Jumbled together on the marble topped stationary washstand +were a half dozen empty gin bottles bearing a pre-prohibition Gordon +label, a similar number of empty ginger ale bottles, a cocktail shaker, +and a medley of assorted cocktail, water, jelly and whiskey glasses, +filled and surrounded by squeezed orange and lemon rinds. The little +two-burner gas plate atop a wooden dry goods box was covered with +dirty dishes, frying pan, egg shells, bacon rinds, and a dominating +though lopsided tea kettle. Even Alva’s trunk, which occupied half the +entrance space between the alcove and the room, littered as it was with +paper bags, cracker boxes and greasy paper plates, bore evidence of the +orgy which the occupants of the room staged over every weekend. + +Alva surveyed this rather intimate and familiar disorder, faltered +a moment, started to call Braxton, then remembering previous Monday +mornings set about his task alone. It was Braxton’s custom never to +arise before noon. Alva who worked as a presser in a costume house was +forced to get up at seven o’clock on every week day save Monday when he +was not required to report for work until twelve o’clock. His employers +thus managed to accumulate several baskets of clothes from the sewing +room before their pressers arrived. It was better to have them remain +at home until this was done. Then you didn’t have to pay them so much, +and having let the sewing room get head start, there was never any +chance for the pressing room to slow down. + +Alva’s mother had been an American mulatto, his father a Filipino. +Alva himself was small in stature as his father had been, small +and well developed with broad shoulders, narrow hips and firm well +modeled limbs. His face was oval shaped and his features more oriental +than Negroid. His skin was neither yellow nor brown but something +in between, something warm, arresting and mellow with the faintest +suggestion of a parchment tinge beneath, lending it individuality. His +eyes were small, deep and slanting. His forehead high, hair sparse and +finely textured. + +The alcove finally straightened up, Alva dressed rather hurriedly, and, +taking a brown suit from the closet, made his regular Monday morning +trip to the pawn shop. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou finished rinsing out some silk stockings and sat down in a +chair to reread a letter she had received from home that morning. It +was about the third time she had gone over it. Her mother wanted her +to come home. Evidently the home-town gossips were busy. No doubt they +were saying, “Strange mother to let that gal stay in New York alone. +She ain’t goin’ to school, either. Wonder what she’s doin’?” Emma Lou +read all this between the lines of what her mother had written. Jane +Morgan was being tearful as usual. She loved to suffer, and being +tearful seemed the easiest way to let the world know that one was +suffering. Sob stuff, thought Emma Lou, and, tearing the letter up, +threw it into the waste paper basket. + +Emma Lou was now maid to Arline Strange, who was playing for the +moment the part of a mulatto Carmen in an alleged melodrama of Negro +life in Harlem. Having tried, for two weeks to locate what she termed +“congenial work,” Emma Lou had given up the idea and meekly returned to +Mazelle Lindsay. She had found her old job satisfactorily filled, but +Mazelle had been sympathetic and had arranged to place her with Arline +Strange. Now her mother wanted her to come home. Let her want. She was +of age, and supporting herself. Moreover, she felt that if it had not +been for gossip her mother would never have thought of asking her to +come home. + +“Stop your mooning, dearie.” Arline Strange had returned to her +dressing room. Act one was over. The Negro Carmen had become the +mistress of a wealthy European. She would now shed her gingham dress +for an evening gown. + +Mechanically, Emma Lou assisted Arline in making the change. She was +unusually silent. It was noticed. + +“’Smatter, Louie. In love or something?” + +Emma Lou smiled, “Only with myself.” + +“Then snap out of it. Remember, you’re going cabareting with us +tonight. This brother of mine from Chicago insists upon going to Harlem +to check up on my performance. He’ll enjoy himself more if you act as +guide. Ever been to Small’s?” Emma Lou shook her head. “I haven’t been +to any of the cabarets.” + +“What?” Arline was genuinely surprised. “You in Harlem and never been +to a cabaret? Why I thought all colored people went.” + +Emma Lou bristled. White people were so stupid. “No” she said firmly. +“All colored people don’t go. Fact is, I’ve heard that most of the +places are patronized almost solely by whites.” + +“Oh, yes, I knew that, I’ve been to Small’s and Barron’s and the Cotton +Club, but I thought there were other places.” She stopped talking, and +spent the next few moments deepening the artificial duskiness of her +skin. The gingham dress was now on its hanger. The evening gown clung +glamorously to her voluptuous figure. “For God’s sake, don’t let on +to my brother you ain’t been to Small’s before. Act like you know all +about it. I’ll see that he gives you a big tip.” The call bell rang. +Arline said “Damn,” gave one last look into the mirror, then hurried +back to the stage so that the curtain could go up on the cabaret scene +in Act Two. + +Emma Lou laid out the negligee outfit Arline would be killed in at the +end of Act Three, and went downstairs to stand in the stage wings, a +makeup box beneath her arm. She never tired of watching the so-called +dramatic antics on the stage. She wondered if there were any Negroes of +the type portrayed by Arline and her fellow performers. Perhaps there +were since there were any number of minor parts being played by real +Negroes who acted much different from any Negroes she had ever known or +seen. It all seemed to her like a mad caricature. + +She watched for about the thirtieth time Arline acting the part of +a Negro cabaret entertainer, and also for about the thirtieth time, +came to the conclusion that Arline was being herself rather than the +character she was supposed to be playing. From where she was standing +in the wings she could see a small portion of the audience, and she +watched their reaction. Their interest seemed genuine. Arline did have +pep and personality, and the alleged Negro background was strident and +kaleidoscopic, all of which no doubt made up for the inane plot and +vulgar dialogue. + +They entered Small’s Paradise, Emma Lou, Arline and Arline’s brother +from Chicago. All the way uptown he had plied Emma Lou with questions +concerning New York’s Black Belt. He had reciprocated by relating how +well he knew the Negro section of Chicago. Quite a personage around the +Black and Tan cabarets there, it seemed. “But I never,” he concluded +as the taxi drew up to the curb in front of Small’s, “have seen any +black gal in Chicago act like Arline acts. She claims she is presenting +a Harlem specie. So I am going to see for myself.” And he chuckled +all the time he was helping them out of the taxi and paying the fare. +While they were checking their wraps in the foyer, the orchestra began +playing. Through the open entrance way Emma Lou could see a hazy, +dim-lighted room, walls and ceiling colorfully decorated, floor space +jammed with tables and chairs and people. A heavy set mulatto in +tuxedo, after asking how many were in their party, led them through a +lane of tables around the squared off dance platform to a ringside seat +on the far side of the cabaret. + +Immediately they were seated, a waiter came to take their order. + +“Three bottles of White Rock.” The waiter nodded, twirled his tray on +the tip of his fingers and skated away. + +Emma Lou watched the dancers, and noticed immediately that in all that +insensate crowd of dancing couples there were only a few Negroes. + +“My God, such music. Let’s dance, Arline,” and off they went, leaving +Emma Lou sitting alone. Somehow or other she felt frightened. Most +of the tables around her were deserted, their tops littered with +liquid-filled glasses, and bottles of ginger ale and White Rock. There +was no liquor in sight, yet Emma Lou was aware of pungent alcoholic +odors. Then she noticed a heavy-jowled white man with a flashlight +walking among the empty tables and looking beneath them. He didn’t seem +to be finding anything. The music soon stopped. Arline and her brother +returned to the table. He was feigning anxiety because he had not seen +the type of character Arline claimed to be portraying, and loudly +declared that he was disappointed. + +“Why there ain’t nothing here but white people. Is it always like this?” + +Emma Lou said it was and turned to watch their waiter, who with two +others had come dancing across the floor, holding aloft his tray, +filled with bottles and glasses. Deftly, he maneuvered away from the +other two and slid to their table, put down a bottle of White Rock and +an ice-filled glass before each one, then, after flicking a stub check +on to the table, rejoined his companions in a return trip across the +dance floor. + +Arline’s brother produced a hip flask, and before Emma Lou could demur +mixed her a highball. She didn’t want to drink. She hadn’t drunk +before, but.... + +“Here come the entertainers!” Emma Lou followed Arline’s turn of +the head to see two women, one light brown skin and slim, the other +chocolate colored and fat, walking to the center of the dance floor. + +The orchestra played the introduction and vamp to “Muddy Waters.” The +two entertainers swung their legs and arms in rhythmic unison, smiling +broadly and rolling their eyes, first to the left and then to the +right. Then they began to sing. Their voices were husky and strident, +neither alto nor soprano. They muddled their words and seemed to +impregnate the syncopated melody with physical content. + +As they sang the chorus, they glided out among the tables, stopping at +one, then at another, and another, singing all the time, their bodies +undulating and provocative, occasionally giving just a promise of an +obscene hip movement, while their arms waved and their fingers held +tight to the dollar bills and silver coins placed in their palms by +enthusiastic onlookers. + +Emma Lou, all of her, watched and listened. As they approached her +table, she sat as one mesmerized. Something in her seemed to be +trying to give way. Her insides were stirred, and tingled. The two +entertainers circled their table; Arline’s brother held out a dollar +bill. The fat, chocolate colored girl leaned over the table, her hand +touched his, she exercised the muscles of her stomach, muttered a +guttural “thank you” in between notes and moved away, moaning “Muddy +Waters,” rolling her eyes, shaking her hips. + +Emma Lou had turned completely around in her chair, watching the +progress of that wah-wahing, jello-like chocolate hulk, and her slim +light brown skin companion. Finally they completed their rounds of +the tables and returned to the dance floor. Red and blue spotlights +played upon their dissimilar figures, the orchestra increased the tempo +and lessened the intensity of its playing. The swaying entertainers +pulled up their dresses, exposing lace trimmed stepins and an island +of flesh. Their stockings were rolled down below their knees, their +stepins discreetly short and delicate. Finally, they ceased their +swaying and began to dance. They shimmied and whirled, charlestoned +and black-bottomed. Their terpsichorean ensemble was melodramatic and +absurd. Their execution easy and emphatic. Emma Lou forgot herself. She +gaped, giggled and applauded like the rest of the audience, and only +as they let their legs separate, preparatory to doing one final split +to the floor, did Emma Lou come to herself long enough to wonder if +the fat one could achieve it without seriously endangering those ever +tightening stepins. + +“Dam’ good, I’ll say,” a slender white youth at the next table +asseverated, as he lifted an amber filled glass to his lips. + +Arline sighed. Her brother had begun to razz her. Emma Lou blinked +guiltily as the lights were turned up. She had been immersed in +something disturbingly pleasant. Idiot, she berated herself, just +because you’ve had one drink and seen your first cabaret entertainer, +must your mind and body feel all aflame? + +Arline’s brother was mixing another highball. All around, people were +laughing. There was much more laughter than there was talk, much more +gesticulating and ogling than the usual means of expression called for. +Everything seemed unrestrained, abandoned. Yet, Emma Lou was conscious +of a note of artificiality, the same as she felt when she watched +Arline and her fellow performers cavorting on the stage in “Cabaret +Gal.” This entire scene seemed staged, they were in a theater, only +the proscenium arch had been obliterated. At last the audience and the +actors were as one. + +A call to order on the snare drum. A brutal sliding trumpet call on the +trombone, a running minor scale by the clarinet and piano, an umpah, +umpah by the bass horn, a combination four measure moan and strum by +the saxophone and banjo, then a melodic ensemble, and the orchestra +was playing another dance tune. Masses of people jumbled up the three +entrances to the dance square and with difficulty, singled out their +mates and became closely allied partners. Inadvertently, Emma Lou +looked at Arline’s brother. He blushed, and appeared uncomfortable. She +realized immediately what was on his mind. He didn’t know whether or +not to ask her to dance with him. The ethics of the case were complex. +She was a Negro and hired maid. But was she a hired maid after hours, +and in this environment? Emma Lou had difficulty in suppressing a +smile, then she decided to end the suspense. + +“Why don’t you two dance. No need of letting the music go to waste.” + +Both Arline and her brother were obviously relieved, but as they got +up Arline said, “Ain’t much fun cuddling up to your own brother when +there’s music like this.” But off they went, leaving Emma Lou alone and +disturbed. John ought to be here, slipped out before she remembered +that she didn’t want John any more. Then she began to wish that John +had introduced her to some more men. But he didn’t know the kind of men +she was interested in knowing. He only knew men and boys like himself, +porters and janitors and chauffeurs and bootblacks. Imagine her, a +college trained person, even if she hadn’t finished her senior year, +being satisfied with the company of such unintelligent servitors. How +had she stood John so long with his constant of defense, “I ain’t got +much education, but I got mother wit.” Mother wit! Creation of the +unlettered, satisfying illusion to the dumb, ludicrous prop to the +mentally unfit. Yes, he had mother wit all right. + +Emma Lou looked around and noticed at a near-by table three young +colored men, all in tuxedos, gazing at her and talking. She averted +her glance and turned to watch the dancers. She thought she heard a +burst of ribald laughter from the young men at the table. Then some +one touched her on the shoulder, and she looked up into a smiling +oriental-like face, neither brown nor yellow in color, but warm and +pleasing beneath the soft lights, and, because of the smile, showing a +gleaming row of small, even teeth, set off by a solitary gold incisor. +The voice was persuasive and apologetic, “Would you care to dance with +me?” The music had stopped, but there was promise of an encore. Emma +Lou was confused, her mind blankly chaotic. She was expected to push +back her chair and get up. She did. And, without saying a word, allowed +herself to be maneuvered to the dance floor. + +In a moment they were swallowed up in the jazz whirlpool. Long +strides were impossible. There were too many other legs striding for +free motion in that over populated area. He held her close to him; +the contours of her body fitting his. The two highballs had made her +giddy. She seemed to be glowing inside. The soft lights and the music +suggested abandon and intrigue. They said nothing to one another. She +noticed that her partner’s face seemed alive with some inner ecstasy. +It must be the music, thought Emma Lou. Then she got a whiff of his +liquor-laden breath. + +After three encores, the clarinet shrilled out a combination of notes +that seemed to say regretfully, “That’s all.” Brighter lights were +switched on, and the milling couples merged into a struggling mass of +individuals, laughing, talking, over-animated individuals, all trying +to go in different directions, and getting a great deal of fun out +of the resulting confusion. Emma Lou’s partner held tightly to her +arm, and pushed her through the insensate crowd to her table. Then +he muttered a polite “thank you” and turned away. Emma Lou sat down. +Arline and her brother looked at her and laughed. “Got a dance, eh +Louie?” Emma Lou wondered if Arline was being malicious, and for an +answer she only nodded her head and smiled, hoping all the while that +her smile was properly enigmatic. + +Arline’s brother spoke up. “Whadda say we go. I’ve seen enough of this +to know that Arline and her stage director are all wet.” Their waiter +was called, the check was paid, and they were on their way out. In +spite of herself, Emma Lou glanced back to the table where her dancing +partner was sitting. To her confusion, she noticed that he and his two +friends were staring at her. One of them said something and made a wry +face. Then they all laughed, uproariously and cruelly. + + * * * * * + +Alva had overslept. Braxton, who had stayed out the entire night, came +in about eight o’clock, and excitedly interrupted his drunken slumber. + +“Ain’t you goin’ to work?” + +“Work?” Alva was alarmed. “What time is it?” + +“’Bout eight. Didn’t you set the clock?” + +“Sure, I did.” Alva picked up the clock from the floor and examined +the alarm dial. It had been set for ten o’clock instead of for six. He +sulked for a moment, then attempted to shake off the impending mood of +regretfulness and disgust for self. + +“Aw, hell, what’s the dif’. Call ’em up and tell ’em I’m sick. There’s +a nickel somewhere in that change on the dresser.” Braxton had taken +off his tuxedo coat and vest. + +“If you’re not goin’ to work ever, you might as well quit. I don’t see +no sense in working two days and laying off three.” + +“I’m goin’ to quit the damn job anyway. I been working steady now since +last fall.” + +“I thought it was about time you quit.” Braxton had stripped off his +white full dress shirt, put on his bathrobe, and started out of the +room, to go downstairs to the telephone. Alva reached across the bed +and pulled up the shade, blinked at the inpouring daylight and lay +himself back down, one arm thrown across his forehead. He had slipped +off into a state of semi-consciousness again when Braxton returned. + +“The girl said she’d tell the boss. Asked who I was as usual.” He went +into the alcove to finish undressing, and put on his pajamas. Alva +looked up. + +“You goin’ to bed?” + +“Yes, don’t you think I want some sleep?” + +“Thought you was goin’ to look for a job?” + +“I was, but I hadn’t figured on staying out all night.” + +“Always some damn excuse. Where’d you go?” + +“Down to Flo’s.” + +“Who in the hell is Flo?” + +“That little yaller broad I picked up at the cabaret last night.” + +“I thought she had a nigger with her.” + +“She did, but I jived her along, so she ditched him, and gave me her +address. I met her there later.” + +Braxton was now ready to get into the bed. All this time he had been +preparing himself in his usual bedtime manner. His face had been +cold-creamed, his hair greased and tightly covered by a silken stocking +cap. This done, he climbed over Alva and lay on top of the covers. They +were silent for a moment, then Braxton laughed softly to himself. + +“Where’d _you_ go last night?” + +“Where’d I go?” Alva seemed surprised. “Why I came home, where’d ya +think I went?” Braxton laughed again. + +“Oh, I thought maybe you’d really made a date with that coal scuttle +blond you danced with.” + +“Ya musta thought it.” + +“Well, ya seemed pretty sweet on her.” + +“Whaddaya mean, sweet? Just because I danced with her once. I took pity +on her, cause she looked so lonesome with those ofays. Wonder who they +was?” + +“Oh, she probably works for them. It’s good you danced with her. Nobody +else would.” + +“I didn’t see nothing wrong with her. She might have been a little +dark.” + +“Little dark is right, and you know when they comes blacker’n me, +they ain’t got no go.” Braxton was a reddish brown aristocrat, with +clear-cut features and curly hair. His paternal grandfather had been +an Iroquois Indian. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou was very lonesome. She still knew no one save John, two +or three of the Negro actors who worked on the stage with Arline, +and a West Indian woman who lived in the same apartment with her. +Occasionally John met her when she left the theater at night and +escorted her to her apartment door. He repeatedly importuned her to be +nice to him once more. Her only answer was a sigh or a smile. + +The West Indian woman was employed as a stenographer in the office of a +Harlem political sheet. She was shy and retiring, and not much given to +making friends with American Negroes. So many of them had snubbed and +pained her when she was newly emigrant from her home in Barbadoes, that +she lumped them all together, just as they seemed to do her people. She +would not take under consideration that Emma Lou was new to Harlem, +and not even aware of the prejudice American-born Harlemites nursed +for foreign-born ones. She remembered too vividly how, on ringing the +bell of a house where there had been a vacancy sign in the window, a +little girl had come to the door, and, in answer to a voice in the back +asking, “Who is it, Cora?” had replied, “monkey chaser wants to see the +room you got to rent.” Jasmine Griffith was wary of all contact with +American Negroes, for that had been only one of the many embittering +incidents she had experienced. + +Emma Lou liked Jasmine, but was conscious of the fact that she could +never penetrate her stolid reserve. They often talked to one another +when they met in the hallway, and sometimes they stopped in one +another’s rooms, but there was never any talk of going places together, +never any informal revelations or intimacies. + +The Negro actors in “Cabaret Gal,” all felt themselves superior to +Emma Lou, and she in turn felt superior to them. She was just a maid. +They were just common stage folk. Once she had had an inspiration. She +had heard that “Cabaret Gal” was liable to run for two years or more +on Broadway before road shows were sent out. Without saying anything +to Arline she had approached the stage director and asked him, in all +secrecy, what her chances were of getting into the cabaret ensemble. +She knew they paid well, and she speculated that two or three years in +“Cabaret Gal” might lay the foundations for a future stage career. + +“What the hell would Arline do,” he laughed, “if she didn’t have you to +change her complexion before every performance?” + +Emma Lou had smiled away this bit of persiflage and had reiterated her +request in such a way that there was no mistaking her seriousness. + +Sensing this, the director changed his mood, and admitted that even +then two of the girls were dropping out of “Cabaret Gal” to sail for +Europe with another show, booked for a season on the continent. But he +hastened to tell her, as he saw her eyes brighten with anticipation: + +“Well, you see, we worked out a color scheme that would be a complement +to Arline’s makeup. You’ve noticed, no doubt, that all of the girls are +about one color, and....” + +Unable to stammer any more, he had hastened away, embarrassed. + +Emma Lou hadn’t noticed that all the girls were one color. In fact, she +was certain they were not. She hastened to stand in the stage wings +among them between scenes and observe their skin coloring. Despite many +layers of liquid powder she could see that they were not all one color, +but that they were either mulatto or light-brown skin. Their makeup and +the lights gave them an appearance of sameness. She noticed that there +were several black men in the ensemble, but that none of the women were +dark. Then the breach between Emma Lou and the show people widened. + +Emma Lou had had another inspiration. She had decided to move. Perhaps +if she were to live with a homey type of family they could introduce +her to “the right sort of people.” She blamed her enforced isolation +on the fact that she had made no worthwhile contacts. Mrs. Blake was +a disagreeable remembrance. Since she came to think about it, Mrs. +Blake had been distinctly patronizing like ... like ... her high school +principal, or like Doris Garrett, the head of the only Negro sorority +in the Southern California college she had attended. Doris Garrett had +been very nice to all her colored schoolmates, but had seen to it that +only those girls who were of a mulatto type were pledged for membership +in the Greek letter society of which she was the head. + +Emma Lou reasoned that she couldn’t go on as she was, being alone +and aching for congenial companionship. True, her job didn’t allow +her much spare time. She had to be at Arline’s apartment at eleven +every morning, but except on the two matinee days, she was free from +two until seven-thirty P. M., when she had to be at the theater, and +by eleven-thirty every night, she was in Harlem. Then she had all +day Sunday to herself. Arline paid her a good salary, and she made +tips from the first and second leads in the show, who used her spare +moments. She had been working for six weeks now, and had saved one +hundred dollars. She practically lived on her tips. Her salary was +twenty-five dollars per week. Dinner was the only meal she had to pay +for, and Arline gave her many clothes. + +So Emma Lou began to think seriously of getting another room. She +wanted more space and more air and more freedom from fish and cabbage +smells. She had been in Harlem now for about fourteen weeks. Only +fourteen weeks? The count stunned her. It seemed much longer. It was +this rut she was in. Well, she would get out of it. Finding a room, a +new room, would be the first step. + +Emma Lou asked Jasmine how one went about it. Jasmine was noncommittal, +and said she didn’t know, but she had heard that _The Amsterdam News_, +a Harlem Negro weekly, carried a large “Furnished rooms for rent” +section. Emma Lou bought a copy of this paper, and, though attracted, +did not stop to read the news columns under the streaming headlines +to the effect “Headless Man Found In Trunk”; “Number Runner Given +Sentence”; “Benefit Ball Huge Success”; but turned immediately to the +advertising section. + +There were many rooms advertised for rent, rooms of all sizes and for +all prices, with all sorts of conveniences and inconveniences. Emma Lou +was more bewildered than ever. Then, remembering that John had said +that all the “dictys” lived between Seventh and Edgecombe Avenues on +136th, 137th, 138th and 139th Streets, decided to check off the places +in these streets. John had also told her that “dictys” lived in the +imposing apartment houses on Edgecombe, Bradhurst and St. Nicholas +Avenues. “Dictys” were Harlem’s high-toned people, folk listed in the +local social register, as it were. But Emma Lou did not care to live in +another apartment building. She preferred, or thought she would prefer, +living in a private house where there would be fewer people and more +privacy. + +The first place Emma Lou approached had a double room for two girls, +two men, or a couple. They thought their advertisement had said as +much. It hadn’t, but Emma Lou apologized, and left. The next three +places were nice but exorbitant. Front rooms with two windows and a +kitchenette, renting for twelve, fourteen and sixteen dollars a week. +Emma Lou had planned to spend not more than eight or nine dollars at +the most. The next place smelled far worse than her present home. The +room was smaller and the rent higher. Emma Lou began to lose hope, then +rallying, had gone to the last place on her list from _The Amsterdam +News_. The landlady was the spinster type, garrulous and friendly. She +had a high forehead, keen intellectual eyes, and a sharp profile. The +room she showed to Emma Lou was both spacious and clean, and she only +asked eight dollars and fifty cents per week for it. + +After showing her the room, the landlady had invited Emma Lou +downstairs to her parlor. Emma Lou found a place to sit down on a +damask covered divan. There were many other seats in the room, but the +landlady, _Miss_ Carrington, as she had introduced herself, insisted +upon sitting down beside her. They talked for about a half an hour, +and in that time, being a successful “pumper,” _Miss_ Carrington had +learned the history of Emma Lou’s experiences in Harlem. Satisfied of +her ground, she grew more familiar, placed her hand on Emma Lou’s knee, +then finally put her arm around her waist. Emma Lou felt uncomfortable. +This sudden and unexpected intimacy disturbed her. The room was close +and hot. Damask coverings seemed to be everywhere. Damask coverings and +dull red draperies and mauve walls. + +“Don’t worry any more, dearie, I’ll take care of you from now on,” and +she had tightened her arm around Emma Lou’s waist, who, feeling more +uncomfortable than ever, looked at her wrist watch. + +“I must be going.” + +“Do you want the room?” There was a note of anxiety in her voice. +“There are lots of nice girls living here. We call this the ‘Old Maid’s +Home.’ We have parties among ourselves, and just have a grand time. +Talk about fun! I know you’d be happy here.” + +Emma Lou knew she would too, and said as much. Then hastily, she gave +_Miss_ Carrington a three dollar deposit on the room, and left ... to +continue her search for a new place to live. + +There were no more places on her _Amsterdam News_ list, so noticing +“Vacancy” signs in windows along the various streets, Emma Lou decided +to walk along and blindly choose a house. None of the houses in 137th +Street impressed her, they were all too cold looking, and she was +through with 136th Street. _Miss_ Carrington lived there. She sauntered +down the “L” trestled Eighth Avenue to 138th Street. Then she turned +toward Seventh Avenue and strolled along slowly on the south side +of the street. She chose the south side because she preferred the +appearance of the red brick houses there to the green brick ones on the +north side. After she had passed by three “Vacancy” signs, she decided +to enter the very next house where such a sign was displayed. + +Seeing one, she climbed the terraced stone stairs, rang the doorbell +and waited expectantly. There was a long pause. She rang the bell +again, and just as she relieved her pressure, the door was opened by a +bedizened yellow woman with sand colored hair and deep set corn colored +eyes. Emma Lou noted the incongruous thickness of her lips. + +“How do you do. I ... I ... would like to see one of your rooms.” + +The woman eyed Emma Lou curiously and looked as if she were about to +snort. Then slowly she began to close the door in the astonished girl’s +face. Emma Lou opened her mouth and tried to speak, but the woman +forestalled her, saying testily in broken English: + +“We have nothing here.” + +Persons of color didn’t associate with blacks in the Caribbean Island +she had come from. + +From then on Emma Lou intensified her suffering, mulling over and +magnifying each malignant experience. They grew within her and were +nourished by constant introspection and livid reminiscences. Again, she +stood upon the platform in the auditorium of the Boise high school. +Again that first moment of realization and its attendant strictures +were disinterred and revivified. She was black, too black, there was no +getting around it. Her mother had thought so, and had often wished that +she had been a boy. Black boys can make a go of it, but black girls.... + +No one liked black, anyway.... + +Wanted: light colored girl to work as waitress in tearoom.... + +Wanted: Nurse girl, light colored preferred (children are afraid of +black folks).... + +“I don’ haul no coal....” + +“It’s like this, Emma Lou, they don’t want no dark girls in their +sorority. They ain’t pledged us, and we’re the only two they ain’t, and +we’re both black.” + +_The ineluctability of raw experience! The muddy mirroring of life’s +perplexities.... Seeing everything in terms of self.... The spreading +sensitiveness of an adder’s sting._ + +“Mr. Brown has some one else in mind....” + +“We have nothing here....” + +She should have been a boy. A black boy could get along, but a black +girl.... + + * * * * * + +Arline was leaving the cast of “Cabaret Gal” for two weeks. Her mother +had died in Chicago. The Negro Carmen must be played by an understudy, +a real mulatto this time, who, lacking Arline’s poise and personality, +nevertheless brought down the house because of the crude vividity +of her performance. Emma Lou was asked to act as her maid while +Arline was away. Indignantly, she had taken the alternative of a two +weeks’ vacation. Imagine her being maid for a _Negro_ woman! It was +unthinkable. + +Left entirely to herself, she proceeded to make herself more miserable. +Lying in bed late every morning, semi-conscious, body burning, mind +disturbed by thoughts of sex. Never before had she experienced such +physical longing. She often thought of John and at times was almost +driven to slip him into her room once more. But John couldn’t satisfy +her. She felt that she wanted something more than just the mere +physical relationship with some one whose body and body coloring were +distasteful to her. + +When she did decide to get up, she would spend an hour before her +dresser mirror, playing with her hair, parting it on the right side, +then on the left, then in the middle, brushing it straight back, or +else teasing it with the comb, inducing it to crackle with electric +energy. Then she would cover it with a cap, pin a towel around her +shoulders, and begin to experiment with her complexion. + +She had decided to bleach her skin as much as possible. She had +bought many creams and skin preparations, and had tried to remember +the various bleaching aids she had heard of throughout her life. She +remembered having heard her grandmother speak of that “old fool, Carrie +Campbell,” who, already a fair mulatto, had wished to pass for white. +To accomplish this she had taken arsenic wafers, which were guaranteed +to increase the pallor of one’s skin. + +Emma Lou had obtained some of these arsenic wafers and eaten them, but +they had only served to give her pains in the pit of her stomach. Next +she determined upon a peroxide solution in addition to something which +was known as Black and White Ointment. After she had been using these +for about a month she thought that she could notice some change. But +in reality the only effects were an increase in blackheads, irritating +rashes, and a burning skin. + +Meanwhile she found her thoughts straying often to the chap she had +danced with in the cabaret. She was certain he lived in Harlem, and +she was determined to find him. She took it for granted that he would +remember her. So day after day, she strolled up and down Seventh Avenue +from 125th to 145th Street, then crossed to Lenox Avenue and traversed +the same distance. _He_ was her ideal. He looked like a college person. +He dressed well. His skin was such a warm and different color, and +she had been tantalized by the mysterious slant and deepness of his +oriental-like eyes. + +After walking the streets like this the first few days of her vacation, +she became aware of the futility of her task. She saw many men on the +street, many well dressed, seemingly cultured, pleasingly colored men +and boys. They seemed to congregate in certain places, and stand there +all the day. She found herself wondering when and where they worked, +and how they could afford to dress so well. She began to admire their +well formed bodies and gloried in the way their trousers fit their +shapely limbs, and in the way they walked, bringing their heels down +so firmly and so noisily on the pavement. Rubber heels were out of +fashion. Hard heels, with metal heel plates were the mode of the day. +These corner loafers were so care-free, always smiling, eyes always +bright. She loved to hear them laugh, and loved to watch them, when, +without any seeming provocation, they would cut a few dance steps or do +a jig. It seemed as if they either did this from sheer exuberance or +else simply to relieve the monotony of standing still. + +Of course, they noticed her as she passed and repassed day after day. +She eyed them boldly enough, but she was still too self-conscious to +broadcast an inviting look. She was too afraid of public ridicule or a +mass mocking. Ofttimes men spoke to her, and tried to make advances, +but they were never the kind she preferred. She didn’t like black men, +and the others seemed to keep their distance. + +One day, tired of walking, she went into a motion picture theater +on the avenue. She had seen the feature picture before, but was too +lethargic and too uninterested in other things to go some place else. +In truth, there was no place else for her to go. So she sat in the +darkened theater, squirmed around in her seat, and began to wonder +just how many thousands of Negroes there were in Harlem. This theater +was practically full, even in mid-afternoon. The streets were crowded, +other theaters were crowded, and then there must be many more at home +and at work. Emma Lou wondered what the population of Negro Harlem was. +She should have read that Harlem number of the Survey Graphic issued +two or three years ago. But Harlem hadn’t interested her then for she +had had no idea at the time that she would ever come to Harlem. + +Some one sat down beside her. She was too occupied with herself to +notice who the person was. The feature picture was over and a comedy +was being flashed on the screen. Emma Lou found herself laughing, and, +finding something on the screen to interest her, squared herself in +her seat. Then she felt a pressure on one of her legs, the warm fleshy +pressure of another leg. Her first impulse was to change her position. +Perhaps she had touched the person next to her. Perhaps it was an +accident. She moved her leg a little, but she still felt the pressure. +Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Her heart beat fast, her limbs began to +quiver. The leg which was pressed against hers had such a pleasant, +warm, fleshy feeling. She stole a glance at the person who had sat down +next to her. He smiled ... an impudent boyish smile and pressed her leg +the harder. + +“Funny cuss, that guy,” he was speaking to her. + +_Slap him in the face. Change your seat. Don’t be an idiot. He has a +nice smile. Look at him again._ + +“Did you see him in ‘Long Pants’?” + +He was leaning closer now, and Emma Lou took note of a teakwood tan +hand resting on her knee. She took another look at him, and saw that he +had curly hair. He leaned toward her, and she leaned toward him. Their +shoulders touched, his hand reached for hers and stole it from her lap. +She wished that the theater wasn’t so dark. But if it hadn’t been so +dark this couldn’t have happened. She wondered if his hair and eyes +were brown or jet black. + +The feature picture was being reeled off again. They were too busy +talking to notice that. When it was half over, they left their seats +together. Before they reached the street, Emma Lou handed him three +dollars, and, leaving the theater, they went to an apartment house on +140th Street, off Lenox Avenue. Emma Lou waited downstairs in the dirty +marble hallway where she was stifled by urinal smells and stared at by +passing people, waited for about ten minutes, then, in answer to his +call, climbed one flight of stairs, and was led into a well furnished, +though dark, apartment. + +His name was Jasper Crane. He was from Virginia. Living in Harlem with +his brother, so he said. He had only been in New York a month. Didn’t +have a job yet. His brother wasn’t very nice to him ... wanted to +kick him out because he was jealous of him, thought his wife was more +attentive than a sister-in-law should be. He asked Emma Lou to lend him +five dollars. He said he wanted to buy a job. She did. And when he left +her, he kissed her passionately and promised to meet her on the next +day and to telephone her within an hour. + +But he didn’t telephone nor did Emma Lou ever see him again. The +following day she waited for an hour and a half in the vicinity of +that hallway where they were supposed to meet again. Then she went to +the motion picture theater where they had met, and sat in the same +seat in the same row so that he could find her. She sat there through +two shows, then came back on the next day, and on the next. Meanwhile +several other men approached her, a panting fat Jew, whom she reported +to the usher, a hunchback, whom she pitied and then admired as he +“made” the girl sitting on the other side of him; and there were +several not very clean, trampy-looking men, but no Jasper. + +He had asked her if she ever went to the Renaissance Casino, a public +hall, where dances were held every night, so Emma Lou decided to go +there on a Saturday, hoping to see him. She drew twenty-five dollars +from the bank in order to buy a new dress, a very fine elaborate +dress, which she got from a “hot” man, who had been recommended to +her by Jasmine. “Hot” men sold supposedly stolen goods, thus enabling +Harlem folk to dress well but cheaply. Then she spent the entire +afternoon and evening preparing herself for the night, had her hair +washed and marcelled, and her fingernails manicured. + +Before putting on her dress she stood in front of her mirror for over +an hour, fixing her face, drenching it with a peroxide solution, +plastering it with a mudpack, massaging it with a bleaching ointment, +and then, as a final touch, using much vanishing cream and powder. +She even ate an arsenic wafer. The only visible effect of all this on +her complexion was to give it an ugly purple tinge, but Emma Lou was +certain that it made her skin less dark. + +She hailed a taxi and went to the Renaissance Casino. She did feel +foolish, going there without an escort, but the doorman didn’t seem to +notice. Perhaps it was all right. Perhaps it was customary for Harlem +girls to go about unaccompanied. She checked her wraps and wandered +along the promenade that bordered the dance floor. It was early yet, +just ten-thirty, and only a few couples were dancing. She found a +chair, and tried to look as if she were waiting for some one. The +orchestra stopped playing, people crowded past her. She liked the dance +hall, liked its draped walls and ceilings, its harmonic color design +and soft lights. + +The music began again. She didn’t see Jasper. A spindly legged yellow +boy, awkward and bashful, asked her to dance with him. She did. The boy +danced badly, but dancing with him was better than sitting there alone, +looking foolish. She did wish that he would assume a more upright +position and stop scrunching his shoulders. It seemed as if he were +trying to bend both their backs to the breaking point. As they danced +they talked about the music. He asked her did she have an escort. She +said yes, and hurried to the ladies’ room when the dance was over. + +She didn’t particularly like the looks of the crowd. It was +well-behaved enough, but ... well ... one could see that they didn’t +belong to the cultured classes. They weren’t the right sort of people. +Maybe nice people didn’t come here. Jasper hadn’t been so nice. +She wished she could see him, wouldn’t she give him a piece of her +mind?--And for the first time she really sensed the baseness of the +trick he had played on her. + +She walked out of the ladies’ room and found herself again on the +promenade. For a moment she stood there, watching the dancers. The +floor was more crowded now, the dancers more numerous and gay. She +watched them swirl and glide around the dance floor, and an intense +longing for Jasper or John or any one welled up within her. It was +terrible to be so alone, terrible to stand here and see other girls +contentedly curled up in men’s arms. She had been foolish to come, +Jasper probably never came here. In truth he was no doubt far away from +New York by now. What sense was there in her being here. She wasn’t +going to stay. She was going home, but before starting toward the check +room, she took one more glance at the dancers and saw her cabaret +dancing partner. + +He was dancing with a slender brown-skin girl, his smile as ecstatic +and intense as before. Emma Lou noted the pleasing lines of his body +encased in a form-fitting blue suit. Why didn’t he look her way? + +“May I have this dance?” A well modulated deep voice. A slender +stripling, arrayed in brown, with a dark brown face. He had dimples. +They danced. Emma Lou was having difficulty in keeping track of Alva. +He seemed to be consciously striving to elude her. He seemed to be +deliberately darting in among clusters of couples, where he would +remain hidden for some time, only to reappear far ahead or behind her. + +Her partner was congenial. He introduced himself, but she did not hear +his name, for at that moment, Alva and his partner glided close by. +Emma Lou actually shoved the supple, slender boy she was dancing with +in Alva’s direction. She mustn’t lose him this time. She must speak. +They veered close to one another. They almost collided. Alva looked +into her face. She smiled and spoke. He acknowledged her salute, but +stared at her, frankly perplexed, and there was no recognition in his +face as he moved away, bending his head close to that of his partner, +the better to hear something she was asking him. + +The slender brown boy clung to Emma Lou’s arm, treated her to a +soda, and, at her request, piloted her around the promenade. She saw +Alva sitting in a box in the balcony, and suggested to her companion +that they parade around the balcony for a while. He assented. He was +lonesome too. First summer in New York. Just graduated from Virginia +Union University. Going to Columbia School of Law next year. Nice boy, +but no appeal. Too--supple. + +They passed by Alva’s box. He wasn’t there. Two other couples and the +girl he had been dancing with were. Emma Lou and her companion walked +the length of the balcony, then retraced their steps just in time to +see Alva coming around the corner carrying a cup of water. She watched +the rhythmic swing of his legs, like symmetrical pendulums, perfectly +shaped; and she admired once more the intriguing lines of his body and +pleasing foreignness of his face. As they met, she smiled at him. He +was certain he did not know her but he stopped and was polite, feeling +that he must find out who she was and where he had met her. + +“How do you do?” Emma Lou held out her hand. He shifted the cup of +water from his right hand to his left. “I’m glad to see you again.” +They shook hands. His clasp was warm, his palm soft and sweaty. The +supple lad stepped to one side. “I--I,” Emma Lou was speaking now, +“have often wondered if we would meet again.” Alva wanted to laugh. +He could not imagine who this girl with the purple-powdered skin was. +Where had he seen her? She must be mistaking him for some one else. +Well, he was game. He spoke sincerely: + +“And I, too, have wanted to see you.” + +Emma Lou couldn’t blush, but she almost blubbered with joy. + +“Perhaps we’ll have a dance together.” + +“My God,” thought Alva, “She’s a quick worker.” + +“Oh, certainly, where can I find you?” + +“Downstairs on the promenade, near the center boxes.” + +“The one after this?” This seemed to be the easiest way out. He could +easily dodge her later. + +“Yes,” and she moved away, the supple lad clinging to her arm again. + +“Who’s the ‘spade,’ Alva?” Geraldine had seen him stop to talk to her. + +“Damned if I know.” + +“Aw, sure you know who she is. You danced with her at Small’s.” Braxton +hadn’t forgotten. + +“Well, I never. Is that _it_?” Laughter all around as he told about +their first meeting. But he didn’t dodge her, for Geraldine and Braxton +riled him with their pertinacious badinage. He felt that they were +making more fun of him than of her, and to show them just how little he +minded their kidding he stalked off to find her. She was waiting, the +slim, brown stripling swaying beside her, importuning her not to wait +longer. He didn’t want to lose her. She didn’t want to lose Alva, and +was glad when they danced off together. + +“Who’s your boy friend?” Alva had fortified himself with gin. His +breath smelled familiar. + +“Just an acquaintance.” She couldn’t let him know she had come here +unescorted. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.” + +“Of course, I did; how could I forget you?” Smooth tongue, phrases with +a double meaning. + +“I didn’t forget _you_.” Emma Lou was being coy. “I have often looked +for you.” + +Looked for him where? My God, what an impression he must have made! He +wondered what he had said to her before. Plunge in boy, plunge! The +blacker the berry--he chuckled to himself. + +Orchestra playing “Blue Skies,” as an especial favor to her. Alva +telling her his name and giving her his card, and asking her to ’phone +him some day. Alva close to her and being nice, his arms tightening +about her. She would call him tomorrow. Ecstasy ended too soon. The +music stopped. He thanked her for the dance and left her standing on +the promenade by the side of the waiting slender stripling. She danced +with him twice more, then let him take her home. + +At ten the next morning Emma Lou called Alva. Braxton came to the +telephone. + +“Alva’s gone to work; who is it?” People should have more sense than to +call that early in the morning. He never got up until noon. Emma Lou +was being apologetic. + +“Could you tell me what time he will be in?” + +“’Bout six-thirty. Who shall I say called? This is his roommate.” + +“Just.... Oh.... I’ll call him later. Thank you.” + +Braxton swore. “Why in the hell does Alva give so many damn women his +’phone number?” + +Six-thirty-five. His roommate had said about six-thirty. She called +again. _He_ came to the ’phone. She thought his voice was more harsh +than usual. + +“Oh, I’m all right, only tired.” + +“Did you work hard?” + +“I always work hard.” + +“I ... I ... just thought I’d call.” + +“Glad you did, call me again some time. Goodbye”--said too quickly. No +chance to say “When will I see you again?” + +She went home, got into the bed and cried herself to sleep. + + * * * * * + +Arline returned two days ahead of schedule. Things settled back into +routine. The brown stripling had taken Emma Lou out twice, but upon her +refusal to submit herself to him, had gone away in a huff, and had not +returned. She surmised that it was the first time he had made such a +request of any one. He did it so ineptly. Work. Home. Walks. Theaters +downtown during the afternoon, and thoughts of Alva. Finally, she just +had to call him again. He came to the ’phone: + +“Hello. Who? Emma Lou? Where have you been? I’ve been wondering where +you were?” + +She was shy, afraid she might be too bold. But Alva had had his usual +three glasses of before-dinner gin. He helped her out. + +“When can I see you, Sugar?” + +Sugar! He had called her “sugar.” She told him where she worked. He +was to meet her after the theater that very night. + + * * * * * + +“How many nights a week you gonna have that little inkspitter up here?” + +“Listen here, Brax, you have who you want up here, don’t you?” + +“That ain’t it. I just don’t like to see you tied up with a broad like +that.” + +“Why not? She’s just as good as the rest, and you know what they say, +‘The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.’” + +“The only thing a black woman is good for is to make money for a +brown-skin papa.” + +“I guess I don’t know that.” + +“Well,” Braxton was satisfied now, “if that’s the case....” + +He had faith in Alva’s wisdom. + + + + +PART IV + +RENT PARTY + + + + +IV + +RENT PARTY + + +Saturday evening. Alva had urged her to hurry uptown from work. He +was going to take her on a party with some friends of his. This was +the first time he had ever asked her to go to any sort of social +affair with him. She had never met any of his friends save Braxton, +who scarcely spoke to her, and never before had Alva suggested taking +her to any sort of social gathering either public or semi-public. He +often took her to various motion picture theaters, both downtown and in +Harlem, and at least three nights a week he would call for her at the +theater and escort her to Harlem. On these occasions they often went +to Chinese restaurants or to ice cream parlors before going home. But +usually they would go to City College Park, find an empty bench in a +dark corner where they could sit and spoon before retiring either to +her room or to Alva’s. + +Emma Lou had, long before this, suggested going to a dance or to a +party, but Alva had always countered that he never attended such +affairs during the summer months, that he stayed away from them for +precisely the same reason that he stayed away from work, namely, +because it was too hot. Dancing, said he, was a matter of calisthenics, +and calisthenics were work. Therefore it, like any sort of physical +exercise, was taboo during hot weather. + +Alva sensed that sooner or later Emma Lou would become aware of his +real reason for not taking her out among his friends. He realized that +one as color-conscious as she appeared to be would, at some not so +distant date, jump to what for him would be uncomfortable conclusions. +He did not wish to risk losing her before the end of summer, but +neither could he risk taking her out among his friends, for he knew too +well that he would be derided for his unseemly preference for “dark +meat,” and told publicly without regard for her feelings, that “black +cats must go.” + +Furthermore he always took Geraldine to parties and dances. Geraldine +with her olive colored skin and straight black hair. Geraldine, who of +all the people he pretended to love, really inspired him emotionally +as well as physically, the one person he conquested without thought of +monetary gain. Yet he had to do something with Emma Lou, and release +from the quandary presented itself from most unexpected quarters. + +Quite accidentally, as things of the sort happen in Harlem with its +complex but interdependable social structure, he had become acquainted +with a young Negro writer, who had asked him to escort a group of young +writers and artists to a house-rent party. Though they had heard much +of this phenomenon, none had been on the inside of one, and because +of their rather polished manners and exteriors, were afraid that they +might not be admitted. Proletarian Negroes are as suspicious of their +more sophisticated brethren as they are of white men, and resent as +keenly their intrusions into their social world. Alva had consented +to act as cicerone, and, realizing that these people would be more or +less free from the color prejudice exhibited by his other friends, +had decided to take Emma Lou along too. He was also aware of her +intellectual pretensions, and felt that she would be especially pleased +to meet recognized talents and outstanding personalities. She did not +have to know that these were not his regular companions, and from then +on she would have no reason to feel that he was ashamed to have her +meet his friends. + +Emma Lou could hardly attend to Arline’s change of complexion and +clothes between acts and scenes, so anxious was she to get to Alva’s +house and to the promised party. Her happiness was complete. She was +certain now that Alva loved her, certain that he was not ashamed or +even aware of her dusky complexion. She had felt from the first that he +was superior to such inane truck, now she knew it. Alva loved her for +herself alone, and loved her so much that he didn’t mind her being a +coal scuttle blond. + +Sensing something unusual, Arline told Emma Lou that she would remove +her own make-up after the performance, and let her have time to get +dressed for the party. This she proceeded to do all through the +evening, spending much time in front of the mirror at Arline’s dressing +table, manicuring her nails, marcelling her hair, and applying various +creams and cosmetics to her face in order to make her despised darkness +less obvious. Finally, she put on one of Arline’s less pretentious +afternoon frocks, and set out for Alva’s house. + +As she approached his room door, she heard much talk and laughter, +moving her to halt and speculate whether or not she should go in. Even +her unusual and high-tensioned jubilance was not powerful enough to +overcome immediately her shyness and fears. Suppose these friends of +Alva’s would not take kindly to her? Suppose they were like Braxton, +who invariably curled his lip when he saw her, and seldom spoke even +as much as a word of greeting? Suppose they were like the people who +used to attend her mother’s and grandmother’s teas, club meetings and +receptions, dismissing her with--“It beats me how this child of yours +looks so unlike the rest of you.... Are you sure it isn’t adopted.” +Or suppose they were like the college youth she had known in Southern +California? No, that couldn’t be. Alva would never invite her where +she would not be welcome. These were his friends. And so was Braxton, +but Alva said he was peculiar. There was no danger. Alva had invited +her. She was here. Anyway she wasn’t so black. Hadn’t she artificially +lightened her skin about four or five shades until she was almost +brown? Certainly it was all right. She needn’t be a foolish ninny all +her life. Thus, reassured, she knocked on the door, and felt herself +trembling with excitement and internal uncertainty as Alva let her in, +took her hat and coat, and proceeded to introduce her to the people in +the room. + +“Miss Morgan, meet Mr. Tony Crews. You’ve probably seen his book of +poems. He’s the little jazz boy, you know.” + +Emma Lou bashfully touched the extended hand of the curly-headed poet. +She had not seen or read his book, but she had often noticed his name +in the newspapers and magazines. He was all that she had expected him +to be except that he had pimples on his face. These didn’t fit in with +her mental picture. + +“Miss Morgan, this is Cora Thurston. Maybe I should’a introduced you +ladies first.” + +“I’m no lady, and I hope you’re not either, Miss Morgan.” She smiled, +shook Emma Lou’s hand, then turned away to continue her interrupted +conversation with Tony Crews. + +“Miss Morgan, meet ...,” he paused, and addressed a tall, dark yellow +youth stretched out on the floor, “What name you going by now?” + +The boy looked up and smiled. + +“Why, Paul, of course.” + +“All right then, Miss Morgan, this is Mr. Paul, he changes his name +every season.” + +Emma Lou sought to observe this person more closely, and was shocked to +see that his shirt was open at the neck and that he was sadly in need +of a haircut and shave. + +“Miss Morgan, meet Mr. Walter.” A small slender dark youth with an +infectious smile and small features. His face was familiar. Where had +she seen him before? + +“Now that you’ve met every one, sit down on the bed there beside Truman +and have a drink. Go on with your talk folks,” he urged as he went +over to the dresser to fill a glass with a milk colored liquid. Cora +Thurston spoke up in answer to Alva’s adjuration: + +“Guess there ain’t much more to say. Makes me mad to discuss it anyhow.” + +“No need of getting mad at people like that,” said Tony Crews simply +and softly. “I think one should laugh at such stupidity.” + +“And ridicule it, too,” came from the luxurious person sprawled over +the floor, for he did impress Emma Lou as being luxurious, despite the +fact that his suit was unpressed, and that he wore neither socks nor +necktie. She noticed the many graceful gestures he made with his hands, +but wondered why he kept twisting his lips to one side when he talked. +Perhaps he was trying to mask the size of his mouth. + +Truman was speaking now, “Ridicule will do no good, nor mere laughing +at them. I admit those weapons are about the only ones an intelligent +person would use, but one must also admit that they are rather futile.” + +“Why futile?” Paul queried indolently. + +“They are futile,” Truman continued, “because, well, those people +cannot help being like they are--their environment has made them that +way.” + +Miss Thurston muttered something. It sounded like “hooey,” then held +out an empty glass. “Give me some more firewater, Alva.” Alva hastened +across the room and refilled her glass. Emma Lou wondered what they +were talking about. Again Cora broke the silence, “You can’t tell me +they can’t help it. They kick about white people, then commit the same +crime.” + +There was a knock on the door, interrupting something Tony Crews was +about to say. Alva went to the door. + +“Hello, Ray.” A tall, blond, fair-skinned youth entered. Emma Lou +gasped, and was more bewildered than ever. All of this silly talk and +drinking, and now--here was a white man! + +“Hy, everybody. Jusas Chraust, I hope you saved me some liquor.” Tony +Crews held out his empty glass and said quietly, “We’ve had about +umpteen already, so I doubt if there’s any more left.” + +“You can’t kid me, bo. I know Alva would save me a dram or two.” Having +taken off his hat and coat he squatted down on the floor beside Paul. + +Truman turned to Emma Lou. “Oh, Ray, meet Miss Morgan. Mr. Jorgenson, +Miss Morgan.” + +“Glad to know you; pardon my not getting up, won’t you?” Emma Lou +didn’t know what to say, and couldn’t think of anything appropriate, +but since he was smiling, she tried to smile too, and nodded her head. + +“What’s the big powwow?” he asked. “All of you look so serious. Haven’t +you had enough liquor, or are you just trying to settle the ills of the +universe?” + +“Neither,” said Paul. “They’re just damning our ‘pink niggers’.” + +Emma Lou was aghast. Such extraordinary people--saying “nigger” in +front of a white man! Didn’t they have any race pride or proper +bringing up? Didn’t they have any common sense? + +“What’ve they done now?” Ray asked, reaching out to accept the glass +Alva was handing him. + +“No more than they’ve always done,” Tony Crews answered. “Cora here +just felt like being indignant, because she heard of a forthcoming +wedding in Brooklyn to which the prospective bride and groom have +announced they will _not_ invite any dark people.” + +“Seriously now,” Truman began. Ray interrupted him. + +“Who in the hell wants to be serious?” + +“As I was saying,” Truman continued, “you can’t blame light Negroes for +being prejudiced against dark ones. All of you know that white is the +symbol of everything pure and good, whether that everything be concrete +or abstract. Ivory Soap is advertised as being ninety-nine and some +fraction per cent pure, and Ivory Soap is white. Moreover, virtue and +virginity are always represented as being clothed in white garments. +Then, too, the God we, or rather most Negroes worship is a patriarchal +white man, seated on a white throne, in a spotless white Heaven, +radiant with white streets and white-apparelled angels eating white +honey and drinking white milk.” + +“Listen to the boy rave. Give him another drink,” Ray shouted, but +Truman ignored him and went on, becoming more and more animated. + +“We are all living in a totally white world, where all standards are +the standards of the white man, and where almost invariably what the +white man does is right, and what the black man does is wrong, unless +it is precedented by something a white man has done.” + +“Which,” Cora added scornfully, “makes it all right for light Negroes +to discriminate against dark ones?” + +“Not at all,” Truman objected. “It merely explains, not justifies, the +evil--or rather, the fact of intra-racial segregation. Mulattoes have +always been accorded more consideration by white people than their +darker brethren. They were made to feel superior even during slave +days ... made to feel proud, as Bud Fisher would say, that they were +bastards. It was for the mulatto offspring of white masters and Negro +slaves that the first schools for Negroes were organized, and say what +you will, it is generally the Negro with a quantity of mixed blood +in his veins who finds adaptation to a Nordic environment more easy +than one of pure blood, which, of course, you will admit, is, to an +American Negro, convenient if not virtuous.” + +“Does that justify their snobbishness and self-evaluated superiority?” + +“No, Cora, it doesn’t,” returned Truman. “I’m not trying to excuse +them. I’m merely trying to give what I believe to be an explanation of +this thing. I have never been to Washington and only know what Paul and +you have told me about conditions there, but they seem to be just about +the same as conditions in Los Angeles, Omaha, Chicago, and other cities +in which I have lived or visited. You see, people have to feel superior +to something, and there is scant satisfaction in feeling superior to +domestic animals or steel machines that one can train or utilize. It +is much more pleasing to pick out some individual or some group of +individuals on the same plane to feel superior to. This is almost +necessary when one is a member of a supposedly despised, mistreated +minority group. Then consider that the mulatto is much nearer white +than he is black, and is therefore more liable to act like a white man +than like a black one, although I cannot say that I see a great deal +of difference in any of their actions. They are human beings first and +only white or black incidentally.” + +Ray pursed up his lips and whistled. + +“But you seem to forget,” Tony Crews insisted, “that because a man is +dark, it doesn’t necessarily mean he is not of mixed blood. Now look +at....” + +“Yeah, let him look at you or at himself or at Cora,” Paul interrupted. +“There ain’t no unmixed Negroes.” + +“But I haven’t forgotten that,” Truman said, ignoring the note of +finality in Paul’s voice. “I merely took it for granted that we were +talking only about those Negroes who were light-skinned.” + +“But all light-skinned Negroes aren’t color struck or color +prejudiced,” interjected Alva, who, up to this time, like Emma Lou, +had remained silent. This was, he thought, a strategic moment for him +to say something. He hoped Emma Lou would get the full significance of +this statement. + +“True enough,” Truman began again. “But I also took it for granted +that we were only talking about those who were. As I said before, +Negroes are, after all, human beings, and they are subject to be +influenced and controlled by the same forces and factors that influence +and control other human beings. In an environment where there are +so many color-prejudiced whites, there are bound to be a number of +color-prejudiced blacks. Color prejudice and religion are akin in +one respect. Some folks have it and some don’t, and the kernel that +is responsible for it is present in us all, which is to say, that +potentially we are all color-prejudiced as long as we remain in +this environment. For, as you know, prejudices are always caused by +differences, and the majority group sets the standard. Then, too, since +black is the favorite color of vaudeville comedians and jokesters, and, +conversely, as intimately associated with tragedy, it is no wonder that +even the blackest individual will seek out some one more black than +himself to laugh at.” + +“So saith the Lord,” Tony answered soberly. + +“And the Holy Ghost saith, let’s have another drink.” + +“Happy thought, Ray,” returned Cora. “Give us some more ice cream and +gin, Alva.” + +Alva went into the alcove to prepare another concoction. Tony started +the victrola. Truman turned to Emma Lou, who, all this while, had been +sitting there with Alva’s arm around her, every muscle in her body +feeling as if it wanted to twitch, not knowing whether to be sad or +to be angry. She couldn’t comprehend all of this talk. She couldn’t +see how these people could sit down and so dispassionately discuss +something that seemed particularly tragic to her. This fellow Truman, +whom she was certain she knew, with all his hi-faluting talk, disgusted +her immeasurably. She wasn’t sure that they weren’t all poking fun at +her. Truman was speaking: + +“Miss Morgan, didn’t you attend school in Southern California?” Emma +Lou at last realized where she had seen him before. So _this_ was +Truman Walter, the little “cock o’ the walk,” as they had called him +on the campus. She answered him with difficulty, for there was a sob +in her throat. “Yes, I did.” Before Truman could say more to her, Ray +called to him: + +“Say, Bozo, what time are we going to the party? It’s almost one +o’clock now.” + +“Is it?” Alva seemed surprised. “But Aaron and Alta aren’t here yet.” + +“They’ve been married just long enough to be late to everything.” + +“What do you say we go by and ring their bell?” Tony suggested, +ignoring Paul’s Greenwich Village wit. + +“’Sall right with me.” Truman lifted his glass to his lips. “Then on to +the house-rent party ... on to the bawdy bowels of Beale Street!” + +They drained their glasses and prepared to leave. + + * * * * * + +“Ahhhh, sock it.”... “Ummmm”.... Piano playing--slow, loud, and +discordant, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of shuffling feet. Down +a long, dark hallway to an inside room, lit by a solitary red bulb. +“Oh, play it you dirty no-gooder.”... A room full of dancing couples, +scarcely moving their feet, arms completely encircling one another’s +bodies ... cheeks being warmed by one another’s breath ... eyes closed +... animal ecstasy agitating their perspiring faces. There was much +panting, much hip movement, much shaking of the buttocks.... “Do it +twice in the same place.”... “Git off that dime.” Now somebody was +singing, “I ask you very confidentially....” “Sing it man, sing it.”... +Piano treble moaning, bass rumbling like thunder. A swarm of people, +motivating their bodies to express in suggestive movements the ultimate +consummation of desire. + +The music stopped, the room was suffocatingly hot, and Emma Lou was +disturbingly dizzy. She clung fast to Alva, and let the room and its +occupants whirl around her. Bodies and faces glided by. Leering faces +and lewd bodies. Anxious faces and angular bodies. Sad faces and obese +bodies. All mixed up together. She began to wonder how such a small +room could hold so many people. “Oh, play it again....” She saw the +pianist now, silhouetted against the dark mahogany piano, saw him bend +his long, slick-haired head, until it hung low on his chest, then lift +his hands high in the air, and as quickly let them descend upon the +keyboard. There was one moment of cacophony, then the long, supple +fingers evolved a slow, tantalizing melody out of the deafening chaos. + +Every one began to dance again. Body called to body, and cemented +themselves together, limbs lewdly intertwined. A couple there kissing, +another couple dipping to the floor, and slowly shimmying, belly +to belly, as they came back to an upright position. A slender dark +girl with wild eyes and wilder hair stood in the center of the room, +supported by the strong, lithe arms of a longshoreman. She bent her +trunk backward, until her head hung below her waistline, and all the +while she kept the lower portion of her body quivering like jello. + +“She whips it to a jelly,” the piano player was singing now, and +banging on the keys with such might that an empty gin bottle on top of +the piano seemed to be seized with the ague. “Oh, play it Mr. Charlie.” +Emma Lou grew limp in Alva’s arms. + +“What’s the matter, honey, drunk?” She couldn’t answer. The music +augmented by the general atmosphere of the room and the liquor she had +drunk had presumably created another person in her stead. She felt like +flying into an emotional frenzy--felt like flinging her arms and legs +in insane unison. She had become very fluid, very elastic, and all the +while she was giving in more and more to the music and to the liquor +and to the physical madness of the moment. + +When the music finally stopped, Alva led Emma Lou to a settee by the +window which his crowd had appropriated. Every one was exceedingly +animated, but they all talked in hushed, almost reverential tones. + +“Isn’t this marvelous?” Truman’s eyes were ablaze with interest and +excitement. Even Tony Crews seemed unusually alert. + +“It’s the greatest I’ve seen yet,” he exclaimed. + +Alva seemed the most unemotional one in the crowd. Paul the most +detached. “Look at ’em all watching Ray.” + +“Remember, Bo,” Truman counselled him. “Tonight you’re ‘passing.’ +Here’s a new wrinkle, white man ‘passes’ for Negro.” + +“Why not? Enough of you pass for white.” They all laughed, then +transferred their interest back to the party. Cora was speaking: + +“Didya see that little girl in pink--the one with the scar on her +face--dancing with that tall, lanky, one-armed man? Wasn’t she throwing +it up to him?” + +“Yeah,” Tony admitted, “but she didn’t have anything on that little +Mexican-looking girl. She musta been born in Cairo.” + +“Saay, but isn’t that one bad looking darkey over there, two chairs to +the left; is he gonna smother that woman?” Truman asked excitedly. + +“I’d say she kinda liked it,” Paul answered, then lit another cigarette. + +“Do you know they have corn liquor in the kitchen? They serve it from a +coffee pot.” Aaron seemed proud of his discovery. + +“Yes,” said Alva, “and they got hoppin’-john out there too.” + +“What the hell is hoppin’-john?” + +“Ray, I’m ashamed of you. Here you are passing for colored and don’t +know what hoppin’-john is!” + +“Tell him, Cora, I don’t know either.” + +“Another one of these foreigners.” Cora looked at Truman disdainfully. +“Hoppin’-john is black-eyed peas and rice. Didn’t they ever have any +out in Salt Lake City?” + +“Have they any chitterlings?” Alta asked eagerly. + +“No, Alta,” Alva replied, dryly. “This isn’t Kansas. They have got +pig’s feet though.” + +“Lead me to ’em,” Aaron and Alta shouted in unison, and led the way to +the kitchen. Emma Lou clung to Alva’s arm and tried to remain behind. +“Alva, I’m afraid.” + +“Afraid of what? Come on, snap out of it! You need another drink.” He +pulled her up from the settee and led her through the crowded room down +the long narrow dark hallway to the more crowded kitchen. + +When they returned to the room, the pianist was just preparing to play +again. He was tall and slender, with extra long legs and arms, giving +him the appearance of a scarecrow. His pants were tight in the waist +and full in the legs. He wore no coat, and a blue silk shirt hung +damply to his body. He acted as if he were king of the occasion, ruling +all from his piano stool throne. He talked familiarly to every one in +the room, called women from other men’s arms, demanded drinks from any +bottle he happened to see being passed around, laughed uproariously, +and made many grotesque and ofttimes obscene gestures. + +There were sounds of a scuffle in an adjoining room, and an excited +voice exclaimed, “You goddam son-of-a-bitch, don’t you catch my dice no +more.” The piano player banged on the keys and drowned out the reply, +if there was one. + +Emma Lou could not keep her eyes off the piano player. He was acting +like a maniac, occasionally turning completely around on his stool, +grimacing like a witch doctor, and letting his hands dawdle over the +keyboard of the piano with an agonizing indolence, when compared to +the extreme exertion to which he put the rest of his body. He was +improvising. The melody of the piece he had started to play was merely +a base for more bawdy variations. His left foot thumped on the floor in +time with the music, while his right punished the piano’s loud-pedal. +Beads of perspiration gathered grease from his slicked-down hair, and +rolled oleagenously down his face and neck, spotting the already damp +baby-blue shirt, and streaking his already greasy black face with more +shiny lanes. + +A sailor lad suddenly ceased his impassioned hip movement and strode +out of the room, pulling his partner behind him, pushing people out +of the way as he went. The spontaneous moans and slangy ejaculations +of the piano player and of the more articulate dancers became more +regular, more like a chanted obligato to the music. This lasted for +a couple of hours interrupted only by hectic intermissions. Then the +dancers grew less violent in their movements, and though the piano +player seemed never to tire there were fewer couples on the floor, and +those left seemed less loathe to move their legs. + +Eventually, the music stopped for a long interval, and there was a +more concerted drive on the kitchen’s corn liquor supply. Most of the +private flasks and bottles were empty. There were more calls for food, +too, and the crap game in the side room annexed more players and more +kibitzers. Various men and women had disappeared altogether. Those who +remained seemed worn and tired. There was much petty person to person +badinage and many whispered consultations in corners. There was an +argument in the hallway between the landlord and two couples, who +wished to share one room without paying him more than the regulation +three dollars required of one couple. Finally, Alva suggested that they +leave. Emma Lou had drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness and +was too near asleep or drunk to distinguish people or voices. All she +knew was that she was being led out of that dreadful place, that the +perturbing “pilgrimage to the proletariat’s parlor social,” as Truman +had called it, was ended, and that she was in a taxicab, cuddled up in +Alva’s arms. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou awoke with a headache. Some one was knocking at her door, but +when she first awakened it had seemed as if the knocking was inside of +her head. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples, and tried +to become more conscious. The knock persisted and she finally realized +that it was at her door rather than in her head. She called out, “Who +is it?” + +“It’s me.” Emma Lou was not far enough out of the fog to recognize +who “me” was. It didn’t seem important anyway, so without any more +thought or action, she allowed herself to doze off again. Whoever was +on the outside of the door banged the louder, and finally Emma Lou +distinguished the voice of her landlady, calling, “Let me in, Miss +Morgan, let me in.” The voice grew more sharp.... “Let me in,” and +then in an undertone, “Must have some one in there.” This last served +to awaken Emma Lou more fully, and though every muscle in her body +protested, she finally got out of the bed and went to the door. The +lady entered precipitously, and pushing Emma Lou aside sniffed the +air and looked around as if she expected to surprise some one, either +squeezing under the bed or leaping through the window. After she had +satisfied herself that there was no one else in the room, she turned on +Emma Lou furiously: + +“Miss Morgan, I wish to talk to you.” Emma Lou closed the door and +wearily sat down upon the bed. The wrinkled faced old woman glared +at her and shifted the position of her snuff so she could talk more +easily. “I won’t have it, I tell you, I won’t have it.” Emma Lou tried +hard to realize what it was she wouldn’t have, and failing, she said +nothing, just screwed up her eyes and tried to look sober. + +“Do you hear me?” Emma Lou nodded. “I won’t have it. When you moved +in here I thought I made it clear that I was a respectable woman and +that I kept a respectable house. Do you understand that now?” Emma Lou +nodded again. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do. “I’m glad +you do. Then it won’t be necessary for me to explain why I want my +room.” + +Emma Lou unscrewed her eyes and opened her mouth. What was this woman +talking about? “I don’t think I understand.” + +The old lady was quick with her answer. “There ain’t nothin’ for you to +understand, but that I want you to get out of my house. I don’t have no +such carryings-on around here. A drunken woman in my house at all hours +in the morning, being carried in by a man! Well, you coulda knocked me +over with a feather.” + +At last Emma Lou began to understand. Evidently the landlady had seen +her when she had come in, no doubt had seen Alva carry her to her room, +and perhaps had listened outside the door. She was talking again: + +“You must get out. Your week is up Wednesday. That gives you three days +to find another room, and I want you to act like a lady the rest of +that time, too. The idea!” she sputtered, and stalked out of the room. + +This is a pretty mess, thought Emma Lou. Yet she found herself unable +to think or do anything about it. Her lethargic state worried her. +Here she was about to be dispossessed by an irate landlady, and all +she could do about it was sit on the side of her bed and think--maybe +I ought to take a dose of salts. Momentarily, she had forgotten it +was Sunday, and began to wonder how near time it was for her to go +to work. She was surprised to discover that it was still early in the +forenoon. She couldn’t possibly have gone to bed before four-thirty or +five, yet it seemed as if she had slept for hours. She felt like some +one who had been under the influence of some sinister potion for a long +period of time. Had she been drugged? Her head still throbbed, her +insides burned, her tongue was swollen, her lips chapped and feverish. +She began to deplore her physical condition, and even to berate herself +and Alva for last night’s debauchery. + +Funny people, his friends. Come to think of it they were all very much +different from any one else she had ever known. They were all so, +so--she sought for a descriptive word, but could think of nothing save +that revolting, “Oh, sock it,” she had heard on first entering the +apartment where the house-rent party had been held. + +Then she began to wonder about her landlady’s charges. There was no +need arguing about the matter. She had wanted to move anyway. Maybe +now she could go ahead and find a decent place in which to live. She +had never had the nerve to begin another room hunting expedition after +the last one. She shuddered as she thought about it, then climbed back +into the bed. She could see no need in staying up so long as her head +ached as it did. She wondered if Alva had made much noise in bringing +her in, wondered how long he had stayed, and if he had had any trouble +manipulating the double-barrelled police lock on the outside door. +Harlem people were so careful about barricading themselves in. They all +seemed to fortify themselves, not only against strangers, but against +neighbors and friends as well. + +And Alva? She had to admit that she was a trifle disappointed in +him and in his friends. They certainly weren’t what she could have +called either intellectuals or respectable people. Whoever heard of +decent folk attending such a lascivious festival? She remembered their +enthusiastic comments and tried to comprehend just what it was that +had intrigued and interested them. Looking for material, they had +said. More than likely they were looking for liquor and a chance to be +licentious. + +Alva himself worried her a bit. She couldn’t understand why gin seemed +so indispensable to him. He always insisted that he had to have at +least three drinks a day. Once she had urged him not to follow this +program. Unprotestingly, he had come to her the following evening +without the usual juniper berry smell on his breath, but he had been +so disagreeable and had seemed so much like a worn out and dissipated +person that she had never again suggested that he not have his usual +quota of drinks. Then, too, she had discovered that he was much too +lovable after having had his “evening drams” to be discouraged from +taking them. Emma Lou had never met any one in her life who was as +loving and kind to her as Alva. He seemed to anticipate her every +mood and desire, and he was the most soothing and satisfying person +with whom she had ever come into contact. He seldom riled her--seldom +ruffled her feelings. He seemed to give in to her on every occasion, +and was the most chivalrous escort imaginable. He was always courteous, +polite and thoughtful of her comfort. + +As yet she had been unable to become angry with him. Alva never argued +or protested unduly. Although Emma Lou didn’t realize it, he used more +subtle methods. His means of remaining master of all situations were +both tactful and sophisticated; for example, Emma Lou never realized +just how she had first begun giving him money. Surely he hadn’t asked +her for it. It had just seemed the natural thing to do after a while, +and she had done it, willingly and without question. The ethical side +of their relationship never worried her. She was content and she was +happy--at least she was in possession of something that seemed to bring +her happiness. She seldom worried about Alva not being true to her, and +if she questioned him about such matters, he would pretend not to hear +her and change the conversation. The only visible physical reaction +would be a slight narrowing of the eyes, as if he were trying not to +wince from the pain of some inner hurt. + +Once she had suggested marriage, and had been shocked when Alva +told her that to him the marriage ceremony seemed a waste of time. +He had already been married twice, and he hadn’t even bothered to +obtain a divorce from his first wife before acquiring number two. On +hearing this, Emma Lou had urged him to tell her more about these +marital experiments, and after a little coaxing, he had done so, very +impassively and very sketchily, as if he were relating the experiences +of another. He told her that he had really loved his first wife, but +that she was such an essential polygamous female that he had been +forced to abdicate and hand her over to the multitudes. According to +Alva, she had been as vain as Braxton, and as fundamentally dependent +upon flattery. She could do without three square meals a day, but she +couldn’t do without her contingent of mealy-mouthed admirers, all eager +to outdo one another in the matter of compliments. One man could never +have satisfied her, not that she was a nymphomaniac with abnormal +physical appetites, but because she wanted attention, and the more men +she had around her, the more attention she could receive. She hadn’t +been able to convince Alva, though, that her battalion of admirers +were all of the platonic variety. “I know niggers too well,” Alva had +summed it up to Emma Lou, “so I told her she just must go, and she +went.” + +“But,” Emma Lou had queried when he had started to talk about something +else, “what about your second wife?” + +“Oh,” he laughed, “well, I married her when I was drunk. She was an +old woman about fifty. She kept me drunk from Sunday to Sunday. When I +finally got sober she showed me the marriage license and I well nigh +passed out again.” + +“But where is she?” Emma Lou had asked, “and how did they let you get +married while you were drunk and already had a wife?” + +Alva had shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know where she is. I ain’t +seen her since I left her room that day. I sent Braxton up there to +talk to her. Seems like she’d been drunk too. So, it really didn’t +matter. And as for a divorce, I know plenty spades right here in Harlem +get married any time they want to. Who in the hell’s gonna take the +trouble getting a divorce, when, if you must marry and already have a +wife, you can get another without going through all that red tape?” + +Emma Lou had had to admit that this sounded logical, if illegal. Yet +she hadn’t been convinced. “But,” she had insisted, “don’t they look +you up and convict you of bigamy?” + +“Hell, no. The only thing the law bothers niggers about is for +stealing, murdering, or chasing white women, and as long as they don’t +steal from or murder ofays, the law ain’t none too particular about +bothering them. The only time they act about bigamy is when one of the +wives squawk, and they hardly ever do that. They’re only too glad to +see the old man get married again--then they can do likewise, without +spending lots of time on lawyers and courthouse red tape.” + +This, and other things which Emma Lou had elicited from Alva, had +convinced her that he was undoubtedly the most interesting person she +had ever met. What added to this was the strange fact that he seemed +somewhat cultured despite his admitted unorganized and haphazard early +training. On being questioned, he advanced the theory that perhaps this +was due to his long period of service as waiter and valet to socially +prominent white people. Many Negroes, he had explained, even of the +“dicty” variety, had obtained their _savoir faire_ and knowledge of the +social niceties in this manner. + +Emma Lou lay abed, remembering the many different conversations they +had had together, most of which had taken place on a bench in City +College Park, or in Alva’s room. With enough gin for stimulation, +Alva could tell many tales of his life and hold her spellbound with +vivid descriptions of the various situations he had found himself in. +He loved to reminisce, when he found a good listener, and Emma Lou +loved to listen when she found a good talker. Alva often said that he +wished some one would write a story of his life. Maybe that was why +he cultivated an acquaintance with these writer people.... Then it +seemed as if this one-sided conversational communion strengthened their +physical bond. It made Emma Lou more palatable to Alva, and it made +Alva a more glamorous figure to Emma Lou. + +But here she was day dreaming, when she should be wondering where she +was going to move. She couldn’t possibly remain in this place, even +if the old lady relented and decided to give her another chance to be +respectable. Somehow or other she felt that she had been insulted, and +for the first time, began to feel angry with the old snuff-chewing +termagant. + +Her head ached no longer, but her body was still lethargic. Alva, Alva, +Alva. Could she think of nothing else? Supposing she sat upright in +the bed--supposing she and Alva were to live together. They might get +a small apartment and be with one another entirely. Immediately she +was all activity. The headache was forgotten. Out of bed, into her +bathrobe, and down the hall to the bathroom. Even the quick shower +seemed to be a slow, tedious process, and she was in such a hurry to +hasten into the street and telephone Alva, in order to tell him of her +new plans, that she almost forgot to make the very necessary and very +customary application of bleaching cream to her face. As it was, she +forgot to rinse her face and hands in lemon juice. + + * * * * * + +Alva had lost all patience with Braxton, and profanely told him so. No +matter what his condition, Braxton would not work. He seemed to believe +that because he was handsome, and because he was Braxton, he shouldn’t +have to work. He graced the world with his presence. Therefore, it +should pay him. “A thing of beauty is joy forever,” and should be +sustained by a communal larder. Alva tried to show him that such a +larder didn’t exist, that one either worked or hustled. + +But as Alva had explained to Emma Lou, Braxton wouldn’t work, and as +a hustler he was a distinct failure. He couldn’t gamble successfully, +he never had a chance to steal, and he always allowed his egotism +to defeat his own ends when he tried to get money from women. He +assumed that at a word from him, anybody’s pocketbook should be +at his disposal, and that his handsomeness and personality were a +combination none could withstand. It is a platitude among sundry sects +and individuals that as a person thinketh, so he is, but it was not +within the power of Braxton’s mortal body to become the being his +imagination sought to create. He insisted, for instance, that he was a +golden brown replica of Rudolph Valentino. Every picture he could find +of the late lamented cinema sheik he pasted either on the wall or on +some of his belongings. The only reason that likenesses of his idol +did not decorate all the wall space was because Alva objected to this +flapperish ritual. Braxton emulated his silver screen mentor in every +way, watched his every gesture on the screen, then would stand in front +of his mirror at home and practice Rudy’s poses and facial expressions. +Strange as it may seem, there was a certain likeness between the two, +especially at such moments when Braxton would suddenly stand in the +center of the floor and give a spontaneous impersonation of his Rudy +making love or conquering enemies. Then, at all times, Braxton held his +head as Rudy held his, and had even learned how to smile and how to +use his eyes in the same captivating manner. But his charms were too +obviously cultivated, and his technique too clumsy. He would attract +almost any one to him, but they were sure to bolt away as suddenly as +they had come. He could have, but he could not hold. + +Now, as Alva told Emma Lou, this was a distinct handicap to one who +wished to be a hustler, and live by one’s wits off the bounty of +others. And the competition was too keen in a place like Harlem, where +the adaptability to city ways sometimes took strange and devious turns, +for a bungler to have much success. Alva realized this, if Braxton +didn’t, and tried to tell him so, but Braxton wouldn’t listen. He felt +that Alva was merely being envious--the fact that Alva had more suits +than he, and that Alva always had clean shirts, liquor money and room +rent, and that Alva could continue to have these things, despite the +fact that he had decided to quit work during the hot weather, meant +nothing to Braxton at all. He had facial and physical perfection, a +magnetic body and much sex appeal. Ergo, he was a master. + +However, lean days were upon him. His mother and aunt had unexpectedly +come to New York to help him celebrate the closing day of his freshman +year at Columbia. His surprise at seeing them was nothing in comparison +to their surprise in finding that their darling had not even started +his freshman year. The aunt was stoic--“What could you expect of a +child with all that wild Indian blood in him? Now, our people....” She +hadn’t liked Braxton’s father. His mother simply could not comprehend +his duplicity. Such an unnecessarily cruel and deceptive performance +was beyond her understanding. Had she been told that he was guilty of +thievery, murder, or rape, she could have borne up and smiled through +her tears in true maternal fashion, but that he could so completely +fool her for nine months--incredible; preposterous! it just couldn’t be! + +She and her sister returned to Boston, telling every one there what a +successful year their darling had had at Columbia, and telling Braxton +before they left that he could not have another cent of their money +that summer, that if he didn’t enter Columbia in the fall ... well, he +was not yet of age. They made many vague threats; none so alarming, +however, as the threat of a temporary, if not permanent, suspension of +his allowance. + +By pawning some of his suits, his watch, and diamond ring, he amassed a +small stake and took to gambling. Unlucky at love, he should, so Alva +said, have been lucky at cards, and was. But even a lucky man will +suffer from lack of skill and foolhardiness. Braxton would gamble only +with mature men who gathered in the police-protected clubs, rather +than with young chaps like himself, who gathered in private places. He +couldn’t classify himself with the cheap or the lowly. If he was to +gamble, he must gamble in a professional manner, with professional +men. As in all other affairs, he had luck, but no skill and little +sense. His little gambling stake lasted but a moment, flitted from him +feverishly, and left him holding an empty purse. + +Then he took to playing the “numbers,” placing quarters and half +dollars on a number compounded of three digits and anxiously perusing +the daily clearing house reports to see whether or not he had chosen +correctly. Alva, too, played the numbers consistently and somehow or +other, managed to remain ahead of the game, but Braxton, as was to be +expected, “hit” two or three times, then grew excited over his winnings +and began to play two or three or even five dollars daily on one +number. Such plunging, unattended by scientific observation or close +calculation, put him so far behind the game that his winnings were soon +dissipated and he had to stop playing altogether. + +Alva had quit work for the summer. He contended that it was far too hot +to stand over a steam pressing machine during the sultry summer months, +and there was no other congenial work available. Being a bellhop in +one of the few New York hotels where colored boys were used, called +for too long hours and broken shifts. Then they didn’t pay much money +and he hated to work for tips. He certainly would not take an elevator +job, paying only sixty or sixty-five dollars a month at the most, and +making it necessary for him to work nights one week from six to eight, +and days the next week, vice versa. Being an elevator operator in a +loft building required too much skill, patience, and muscular activity. +The same could be said of the shipping clerk positions, open in the +various wholesale houses. He couldn’t, of course, be expected to be a +porter, and swing a mop. Bootblacking was not even to be considered. +There was nothing left. He was unskilled, save as a presser. Once he +had been apprenticed to a journeyman tailor, but he preferred to forget +that. + +No, there was nothing he could do, and there was no sense in working +in the summer. He never had done it; at least, not since he had +been living in New York--so he didn’t see why he should do it now. +Furthermore, his salary hardly paid his saloon bill, and since his +board and room and laundry and clothes came from other sources, why +not quit work altogether and develop these sources to their capacity +output? Things looked much brighter this year than ever before. He +had more clothes, he had “hit” the numbers more than ever, he had won +a baseball pool of no mean value, and, in addition to Emma Lou, he +had made many other profitable contacts during the spring and winter +months. It was safe for him to loaf, but he couldn’t carry Braxton, or +rather, he wouldn’t. Yet he liked him well enough not to kick him into +the streets. Something, he told Emma Lou, should be done for him first, +so Alva started doing things. + +First, he got him a girl, or rather steered him in the direction of one +who seemed to be a good bet. She was. And as usual, Braxton had little +trouble in attracting her to him. She was a simple-minded over-sexed +little being from a small town in Central Virginia, new to Harlem, and +had hitherto always lived in her home town where she had been employed +since her twelfth year as maid-of-all-work to a wealthy white family. +For four years, she had been her master’s concubine, and probably would +have continued in that capacity for an unspecified length of time, +had not the mistress of the house decided that after all it might not +be good for her two adolescent sons to become aware of their father’s +philandering. She had had to accept it. Most of the women of her +generation and in her circle had done likewise. But these were the post +world war days of modernity ... and, well, it just wasn’t being done, +what with the growing intelligence of the “darkies,” and the increased +sophistication of the children. + +So Anise Hamilton had been surreptitiously shipped away to New York, +and a new maid-of-all-work had mysteriously appeared in her place. The +mistress had seen to it that this new maid was not as desirable as +Anise, but a habit is a habit, and the master of the house was not the +sort to substitute one habit for another. If anything, his wife had +made herself more miserable by the change, since the last girl loved +much better than she worked, while Anise had proved competent on both +scores, thereby pleasing both master and mistress. + +Anise had come to Harlem and deposited the money her former mistress +had supplied her with in the postal savings. She wouldn’t hear +to placing it in any other depository. Banks had a curious and +discomforting habit of closing their doors without warning, and without +the foresight to provide their patrons with another nest egg. If banks +in Virginia went broke, those in wicked New York would surely do so. +Now, Uncle Sam had the whole country behind him, and everybody knew +that the United States was the most wealthy of the world’s nations. +Therefore, what safer place than the post office for one’s bank account? + +Anise got a job, too, almost immediately. Her former mistress had +given her a letter to a friend of hers on Park Avenue, and this +friend had another friend who had a sister who wanted a stock girl +in her exclusive modiste shop. Anise was the type to grace such an +establishment as this person owned, just the right size to create +a smart uniform for, and shapely enough to allow the creator of the +uniform ample latitude for bizarre experimentation. Most important +of all, her skin, the color of beaten brass with copper overtones, +synchronized with the gray plaster walls, dark hardwood furniture and +powder blue rugs on the Maison Quantrelle. + +Anise soon had any number of “boy friends,” with whom she had varying +relations. But she willingly dropped them all for Braxton, and, simple +village girl that she was, expected him to do likewise with his “girl +friends.” She had heard much about the “two-timing sugar daddies” in +Harlem, and while she was well versed in the art herself, having never +been particularly true to her male employer, she did think that this +sort of thing was different, and that any time she was willing to play +fair, her consort should do likewise. + +Alva was proud of himself when he noticed how rapidly things progressed +between Anise and Braxton. They were together constantly, and Anise, +not unused to giving her home town “boy friends” some of “Mister +Bossman’s bounty,” was soon slipping Braxton spare change to live on. +Then she undertook to pay his half of the room rent, and finally, +within three weeks, was, as Alva phrased it, “treating Braxton royally.” + +But as ever, he was insistent upon being perverse. His old swank and +swagger was much in evidence. With most of his clothing out of the +pawnshop, he attempted to dazzle the Avenue when he paraded its length, +the alluring Anise, attired in clothes borrowed from her employer’s +stockroom, beside him. The bronze replica of Rudolph Valentino was, in +the argot of Harlem’s pool hall Johnnies, “out the barrel.” The world +was his. He had in it a bottle, and he need only make it secure by +corking. But Braxton was never the person to make anything secure. He +might manage to capture the entire universe, but he could never keep +it pent up, for he would soon let it alone to look for two more like +it. It was to be expected, then, that Braxton would lose his head. +He did, deliberately and diabolically. Because Anise was so madly in +love with him, he imagined that all other women should do as she had +done, and how much more delightful and profitable it would be to have +two or three Anises instead of one. So he began a crusade, spending +much of Anise’s money for campaign funds. Alva quarrelled, and Anise +threatened, but Braxton continued to explore and expend. + +Anise finally revolted when Braxton took another girl to a dance on +her money. He had done this many times before, but she hadn’t known +about it. She wouldn’t have known about it this time if he hadn’t +told her. He often did things like that. Thought it made him more +desirable. Despite her simple-mindedness, Anise had spunk. She didn’t +like to quarrel, but she wasn’t going to let any one make a fool out +of her, so, the next week after the heartbreaking incident, she had +moved and left no forwarding address. It was presumed that she had gone +downtown to live in the apartment of the woman for whom she worked. +Braxton seemed unconcerned about her disappearance, and continued +his peacock-like march for some time, with feathers unruffled, even +by frequent trips to the pawnshop. But a peacock can hardly preen an +unplumaged body, and, though Braxton continued to strut, in a few weeks +after the break, he was only a sad semblance of his former self. + +Alva nagged at him continually. “Damned if I’m going to carry you.” +Braxton would remain silent. “You’re the most no-count nigger I know. +If you can’t do anything else, why in the hell don’t you get a job?” “I +don’t see you working,” Braxton would answer. + +“And you don’t see me starving, either,” would be the come-back. + +“Oh, jost ’cause you got that little black wench....” + +“That’s all right about the little black wench. She’s forty with me, +and I know how to treat her. I bet you couldn’t get five cents out of +her.” + +“I wouldn’t try.” + +“Hell, if you tried it wouldn’t make no difference. There’s a gal ready +to pay to have a man, and there are lots more like her. You couldn’t +even keep a good-looking gold mine like Anise. Wish I could find her.” + +Braxton would sulk a while, thinking that his silence would discourage +Alva, but Alva was not to be shut up. He was truly outraged. He felt +that he was being imposed upon, being used by some one who thought +himself superior to him. He would admit that he wasn’t as handsome +as Braxton, but he certainly had more common sense. The next Monday +Braxton moved. + + * * * * * + +Alva was to take Emma Lou to the midnight show at the Lafayette +Theater. He met her as she left work and they had taken the subway +uptown. On the train they began to talk, shouting into one another’s +ears, trying to make their voices heard above the roar of the +underground tube. + +“Do you like your new home?” Alva shouted. He hadn’t seen her since she +had moved two days before. + +“It’s nice,” she admitted loudly, “but it would be nicer if I had you +there with me.” + +He patted her hand and held it regardless of the onlooking crowd. + +“Maybe so, sugar, but you wouldn’t like me if you had to live with me +all the time.” + +Emma Lou was aggrieved: “I don’t see how you can say that. How do you +know? That’s what made me mad last Sunday.” + +Alva saw that Emma Lou was ready for argument and he had no intention +of favoring her, or of discomfiting himself. He was even sorry that +he said as much as he had when she had first broached the “living +together” matter over the telephone on Sunday, calling him out of bed +before noon while Geraldine was there too, looking, but not asking, for +information. He smiled at her indulgently: + +“If you say another word about it, I’ll kiss you right here in the +subway.” + +Emma Lou didn’t put it beyond him so she could do nothing but smile +and shut up. She rather liked him to talk to her that way. Alva was +shouting into her ear again, telling her a scandalous tale he claimed +to have heard while playing poker with some of the boys. He thus +contrived to keep her entertained until they reached the 135th Street +station where they finally emerged from beneath the pavement to mingle +with the frowsy crowds of Harlem’s Bowery, Lenox Avenue. + +They made their way to the Lafayette, the Jew’s gift of entertainment +to Harlem colored folk. Each week the management of this theater +presents a new musical revue of the three a day variety with motion +pictures--all guaranteed to be from three to ten years old--sandwiched +in between. On Friday nights there is a special midnight performance +lasting from twelve o’clock until four or four-thirty the next morning, +according to the stamina of the actors. The audience does not matter. +It would as soon sit until noon the next day if the “high yaller” +chorus girls would continue to undress, and the black face comedians +would continue to tell stale jokes, just so long as there was a raucous +blues singer thrown in every once in a while for vulgar variety. + +Before Emma Lou and Alva could reach the entrance door, they had +to struggle through a crowd of well dressed young men and boys, +congregated on the sidewalk in front of the theater. The midnight +show at the Lafayette on Friday is quite a social event among certain +classes of Harlem folk, and, if one is a sweetback or a man about town, +one must be seen standing in front of the theater, if not inside. It +costs nothing to obstruct the entrance way, and it adds much to one’s +prestige. Why, no one knows. + +Without untoward incident Emma Lou and Alva found the seats he had +reserved. There was much noise in the theater, much passing to and +fro, much stumbling down dark aisles. People were always leaving their +seats, admonishing their companions to hold them, and some one else +was always taking them despite the curt and sometimes belligerent, +“This seat is taken.” Then, when the original occupant would return +there would be still another argument. This happened so frequently +that there seemed to be a continual wrangling automatically staged in +different parts of the auditorium. Then people were always looking for +some one or for something, always peering into the darkness, emitting +code whistles, and calling to Jane or Jim or Pete or Bill. At the +head of each aisle, both upstairs and down, people were packed in a +solid mass, a grumbling, garrulous mass, elbowing their neighbors, +cursing the management, and standing on tiptoe trying to find an empty, +intact seat--intact because every other seat in the theater seemed to +be broken. Hawkers went up and down the aisle shouting, “Ice cream, +peanuts, chewing gum or candy.” People hissed at them and ordered what +they wanted. A sadly inadequate crew of ushers inefficiently led people +up one aisle and down another trying to find their supposedly reserved +seats; a lone fireman strove valiantly to keep the aisles clear as the +fire laws stipulated. It was a most chaotic and confusing scene. + +First, a movie was shown while the organ played mournful jazz. About +one o’clock the midnight revue went on. The curtain went up on the +customary chorus ensemble singing the customary, “Hello, we’re glad to +be here, we’re going to please you” opening song. This was followed +by the usual song and dance team, a blues singer, a lady Charleston +dancer, and two black faced comedians. Each would have his turn, then +begin all over again, aided frequently by the energetic and noisy +chorus, which somehow managed to appear upon the stage almost naked in +the first scene, and keep getting more and more naked as the evening +progressed. + +Emma Lou had been to the Lafayette before with John and had been +shocked by the scantily clad women and obscene skits. The only +difference that she could see in this particular revue was that the +performers were more bawdy and more boisterous. And she had never been +in or seen such an audience. There was as much, if not more, activity +in the orchestra and box seats than there was on the stage. It was +hard to tell whether the cast was before or behind the proscenium +arch. There seemed to be a veritable contest going on between the +paid performers and their paying audience, and Emma Lou found the +spontaneous monkey shines and utterances of those around her much more +amusing than the stereotyped antics of the hired performers on the +stage. + +She was surprised to find that she was actually enjoying herself, yet +she supposed that after the house-rent party she could stand anything. +Imagine people opening their flats to the public and charging any one +who had the price to pay twenty-five cents to enter? Imagine people +going to such bedlam Bacchanals? + +A new scene on the stage attracted her attention. A very colorfully +dressed group of people had gathered for a party. Emma Lou immediately +noticed that all the men were dark, and that all the women were either +a very light brown or “high yaller.” She turned to Alva: + +“Don’t they ever have anything else but fair chorus girls?” + +Alva made a pretense of being very occupied with the business on the +stage. Happily, at that moment, one of a pair of black faced comedians +had set the audience in an uproar with a suggestive joke. After a +moment Emma Lou found herself laughing too. The two comedians were +funny, no matter how prejudiced one might be against unoriginality. +There must be other potent elements to humor besides surprise. Then +a very Topsy-like girl skated onto the stage to the tune of “Ireland +must be heaven because my mother came from there.” Besides being +corked until her skin was jet black, the girl had on a wig of kinky +hair. Her lips were painted red--their thickness exaggerated by the +paint. Her coming created a stir. Every one concerned was indignant +that something like her should crash their party. She attempted to +attach herself to certain men in the crowd. The straight men spurned +her merely by turning away. The comedians made a great fuss about it, +pushing her from one to the other, and finally getting into a riotous +argument because each accused the other of having invited her. It ended +by them agreeing to toss her bodily off the stage to the orchestral +accompaniment of “Bye, Bye, Blackbird,” while the entire party loudly +proclaimed that “Black cats must go.” + +Then followed the usual rigamarole carried on weekly at the Lafayette +concerning the undesirability of black girls. Every one, that is, all +the males, let it be known that high browns and “high yallers” were +“forty” with them, but that.... They were interrupted by the re-entry +of the little black girl riding a mule and singing mournfully as she +was being thus transported across the stage: + + A yellow gal rides in a limousine, + A brown-skin rides a Ford, + A black gal rides an old jackass + But she gets there, yes my Lord. + +Emma Lou was burning up with indignation. So color-conscious had she +become that any time some one mentioned or joked about skin color, she +immediately imagined that they were referring to her. Now she even felt +that all the people near by were looking at her and that their laughs +were at her expense. She remained silent throughout the rest of the +performance, averting her eyes from the stage and trying hard not to +say anything to Alva before they left the theater. After what seemed an +eternity, the finale screamed its good-bye at the audience, and Alva +escorted her out into Seventh Avenue. + +Alva was tired and thirsty. He had been up all night the night before +at a party to which he had taken Geraldine, and he had had to get up +unusually early on Friday morning in order to go after his laundry. Of +course when he had arrived at Bobby’s apartment where his laundry was +being done, he found that his shirts were not yet ironed, so he had +gone to bed there, with the result that he hadn’t been able to go to +sleep, nor had the shirts been ironed, but that was another matter. + +“First time I ever went to a midnight show without something on my +hip,” he complained to Emma Lou as they crossed the taxi-infested +street in order to escape the crowds leaving the theater and idling in +front of it, even at four A. M. in the morning. + +“Well,” Emma Lou returned vehemently, “it’s the last time I’ll ever go +to that place any kind of way.” + +Alva hadn’t expected this. “What’s the matter with you?” + +“You’re always taking me some place, or placing me in some position +where I’ll be insulted.” + +“Insulted?” This was far beyond Alva. Who on earth had insulted her and +when. “But,” he paused, then advanced cautiously, “Sugar, I don’t know +what you mean.” + +Emma Lou was ready for a quarrel. In fact she had been trying to pick +one with him ever since the night she had gone to that house-rent +party, and the landlady had asked her to move on the following day. +Alva’s curt refusal of her proposal that they live together had hurt +her far more than he had imagined. Somehow or other he didn’t think +she could be so serious about the matter, especially upon such short +notice. But Emma Lou had been so certain that he would be as excited +over the suggestion as she had been that she hadn’t considered meeting +a definite refusal. Then the finding of a room had been irritating to +contemplate. She couldn’t have called it irritating of accomplishment +because Alva had done that for her. She had told him on Sunday morning +that she had to move and by Sunday night he had found a place for her. +She had to admit that he had found an exceptionally nice place too. It +was just two blocks from him, on 138th Street between Eighth Avenue and +Edgecombe. It was near the elevated station, near the park, and cost +only ten dollars and fifty cents per week for the room, kitchenette and +private bath. + +On top of his refusal to live with her, Alva had broken two dates with +Emma Lou, claiming that he was playing poker. On one of these nights, +after leaving work, Emma Lou had decided to walk past his house. Even +at a distance she could see that there was a light in his room, and +when she finally passed the house, she recognized Geraldine, the girl +with whom she had seen Alva dancing at the Renaissance Casino, seated +in the window. Angrily, she had gone home, determined to break with +Alva on the morrow, and on reaching home had found a letter from her +mother which had disturbed her even more. For a long time now her +mother had been urging her to come home, and her Uncle Joe had even +sent her word that he meant to forward a ticket at an early date. But +Emma Lou had no intentions of going home. She was so obsessed with +the idea that her mother didn’t want her, and she was so incensed at +the people with whom she knew she would be forced to associate, that +she could consider her mother’s hysterically-put request only as an +insult. Thus, presuming, she had answered in kind, giving vent to her +feelings about the matter. This disturbing letter was in answer to +her own spleenic epistle, and what hurt her most was, not the sharp +counsellings and verbose lamentations therein, but the concluding +phrase, which read, “I don’t see how the Lord could have given me such +an evil, black hussy for a daughter.” + +The following morning she had telephoned Alva, determined to break with +him, or at least make him believe she was about to break with him, +but Alva had merely yawned and asked her not to be a goose. Could he +help it if Braxton’s girl chose to sit in his window? It was as much +Braxton’s room as it was his. True, Braxton wouldn’t be there long, +but while he was, he certainly should have full privileges. That had +quieted Emma Lou then, but there was nothing that could quiet her now. +She continued arguing as they walked toward 135th Street. + +“You don’t want to know what I mean.” + +“No, I guess not,” Alva assented wearily, then quickened his pace. He +didn’t want to have a public scene with this black wench. But Emma Lou +was not to be appeased. + +“Well, you will know what I mean. First you take me out with a bunch of +your supposedly high-toned friends, and sit silently by while they poke +fun at me. Then you take me to a theater, where you know I’ll have my +feelings hurt.” She stopped for breath. Alva filled in the gap. + +“If you ask me,” he said wearily, “I think you’re full of stuff. Let’s +take a taxi. I’m too tired to walk.” He hailed a taxi, pushed her into +it, and gave the driver the address. Then he turned to Emma Lou, saying +something which he regretted having said a moment later. + +“How did my friends insult you?” + +“You know how they insulted me, sitting up there making fun of me +’cause I’m black.” + +Alva laughed, something he also regretted later. + +“That’s right, laugh, and I suppose you laughed with them then, behind +my back, and planned all that talk before I arrived.” + +Alva didn’t answer and Emma Lou cried all the rest of the way home. +Once there he tried to soothe her. + +“Come on, Sugar, let Alva put you to bed.” + +But Emma Lou was not to be sugared so easily. She continued to cry. +Alva sat down on the bed beside her. + +“Snap out of it, won’t you, Honey? You’re just tired. Go to bed and get +some sleep. You’ll be all right tomorrow.” + +Emma Lou stopped her crying. + +“I may be all right, but I’ll never forget the way you’ve allowed me +to be insulted in your presence.” + +This was beginning to get on Alva’s nerves but he smiled at her +indulgently: + +“I suppose I should have gone down on the stage and biffed one of the +comedians in the jaw?” + +“No,” snapped Emma Lou, realizing she was being ridiculous, “but you +could’ve stopped your friends from poking fun at me.” + +“But, Sugar,” this was growing tiresome. “How can you say they were +making fun of you. It’s beyond me.” + +“It wasn’t beyond you when it started. I bet you told them about me +before I came in, told them I was black....” + +“Nonsense, weren’t some of them dark? I’m afraid,” he advanced slowly, +“that you are a trifle too color-conscious,” he was glad he remembered +that phrase. + +Emma Lou flared up: “Color-conscious ... who wouldn’t be +color-conscious when everywhere you go people are always talking about +color. If it didn’t make any difference they wouldn’t talk about it, +they wouldn’t always be poking fun, and laughing and making jokes....” + +Alva interrupted her tirade. “You’re being silly, Emma Lou. About +three-quarters of the people at the Lafayette tonight were either dark +brown or black, and here you are crying and fuming like a ninny over +some reference made on the stage to a black person.” He was disgusted +now. He got up from the bed. Emma Lou looked up. + +“But, Alva, you don’t know.” + +“I do know,” he spoke sharply for the first time, “that you’re a damn +fool. It’s always color, color, color. If I speak to any of my friends +on the street you always make some reference to their color and keep +plaguing me with--‘Don’t you know nothing else but light-skinned +people?’ And you’re always beefing about being black. Seems like to me +you’d be proud of it. You’re not the only black person in this world. +There are gangs of them right here in Harlem, and I don’t see them +going around a-moanin’ ’cause they ain’t half white.” + +“I’m not moaning.” + +“Oh, yes you are. And a person like you is far worse than a hinkty +yellow nigger. It’s your kind helps make other people color-prejudiced.” + +“That’s just what I’m saying; it’s because of my color....” + +“Oh, go to hell!” And Alva rushed out of the room, slamming the door +behind him. + + * * * * * + +Braxton had been gone a week. Alva, who had been out with Marie, +the creole Lesbian, came home late, and, turning on the light, +found Geraldine asleep in his bed. He was so surprised that he could +do nothing for a moment but stand in the center of the room and +look--first at Geraldine and then at her toilet articles spread over +his dresser. He twisted his lips in a wry smile, muttered something to +himself, then walked over to the bed and shook her. + +“Geraldine, Geraldine,” he called. She awoke quickly and smiled at him. + +“Hello. What time is it?” + +“Oh,” he returned guardedly, “somewhere after three.” + +“Where’ve you been?” + +“Playing poker.” + +“With whom?” + +“Oh, the same gang. But what’s the idea?” + +Geraldine wrinkled her brow. + +“The idea of what?” + +“Of sorta taking possession?” + +“Oh,” she seemed enlightened, “I’ve moved to New York.” + +It was Alva’s cue to register surprise. + +“What’s the matter? You and the old lady fall out?” + +“Not at all.” + +“Does she know where you are?” + +“She knows I’m in New York.” + +“You know what I mean. Does she know you’re going to stay?” + +“Certainly.” + +“But where are you going to live?” + +“Here.” + +“Here?” + +“Yes.” + +“But ... but ... well, what is this all about, anyhow?” + +She sat up in the bed and regarded him for a moment, a light smile +playing around her lips. Before she spoke she yawned; then in a cool, +even tone of voice, announced “I’m going to have a baby.” + +“But,” he began after a moment, “can’t you--can’t you...?” + +“I’ve tried everything and now it’s too late. There’s nothing to do but +have it.” + + + + +PART V + +PYRRHIC VICTORY + + + + +V + +PYRRHIC VICTORY + + +It was two years later. “Cabaret Gal,” which had been on the road for +one year, had returned to New York and the company had been disbanded. +Arline was preparing to go to Europe and had decided not to take a +maid with her. However, she determined to get Emma Lou another job +before she left. She inquired among her friends, but none of the active +performers she knew seemed to be in the market for help, and it was +only on the eve of sailing that she was able to place Emma Lou with +Clere Sloane, a former stage beauty, who had married a famous American +writer and retired from public life. + +Emma Lou soon learned to like her new place. She was Clere’s personal +maid, and found it much less tiresome than being in the theater with +Arline. Clere was less temperamental and less hurried. She led a rather +leisurely life, and treated Emma Lou more as a companion than as a +servant. Clere’s husband, Campbell Kitchen, was very congenial and +kind too, although Emma Lou, at first, seldom came into contact with +him, for he and his wife practically led separate existences, meeting +only at meals, or when they had guests, or when they both happened to +arise at the same hour for breakfast. Occasionally, they attended the +theater or a party together, and sometimes entertained, but usually +they followed their own individual paths. + +Campbell Kitchen, like many other white artists and intellectuals, +had become interested in Harlem. The Negro and all things negroid +had become a fad, and Harlem had become a shrine to which feverish +pilgrimages were in order. Campbell Kitchen, along with Carl Van +Vechten, was one of the leading spirits in this “Explore Harlem; Know +the Negro” crusade. He, unlike many others, was quite sincere in his +desire to exploit those things in Negro life which he presumed would +eventually win for the Negro a more comfortable position in American +life. It was he who first began the agitation in the higher places of +journalism which gave impetus to the spiritual craze. It was he who +ferreted out and gave publicity to many unknown blues singers. It was +he who sponsored most of the younger Negro writers, personally carrying +their work to publishers and editors. It wasn’t his fault entirely that +most of them were published before they had anything to say or before +they knew how to say it. Rather it was the fault of the faddistic +American public which followed the band wagon and kept clamoring for +additional performances, not because of any manifested excellence, but +rather because of their sensationalism and pseudo-barbaric _decor_. + +Emma Lou had heard much of his activity, and had been surprised to find +herself in his household. Recently he had written a book concerning +Negro life in Harlem, a book calculated by its author to be a sincere +presentation of those aspects of life in Harlem which had interested +him. Campbell Kitchen belonged to the sophisticated school of modern +American writers. His novels were more or less fantastic bits of +realism, skipping lightly over the surfaces of life, and managing +somehow to mirror depths through superficialities. His novel on +Harlem had been a literary failure because the author presumed that +its subject matter demanded serious treatment. Hence, he disregarded +the traditions he had set up for himself in his other works, and +produced an energetic and entertaining hodgepodge, where the bizarre +was strangled by the sentimental, and the erotic clashed with the +commonplace. + +Negroes had not liked Campbell Kitchen’s delineation of their life +in the world’s greatest colored city. They contended that, like +“Nigger Heaven” by Carl Van Vechten, the book gave white people a +wrong impression of Negroes, thus lessening their prospects of doing +away with prejudice and race discrimination. From what she had heard, +Emma Lou had expected to meet a sneering, obscene cynic, intent upon +ravaging every Negro woman and insulting every Negro man, but he proved +to be such an ordinary, harmless individual that she was won over to +his side almost immediately. + +Whenever they happened to meet, he would talk to her about her life in +particular and Negro life in general. She had to admit that he knew +much more about such matters than she or any other Negro she had ever +met. And it was because of one of these chance talks that she finally +decided to follow Mrs. Blake’s advice and take the public school +teachers’ examination. + +Two years had wrought little change in Emma Lou, although much had +happened to her. After that tearful night, when Alva had sworn at +her and stalked out of her room, she had somewhat taken stock of +herself. She wondered if Alva had been right in his allegations. Was +she supersensitive about her color? Did she encourage color prejudice +among her own people, simply by being so expectant of it? She tried +hard to place the blame on herself, but she couldn’t seem to do it. She +knew she hadn’t been color-conscious during her early childhood days; +that is, until she had had it called to her attention by her mother +or some of her mother’s friends, who had all seemed to take delight in +marvelling, “What an extraordinarily black child!” or “Such beautiful +hair on such a black baby!” + +Her mother had even hidden her away on occasions when she was to +have company, and her grandmother had been cruel in always assailing +Emma Lou’s father, whose only crime seemed to be that he had had a +blue black skin. Then there had been her childhood days when she had +ventured forth into the streets to play. All of her colored playmates +had been mulattoes, and her white playmates had never ceased calling +public attention to her crow-like complexion. Consequently, she had +grown sensitive and had soon been driven to play by herself, avoiding +contact with other children as much as possible. Her mother encouraged +her in this, had even suggested that she not attend certain parties +because she might not have a good time. + +Then there had been the searing psychological effect of that dreadful +graduation night, and the lonely embittering three years at college, +all of which had tended to make her color more and more a paramount +issue and ill. It was neither fashionable nor good for a girl to +be as dark as she, and to be, at the same time, as untalented and +undistinguished. Dark girls could get along if they were exceptionally +talented or handsome or wealthy, but she had nothing to recommend her, +save a beautiful head of hair. Despite the fact that she had managed +to lead her classes in school, she had to admit that mentally she was +merely mediocre and average. Now, had she been as intelligent as Mamie +Olds Bates, head of a Negro school in Florida, and president of a huge +national association of colored women’s clubs, her darkness would not +have mattered. Or had she been as wealthy as Lillian Saunders, who had +inherited the millions her mother had made producing hair straightening +commodities, things might have been different; but here she was, +commonplace and poor, ugly and undistinguished. + +Emma Lou recalled all these things, while trying to fasten the blame +for her extreme color-consciousness on herself as Alva had done, but +she was unable to make a good case of it. Surely, it had not been her +color-consciousness which had excluded her from the only Negro sorority +in her college, nor had it been her color-consciousness that had caused +her to spend such an isolated three years in Southern California. The +people she naturally felt at home with had, somehow or other, managed +to keep her at a distance. It was no fun going to social affairs and +being neglected throughout the entire evening. There was no need in +forcing one’s self into a certain milieu only to be frozen out. Hence, +she had stayed to herself, had had very few friends, and had become +more and more resentful of her blackness of skin. + +She had thought Harlem would be different, but things had seemed +against her from the beginning, and she had continued to go down, down, +down, until she had little respect left for herself. + +She had been glad when the road show of “Cabaret Gal” had gone into +the provinces. Maybe a year of travel would set her aright. She would +return to Harlem with considerable money saved, move into the Y. W. C. +A., try to obtain a more congenial position, and set about becoming +respectable once more, set about coming into contact with the “right +sort of people.” She was certain that there were many colored boys and +girls in Harlem with whom she could associate and become content. She +didn’t wish to chance herself again with a Jasper Crane or an Alva. + +Yet, she still loved Alva, no matter how much she regretted it, loved +him enough to keep trying to win him back, even after his disgust had +driven him away from her. She sadly recalled how she had telephoned +him repeatedly, and how he had hung up the receiver with the brief, +cruel “I don’t care to talk to you,” and she recalled how, swallowing +her pride, she had gone to his house the day before she had left New +York. Alva had greeted her coolly, then politely informed her that he +couldn’t let her in, as he had other company. + +This had made her ill, and for three days after “Cabaret Gal” opened +in Philadelphia, she had confined herself to her hotel room and cried +hysterically. When it was all over, she had felt much better. The +outlet of tears had been good for her, but she had never ceased to long +for Alva. He had been the only completely satisfying thing in her life, +and it didn’t seem possible for one who had pretended to love her as +much as he, suddenly to become so completely indifferent. She measured +everything by her own moods and reactions, translated everything into +the language of Emma Lou, and variations bewildered her to the extent +that she could not believe in their reality. + +So, when the company had passed through New York on its way from +Philadelphia to Boston, she had approached Alva’s door once more. It +had never occurred to her that any one save Alva would answer her +knock, and the sight of Geraldine in a negligee had stunned her. She +had hastened to apologize for knocking on the wrong door, and had +turned completely away without asking for Alva, only to halt as if +thunderstruck when she heard his voice, as Geraldine was closing the +door, asking, “Who was it, Sugar?” + +For a while, Alva had been content. He really loved Geraldine, or so he +thought. To him she seemed eminently desirable in every respect, and +now that she was about to bear him a child, well ... he didn’t yet know +what they would do with it, but everything would work out as it should. +He didn’t even mind having to return to work, nor, for the moment, mind +having to give less attention to the rest of his harem. + +Of course, Geraldine’s attachment of herself to him ruled Emma Lou out +more definitely than it did any of his other “paying off” people. He +had been thoroughly disgusted with her and had intended to relent only +after she had been forced to chase him for a considerable length of +time. But Geraldine’s coming had changed things altogether. Alva knew +when not to attempt something, and he knew very well that he could not +toy with Emma Lou and live with Geraldine at the same time. Some of the +others were different. He could explain Geraldine to them, and they +would help him keep themselves secreted from her. But Emma Lou, never! +She would be certain to take it all wrong. + +The months passed; the baby was born. Both of the parents were bitterly +disappointed by this sickly, little “ball of tainted suet,” as Alva +called it. It had a shrunken left arm and a deformed left foot. The +doctor ordered oil massages. There was a chance that the infant’s +limbs could be shaped into some semblance of normality. Alva declared +that it looked like an idiot. Geraldine had a struggle with herself, +trying to keep from smothering it. She couldn’t see why such a +monstrosity should live. Perhaps as the years passed it would change. +At any rate, she had lost her respect for Alva. There was no denying to +her that had she mated with some one else, she might have given birth +to a normal child. The pain she had experienced had shaken her. One +sight of the baby and continual living with it and Alva in that one, +now frowsy and odoriferous room, had completed her disillusionment. For +one of the very few times in her life, she felt like doing something +drastic. + +Alva hardly ever came home. He had quit work once more and started +running around as before, only he didn’t tell her about it. He lied +to her or else ignored her altogether. The baby now a year old was +assuredly an idiot. It neither talked nor walked. Its head had grown +out of all proportion to its body, and Geraldine felt that she could +have stood its shrivelled arm and deformed foot, had it not been for +its insanely large and vacant eyes which seemed never to close, and for +the thick grinning lips, which always remained half open and through +which came no translatable sounds. + +Geraldine’s mother was a pious woman, and, of course, denounced the +parents for the condition of the child. Had they not lived in sin, +this would not be. Had they married and lived respectably, God would +not have punished them in this manner. According to her, the mere +possession of a marriage license and an official religious sanction +of their mating would have assured them a bouncing, healthy, normal +child. She refused to take the infant. Her pastor had advised her not +to, saying that the parents should be made to bear the burden they had +brought upon themselves. + +For once, neither Geraldine nor Alva knew what to do. They couldn’t +keep on as they were now. Alva was drinking more and more. He was also +becoming less interested in looking well. He didn’t bother about his +clothes as much as before, his almond shaped eyes became more narrow, +and the gray parchment conquered the yellow in his skin and gave him a +deathlike pallor. He hated that silent, staring idiot infant of his, +and he had begun to hate its mother. He couldn’t go into the room +sober. Yet his drinking provided no escape. And though he was often +tempted, he felt that he could not run away and leave Geraldine alone +with the baby. + +Then he began to need money. Geraldine couldn’t work because some +one had to look after the child. Alva wouldn’t work now, and made +no effort to come into contact with new “paying off” people. The old +ones were not as numerous or as generous as formerly. Those who hadn’t +drifted away didn’t care enough about the Alva of today to help support +him, his wife and child. Luckily, though, about this time, he “hit” +the numbers twice in one month, and both he and Geraldine borrowed +some money on their insurance policies. They accrued almost a thousand +dollars from these sources, but that wouldn’t last forever, and the +problem of what they were going to do with the child still remained +unsolved. + +Both wanted to kill it, and neither had the courage to mention the word +“murder” to the other. Had they been able to discuss this thing frankly +with one another, they could have seen to it that the child smothered +itself or fell from the crib sometime during the night. No one would +have questioned the accidental death of an idiot child. But they did +not trust one another, and neither dared to do the deed alone. Then +Geraldine became obsessed with the fear that Alva was planning to run +away from her. She knew what this would mean and she had no idea of +letting him do it. She realized that should she be left alone with the +child it would mean that she would be burdened throughout the years it +lived, forced to struggle and support herself and her charge. But were +she to leave Alva, some more sensible plan would undoubtedly present +itself. No one expected a father to tie himself to an infant, and if +that infant happened to be ill and an idiot ... well, there were any +number of social agencies which would care for it. Assuredly, then she +must get away first. But where to go? + +She was stumped again and forced to linger, fearing all the while that +Alva would fail to return home once he left. She tried desperately +to reintroduce a note of intimacy into their relationship, tried +repeatedly to make herself less repellent to him, and, at the same +time, discipline her own self so that she would not communicate her +apprehensions to him. She hired the little girl who lived in the next +room to take charge of the child, bought it a store of toys and went +out to find a job. This being done, she insisted that Alva begin taking +her out once again. He acquiesced. He wasn’t interested one way or the +other as long as he could go to bed drunk every night and keep a bottle +of gin by his bedside. + +Neither, though, seemed interested in what they were doing. Both were +feverishly apprehensive at all times. They quarrelled frequently, but +would hasten to make amends to one another, so afraid were they that +the first one to become angry might make a bolt for freedom. Alva drank +more and more. Geraldine worked, saved and schemed, always planning +and praying that she would be able to get away first. + +Then Alva was taken ill. His liquor-burned stomach refused to retain +food. The doctor ordered him not to drink any more bootleg beverages. +Alva shrugged his shoulders, left the doctor’s office and sought out +his favorite speakeasy. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou was busy, and being busy, had had less time to think about +herself than ever before. Thus, she was less distraught and much less +dissatisfied with herself and with life. She was taking some courses +in education in the afternoon classes at City College, preparatory to +taking the next public school teacher’s examination. She still had +her position in the household of Campbell Kitchen, a position she had +begun to enjoy and appreciate more and more as the master of the house +evinced an interest in her and became her counsellor and friend. He +encouraged her to read and opened his library to her. Ofttimes he gave +her tickets to musical concerts or to the theater, and suggested means +of meeting what she called “the right sort of people.” + +She had moved meanwhile into the Y. W. C. A. There she had met many +young girls like herself, alone and unattached in New York, and she had +soon found herself moving in a different world altogether. She even +had a pal, Gwendolyn Johnson, a likable, light-brown-skinned girl, who +had the room next to hers. Gwendolyn had been in New York only a few +months. She had just recently graduated from Howard University, and was +also planning to teach school in New York City. She and Emma Lou became +fast friends and went everywhere together. It was with Gwendolyn that +Emma Lou shared the tickets Campbell Kitchen gave her. Then on Sundays +they would attend church. At first they attended a different church +every Sunday, but finally took to attending St. Mark’s A. M. E. Church +on St. Nicholas Avenue regularly. + +This was one of the largest and most high-toned churches in Harlem. +Emma Lou liked to go there; and both she and Gwendolyn enjoyed sitting +in the congregation, observing the fine clothes and triumphal entries +of its members. Then, too, they soon became interested in the various +organizations which the church sponsored for young people. They +attended the meetings of a literary society every Thursday evening, and +joined the young people’s bible class which met every Tuesday evening. +In this way, they came into contact with many young folk, and were +often invited to parties and dances. + +Gwendolyn helped Emma Lou with her courses in education and the two +obtained and studied copies of questions which had been asked in +previous examinations. Gwendolyn sympathized with Emma Lou’s color +hyper-sensitivity and tried hard to make her forget it. In order to +gain her point, she thought it necessary to down light people, and +with this in mind, ofttimes told Emma Lou many derogatory tales about +the mulattoes in the social and scholastic life at Howard University +in Washington, D. C. The color question had never been of much moment +to Gwendolyn. Being the color she was, she had never suffered. In +Charleston, the mulattoes had their own churches and their own social +life and mingled with darker Negroes only when the jim crow law or +racial discrimination left them no other alternative. Gwendolyn’s +mother had belonged to one of these “persons of color” families, but +she hadn’t seen much in it all. What if she was better than the little +black girl who lived around the corner? Didn’t they both have to attend +the same colored school, and didn’t they both have to ride in the same +section of the street car, and were not they both subject to be called +nigger by the poor white trash who lived in the adjacent block? + +She had thought her relatives and associates all a little silly, +especially when they had objected to her marrying a man just two or +three shades darker than herself. She felt that this was carrying +things too far even in ancient Charleston where customs, houses and +people all seemed antique and far removed from the present. Stubbornly +she had married the man of her choice, and had exulted when her +daughter had been nearer the richer color of her father than the +washed-out color of herself. Gwendolyn’s father had died while she was +in college, and her mother had begun teaching in a South Carolina Negro +industrial school, but she insisted that Gwendolyn must finish her +education and seek her career in the North. + +Gwendolyn’s mother had always preached for complete tolerance in +matters of skin color. So afraid was she that her daughter would +develop a “pink” complex that she wilfully discouraged her associating +with light people and persistently encouraged her to choose her friends +from among the darker elements of the race. And she insisted that +Gwendolyn must marry a dark brown man so that her children would be +real Negroes. So thoroughly had this become inculcated into her, that +Gwendolyn often snubbed light people, and invariably, in accordance +with her mother’s sermonisings, chose dark-skinned friends and beaux. +Like her mother, Gwendolyn was very exercised over the matter of +intra-racial segregation and attempted to combat it verbally as well as +actively. + +When she and Emma Lou began going around together, trying to find +a church to attend regularly, she had immediately black-balled the +Episcopal Church, for she knew that most of its members were “pinks,” +and despite the fact that a number of dark-skinned West Indians, former +members of the Church of England, had forced their way in, Gwendolyn +knew that the Episcopal Church in Harlem, as in most Negro communities, +was dedicated primarily to the salvation of light-skinned Negroes. + +But Gwendolyn was a poor psychologist. She didn’t realize that Emma Lou +was possessed of a perverse bitterness and that she idolized the thing +one would naturally expect her to hate. Gwendolyn was certain that Emma +Lou hated “yaller” niggers as she called them. She didn’t appreciate +the fact that Emma Lou hated her own color and envied the more mellow +complexions. Gwendolyn’s continual damnation of “pinks” only irritated +Emma Lou and made her more impatient with her own blackness, for, in +damning them, Gwendolyn also enshrined them for Emma Lou, who wasn’t +the least bit anxious to be classified with persons who needed a +champion. + +However, for the time being, Emma Lou was more free than ever from +tortuous periods of self-pity and hatred. In her present field of +activity, the question of color seldom introduced itself except as +Gwendolyn introduced it, which she did continually, even to the extent +of giving lectures on race purity and the superiority of unmixed racial +types. Emma Lou would listen attentively, but all the while she was +observing Gwendolyn’s light-brown skin, and wishing to herself that it +were possible for her and Gwendolyn to effect a change in complexions, +since Gwendolyn considered a black skin so desirable. + +They both had beaux, young men whom they had met at the various church +meetings and socials. Gwendolyn insisted that they snub the “high +yallers” and continually was going into ecstasies over the browns and +blacks they conquested. Emma Lou couldn’t get excited over any of them. +They all seemed so young and so pallid. Their air of being all-wise +amused her, their affected church purity and wholesomeness, largely a +verbal matter, tired her. Their world was so small--church, school, +home, mother, father, parties, future. She invariably compared them to +Alva and made herself laugh by classifying them as a litter of sick +puppies. Alva was a bulldog and a healthy one at that. Yet these sick +puppies, as she called them, were the next generation of Negro leaders, +the next generation of respectable society folk. They had a future; +Alva merely lived for no purpose whatsoever except for the pleasure he +could squeeze out of each living moment. He didn’t construct anything; +the litter of pups would, or at least they would be credited with +constructing something whether they did or not. She found herself +strangely uninterested in anything they might construct. She didn’t see +that it would make much difference in the world whether they did or did +not. Months of sophisticated reading under Campbell Kitchen’s tutelage +had cultivated the seeds of pessimism experience had sown. Life was +all a bad dream recurrent in essentials. Every dog had his day and +every dog died. These priggish little respectable persons she now knew +and associated with seemed infinitely inferior to her. They were all +hypocritical and colorless. They committed what they called sin in the +same colorless way they served God, family, and race. None of them had +the fire and gusto of Alva, nor his light-heartedness. At last she had +met the “right sort of people” and found them to be quite wrong. + +However, she quelled her growing dissatisfaction and immersed herself +in her work. Campbell Kitchen had told her again and again that +economic independence was the solution to almost any problem. When +she found herself a well-paying position she need not worry more. +Everything else would follow and she would find herself among the +pursued instead of among the pursuers. This was the gospel she now +adhered to and placed faith in. She studied hard, finished her courses +at Teachers College, took and passed the school board examination, +and mechanically followed Gwendolyn about, pretending to share her +enthusiasms and hatreds. All would soon come to the desired end. Her +doctrine of pessimism was weakened by the optimism the future seemed to +promise. She had even become somewhat interested in one of the young +men she had met at St. Mark’s. Gwendolyn discouraged this interest. +“Why, Emma Lou, he’s one of them yaller niggers; you don’t want to get +mixed up with him.” + +Though meaning well, she did not know that it was precisely because he +was one of those “yaller niggers” that Emma Lou liked him. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou and her new “yaller nigger,” Benson Brown, were returning from +church on a Tuesday evening where they had attended a Young People’s +Bible Class. It was a beautiful early fall night, warm and moonlit, +and they had left the church early, intent upon slipping away from +Gwendolyn, and taking a walk before they parted for the night. Emma +Lou had no reason for liking Benson save that she was flattered that +a man as light as he should find himself attracted to her. It always +gave her a thrill to stroll into church or down Seventh Avenue with +him. And she loved to show him off in the reception room of the Y. +W. C. A. True, he was almost as colorless and uninteresting to her as +the rest of the crowd with whom she now associated, but he had a fair +skin and he didn’t seem to mind her darkness. Then, it did her good to +show Gwendolyn that she, Emma Lou, could get a yellow-skinned man. She +always felt that the reason Gwendolyn insisted upon her going with a +dark-skinned man was because she secretly considered it unlikely for +her to get a light one. + +Benson was a negative personality. His father was an ex-preacher turned +Pullman porter because, since prohibition times, he could make more +money on the Pullman cars than he could in the pulpit. His mother was +an active church worker and club woman, “one of the pillars of the +community,” the current pastor at their church had called her. Benson +himself was in college, studying business methods and administration. +It had taken him six years to finish high school, and it promised to +take him much longer to finish college. He had a placid, ineffectual +dirty yellow face, topped by red mariney hair, and studded with gray +eyes. He was as ugly as he was stupid, and he had been as glad to have +Emma Lou interested in him as she had been glad to attract him. She +actually seemed to take him seriously, while every one else more or +less laughed at him. Already he was planning to quit school, go to +work, and marry her; and Emma Lou, while not anticipating any such +sudden consummation, remained blind to everything save his color and +the attention he paid to her. + +Benson had suggested their walk and Emma Lou had chosen Seventh Avenue +in preference to some of the more quiet side streets. She still loved +to promenade up and down Harlem’s main thoroughfare. As usual on a warm +night, it was crowded. Street speakers and their audiences monopolized +the corners. Pedestrians and loiterers monopolized all of the remaining +sidewalk space. The street was jammed with traffic. Emma Lou was more +convinced than ever that there was nothing like it anywhere. She tried +to formulate some of her impressions and attempted to convey them to +Benson, but he couldn’t see anything unusual or novel or interesting in +a “lot of niggers hanging out here to be seen.” Then, Seventh Avenue +wasn’t so much. What about Broadway or Fifth Avenue downtown where the +white folks gathered and strolled. Now those were the streets, Seventh +Avenue, Harlem’s Seventh Avenue, didn’t enter into it. + +Emma Lou didn’t feel like arguing. She walked along in silence, +holding tightly to Benson’s arm and wondering whether or not Alva was +somewhere on Seventh Avenue. Strange she had never seen him. Perhaps +he had gone away. Benson wished to stop in order to listen to one of +the street speakers who, he informed Emma Lou, was mighty smart. It +seemed that he was the self-styled mayor of Harlem, and his spiel +nightly was concerning the fact that Harlem Negroes depended upon white +people for most of their commodities instead of opening food and dress +commissaries of their own. He lamented the fact that there were no +Negro store owners, and regretted that wealthy Negroes did not invest +their money in first class butcher shops, grocery stores, et cetera. +Then, he perorated, the Jews, who now grew rich off their Negro trade, +would be forced out, and the money Negroes spent would benefit Negroes +alone. + +Emma Lou knew that this was just the sort of thing that Benson liked to +hear. She had to tug hard on his arm to make him remain on the edge of +the crowd, so that she could see the passing crowds rather than center +her attention on the speaker. In watching, Emma Lou saw a familiar +figure approach, a very trim, well garbed figure, alert and swaggering. +It was Braxton. She didn’t know whether to speak to him or not. She +wasn’t sure that he would acknowledge her salute should she address +him, yet here was her chance to get news of Alva, and she felt that she +might risk being snubbed. It would be worth it. He drew near. He was +alone, and, as he passed, she reached out her arm and touched him on +the sleeve. He stopped, looked down at her and frowned. + +“Braxton,” she spoke quickly, “pardon me for stopping you, but I +thought you might tell me where Alva is.” + +“I guess he’s at the same place,” he answered curtly, then moved away. +Emma Lou bowed her head shamefacedly as Benson turned toward her long +enough to ask who it was she had spoken to. She mumbled something about +an old friend, then suggested that they go home. She was tired. Benson +agreed reluctantly and they turned toward the Y. W. C. A. + + * * * * * + +A taxi driver had brought Alva home from a saloon where he had +collapsed from cramps in the stomach. That had been on a Monday. The +doctor had come and diagnosed his case. He was in a serious condition, +his stomach lining was practically eaten away and his entire body +wrecked from physical excess. Unless he took a complete rest and +abstained from drinking liquor and all other forms of dissipation, +there could be no hope of recovery. This hadn’t worried Alva very +much. He chafed at having to remain in bed, but possibility of death +didn’t worry him. Life owed him very little, he told Geraldine. He was +content to let the devil take his due. But Geraldine was quite worried +about the whole matter. Should Alva die or even be an invalid for any +lengthy period, it would mean that she alone would have the burden of +their misshapen child. She didn’t want that burden. In fact, she was +determined not to have it. And neither did she intend to nurse Alva. + +On the Friday morning after the Monday Alva had been taken ill, +Geraldine left for work as was her custom. But she did not come back +that night. Every morning during that week she had taken away a bundle +of this and a bundle of that until she had managed to get away most +of her clothes. She had saved enough money out of her earnings to pay +her fare to Chicago. She had chosen Chicago because a man who was +interested in her lived there. She had written to him. He had been glad +to hear from her. He ran a buffet flat. He needed some one like her to +act as hostess. Leaving her little bundles at a girl friend’s day after +day and packing them away in a second hand trunk, she had planned to +leave the moment she received her pay on Saturday. She had intended +going home on Friday night, but at the last moment she had faltered and +reasoned that as long as she was away and only had twenty-four hours +more in New York she might as well make her disappearance then. If she +went back she might betray herself or else become soft-hearted and +remain. + +Alva was not very surprised when she failed to return home from +work that Friday. The woman in the next room kept coming in at +fifteen-minute intervals after five-thirty inquiring: “Hasn’t your wife +come in yet?” She wanted to get rid of the child which was left in her +care daily. She had her own work to do, her own husband and child’s +dinner to prepare; and, furthermore, she wasn’t being paid to keep the +child both day and night. People shouldn’t have children unless they +intended taking care of them. Finally Alva told her to bring the baby +back to his room ... his wife would be in soon. But he knew full well +that Geraldine was not coming back. Hell of a mess. He was unable to +work, would probably have to remain in bed another week, perhaps two. +His money was about gone, and now Geraldine was not there to pay the +rent out of her earnings. Damn. What to do ... what to do? He couldn’t +keep the child. If he put it in a home they would expect him to +contribute to its support. It was too bad that he didn’t know some one +to leave this child of his with as his mother had done in his case. He +began to wish for a drink. + +Hours passed. Finally the lady came into the room again to see if he +or the baby wanted anything. She knew Geraldine had not come in yet. +The partition between the two rooms was so thin that the people in one +were privy to everything the people in the other did or said. Alva told +her his wife must have gone to see her sick mother in Long Island. He +asked her to take care of the baby for him. He would pay her for her +extra trouble. The whole situation offered her much pleasure. She went +away radiant, eager to tell the other lodgers in the house her version +of what had happened. + +Alva got up and paced the room. He felt that he could no longer +remain flat on his back. His stomach ached, but it also craved for +alcoholic stimulant. So did his brain and nervous system in general. +Inadvertently, in one of his trips across the room, he looked into the +dresser mirror. What he saw there halted his pacing. Surely that wan, +dissipated, bloated face did not belong to him. Perhaps he needed a +shave. He set about ridding himself of a week’s growth of beard, but +being shaved only made his face look more like the face of a corpse. +It was liquor he needed. He wished to hell some one would come along +and get him some. But no one came. He went back to bed, his eyes fixed +on the clock, watching its hands approach midnight. Five minutes to +go.... There was a knock on the door. Eagerly he sat up in the bed and +shouted, “Come in.” + +But he was by no means expecting or prepared to see Emma Lou. + +Emma Lou’s room in the Y. W. C. A. at three o’clock that same morning. +Emma Lou busy packing her clothes. Gwendolyn in negligee, hair +disarrayed, eyes sleepy, yet angry: + +“You mean you’re going over there to live with that man?” + +“Why not? I love him.” + +Gwendolyn stared hard at Emma Lou. “But don’t you understand he’s just +tryin’ to find some one to take care of that brat of his? Don’t be +silly, Emma Lou. He doesn’t really care for you. If he did, he never +would have deserted you as you once told me he did, or have subjected +you to all those insults. And ... he isn’t your type of man. Why, he’s +nothing but a ...” + +“Will you mind tending to your own business, Gwendolyn,” her purple +powdered skin was streaked with tears. + +“But what about your appointment?” + +“I shall take it.” + +“What!” She forgot her weariness. “You mean to say you’re going to +teach school and live with that man, too? Ain’t you got no regard for +your reputation? I wouldn’t ruin myself for no yaller nigger. Here +you’re doing just what folks say a black gal always does. Where is +your intelligence and pride? I’m through with you, Emma Lou. There’s +probably something in this stuff about black people being different +and more low than other colored people. You’re just a common ordinary +nigger! God, how I despise you!” And she had rushed out of the room, +leaving Emma Lou dazed by the suddenness and wrath of her tirade. + + * * * * * + +Emma Lou was busier than she had ever been before in her life. She had +finally received her appointment and was teaching in one of the public +schools in Harlem. Doing this in addition to nursing Alva and Alva +Junior, and keeping house for them in Alva’s same old room. Within six +months she had managed to make little Alva Junior take on some of the +physical aspects of a normal child. His little legs were in braces, +being straightened. Twice a week she took him to the clinic where he +had violet ray sun baths and oil massages. His little body had begun +to fill out and simultaneously it seemed as if his head was decreasing +in size. There was only one feature which remained unchanged; his +abnormally large eyes still retained their insane stare. They appeared +frozen and terrified as if their owner was gazing upon some horrible, +yet fascinating object or occurrence. The doctor said that this would +disappear in time. + +During those six months there had been a steady change in Alva Senior, +too. At first he had been as loving and kind to Emma Lou as he had +been during the first days of their relationship. Then, as he got +better and began living his old life again, he more and more relegated +her to the position of a hired nurse girl. He was scarcely civil to +her. He seldom came home except to eat and get some pocket change. +When he did come home nights, he was usually drunk, so drunk that his +companions would have to bring him home, and she would have to undress +him and put him to bed. Since his illness, he could not stand as much +liquor as before. His stomach refused to retain it, and his legs +refused to remain steady. + +Emma Lou began to loathe him, yet ached for his physical nearness. She +was lonesome again, cooped up in that solitary room with only Alva +Junior for company. She had lost track of all her old friends, and, +despite her new field of endeavor, she had made no intimate contacts. +Her fellow colored teachers were congenial enough, but they didn’t seem +any more inclined to accept her socially than did her fellow white +teachers. There seemed to be some question about her antecedents. She +didn’t belong to any of the collegiate groups around Harlem. She didn’t +seem to be identified with any one who mattered. They wondered how she +had managed to get into the school system. + +Of course Emma Lou made little effort to make friends among them. She +didn’t know how. She was too shy to make an approach and too suspicious +to thaw out immediately when some one approached her. The first thing +she noticed was that most of the colored teachers who taught in her +school were lighter colored than she. The darkest was a pleasing brown. +And she had noticed them putting their heads together when she first +came around. She imagined that they were discussing her. And several +times upon passing groups of them, she imagined that she was being +pointed out. In most cases what she thought was true, but she was being +discussed and pointed out, not because of her dark skin, but because of +the obvious traces of an excess of rouge and powder which she insisted +upon using. + +It had been suggested, in a private council among the Negro members of +the teaching staff, that some one speak to Emma Lou about this rather +ludicrous habit of making up. But no one had the nerve. She appeared +so distant and so ready to take offense at the slightest suggestion +even of friendship that they were wary of her. But after she began to +be a standard joke among the pupils and among the white teachers, they +finally decided to send her an anonymous note, suggesting that she +use fewer aids to the complexion. Emma Lou, on receiving the note, at +first thought that it was the work of some practical joker. It never +occurred to her that the note told the truth and that she looked twice +as bad with paint and powder as she would without it. She interpreted +it as being a means of making fun of her because she was darker than +any one of the other colored girls. She grew more haughty, more acid, +and more distant than ever. She never spoke to any one except as a +matter of business. Then she discovered that her pupils had nicknamed +her ... “Blacker’n me.” + +What made her still more miserable was the gossip and comments of the +woman in the next room. Lying in bed nights or else sitting at her +table preparing her lesson plans, she could hear her telling every one +who chanced in---- + +“You know that fellow in the next room? Well, let me tell you. His +wife left him, yes-sireee, left him flat on his back in the bed, him +and the baby, too. Yes, she did. Walked out of here just as big as you +please to go to work one morning and she ain’t come back yet. Then up +comes this little black wench. I heard her when she knocked on the door +that very night his wife left. At first he was mighty s’prised to see +her, then started laying it on, kissed her and hugged her, a-tellin’ +her how much he loved her, and she crying like a fool all the time. I +never heard the likes of it in my life. The next morning in she moves +an’ she’s been here ever since. And you oughter see how she carries +on over that child, just as loving, like as if she was his own mother. +An’ now that she’s here an’ workin’ an’ that nigger’s well again, what +does he do but go out an’ get drunk worse than he uster with his wife. +Would you believe it? Stays away three and four nights a week, while +she hustles out of here an’ makes time every morning....” + +On hearing this for about the twentieth time, Emma Lou determined to +herself that she was not going to hear it again. (She had also planned +to ask for a transfer to a new school, one on the east side in the +Italian section where she would not have to associate with so many +other colored teachers.) Alva hadn’t been home for four nights. She +picked Alva Junior from out his crib and pulled off his nightgown, +letting him lie naked in her lap. She loved to fondle his warm, +mellow-colored body, loved to caress his little crooked limbs after +the braces had been removed. She wondered what would become of him. +Obviously she couldn’t remain living with Alva, and she certainly +couldn’t keep Alva Junior forever. Suppose those evil school teachers +should find out how she was living and report it to the school +authorities? Was she morally fit to be teaching youth? She remembered +her last conversation with Gwendolyn. + +For the first time now she also saw how Alva had used her during both +periods of their relationship. She also realized that she had been +nothing more than a commercial proposition to him at all times. He +didn’t care for dark women either. He had never taken her among his +friends, never given any signs to the public that she was his girl. +And now when he came home with some of his boy friends, he always +introduced her as Alva Junior’s mammy. That’s what she was, Alva +Junior’s mammy, and a typical black mammy at that. + +Campbell Kitchen had told her that when she found economic +independence, everything else would come. Well now that she had +economic independence she found herself more enslaved and more +miserable than ever. She wondered what he thought of her. She had never +tried to get in touch with him since she had left the Y. W. C. A., and +had never let him know of her whereabouts, had just quit communicating +with him as unceremoniously as she had quit the Y. W. C. A. No doubt +Gwendolyn had told him the whole sordid tale. She could never face him +again unless she had made some effort to reclaim herself. Well, that’s +what she was going to do. Reclaim herself. She didn’t care what became +of Alva Junior. Let Alva and that yellow slut of a wife of his worry +about their own piece of tainted suet. + +She was leaving. She was going back to the Y. W. C. A., back to St. +Mark’s A. M. E. Church, back to Gwendolyn, back to Benson. She +wouldn’t stay here and have that child grow up to call her “black +mammy.” Just because she was black was no reason why she was going to +let some yellow nigger use her. At once she was all activity. Putting +Alva Jr.’s nightgown on, she laid him back into his crib and left him +there crying while she packed her trunk and suitcase. Then, asking the +woman in the next room to watch him until she returned, she put on her +hat and coat and started for the Y. W. C. A., making plans for the +future as she went. + +Halfway there she decided to telephone Benson. It had been seven +months now since she had seen him, seven months since, without a word +of warning or without leaving a message, she had disappeared, telling +only Gwendolyn where she was going. While waiting for the operator to +establish connections, she recalled the conversation she and Gwendolyn +had had at the time, recalled Gwendolyn’s horror and disgust on hearing +what Emma Lou planned doing, recalled ... some one was answering the +’phone. She asked for Benson, and in a moment heard his familiar: + +“Hello.” + +“Hello, Benson, this is Emma Lou.” There was complete silence for a +moment, then: + +“Emma Lou?” he dinned into her ear. “Well, where have you been. +Gwennie and I have been trying to find you.” + +This warmed her heart; coming back was not going to be so difficult +after all. + +“You did?” + +“Why, yes. We wanted to invite you to our wedding.” + +The receiver fell from her hand. For a moment she stood like one +stunned, unable to move. She could hear Benson on the other end of the +wire clicking the receiver and shouting “Hello, Hello,” then the final +clicking of the receiver as he hung up, followed by a deadened ... +“operator” ... “operator” from central. + +Somehow or other she managed to get hold of the receiver and replace it +in the hook. Then she left the telephone booth and made her way out of +the drugstore into the street. Seventh Avenue as usual was alive and +crowded. It was an early spring evening and far too warm for people to +remain cooped up in stuffy apartments. Seventh Avenue was the gorge +into which Harlem cliff dwellers crowded to promenade. It was heavy +laden, full of life and color, vibrant and leisurely. But for the first +time since her arrival in Harlem, Emma Lou was impervious to all this. +For the moment she hardly realized where she was. Only the constant +jostling and the raucous ensemble of street noises served to bring her +out of her daze. + +Gwendolyn and Benson married. “What do you want to waste your time with +that yaller nigger for? I wouldn’t marry a yaller nigger.” + +“Blacker’n me”.... “Why don’t you take a hint and stop plastering your +face with so much rouge and powder.” + +Emma Lou stumbled down Seventh Avenue, not knowing where she was +going. She noted that she was at 135th Street. It was easy to tell +this particular corner. It was called the campus. All the college boys +hung out there when the weather permitted, obstructing the traffic and +eyeing the passersby professionally. She turned west on 135th Street. +She wanted quiet. Seventh Avenue was too noisy and too alive and too +happy. How could the world be happy when she felt like she did? There +was no place for her in the world. She was too black, black is a +portent of evil, black is a sign of bad luck. + + “A yaller gal rides in a limousine + A brown-skin does the same; + A black gal rides in a rickety Ford, + But she gets there, yes, my Lord.” + +“Alva Jr’s black mammy.” “Low down common nigger.” “Jes’ crazy ’bout +that little yaller brat.” + +She looked up and saw a Western Union office sign shining above a +lighted doorway. For a moment she stood still, repeating over and +over to herself Western Union, Western Union, as if to understand +its meaning. People turned to stare at her as they passed. They even +stopped and looked up into the air trying to see what was attracting +her attention, and, seeing nothing, would shrug their shoulders and +continue on their way. The Western Union sign suggested only one thing +to Emma Lou and that was home. For the moment she was ready to rush +into the office and send a wire to her Uncle Joe, asking for a ticket, +and thus be able to escape the whole damn mess. But she immediately +saw that going home would mean beginning her life all over again, mean +flying from one degree of unhappiness into another probably much more +intense and tragic than the present one. She had once fled to Los +Angeles to escape Boise, then fled to Harlem to escape Los Angeles, +but these mere geographical flights had not solved her problems in the +past, and a further flight back to where her life had begun, although +facile of accomplishment, was too futile to merit consideration. + +Rationalizing thus, she moved away from in front of the Western Union +office and started toward the park two blocks away. She felt that +it was necessary that she do something about herself and her life +and do it immediately. Campbell Kitchen had said that every one +must find salvation within one’s self, that no one in life need be a +total misfit, and that there was some niche for every peg, whether +that peg be round or square. If this were true then surely she could +find hers even at this late date. But then hadn’t she exhausted +all possibilities? Hadn’t she explored every province of life and +everywhere met the same problem? It was easy for Campbell Kitchen or +for Gwendolyn to say what they would do had they been she, for they +were looking at her problem in the abstract, while to her it was an +empirical reality. What could they know of the adjustment proceedings +necessary to make her life more full and more happy? What could they +know of her heartaches? + +She trudged on, absolutely oblivious to the people she passed or to the +noise and bustle of the street. For the first time in her life she felt +that she must definitely come to some conclusion about her life and +govern herself accordingly. After all she wasn’t the only black girl +alive. There were thousands on thousands, who, like her, were plain, +untalented, ordinary, and who, unlike herself, seemed to live in some +degree of comfort. Was she alone to blame for her unhappiness? Although +this had been suggested to her by others, she had been too obtuse to +accept it. She had ever been eager to shift the entire blame on others +when no doubt she herself was the major criminal. + +But having arrived at this--what did it solve or promise for the +future? After all it was not the abstractions of her case which at the +present moment most needed elucidation. She could strive for a change +of mental attitudes later. What she needed to do now was to accept her +black skin as being real and unchangeable, to realize that certain +things were, had been, and would be, and with this in mind begin life +anew, always fighting, not so much for acceptance by other people, +but for acceptance of herself by herself. In the future she would +be eminently selfish. If people came into her life--well and good. +If they didn’t--she would live anyway, seeking to find herself and +achieving meanwhile economic and mental independence. Then possibly, as +Campbell Kitchen had said, life would open up for her, for it seemed +as if its doors yielded more easily to the casual, self-centered +individual than to the ranting, praying pilgrim. After all it was the +end that mattered, and one only wasted time and strength seeking facile +open-sesame means instead of pushing along a more difficult and direct +path. + +By now Emma Lou had reached St. Nicholas Avenue and was about to +cross over into the park when she heard the chimes of a clock and was +reminded of the hour. It was growing late--too late for her to wander +in the park alone where she knew she would be approached either by some +persistent male or an insulting park policeman. Wearily she started +towards home, realizing that it was necessary for her to get some rest +in order to be able to be in her class room on the next morning. She +mustn’t jeopardize her job, for it was partially through the money +she was earning from it that she would be able to find her place in +life. She was tired of running up blind alleys all of which seemed to +converge and lead her ultimately to the same blank wall. Her motto from +now on would be “find--not seek.” All things were at one’s finger-tips. +Life was most kind to those who were judicious in their selections, and +she, weakling that she now realized she was, had not been a connoisseur. + +As she drew nearer home she felt certain that should she attempt to +spend another night with Alva and his child, she would surely smother +to death during the night. And even though she felt this, she also +knew within herself that no matter how much at the present moment she +pretended to hate Alva that he had only to make the proper advances in +order to win her to him again. Yet she also knew that she must leave +him if she was to make her self-proposed adjustment--leave him now even +if she should be weak enough to return at some not so distant date. +She was determined to fight against Alva’s influence over her, fight +even though she lost, for she reasoned that even in losing she would +win a pyrrhic victory and thus make her life less difficult in the +future, for having learned to fight future battles would be easy. + +She tried to convince herself that it would not be necessary for her to +have any more Jasper Cranes or Alvas in her life. To assure herself of +this she intended to look John up on the morrow and if he were willing +let him re-enter her life. It was clear to her now what a complete +fool she had been. It was clear to her at last that she had exercised +the same discrimination against her men and the people she wished for +friends that they had exercised against her--and with less reason. It +served her right that Jasper Crane had fooled her as he did. It served +her right that Alva had used her once for the money she could give +him and again as a black mammy for his child. That was the price she +had had to pay for getting what she thought she wanted. But now she +intended to balance things. Life after all was a give and take affair. +Why should she give important things and receive nothing in return? + +She was in front of the house now and looking up saw that all the +lights in her room were lit. And as she climbed the stairs she could +hear a drunken chorus of raucous masculine laughter. Alva had come +home meanwhile, drunk of course and accompanied by the usual drunken +crowd. Emma Lou started to turn back, to flee into the street--anywhere +to escape being precipitated into another sordid situation, but +remembering that this was to be her last night there, and that the new +day would find her beginning a new life, she subdued her flight impulse +and without knocking threw open the door and walked into the room. She +saw the usual and expected sight: Alva, face a death mask, sitting on +the bed embracing an effeminate boy whom she knew as Bobbie, and who +drew hurriedly away from Alva as he saw her. There were four other +boys in the room, all in varied states of drunkenness--all laughing +boisterously at some obscene witticism. Emma Lou suppressed a shudder +and calmly said “Hello Alva”--The room grew silent. They all seemed +shocked and surprised by her sudden appearance. Alva did not answer +her greeting but instead turned to Bobbie and asked him for another +drink. Bobbie fumbled nervously at his hip pocket and finally produced +a flask which he handed to Alva. Emma Lou stood at the door and watched +Alva drink the liquor Bobbie had given him. Every one else in the room +watched her. For the moment she did not know what to say or what to do. +Obviously she couldn’t continue standing there by the door nor could +she leave and let them feel that she had been completely put to rout. + +Alva handed the flask back to Bobbie, who got up from the bed and said +something about leaving. The others in the room also got up and began +staggering around looking for their hats. Emma Lou thought for a moment +that she was going to win without any further struggle, but she had not +reckoned with Alva who, meanwhile, had sufficiently emerged from his +stupor to realize that his friends were about to go. + +“What the hell’s the matter with you,” he shouted up at Bobbie, and +without waiting for an answer reached out for Bobbie’s arm and jerked +him back down on the bed. + +“Now stay there till I tell you to get up.” + +The others in the room had now found their hats and started toward the +door, eager to escape. Emma Lou crossed the room to where Alva was +sitting and said, “You might make less noise, the baby’s asleep.” + +The four boys had by this time opened the door and staggered out into +the hallway. Bobbie edged nervously away from Alva, who leered up at +Emma Lou and snarled “If you don’t like it--” + +For the moment Emma Lou did not know what to do. Her first impulse was +to strike him, but she was restrained because underneath the loathsome +beast that he now was, she saw the Alva who had first attracted her +to him, the Alva she had always loved. She suddenly felt an immense +compassion for him and had difficulty in stifling an unwelcome urge to +take him into her arms. Tears came into her eyes, and for a moment it +seemed as if all her rationalization would go for naught. Then once +more she saw Alva, not as he had been, but as he was now, a drunken, +drooling libertine, struggling to keep the embarrassed Bobbie in a +vile embrace. Something snapped within her. The tears in her eyes +receded, her features grew set, and she felt herself hardening inside. +Then, without saying a word, she resolutely turned away, went into the +alcove, pulled her suitcases down from the shelf in the clothes-closet, +and, to the blasphemous accompaniment of Alva berating Bobbie for +wishing to leave, finished packing her clothes, not stopping even when +Alva Junior’s cries deafened her, and caused the people in the next +room to stir uneasily. + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + + In the .txt version, surrounding characters have been used to indicate + _Italics_. + Minor typographical and formatting errors have been silently + corrected. + p. 245 changed “Geraldine” to “Gwendolyn” in “Gwendolyn in negligee” + and “Gwendolyn stared hard”. +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78747 *** diff --git a/78747-h/78747-h.htm b/78747-h/78747-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ec859b --- /dev/null +++ b/78747-h/78747-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7796 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + <title> + The blacker the berry | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + line-height: 1.5; + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +p { + margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto; margin-top: 1.5em;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes (includes pagebreak before) */ +.transnote {background-color: #EAFEEA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; + page-break-before: always; +} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + +/* faux-h2 centered */ +.fh2 { + display: block; + font-size: x-large; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; +} + +/* illustrations */ +.illowp5 {width: 5%; max-width: 2.5em;} +.illowp65 {width: 65%; max-width: 32em;} /* portrait image */ + + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3.0em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1.0em; margin-top: .5em;} + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78747 ***</div> + + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp65"> + <img class="w100" src="images/horiz.jpg" alt="Full-width decoration"> +</figure> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> +<h1>THE BLACKER<br>THE BERRY</h1> +</div></div></div> + + +<p class="center">A NOVEL OF<br> +NEGRO LIFE</p> + +<p class="center">By WALLACE THURMAN</p> + +<br> +<figure class="figcenter illowp5"> + <img class="w100" src="images/sm.jpg" alt="Small decoration"> +</figure> +<br><br> + +<p class="center">THE MACAULAY COMPANY<br> +NEW YORK MCMXXIX</p> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp65"> + <img class="w100" src="images/horiz.jpg" alt="Full-width decoration"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> + COPYRIGHT, 1929, BY THE MACAULAY COMPANY<br> + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">PART I — EMMA LOU — <a href="#Page_9">9</a></p> + +<p class="center">PART II — HARLEM — <a href="#Page_75">75</a></p> + +<p class="center">PART III — ALVA — <a href="#Page_111">111</a></p> + +<p class="center">PART IV — RENT PARTY — <a href="#Page_157">157</a></p> + +<p class="center">PART V — PYRRHIC VICTORY — <a href="#Page_217">217</a></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> + <i>TO MA JACK</i> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> +<div class="verse indent0">The blacker the berry</div> +<div class="verse indent0">The sweeter the juice...</div> +<div class="verse indent4">—<i>Negro folk saying</i></div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="verse indent0">My color shrouds me in....</div> +<div class="verse indent4">—<i>Countee Cullen</i></div> +</div></div></div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="fh2"><span class="smcap">Part I</span></p> + <p class="fh2">EMMA LOU</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak">I<br>EMMA LOU</h2> + + + +<p>More acutely than ever before Emma Lou +began to feel that her luscious black complexion +was somewhat of a liability, and that her +marked color variation from the other people in her +environment was a decided curse. Not that she +minded being black, being a Negro necessitated having +a colored skin, but she did mind being too black. +She couldn’t understand why such should be the +case, couldn’t comprehend the cruelty of the natal +attenders who had allowed her to be dipped, as it +were, in indigo ink when there were so many more +pleasing colors on nature’s palette. Biologically, it +wasn’t necessary either; her mother was quite fair, +so was her mother’s mother, and her mother’s brother, +and her mother’s brother’s son; but then none of them +had had a black man for a father. Why <i>had</i> her +mother married a black man? Surely there had been +some eligible brown-skin men around. She didn’t particularly +desire to have had a “high yaller” father, +but for her sake certainly some more happy medium +could have been found.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> + +<p>She wasn’t the only person who regretted her darkness +either. It was an acquired family characteristic, +this moaning and grieving over the color of her skin. +Everything possible had been done to alleviate the +unhappy condition, every suggested agent had been +employed, but her skin, despite bleachings, scourgings, +and powderings, had remained black—fast black—as +nature had planned and effected.</p> + +<p>She should have been born a boy, then color of +skin wouldn’t have mattered so much, for wasn’t her +mother always saying that a black boy could get +along, but that a black girl would never know anything +but sorrow and disappointment? But she wasn’t +a boy; she was a girl, and color did matter, mattered +so much that she would rather have missed receiving +her high school diploma than have to sit as she +now sat, the only odd and conspicuous figure on +the auditorium platform of the Boise high school. +Why had she allowed them to place her in the center +of the first row, and why had they insisted upon +her dressing entirely in white so that surrounded as +she was by similarly attired pale-faced fellow graduates +she resembled, not at all remotely, that comic +picture her Uncle Joe had hung in his bedroom? +The picture wherein the black, kinky head of a little +red-lipped pickaninny lay like a fly in a pan of milk +amid a white expanse of bedclothes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> + +<p>But of course she couldn’t have worn blue or black +when the call was for the wearing of white, even if +white was not complementary to her complexion. +She would have been odd-looking anyway no matter +what she wore and she would also have been conspicuous, +for not only was she the only dark-skinned +person on the platform, she was also the only Negro +pupil in the entire school, and had been for the past +four years. Well, thank goodness, the principal would +soon be through with his monotonous farewell address, +and she and the other members of her class +would advance to the platform center as their names +were called and receive the documents which would +signify their unconditional release from public school.</p> + +<p>As she thought of these things, Emma Lou glanced +at those who sat to the right and to the left of her. +She envied them their obvious elation, yet felt a +strange sense of superiority because of her immunity +for the moment from an ephemeral mob emotion. +Get a diploma?—What did it mean to her? College?—Perhaps. +A job?—Perhaps again. She was going +to have a high school diploma, but it would mean +nothing to her whatsoever. The tragedy of her life +was that she was too black. Her face and not a +slender roll of ribbon-bound parchment was to be her +future identification tag in society. High school diploma +indeed! What she needed was an efficient +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>bleaching agent, a magic cream that would remove +this unwelcome black mask from her face and make +her more like her fellow men.</p> + +<p>“Emma Lou Morgan.”</p> + +<p>She came to with a start. The principal had called +her name and stood smiling down at her benevolently. +Some one—she knew it was her Cousin Buddie, stupid +imp—applauded, very faintly, very provokingly. +Some one else snickered.</p> + +<p>“Emma Lou Morgan.”</p> + +<p>The principal had called her name again, more +sharply than before and his smile was less benevolent. +The girl who sat to the left of her nudged +her. There was nothing else for her to do but to get +out of that anchoring chair and march forward to +receive her diploma. But why did the people in the +audience have to stare so? Didn’t they all know that +Emma Lou Morgan was Boise high school’s only +nigger student? Didn’t they all know—but what was +the use. She had to go get that diploma, so summoning +her most insouciant manner, she advanced to the +platform center, brought every muscle of her lithe +limbs into play, haughtily extended her shiny black +arm to receive the proffered diploma, bowed a chilly +thanks, then holding her arms stiffly at her sides, +insolently returned to her seat in that foreboding white +line, insolently returned once more to splotch its pale +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>purity and to mock it with her dark, outlandish +difference.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou had been born in a semi-white world, +totally surrounded by an all-white one, and those +few dark elements that had forced their way in had +either been shooed away or else greeted with derisive +laughter. It was the custom always of those with +whom she came into most frequent contact to ridicule +or revile any black person or object. A black cat +was a harbinger of bad luck, black crape was the +insignia of mourning, and black people were either +evil niggers with poisonous blue gums or else typical +vaudeville darkies. It seemed as if the people in her +world never went half-way in their recognition or +reception of things black, for these things seemed +always to call forth only the most extreme emotional +reactions. They never provoked mere smiles or mere +melancholy, rather they were the signal either for +boisterous guffaws or pain-induced and tear-attended +grief.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had been becoming increasingly aware +of this for a long time, but her immature mind had +never completely grasped its full, and to her, tragic +significance. First there had been the case of her +father, old black Jim Morgan they called him, and +Emma Lou had often wondered why it was that he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>of all the people she heard discussed by her family +should always be referred to as if his very blackness +condemned him to receive no respect from his fellow +men.</p> + +<p>She had also begun to wonder if it was because +of his blackness that he had never been in evidence +as far as she knew. Inquiries netted very unsatisfactory +answers. “Your father is no good.” “He left your +mother, deserted her shortly after you were born.” +And these statements were always prefixed or followed +by some epithet such as “dirty black no-gooder” +or “durn his onery black hide.” There was +in fact only one member of the family who did not +speak of her father in this manner, and that was +her Uncle Joe, who was also the only person in the +family to whom she really felt akin, because he +alone never seemed to regret, to bemoan, or to ridicule +her blackness of skin. It was her grandmother +who did all the regretting, her mother who did the +bemoaning, her Cousin Buddie and her playmates, +both white and colored, who did the ridiculing.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou’s maternal grandparents, Samuel and +Maria Lightfoot, were both mulatto products of +slave-day promiscuity between male masters and female +chattel. Neither had been slaves, their own +parents having been granted their freedom because of +their rather close connections with the white branch +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>of the family tree. These freedmen had migrated into +Kansas with their children, and when these children +had grown up they in turn had joined the westward-ho +parade of that current era, and finally settled +in Boise, Idaho.</p> + +<p>Samuel and Maria, like many others of their kind +and antecedents, had had only one compelling desire, +which motivated their every activity and dictated +their every thought. They wished to put as much +physical and mental space between them and the +former home of their parents as was possible. That +was why they had left Kansas, for in Kansas there +were too many reminders of that which their parents +had escaped and from which they wished to flee. +Kansas was too near the former slave belt, too accessible +to disgruntled southerners, who, deprived of +their slaves, were inculcated with an easily communicable +virus, nigger hatred. Then, too, in Kansas +all Negroes were considered as belonging to one class. +It didn’t matter if you and your parents had been +freedmen before the Emancipation Proclamation, nor +did it matter that you were almost three-quarters +white. You were, nevertheless, classed with those +hordes of hungry, ragged, ignorant black folk arriving +from the South in such great numbers, packed +like so many stampeding cattle in dirty, manure-littered +box cars.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> + +<p>From all of this these maternal grandparents of +Emma Lou fled, fled to the Rocky Mountain states +which were too far away for the recently freed slaves +to reach, especially since most of them believed that +the world ended just a few miles north of the Mason-Dixon +line. Then, too, not only were the Rocky +Mountain states beyond the reach of this raucous +and smelly rabble of recently freed cotton pickers +and plantation hands, but they were also peopled by +pioneers, sturdy land and gold seekers from the East, +marching westward, always westward in search of +El Dorado, and being too busy in this respect to be +violently aroused by problems of race unless economic +factors precipitated matters.</p> + +<p>So Samuel and Maria went into the fast farness +of a little known Rocky Mountain territory and settled +in Boise, at the time nothing more than a +trading station for the Indians and whites, and a red +light center for the cowboys and sheepherders and +miners in the neighboring vicinity. Samuel went into +the saloon business and grew prosperous. Maria raised +a family and began to mother nuclear elements for +a future select Negro social group.</p> + +<p>There was of course in such a small and haphazardly +populated community some social intermixture +between whites and blacks. White and black +gamblers rolled the dice together, played tricks on one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>another while dealing faro, and became allies in their +attempts to outfigure the roulette wheel. White and +black men amicably frequented the saloons and +dancehalls together. White and black women leaned +out of the doorways and windows of the jerry-built +frame houses and log cabins of “Whore Row.” White +and black housewives gossiped over back fences and +lent one another needed household commodities. But +there was little social intercourse on a higher scale. +Slue-foot Sal, the most popular high yaller on +“Whore Row,” might be a buddy to Irish Peg and +Blond Liz, but Mrs. Amos James, whose husband +owned the town’s only drygoods store, could certainly +not become too familiar with Mrs. Samuel +Lightfoot, colored, whose husband owned a saloon. +And it was not a matter of the difference in their +respective husbands’ businesses. Mrs. Amos James did +associate with Mrs. Arthur Emory, white, whose husband +also owned a saloon. It was purely a matter of +color.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou’s grandmother then, holding herself +aloof from the inmates of “Whore Row,” and not +wishing to associate with such as old Mammy Lewis’ +daughters, who did most of the town wash, and others +of their ilk, was forced to choose her social equals +slowly and carefully. This was hard, for there were +so few Negroes in Boise anyway that there wasn’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>much cream to skim off. But as the years passed, +others, who, like Maria and her husband, were +mulatto offsprings of mulatto freedmen seeking a +freer land, moved in, and were soon initiated into +what was later to be known as the blue vein circle, +so named because all of its members were fair-skinned +enough for their blood to be seen pulsing +purple through the veins of their wrists.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou’s grandmother was the founder and +the acknowledged leader of Boise’s blue veins, and +she guarded its exclusiveness passionately and jealously. +Were they not a superior class? Were they not +a very high type of Negro, comparable to the persons +of color group in the West Indies? And were +they not entitled, ipso facto, to more respect and +opportunity and social acceptance than the more +pure blooded Negroes? In their veins was some of +the best blood of the South. They were closely akin +to the only true aristocrats in the United States. +Even the slave masters had been aware of and +acknowledged in some measure their superiority. +Having some of Marse George’s blood in their veins +set them apart from ordinary Negroes at birth. +These mulattoes as a rule were not ordered to work +in the fields beneath the broiling sun at the urge +of a Simon Legree lash. They were saved and trained +for the more gentle jobs, saved and trained to be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>ladies’ maids and butlers. Therefore, let them continue +this natural division of Negro society. Let them +also guard against unwelcome and degenerating encroachments. +Their motto must be “Whiter and +whiter every generation,” until the grandchildren of +the blue veins could easily go over into the white race +and become assimilated so that problems of race +would plague them no more.</p> + +<p>Maria had preached this doctrine to her two children, +Jane and Joe, throughout their apprentice +years, and can therefore be forgiven for having a +physical collapse when they both, first Joe, then +Emma Lou’s mother, married not mulattoes, but a +copper brown and a blue black. This had been somewhat +of a necessity, for, when the mating call had +made itself heard to them, there had been no eligible +blue veins around. Most of their youthful companions +had been sent away to school or else to seek +careers in eastern cities, and those few who had +remained had already found their chosen life’s companions. +Maria had sensed that something of the +kind might happen and had urged Samuel to send +Jane and Joe away to some eastern boarding school, +but Samuel had very stubbornly refused. He had his +own notions of the sort of things one’s children +learned in boarding school, and of the greater opportunities +they had to apply that learning. True, they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>might acquire the same knowledge in the public +schools of Boise, but then there would be some limit +to the extent to which they could apply this knowledge, +seeing that they lived at home and perforce +must submit to some parental supervision. A cot in +the attic at home was to Samuel a much safer place +for a growing child to sleep than an iron four poster +in a boarding school dormitory.</p> + +<p>So Samuel had remained adamant and the two +carefully reared scions of Boise’s first blue vein family +had of necessity sought their mates among the +lower orders. However, Joe’s wife was not as undesirable +as Emma Lou’s father, for she was almost +three-quarters Indian, and there was scant possibility +that her children would have revolting dark +skins, thick lips, spreading nostrils, and kinky hair. +But in the case of Emma Lou’s father, there were +no such extenuating characteristics, for his physical +properties undeniably stamped him as a full blooded +Negro. In fact, it seemed as if he had come from +one of the few families originally from Africa, who +could not boast of having been seduced by some +member of the southern aristocracy, or befriended +by some member of a strolling band of Indians.</p> + +<p>No one could understand why Emma Lou’s mother +had married Jim Morgan, least of all Jane herself. +In fact she hadn’t thought much about it until +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>Emma Lou had been born. She had first met Jim +at a church picnic, given in a woodlawn meadow +on the outskirts of the city, and almost before she +had realized what was happening she had found herself +slipping away from home, night after night, to +stroll down a well shaded street, known as Lover’s +Lane, with the man her mother had forbidden her to +see. And it hadn’t been long before they had decided +that an elopement would be the only thing to assure +themselves the pleasure of being together without +worrying about Mama Lightfoot’s wrath, talkative +neighbors, prying town marshals, and grass stains.</p> + +<p>Despite the rancor of her mother and the whispering +of her mother’s friends, Jane hadn’t really found +anything to regret in her choice of a husband until +Emma Lou had been born. Then all the fears her +mother had instilled in her about the penalties inflicted +by society upon black Negroes, especially upon +black Negro girls, came to the fore. She was abysmally +stunned by the color of her child, for she had +been certain that since she herself was so fair that +her child could not possibly be as dark as its father. +She had been certain that it would be a luscious +admixture, a golden brown with all its mother’s +desirable facial features and its mother’s hair. But +she hadn’t reckoned with nature’s perversity, nor had +she taken under consideration the inescapable fact +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>that some of her ancestors too had been black, and +that some of their color chromosomes were still imbedded +within her. Emma Lou had been fortunate +enough to have hair like her mother’s, a thick, curly +black mass of hair, rich and easily controlled, but she +had also been unfortunate enough to have a face as +black as her father’s, and a nose which, while not +exactly flat, was as distinctly negroid as her too +thick lips.</p> + +<p>Her birth had served no good purpose. It had +driven her mother back to seek the confidence and +aid of Maria, and it had given Maria the chance she +had been seeking to break up the undesirable union +of her daughter with what she termed an ordinary +black nigger. But Jim’s departure hadn’t solved matters +at all, rather it had complicated them, for although +he was gone, his child remained, a tragic +mistake which could not be stamped out or eradicated +even after Jane, by getting a divorce from Jim +and marrying a red-haired Irish Negro, had been +accepted back into blue vein grace.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou had always been the alien member of +the family and of the family’s social circle. Her +grandmother, now a widow, made her feel it. Her +mother made her feel it. And her Cousin Buddie +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>made her feel it, to say nothing of the way she was +regarded by outsiders. As early as she could remember, +people had been saying to her mother, “What an +extraordinarily black child! Where did you adopt +it?” or else, “Such lovely unniggerish hair on such +a niggerish-looking child.” Some had even been facetious +and made suggestions like, “Try some lye, Jane, +it may eat it out. She can’t look any worse.”</p> + +<p>Then her mother’s re-marriage had brought another +person into her life, a person destined to give +her, while still a young child, much pain and unhappiness. +Aloysius McNamara was his name. He was +the bastard son of an Irish politician and a Negro +washerwoman, and until he had been sent East to a +parochial school, Aloysius, so named because that +was his father’s middle name, had always been known +as Aloysius Washington, and the identity of his +own father had never been revealed to him by his +proud and humble mother. But since his father had +been prevailed upon to pay for his education, Aloysius’ +mother thought it the proper time to tell her +son his true origin and to let him assume his real +name. She had hopes that away from his home town +he might be able to pass for white and march unhindered +by bars of color to fame and fortune.</p> + +<p>But such was not to be the case, for Emma Lou’s +prospective stepfather was so conscious of the Negro +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>blood in his veins and so bitter because of it, that +he used up whatever talents he had groaning inwardly +at capricious fate, and planning revenge upon +the world at large, especially the black world. For it +was Negroes and not whites whom he blamed for +his own, to him, life’s tragedy. He was not fair +enough of skin, despite his mother’s and his own +hopes, to pass for white. There was a brownness in +his skin, inherited from his mother, which immediately +marked him out for what he was, despite +the red hair and the Irish blue eyes. And his facial +features had been modeled too generously. He was +not thin lipped, nor were his nostrils as delicately +chiseled as they might have been. He was a Negro. +There was no getting around it, although he tried in +every possible way to do so.</p> + +<p>Finishing school, he had returned West for the +express purpose of making his father accept him publicly +and personally advance his career. He had +wanted to be a lawyer and figured that his father’s +political pull was sufficiently strong to draw him beyond +race barriers and set him as one apart. His +father had not been entirely cold to these plans and +proposals, but his father’s wife had been. She didn’t +mind her husband giving this nigger bastard of his +money, and receiving him in his home on rare and +private occasions. She was trying to be liberal, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>she wasn’t going to have people point to her and say, +“That’s Boss McNamara’s wife. Wonder if that +nigger son is his’n or hers. They do say....” So +Aloysius had found himself shunted back into the +black world he so despised. He couldn’t be made to +realize that being a Negro did not necessarily indicate +that one must also be a ne’er-do-well. Had he +been white, or so he said, he would have been a successful +criminal lawyer, but being considered black +it was impossible for him ever to be anything more +advanced than a pullman car porter or a dining +car waiter, and acting upon this premise, he hadn’t +tried to be anything else.</p> + +<p>His only satisfaction in life was the pleasure he +derived from insulting and ignoring the real blacks. +Persons of color, mulattoes, were all right, but he +couldn’t stand detestable black Negroes. Unfortunately, +Emma Lou fell into this latter class, and suffered +at his hands accordingly, until he finally ran +away from his wife, Emma Lou, Boise, Negroes, and +all, ran away to Canada with Diamond Lil of “Whore +Row.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Summer vacation was nearly over and it had not +yet been decided what to do with Emma Lou now +that she had graduated from high school. She herself +gave no help nor offered any suggestions. As it was, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>she really did not care what became of her. After all +it didn’t seem to matter. There was no place in the +world for a girl as black as she anyway. Her grandmother +had assured her that she would never find a +husband worth a dime, and her mother had said +again and again, “Oh, if you had only been a boy!” +until Emma Lou had often wondered why it was that +people were not able to effect a change of sex or at +least a change of complexion.</p> + +<p>It was her Uncle Joe who finally prevailed upon +her mother to send her to the University of Southern +California in Los Angeles. There, he reasoned, she +would find a larger and more intelligent social circle. +In a city the size of Los Angeles there were Negroes +of every class, color, and social position. Let Emma +Lou go there where she would not be as far away +from home as if she were to go to some eastern +college.</p> + +<p>Jane and Maria, while not agreeing entirely with +what Joe said, were nevertheless glad that at last +something which seemed adequate and sensible could +be done for Emma Lou. She was to take the four +year college course, receive a bachelor degree in education, +then go South to teach. That, they thought, +was a promising future, and for once in the eighteen +years of Emma Lou’s life every one was satisfied in +some measure. Even Emma Lou grew elated over the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>prospects of the trip. Her Uncle Joe’s insistence upon +the differences of social contacts in larger cities intrigued +her. Perhaps he was right after all in continually +reasserting to them that as long as one was +a Negro, one’s specific color had little to do with +one’s life. Salvation depended upon the individual. +And he also told Emma Lou, during one of their +usual private talks, that it was only in small cities +one encountered stupid color prejudice such as she +had encountered among the blue vein circle in her +home town.</p> + +<p>“People in large cities,” he had said, “are broad. +They do not have time to think of petty things. The +people in Boise are fifty years behind the times, but +you will find that Los Angeles is one of the world’s +greatest and most modern cities, and you will be +happy there.”</p> + +<p>On arriving in Los Angeles, Emma Lou was so +busy observing the colored inhabitants that she had +little time to pay attention to other things. Palm +trees and wild geraniums were pleasant to behold, +and such strange phenomena as pepper trees and +century plants had to be admired. They were very +obvious and they were also strange and beautiful, +but they impinged upon only a small corner of +Emma Lou’s consciousness. She was minutely aware +of them, necessarily took them in while passing, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>viewing the totality without pondering over or lingering +to praise their stylistic details. They were, in +this instance, exquisite theatrical props, rendered insignificant +by a more strange and a more beautiful +human pageant. For to Emma Lou, who, in all her +life, had never seen over five hundred Negroes, the +spectacle presented by a community containing over +fifty thousand, was sufficient to make relatively commonplace +many more important and charming things +than the far famed natural scenery of Southern +California.</p> + +<p>She had arrived in Los Angeles a week before +registration day at the university, and had spent her +time in being shown and seeing the city. But whenever +these sightseeing excursions took her away from +the sections where Negroes lived, she immediately +lost all interest in what she was being shown. The +Pacific Ocean in itself did not cause her heart beat +to quicken, nor did the roaring of its waves find an +emotional echo within her. But on coming upon +Bruce’s Beach for colored people near Redondo, or +the little strip of sandied shore they had appropriated +for themselves at Santa Monica, the Pacific +Ocean became an intriguing something to contemplate +as a background for their activities. Everything +was interesting as it was patronized, reflected +through, or acquired by Negroes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> + +<p>Her Uncle Joe had been right. Here, in the colored +social circles of Los Angeles, Emma Lou was certain +that she would find many suitable companions, intelligent, +broad-minded people of all complexions, +intermixing and being too occupied otherwise to +worry about either their own skin color or the skin +color of those around them. Her Uncle Joe had said +that Negroes were Negroes whether they happened to +be yellow, brown, or black, and a conscious effort to +eliminate the darker elements would neither prove +nor solve anything. There was nothing quite so silly +as the creed of the blue veins: “Whiter and whiter, +every generation. The nearer white you are the more +white people will respect you. Therefore all light +Negroes marry light Negroes. Continue to do so generation +after generation, and eventually white people +will accept this racially, bastard aristocracy, thus +enabling those Negroes who really matter to escape +the social and economic inferiority of the American +Negro.”</p> + +<p>Such had been the credo of her grandmother and of +her mother and of their small circle of friends in +Boise. But Boise was a provincial town, given to the +molding of provincial people with provincial minds. +Boise was a backwoods town out of the main stream +of modern thought and progress. Its people were +cramped and narrow, their intellectual concepts +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>stereotyped and static. Los Angeles was a happy contrast +in all respects.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>On registration day, Emma Lou rushed out to the +campus of the University of Southern California one +hour before the registrar’s office was scheduled to +open. She spent the time roaming around, familiarizing +herself with the layout of the campus and learning +the names of the various buildings, some old and +vineclad, others new and shiny in the sun, and watching +the crowds of laughing students, rushing to and +fro, greeting one another and talking over their plans +for the coming school year. But her main reason for +such an early arrival on the campus had been to find +some of her fellow Negro students. She had heard +that there were to be quite a number enrolled, but in +all her hour’s stroll she saw not one, and finally somewhat +disheartened she got into the line stretched out +in front of the registrar’s office, and, for the moment, +became engrossed in becoming a college freshman.</p> + +<p>All the while, though, she kept searching for a +colored face, but it was not until she had been duly +signed up as a student and sent in search of her +advisor that she saw one. Then three colored girls +had sauntered into the room where she was having +a conference with her advisor, sauntered in, arms +interlocked, greeted her advisor, then sauntered out +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>again. Emma Lou had wanted to rush after them—to +introduce herself, but of course it had been impossible +under the circumstances. She had immediately +taken a liking to all three, each of whom was +what is known in the parlance of the black belt as +high brown, with modishly-shingled bobbed hair and +well formed bodies, fashionably attired in flashy +sport garments. From then on Emma Lou paid little +attention to the business of choosing subjects and +class hours, so little attention in fact that the advisor +thought her exceptionally tractable and somewhat +dumb. But she liked students to come that way. It +made the task of being advisor easy. One just made +out the program to suit oneself, and had no tedious +explanations to make as to why the student could +not have such and such a subject at such and such +an hour, and why such and such a professor’s class +was already full.</p> + +<p>After her program had been made out, Emma Lou +was directed to the bursar’s office to pay her fees. +While going down the stairs she almost bumped into +two dark-brown-skinned boys, obviously brothers if +not twins, arguing as to where they should go next. +One insisted that they should go back to the registrar’s +office. The other was being equally insistent +that they should go to the gymnasium and make an +appointment for their required physical examination. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>Emma Lou boldly stopped when she saw them, hoping +they would speak, but they merely glanced up at +her and continued their argument, bringing cards and +pamphlets out of their pockets for reference and +guidance. Emma Lou wanted to introduce herself to +them, but she was too bashful to do so. She wasn’t +yet used to going to school with other Negro students, +and she wasn’t exactly certain how one went about +becoming acquainted. But she finally decided that +she had better let the advances come from the others, +especially if they were men. There was nothing forward +about her, and since she was a stranger it was +no more than right that the old-timers should make +her welcome. Still, if these had been girls ..., but +they weren’t, so she continued her way down the +stairs.</p> + +<p>In the bursar’s office, she was somewhat overjoyed +at first to find that she had fallen into line behind +another colored girl who turned around immediately, +and, after saying hello, announced in a loud, harsh +voice:</p> + +<p>“My feet are sure some tired!”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was so taken aback that she couldn’t +answer. People in college didn’t talk that way. But +meanwhile the girl was continuing:</p> + +<p>“Ain’t this registration a mess?”</p> + +<p>Two white girls who had fallen into line behind +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>Emma Lou snickered. Emma Lou answered by shaking +her head. The girl continued:</p> + +<p>“I’ve been standin’ in line and climbin’ stairs and +talkin’ and a-signin’ till I’m just ’bout done for.”</p> + +<p>“It is tiresome,” Emma Lou returned softly, hoping +the girl would take a hint and lower her own +strident voice. But she didn’t.</p> + +<p>“Tiresome ain’t no name for it,” she declared more +loudly than ever before, then, “Is you a new +student?”</p> + +<p>“I am,” answered Emma Lou, putting much emphasis +on the “I am.”</p> + +<p>She wanted the white people who were listening to +know that she knew her grammar if this other person +didn’t. “Is you,” indeed! If this girl was a specimen +of the Negro students with whom she was to associate, +she most certainly did not want to meet another +one. But it couldn’t be possible that all of them—those +three girls and those two boys for instance—were +like this girl. Emma Lou was unable to imagine +how such a person had ever gotten out of high school. +Where on earth could she have gone to high school? +Surely not in the North. Then she must be a southerner. +That’s what she was, a southerner—Emma +Lou curled her lips a little—no wonder the colored +people in Boise spoke as they did about southern +Negroes and wished that they would stay South. Imagine +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>any one preparing to enter college saying “Is +you,” and, to make it worse, right before all these +white people, these staring white people, so eager and +ready to laugh. Emma Lou’s face burned.</p> + +<p>“Two mo’, then I goes in my sock.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was almost at the place where she +was ready to take even this statement literally, and +was on the verge of leaving the line. Supposing this +creature did “go in her sock!” God forbid!</p> + +<p>“Wonder where all the spades keep themselves? I +ain’t seen but two ’sides you.”</p> + +<p>“I really do not know,” Emma Lou returned precisely +and chillily. She had no intentions of becoming +friendly with this sort of person. Why she would +be ashamed even to be seen on the street with her, +dressed as she was in a red-striped sport suit, a +white hat, and white shoes and stockings. Didn’t she +know that black people had to be careful about the +colors they affected?</p> + +<p>The girl had finally reached the bursar’s window +and was paying her fees, and loudly differing with +the cashier about the total amount due.</p> + +<p>“I tell you it ain’t that much,” she shouted through +the window bars. “I figured it up myself before I +left home.”</p> + +<p>The cashier obligingly turned to her adding +machine and once more obtained the same total. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>When shown this, the girl merely grinned, examined +the list closely, and said:</p> + +<p>“I’m gonna’ pay it, but I still think you’re wrong.”</p> + +<p>Finally she moved away from the window, but not +before she had turned to Emma Lou and said, +“You’re next,” and then proceeded to wait until +Emma Lou had finished.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou vainly sought some way to escape, but +was unable to do so, and had no choice but to walk +with the girl to the registrar’s office where they had +their cards stamped in return for the bursar’s receipt. +This done, they went onto the campus together. +Hazel Mason was the girl’s name. Emma Lou had +fully expected it to be either Hyacinth or Geranium. +Hazel was from Texas, Prairie Valley, Texas, and she +told Emma Lou that her father, having become quite +wealthy when oil had been found on his farm lands, +had been enabled to realize two life ambitions—obtain +a Packard touring car and send his only +daughter to a “fust-class” white school.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had planned to loiter around the +campus. She was still eager to become acquainted +with the colored members of the student body, and +this encounter with the crass and vulgar Hazel Mason +had only made her the more eager. She resented being +approached by any one so flagrantly inferior, any +one so noticeably a typical southern darky, who had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>no business obtruding into the more refined scheme +of things. Emma Lou planned to lose her unwelcome +companion somewhere on the campus so that she +could continue unhindered her quest for agreeable +acquaintances.</p> + +<p>But Hazel was as anxious to meet some one as was +Emma Lou, and having found her was not going to +let her get away without a struggle. She, too, was new +to this environment and in a way was more lonely +and eager for the companionship of her own kind +than Emma Lou, for never before had she come into +such close contact with so many whites. Her life had +been spent only among Negroes. Her fellow pupils +and teachers in school had always been colored, and +as she confessed to Emma Lou, she couldn’t get used +“to all these white folks.”</p> + +<p>“Honey, I was just achin’ to see a black face,” she +had said, and, though Emma Lou was experiencing +the same ache, she found herself unable to sympathize +with the other girl, for Emma Lou classified +Hazel as a barbarian who had most certainly not +come from a family of best people. No doubt her +mother had been a washerwoman. No doubt she had +innumerable relatives and friends all as ignorant and +as ugly as she. There was no sense in any one having +a face as ugly as Hazel’s, and Emma Lou thanked her +stars that though she was black, her skin was not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>rough and pimply, nor was her hair kinky, nor were +her nostrils completely flattened out until they +seemed to spread all over her face. No wonder people +were prejudiced against dark skinned people when +they were so ugly, so haphazard in their dress, and +so boisterously mannered as was this present specimen. +She herself was black, but nevertheless she had +come from a good family, and she could easily take +her place in a society of the right sort of people.</p> + +<p>The two strolled along the lawn-bordered gravel +path which led to a vine-covered building at the end +of the campus. Hazel never ceased talking. She kept +shouting at Emma Lou, shouting all sorts of personal +intimacies as if she were desirous of the whole world +hearing them. There was no necessity for her to talk +so loudly, no necessity for her to afford every one on +the crowded campus the chance to stare and laugh +at them as they passed. Emma Lou had never before +been so humiliated and so embarrassed. She felt +that she must get away from her offensive companion. +What did she care if she had to hurt her feelings +to do so. The more insulting she could be now, the +less friendly she would have to be in the future.</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” she said abruptly, “I must go home.” +With which she turned away and walked rapidly in +the opposite direction. She had only gone a few steps +when she was aware of the fact that the girl was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>following her. She quickened her pace, but the girl +caught up with her and grabbing hold of Emma Lou’s +arm, shouted, “Whoa there, Sally.”</p> + +<p>It seemed to Emma Lou as if every one on the +campus was viewing and enjoying this minstrel-like +performance. Angrily she tried to jerk away, but the +girl held fast.</p> + +<p>“Gal, you sure walk fast. I’m going your way. +Come on, let me drive you home in my buggy.”</p> + +<p>And still holding on to Emma Lou’s arm, she led +the way to the side street where the students parked +their cars. Emma Lou was powerless to resist. The +girl didn’t give her a chance, for she held tight, then +immediately resumed the monologue which Emma +Lou’s attempted leave-taking had interrupted. They +reached the street, Hazel still talking loudly, and +making elaborate gestures with her free hand.</p> + +<p>“Here we are,” she shouted, and releasing Emma +Lou’s arm, salaamed before a sport model Stutz +roadster. “Oscar,” she continued, “meet the new girl +friend. Pleased to meetcha, says he. Climb aboard.”</p> + +<p>And Emma Lou had climbed aboard, perplexed, +chagrined, thoroughly angry, and disgusted. What +was this little black fool doing with a Stutz roadster? +And of course, it would be painted red—Negroes always +bedecked themselves and their belongings in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>ridiculously unbecoming colors and ornaments. It +seemed to be a part of their primitive heritage which +they did not seem to have sense enough to forget +and deny. Black girl—white hat—red and white +striped sport suit—white shoes and stockings—red +roadster. The picture was complete. All Hazel needed +to complete her circus-like appearance, thought +Emma Lou, was to have some purple feathers stuck +in her hat.</p> + +<p>Still talking, the girl unlocked and proceeded to +start the car. As she was backing it out of the narrow +parking space, Emma Lou heard a chorus of semi-suppressed +giggles from a neighboring automobile. +In her anger she had failed to notice that there were +people in the car parked next to the Stutz. But as +Hazel expertly swung her machine around, Emma +Lou caught a glimpse of them. They were all colored +and they were all staring at her and at Hazel. She +thought she recognized one of the girls as being one +of the group she had seen earlier that morning, and +she did recognize the two brothers she had passed on +the stairs. And as the roadster sped away, their +laughter echoed in her ears, although she hadn’t actually +heard it. But she had seen the strain in their +faces, and she knew that as soon as she and Hazel +were out of sight, they would give free rein to their +suppressed mirth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>Although Emma Lou had finished registering, she +returned to the university campus on the following +morning in order to continue her quest for collegiate +companions without the alarming and unwelcome +presence of Hazel Mason. She didn’t know whether +to be sorry for the girl and try to help her or to be +disgusted and avoid her. She didn’t want to be intimately +associated with any such vulgar person. It +would damage her own position, cause her to be +classified with some one who was in a class by herself, +for Emma Lou was certain that there was not, and +could not be, any one else in the university just like +Hazel. But despite her vulgarity, the girl was not +all bad. Her good nature was infectious, and Emma +Lou had surmised from her monologue on the day +before how utterly unselfish a person she could be +and was. All of her store of the world’s goods were +at hand to be used and enjoyed by her friends. +There was not, as she had said, “a selfish bone in her +body.” But even that did not alter the disgusting +fact that she was not one who would be welcome by +the “right sort of people.” Her flamboyant style of +dress, her loud voice, her raucous laughter, and her +flagrant disregard or ignorance of English grammar +seemed inexcusable to Emma Lou, who was unable +to understand how such a person could stray so far +from the environment in which she rightfully belonged +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>to enter a first class university. Now Hazel, +according to Emma Lou, was the type of Negro +who should go to a Negro college. There were plenty +of them in the South whose standard of scholarship +was not beyond her ability. And then, in one of those +schools, her darky-like clownishness would not have +to be paraded in front of white people, thereby causing +discomfort and embarrassment to others of her +race, more civilized and circumspect than she.</p> + +<p>The problem irritated Emma Lou. She didn’t see +why it had to be. She had looked forward so anxiously, +and so happily to her introductory days on the +campus, and now her first experience with one of her +fellow colored students had been an unpleasant one. +But she didn’t intend to let that make her unhappy. +She was determined to return to the campus alone, +seek out other companions, see whether they accepted +or ignored the offending Hazel, and govern herself +accordingly.</p> + +<p>It was early and there were few people on the +campus. The grass was still wet from a heavy overnight +dew, and the sun had not yet dispelled the +coolness of the early morning. Emma Lou’s dress +was of thin material and she shivered as she walked +or stood in the shade. She had no school business to +attend to; there was nothing for her to do but to walk +aimlessly about the campus.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> + +<p>In another hour, Emma Lou was pleased to see +that the campus walks were becoming crowded, and +that the side streets surrounding the campus were +now heavy with student traffic. Things were beginning +to awaken. Emma Lou became jubilant and +walked with jaunty step from path to path, from +building to building. It then occurred to her that she +had been told that there were more Negro students +enrolled in the School of Pharmacy than in any other +department of the university, so finding the Pharmacy +building she began to wander through its +crowded hallways.</p> + +<p>Almost immediately, she saw a group of five Negro +students, three boys and two girls, standing near a +water fountain. She was both excited and perplexed, +excited over the fact that she was so close to those +she wished to find, and perplexed because she did +not know how to approach them. Had there been +only one person standing there, the matter would +have been comparatively easy. She could have approached +with a smile and said, “Good morning.” +The person would have returned her greeting, and it +would then have been a simple matter to get +acquainted.</p> + +<p>But five people in one bunch, all known to one +another and all chatting intimately together!—it +would seem too much like an intrusion to go bursting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>into their gathering—too forward and too vulgar. +Then, there was nothing she could say after having +said “good morning.” One just didn’t break into a +group of five and say, “I’m Emma Lou Morgan, a +new student, and I want to make friends with you.” +No, she couldn’t do that. She would just smile as she +passed, smile graciously and friendly. They would +know that she was a stranger, and her smile would +assure them that she was anxious to make friends, +anxious to become a welcome addition to their group.</p> + +<p>One of the group of five had sighted Emma Lou as +soon as she had sighted them:</p> + +<p>“Who’s this?” queried Helen Wheaton, a senior in +the College of Law.</p> + +<p>“Some new ‘pick,’ I guess,” answered Bob Armstrong, +who was Helen’s fiance and a senior in the +School of Architecture.</p> + +<p>“I bet she’s going to take Pharmacy,” whispered +Amos Blaine.</p> + +<p>“She’s hottentot enough to take something,” mumbled +Tommy Brown. “Thank God, she won’t be in +any of our classes, eh Amos?”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was almost abreast of them now. They +lowered their voices, and made a pretense of mumbled +conversation among themselves. Only Verne +Davis looked directly at her and it was she alone who +returned Emma Lou’s smile.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> + +<p>“Whatcha grinnin’ at?” Bob chided Verne as +Emma Lou passed out of earshot.</p> + +<p>“At the little frosh, of course. She grinned at me. +I couldn’t stare at her without returning it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how anybody could even look at her +without grinning.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s not so bad,” said Verne.</p> + +<p>“Well, she’s bad enough.”</p> + +<p>“That makes two of them.”</p> + +<p>“Two of what, Amos?”</p> + +<p>“Hottentots, Bob.”</p> + +<p>“Good grief,” exclaimed Tommy, “why don’t you +recruit some good-looking co-eds out here?”</p> + +<p>“We don’t choose them,” Helen returned.</p> + +<p>“I’m going out to the Southern Branch where the +sight of my fellow female students won’t give me +dyspepsia.”</p> + +<p>“Ta-ta, Amos,” said Verne, “and you needn’t +bother to sit in my car any more if you think us so +terrible.” She and Helen walked away, leaving the +boys to discuss the sad days which had fallen upon +the campus.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou, of course, knew nothing of all this. +She had gone her way rejoicing. One of the students +had noticed her, had returned her smile. This getting +acquainted was going to be an easy matter after all. +It was just necessary that she exercise a little patience. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>One couldn’t expect people to fall all over one +without some preliminary advances. True, she was a +stranger, but she would show them in good time that +she was worthy of their attention, that she was a +good fellow and a well-bred individual quite prepared +to be accepted by the best people.</p> + +<p>She strolled out on to the campus again trying to +find more prospective acquaintances. The sun was +warm now, the grass dry, and the campus overcrowded. +There was an infectious germ of youth and +gladness abroad to which Emma Lou could not remain +immune. Already she was certain that she felt +the presence of that vague something known as “college +spirit.” It seemed to enter into her, to make her +jubilant and set her every nerve tingling. This was no +time for sobriety. It was the time for youth’s blood to +run hot, the time for love and sport and wholesome +fun.</p> + +<p>Then Emma Lou saw a solitary Negro girl seated +on a stone bench. It did not take her a second to +decide what to do. Here was her chance. She would +make friends with this girl and should she happen +to be a new student, they could become friends and +together find their way into the inner circle of those +colored students who really mattered.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was essentially a snob. She had absorbed +this trait from the very people who had sought +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>to exclude her from their presence. All of her life +she had heard talk of “right sort of people,” and +of “the people who really mattered,” and from these +phrases she had formed a mental image of those to +whom they applied. Hazel Mason most certainly +could not be included in either of these categories. +Hazel was just a vulgar little nigger from down +South. It was her kind, who, when they came North, +made it hard for the colored people already resident +there. It was her kind who knew nothing of the social +niceties or the polite conventions. In their own home +they had been used only to coarse work and coarser +manners. And they had been forbidden the chance +to have intimate contact in schools and in public +with white people from whom they might absorb +some semblance of culture. When they did come +North and get a chance to go to white schools, white +theaters, and white libraries, they were too unused +to them to appreciate what they were getting, and +could be expected to continue their old way of life in +an environment where such a way was decidedly +out of place.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was determined to become associated +only with those people who really mattered, northerners +like herself or superior southerners, if there +were any, who were different from whites only in so +far as skin color was concerned. This girl, to whom she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>was now about to introduce herself, was the type she +had in mind, genteel, well and tastily dressed, and +not ugly.</p> + +<p>“Good morning.”</p> + +<p>Alma Martin looked up from the book she was +reading, gulped in surprise, then answered, “Good +morning.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou sat down on the bench. She was congeniality +itself. “Are you a new student?” she inquired +of the astonished Alma, who wasn’t used to +this sort of thing.</p> + +<p>“No, I’m a ‘soph’,” then realizing she was expected +to say more, “you’re new, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” replied Emma Lou, her voice buoyant +and glad. “This will be my first year.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think you will like it?”</p> + +<p>“I’m just crazy about it already. You know,” she +advanced confidentially, “I’ve never gone to school +with any colored people before.”</p> + +<p>“No?”</p> + +<p>“No, and I am just dying to get acquainted with +the colored students. Oh, my name’s Emma Lou +Morgan.”</p> + +<p>“And mine is Alma Martin.”</p> + +<p>They both laughed. There was a moment of silence. +Alma looked at her wrist watch, then got up from +the bench.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m glad to have met you. I’ve got to see my +advisor at ten-thirty. Good-by.” And she moved +away gracefully.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was having difficulty in keeping from +clapping her hands. At last she had made some headway. +She had met a second-year student, one who, +from all appearances, was in the know, and, who, as +they met from time to time, would see that she met +others. In a short time Emma Lou felt that she would +be in the whirl of things collegiate. She must write +to her Uncle Joe immediately and let him know how +well things were going. He had been right. This was +the place for her to be. There had been no one in +Boise worth considering. Here she was coming into +contact with really superior people, intelligent, genteel, +college-bred, all trying to advance themselves +and their race, unconscious of intra-racial schisms, +caused by differences in skin color.</p> + +<p>She mustn’t stop upon meeting one person. She +must find others, so once more she began her quest +and almost immediately met Verne and Helen strolling +down one of the campus paths. She remembered +Verne as the girl who had smiled at her. She observed +her more closely, and admired her pleasant dark +brown face, made doubly attractive by two evenly +placed dimples and a pair of large, heavily-lidded, +pitch black eyes. Emma Lou thought her to be much +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>more attractive than the anemic-looking yellow girl +with whom she was strolling. There was something +about this second girl which made Emma Lou feel +that she was not easy to approach.</p> + +<p>“Good morning.” Emma Lou had evolved a +formula.</p> + +<p>“Good morning,” the two girls spoke in unison. +Helen was about to walk on but Verne stopped.</p> + +<p>“New student?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am.”</p> + +<p>“So am I. I’m Verne Davis.”</p> + +<p>“I’m Emma Lou Morgan.”</p> + +<p>“And this is Helen Wheaton.”</p> + +<p>“Pleased to meet you, Miss Morgan.”</p> + +<p>“And I’m pleased to meet you, too, both of you,” +gushed Emma Lou. “You see, I’m from Boise, Idaho, +and all through high school I was the only colored +student.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so?” Helen inquired listlessly. Then turning +to Verne said, “Better come on Verne if you are +going to drive us out to the ‘Branch’.”</p> + +<p>“All right. We’ve got to run along now. We’ll see +you again, Miss Morgan. Good-by.”</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” said Emma Lou and stood watching +them as they went on their way. Yes, college life was +going to be the thing to bring her out, the turning +point in her life. She would show the people back in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>Boise that she did not have to be a “no-gooder” as +they claimed her father had been, just because she +was black. She would show all of them that a dark +skin girl could go as far in life as a fair skin one, and +that she could have as much opportunity and as +much happiness. What did the color of one’s skin +have to do with one’s mentality or native ability? +Nothing whatsoever. If a black boy could get along +in the world, so could a black girl, and it would take +her, Emma Lou Morgan, to prove it.</p> + +<p>With which she set out to make still more +acquaintances.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Two weeks of school had left Emma Lou’s mind +in a chaotic state. She was unable to draw any +coherent conclusions from the jumble of new things +she had experienced. In addition to her own social +strivings, there had been the academic routine to +which she had had to adapt herself. She had found it +all bewildering and overpowering. The university was +a huge business proposition and every one in it had +jobs to perform. Its bigness awed her. Its blatant +reality shocked her. There was nothing romantic +about going to college. It was, indeed, a serious business. +One went there with a purpose and had several +other purposes inculcated into one after school began. +This getting an education was stern and serious, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>regulated and systematized, dull and unemotional.</p> + +<p>Besides being disappointed at the drabness and +lack of romance in college routine, Emma Lou was +also depressed by her inability to make much headway +in the matter of becoming intimately associated +with her colored campus mates. They were all polite +enough. They all acknowledged their introductions +to her and would speak whenever they passed her, +but seldom did any of them stop for a chat, and +when she joined the various groups which gathered +on the campus lawn between classes, she always felt +excluded and out of things because she found herself +unable to participate in the general conversation. +They talked of things about which she knew nothing, +of parties and dances, and of people she did not +know. They seemed to live a life off the campus to +which she was not privy, and into which they did +not seem particularly anxious to introduce her.</p> + +<p>She wondered why she never knew of the parties +they talked about, and why she never received invitations +to any of their affairs. Perhaps it was because +she was still new and comparatively unknown +to them. She felt that she must not forget that most +of them had known one another for a long period of +time and that it was necessary for people who “belonged” +to be wary of strangers. That was it. She was +still a stranger, had only been among them for about +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>two weeks. What did she expect? Why was she so +impatient?</p> + +<p>The thought of the color question presented itself +to her time and time again, but she would always +dismiss it from her mind. Verne Davis was dark and +she was not excluded from the sacred inner circle. +In fact, she was one of the most popular colored +girls on the campus. The only thing that perplexed +Emma Lou was that although Verne too was new to +the group, had just recently moved into the city, and +was also just beginning her first year at the University, +she had not been kept at a distance or excluded +from any of the major extra-collegiate activities. +Emma Lou could not understand why there +should be this difference in their social acceptance. +She was certainly as good as Verne.</p> + +<p>In time Emma Lou became certain that it was +because of her intimacy with Hazel that the people on +the campus she really wished to be friendly with paid +her so little attention. Hazel was a veritable clown. +She went scooting about the campus, cutting capers, +playing the darky for the amused white students. +Any time Hazel asked or answered a question in +any of the lecture halls, there was certain to be +laughter. She had a way of phrasing what she wished +to say in a manner which was invariably laugh provoking. +The very tone and quality of her voice designated +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>her as a minstrel type. In the gymnasium she +would do buck and wing dances and play low-down +blues on the piano. She was a pariah among her own +people because she did not seem to know, as they +knew, that Negroes could not afford to be funny in +front of white people even if that was their natural +inclination. Negroes must always be sober and serious +in order to impress white people with their adaptability +and non-difference in all salient characteristics +save skin color. All of the Negro students on +the campus, except Emma Lou, laughed at her openly +and called her Topsy. Emma Lou felt sorry for her +although she, too, regretted her comic propensities +and wished that she would be less the vaudevillian +and more the college student.</p> + +<p>Besides Hazel, there was only one other person on +the campus who was friendly with Emma Lou. This +was Grace Giles, also a black girl, who was registered +in the School of Music. The building in which she +had her classes was located some distance away, and +Grace did not get over to the main campus grounds +very often, but when she did, she always looked for +Emma Lou and made welcome overtures of friendship. +It was her second year in the university, and +yet, she too seemed to be on the outside of things. +She didn’t seem to be invited to the parties and +dances, nor was she a member of the Greek letter +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>sorority which the colored girls had organized. Emma +Lou asked her why.</p> + +<p>“Have they pledged you?” was Grace Giles’ +answer.</p> + +<p>“Why no.”</p> + +<p>“And they won’t either.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” Emma Lou asked surprised.</p> + +<p>“Because you are not a high brown or half-white.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had thought this too, but she had been +loathe to believe it.</p> + +<p>“You’re silly, Grace. Why—Verne belongs.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah,” Grace had sneered, “Verne, a bishop’s +daughter with plenty of coin and a big Buick. Why +shouldn’t they ask her?”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou did not know what to make of this. +She did not want to believe that the same color +prejudice which existed among the blue veins in +Boise also existed among the colored college students. +Grace Giles was just hypersensitive. She wasn’t taking +into consideration the fact that she was not on +the campus regularly and thus could not expect to be +treated as if she were. Emma Lou fully believed that +had Grace been a regularly enrolled student like herself, +she would have found things different, and she +was also certain that both she and Grace would be +asked to join the sorority in due time.</p> + +<p>But they weren’t. Nor did an entire term in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>school change things one whit. The Christmas holidays +had come and gone and Emma Lou had not +been invited to one of the many parties. She and +Grace and Hazel bound themselves together and +sought their extra-collegiate pleasures among people +not on the campus. Hazel began to associate with a +group of housemaids and mature youths who worked +only when they had to, and played the pool rooms +and the housemaids as long as they proved profitable. +Hazel was a welcome addition to this particular group +what with her car and her full pocketbook. She had +never been proficient in her studies, had always found +it impossible to keep pace with the other students, +and, finally realizing that she did not belong and +perhaps never would, had decided to “go to the +devil,” and be done with it.</p> + +<p>It was not long before Hazel was absent from the +campus more often than she was present. Going to +cabarets and parties, and taking long drunken midnight +drives made her more and more unwilling and +unable to undertake the scholastic grind on the next +morning. Just before the mid-term examinations, she +was advised by the faculty to drop out of school until +the next year, and to put herself in the hands of a +tutor during the intervening period. It was evident +that her background was not all that it should be; +her preparatory work had not been sufficiently complete +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>to enable her to continue in college. As it was, +they told her, she was wasting her time. So Hazel +disappeared from the campus and was said to have +gone back to Texas. “Serves her right, glad she’s +gone,” was the verdict of her colored campus fellows.</p> + +<p>The Christmas holidays for Emma Lou were dull +and uneventful. The people she lived with were rheumatic +and not much given to yuletide festivities. It +didn’t seem like Christmas to Emma Lou anyway. +There was no snow on the ground, and the sun was +shining as brightly and as warmly as it had shone +during the late summer and early autumn months. +The wild geraniums still flourished, the orange trees +were blossoming, and the whole southland seemed to +be preparing for the annual New Year’s Day Tournament +of Roses parade in Pasadena.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou received a few presents from home, and +a Christmas greeting card from Grace Giles. That +was all. On Christmas Day she and Grace attended +church in the morning, and spent the afternoon at +the home of one of Grace’s friends. Emma Lou never +liked the people to whom Grace introduced her. They +were a dull, commonplace lot for the most part, people +from Georgia, Grace’s former home, untutored +people who didn’t really matter. Emma Lou borrowed +a word from her grandmother and classified +them as “fuddlers,” because they seemed to fuddle +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>everything—their language, their clothes, their attempts +at politeness, and their efforts to appear more +intelligent than they really were.</p> + +<p>The holidays over, Emma Lou returned to school a +little reluctantly. She wasn’t particularly interested +in her studies, but having nothing else to do kept up +in them and made high grades. Meanwhile she had +been introduced to a number of young men and gone +out with them occasionally. They too were friends +of Grace’s and of the same caliber as Grace’s other +friends. There were no college boys among them except +Joe Lane who was flunking out in the School of +Dentistry. He did not interest Emma Lou. As it was +with Joe, so it was with all the other boys. She invariably +picked them to pieces when they took her out, +and remained so impassive to their emotional advances +that they were soon glad to be on their way +and let her be. Emma Lou was determined not to go +out of her class, determined either to associate with +the “right sort of people” or else to remain to herself.</p> + +<p>Had any one asked Emma Lou what she meant by +the “right sort of people” she would have found herself +at a loss for a comprehensive answer. She really +didn’t know. She had a vague idea that those people +on the campus who practically ignored her were the +only people with whom she should associate. These +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>people, for the most part, were children of fairly +well-to-do families from Louisiana, Texas and +Georgia, who, having made nest eggs, had journeyed +to the West for the same reasons that her grandparents +at an earlier date had also journeyed West. +They wanted to live where they would have greater +freedom and greater opportunity for both their children +and themselves. Then, too, the World War had +given impetus to this westward movement. There was +more industry in the West and thus more chances +for money to be made, and more opportunities to +invest this money profitably in property and progeny.</p> + +<p>The greater number of them were either mulattoes +or light brown in color. In their southern homes they +had segregated themselves from their darker skinned +brethren and they continued this practice in the +North. They went to the Episcopal, Presbyterian, or +Catholic churches, and though they were not as +frankly organized into a blue vein society as were +the Negroes of Boise, they nevertheless kept more or +less to themselves. They were not insistent that their +children get “whiter and whiter every generation”, +but they did want to keep their children and grandchildren +from having dark complexions. A light +brown was the favored color; it was therefore found +expedient to exercise caution when it came to mating.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> + +<p>The people who, in Emma Lou’s phrase, really +mattered, the business men, the doctors, the lawyers, +the dentists, the more moneyed pullman porters, hotel +waiters, bank janitors, and majordomos, in fact all +of the Negro leaders and members of the Negro upper +class, were either light skinned themselves or else +had light skinned wives. A wife of dark complexion +was considered a handicap unless she was particularly +charming, wealthy, or beautiful. An ordinary +looking dark woman was no suitable mate for a +Negro man of prominence. The college youths on +whom the future of the race depended practiced this +precept of their elders religiously. It was not the +girls in the school who were prejudiced—they had +no reason to be, but they knew full well that the boys +with whom they wished to associate, their future husbands, +would not tolerate a dark girl unless she had, +like Verne, many things to compensate for her dark +skin. Thus they did not encourage a friendship with +some one whom they knew didn’t belong. Thus they +did not even pledge girls like Grace, Emma Lou, and +Hazel into their sorority, for they knew that it would +make them the more miserable to attain the threshold +only to have the door shut in their faces.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Summer vacation time came and Emma Lou went +back to Boise. She was thoroughly discouraged and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>depressed. She had been led to expect so much pleasure +from her first year in college and in Los Angeles; +but she had found that the people in large cities were +after all no different from people in small cities. Her +Uncle Joe had been wrong—her mother and grandmother +had been right. There was no place in the +world for a dark girl.</p> + +<p>Being at home depressed her all the more. There +was absolutely nothing for her to do nor any place +for her to go. For a month or more she just lingered +around the house, bored by her mother’s constant and +difficult attempts to be maternal, and irritated by her +Cousin Buddy’s freshness. Adolescent boys were such +a nuisance. The only bright spot on the horizon was +the Sunday School Union picnic scheduled to be held +during the latter part of July. It was always the +crowning social event of the summer season among +the colored citizens of Boise. Both the Methodists +and Baptists missions cooperated in this affair and +had their numbers augmented by all the denominationally +unattached members of the community. It +was always a gala, democratic affair designed to +provide a pleasant day in the out-of-doors. It was, +besides the annual dance fostered by the local chapters +of the Masons and the Elks, the only big community +gathering to which the entire colored population +of Boise looked forward.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + +<p>Picnic day came, and Emma Lou accompanied her +mother, her uncle, and her cousin to Bedney’s Meadow, +a green, heavily forested acre of park land, +which lay on the outskirts of the city, surrounded on +three sides by verdant foothills. The day went by +pleasantly enough. There were the usually heavily +laden wooden tables, to which all adjourned in the +late afternoon, and there were foot races, games, and +canoeing.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou took part in all these activities and +was surprised to find that she was having a good +time. The company was congenial, and she found +that since she had gone away to college she had become +somewhat of a personage. Every one seemed to +be going out of his way to be congenial to her. The +blue veins did not rule this affair. They were, in fact, +only a minority element, and, for one of the few +times of the year, mingled freely and unostentatiously +with their lower caste brethren.</p> + +<p>All during the day, Emma Lou found herself +paired off with a chap by the name of Weldon Taylor. +In the evening they went for a stroll up the precipitous +footpaths in the hills which grew up from the +meadow. Weldon Taylor was a newcomer in the West +trying to earn sufficient money to re-enter an eastern +school and finish his medical education. Emma Lou +rather liked him. She admired his tall, slender body, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>the deep burnish of his bronze colored skin, and his +mass of black curly hair. Here, thought Emma Lou, +is the type of man I like. Only she did wish that his +skin had been colored light brown instead of dark +brown. It was better if she was to marry that she did +not get a dark skin mate. Her children must not suffer +as she had and would suffer.</p> + +<p>The two talked of commonplace things as they +walked along, comparing notes on their school experiences, +and talking of their professors and their +courses of study. It was dusk now and the sun had +disappeared behind the snow capped mountains. The +sky was a colorful haze, a master artist’s canvas on +which the colors of day were slowly being dominated +by the colors of night. Weldon drew Emma Lou off +the little path they had been following, and led her +to a huge bowlder which jutted out, elbow like, from +the side of a hill, and which was hidden from the +meadow below by clumps of bushes. They sat down, +his arm slipped around her waist, and, as the darkness +of night more and more conquered the evanescent +light of day, their lips met, and Emma Lou grew +lax in Weldon’s arms....</p> + +<p>When they finally returned to the picnic grounds +all had left save a few stragglers like themselves who +had sauntered away from the main party. These +made up a laughing, half-embarrassed group, who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>collected their baskets and reluctantly withdrew +from the meadow to begin the long walk back to +their homes. Emma Lou and Weldon soon managed +to fall at the end of the procession, walking along +slowly, his arm around her waist. Emma Lou felt an +ecstasy surging through her at this moment greater +than she had ever known before. This had been her +first intimate sexual contact, her first awareness of +the physical and emotional pleasures able to be enjoyed +by two human beings, a woman and a man. +She felt some magnetic force drawing her to this man +walking by her side, which made her long to feel the +pleasure of his body against hers, made her want to +know once more the pleasure which had attended the +union of their lips, the touching of their tongues. It +was with a great effort that she walked along apparently +calm, for inside she was seething. Her body had +become a kennel for clashing, screaming compelling +urges and desires. She loved this man. She had submitted +herself to him, had gladly suffered momentary +physical pain in order to be introduced into a new +and incomparably satisfying paradise.</p> + +<p>Not for one moment did Emma Lou consider regretting +the loss of her virtue, not once did any of +her mother’s and grandmother’s warnings and solicitations +revive themselves and cause her conscience +to plague her. She had finally found herself a mate; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>she had finally come to know the man she should +love, some inescapable force had drawn them together, +had made them feel from the first moment of +their introduction that they belonged to one another, +and that they were destined to explore nature’s +mysteries together. Life was not so cruel after +all. There were some compensatory moments. Emma +Lou believed that at last she had found happiness, +that at last she had found her man.</p> + +<p>Of course, she wasn’t going back to school. She +was going to stay in Boise, marry Weldon, and work +with him until they should have sufficient money to +go East, where he could re-enter medical school, +and she could keep a home for him and spur him on. +A glorious panorama of the future unrolled itself in +her mind. There were no black spots in it, no shadows, +nothing but luminous landscapes, ethereal in +substance.</p> + +<p>It was the way of Emma Lou always to create her +worlds within her own mind without taking under +consideration the fact that other people and other +elements, not contained within herself, would also +have to aid in their molding. She had lived to herself +for so long, had been shut out from the stream +of things in which she was interested for such a long +period during the formative years of her life, that +she considered her own imaginative powers omniscient. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>Thus she constructed a future world of love on +one isolated experience, never thinking for the moment +that the other party concerned might not be +of the same mind. She had been lifted into a superlatively +perfect emotional and physical state. It +was unthinkable, incongruous, that Weldon, too, had +not been similarly lifted. He had for the moment +shared her ecstasy, therefore, according to Emma +Lou’s line of reasoning, he would as effectively share +what she imagined would be the fruits of that ecstatic +moment.</p> + +<p>The next two weeks passed quickly and happily. +Weldon called on her almost every night, took her +for long walks, and thrilled her with his presence +and his love making. Never before in her life had +Emma Lou been so happy. She forgot all the sad +past. Forgot what she had hitherto considered the +tragedy of her birth, forgot the social isolation of +her childhood and of her college days. What did +being black, what did the antagonistic mental attitudes +of the people who really mattered mean when +she was in love? Her mother and her Uncle Joe were +so amazed at the change in her that they became +afraid, sensed danger, and began to be on the lookout +for some untoward development; for hitherto +Emma Lou had always been sullen and morose and +impertinent to all around the house. She had always +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>been the anti-social creature they had caused her to +feel she was and, since she was made to feel that she +was a misfit, she had encroached upon their family +life and sociabilities only to the extent that being +in the house made necessary. But now she was +changed—she had become a vibrant, joyful being. +There was always a smile on her face, always a note +of joy in her voice as she spoke or sang. She even +made herself agreeable to her Cousin Buddy, who in +the past she had either ignored or else barely tolerated.</p> + +<p>“She must be in love, Joe,” her mother half +whined.</p> + +<p>“That’s good,” he answered laconically. “It probably +won’t last long. It will serve to take her mind +off herself.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose she gets foolish?” Jane had insisted, +remembering no doubt her own foolishness, during +a like period of her own life, with Emma Lou’s +father.</p> + +<p>“She’ll take care of herself,” Joe had returned with +an assurance he did not feel. He, too, was worried, +but he was also pleased at the change in Emma Lou. +His only fear was that perhaps in the end she would +make herself more miserable than she had ever been +before. He did not know much about this Weldon +fellow, who seemed to be a reliable enough chap, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>no one had any way of discerning whether or no his +intentions were entirely honorable. It was best, +thought Joe, not to worry about such things. If, for +the present, Emma Lou was more happy than she +had ever been before, there would be time enough to +worry about the future when its problems materialized.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you worry about Emma Lou. She’s got +sense.”</p> + +<p>“But, Joe, suppose she does forget herself with this +man? He is studying to be a doctor and he may not +want a wife, especially when....”</p> + +<p>“Damn it, Jane!” her brother snapped at her. “Do +you think every one is like you? The boy seems to +like her.”</p> + +<p>“Men like any one they can use, but you know as +well as I that no professional man is going to marry +a woman dark as Emma Lou.”</p> + +<p>“Men marry any one they love, just as you and +I did.”</p> + +<p>“But I was foolish.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“That’s right—Be unconcerned. That’s right—Let +her go to the devil. There’s no hope for her anyway. +Oh—why—why did I marry Jim Morgan?” and she +had gone into the usual crying fit which inevitably +followed this self-put question.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> + +<p>Then, without any warning, as if to put an end +to all problems, Weldon decided to become a Pullman +porter. He explained to Emma Lou that he +could make more money on the railroad than he +could as a hotel waiter in Boise. It was necessary for +his future that he make as much money as possible +in as short a time as possible. Emma Lou saw the +logic of this and agreed that it was the best possible +scheme, until she realized that it meant his going +away from Boise, perhaps forever. Oakland, California, +was to be his headquarters, and he, being a +new man, would not have a regular run. It was possible +that he might be sent to different sections of +the country each and every time he made a trip. +There was no way of his knowing before he reported +for duty just where he might be sent. It might be +Boise or Palm Beach or Albany or New Orleans. One +never knew. That was the life of the road, and one +had to accept it in order to make money.</p> + +<p>It made Emma Lou shiver to hear him talk so +dispassionately about the matter. There didn’t seem +to be the least note of regret in his voice, the least +suggestion that he hated to leave her or that he +would miss her, and, for the first time since the night +of their physical union, Emma Lou began to realize +that perhaps after all he did not feel toward her as +she did toward him. He couldn’t possibly love her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>as much as she loved him, and, at the same time, +remain so unconcerned about having to part from +her. There was something radically wrong here, +something conclusive and unexpected which was going +to hurt her, going to plunge her back into unhappiness +once more. Then she realized that not +once had he ever spoken of marriage or even hinted +that their relationship would continue indefinitely. +He had said that he loved her, he had treated her +kindly, and had seemed as thrilled as she over their +physical contacts. But now it seemed that since he +was no longer going to be near her, no longer going +to need her body, he had forgotten that he loved her. +It was then that all the old preachments of her +mother and grandmother were resurrected and began +to swirl through her mind. Hadn’t she been warned +that men didn’t marry black girls? Hadn’t she been +told that they would only use her for their sexual +convenience? That was the case with Weldon! He +hadn’t cared about her in the first place. He had +taken up with her only because he was a stranger in +the town and lonesome for a companion, and she, +like a damn fool, had submitted herself to him! And +now that he was about to better his condition, about +to go some place where he would have a wider circle +of acquaintances, she was to be discarded and forgotten.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> + +<p>Thus Emma Lou reasoned to herself and grew +bitter. It never occurred to her that the matter of +her color had never once entered the mind of Weldon. +Not once did she consider that he was acting toward +her as he would have acted toward any girl under +similar circumstances, whether her face had been +white, yellow, brown, or black. Emma Lou did not +understand that Weldon was just a selfish normal +man and not a color prejudiced one, at least not +while he was resident in a community where the girls +were few, and there were none of his college friends +about to tease him for liking “dark meat.” She did +not know that for over a year he had been traveling +about from town to town, always seeking a place +where money was more plentiful and more easily +saved, and that in every town he had managed to +find a girl, or girls, who made it possible for him to +continue his grind without being totally deprived of +pleasurable moments. To Emma Lou there could +only be one reason for his not having loved her as +she had loved him. She was a black girl and no professional +man could afford to present such a wife in +the best society. It was the tragic feature of her life +once more asserting itself. There could be no happiness +in life for any woman whose face was as black +as hers.</p> + +<p>Believing this more intensely than ever before +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>Emma Lou yet felt that she must manage in some +way to escape both home and school. That she must +find happiness somewhere else. The idea her Uncle +Joe had given her about the provinciality of people +in small towns re-entered her mind. After all Los +Angeles, too, was a small town mentally, peopled by +mentally small southern Negroes. It was no better +than Boise. She was now determined to go East +where life was more cosmopolitan and people were +more civilized. To this end she begged her mother +and uncle to send her East to school.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you ever be satisfied?”</p> + +<p>“Now Jane,” Joe as usual was trying to keep the +peace——</p> + +<p>“Now Jane, nothing! I never saw such an ungrateful +child.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not ungrateful. I’m just unhappy. I don’t like +that school. I don’t want to go there any more.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ll either go there or else stay home.” +Thus Jane ended the discussion and could not be +persuaded to reopen it.</p> + +<p>And rather than remain home Emma Lou returned +to Los Angeles and spent another long miserable, +uneventful year in the University of Southern California, +drawing more and more within herself and +becoming more and more bitter. When vacation time +came again she got herself a job as maid in a theater, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>rather than return home, and studied stenography +during her spare hours. School began again and +Emma Lou re-entered with more determination than +ever to escape should the chance present itself. It +did, and once more Emma Lou fled into an unknown +town to escape the haunting chimera of intra-racial +color prejudice.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="fh2"><span class="smcap">Part II</span></p> + <p class="fh2">HARLEM</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak">II<br>HARLEM</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Emma Lou turned her face away from the wall, +and quizzically squinted her dark, pea-like eyes +at the recently closed door. Then, sitting upright, she +strained her ears, trying to hear the familiar squeak +of the impudent floor boards, as John tiptoed down +the narrow hallway toward the outside door. Finally, +after she had heard the closing click of the double-barrelled +police lock, she climbed out of the bed, +picked up a brush from the bureau and attempted to +smooth the sensuous disorder of her hair. She had +just recently had it bobbed, boyishly bobbed, because +she thought this style narrowed and enhanced +the fulsome lines of her facial features. She was +always trying to emphasize those things about her +that seemed, somehow, to atone for her despised +darkness, and she never faced the mirror without +speculating upon how good-looking she might have +been had she not been so black.</p> + +<p>Mechanically, she continued the brushing of her +hair, stopping every once in a while to give it an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>affectionate caress. She was intensely in love with +her hair, in love with its electric vibrancy and its +unruly buoyance. Yet, this morning, she was irritated +because it seemed so determined to remain disordered, +so determined to remain a stubborn and +unnecessary reminder of the night before. Why, she +wondered, should one’s physical properties always +insist upon appearing awry after a night of stolen +or forbidden pleasure? But not being anxious to find +an answer, she dismissed the question from her mind, +put on a stocking-cap, and jumped back into the +bed.</p> + +<p>She began to think about John, poor John who +felt so hurt because she had told him that he could +not spend any more days or nights with her. She +wondered if she should pity him, for she was certain +that he would miss the nights more than he would +the days. Yet, she must not be too harsh in her conclusions, +for, after all, there had only been two +nights, which, she smiled to herself, was a pretty +good record for a newcomer to Harlem. She had been +in New York now for five weeks, and it seemed like, +well, just a few days. Five weeks—thirty-five days +and thirty-five nights, and of these nights John had +had two. And now he sulked because she would not +promise him another; because she had, in fact, boldly +told him that there could be no more between them. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>Mischievously, she wished now that she could have +seen the expression on his face, when, after seeming +moments of mutual ecstasy, she had made this cold, +manifesto-like announcement. But the room had been +dark, and so was John. Ugh!</p> + +<p>She had only written home twice. This, of course, +seemed quite all right to her. She was not concerned +about any one there except her Uncle Joe, and she +reasoned that since he was preparing to marry again, +he would be far too busy to think much about her. +All that worried her was the pitiful spectacle of her +mother, her uncle, and her cousin trying to make +up lies to tell inquiring friends. Well, she would +write today, that is, if she did not start to work, and +she must get up at eight o’clock—was the alarm set?—and +hie herself to an employment agency. She had +only thirty-five dollars left in the bank, and, unless +it was replenished, she might have to rescind her +avowals to John in order to get her room rent paid.</p> + +<p>She must go to sleep for another hour, for she +wished to look “pert” when she applied for a job, +especially the kind of job she wanted, and she must +get the kind of job she wanted in order to show +those people in Boise and Los Angeles that she had +been perfectly justified in leaving school, home, and +all, to come to New York. They all wondered why +she had come. So did she, now that she was here. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>But at the moment of leaving she would have gone +any place to escape having to remain in that hateful +Southern California college, or having to face the +more dreaded alternative of returning home. Home? +It had never been a home.</p> + +<p>It did seem strange, this being in Harlem when +only a few weeks before she had been over three +thousand miles away. Time and distance—strange +things, immutable, yet conquerable. But was time +conquerable? Hadn’t she read or heard somewhere +that all things were subject to time, even God? Yet, +once she was there and now she was here. But even +at that she hadn’t conquered time. What was that +line in Cullen’s verse, “I run, but Time’s abreast with +me?” She had only traversed space and defied distance. +This suggested a more banal, if a less arduous +thought tangent. She had defied more than distance, +she had defied parental restraint—still there hadn’t +been much of that—friendly concern—there had been +still less of that, and malicious, meddlesome gossip, of +which there had been plenty. And she still found herself +unable to understand why two sets of people in +two entirely different communities should seemingly +become almost hysterically excited because she, a +woman of twenty-one, with three years’ college training +and ample sophistication in the ways of sex and +self-support, had decided to take a job as an actress’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>maid in order to get to New York. They had never +seemed interested in her before.</p> + +<p>Now she wondered why had she been so painfully +anxious to come to New York. She had given as a +consoling reason to inquisitive friends and relatives, +school. But she knew too well that she had no intentions +of ever re-entering school. She had had enough +of <i>that</i> school in Los Angeles, and her experiences +there, more than anything else, had caused this foolhardy +hegira to Harlem. She had been desperately +driven to escape, and had she not escaped in this +manner she might have done something else much +more mad.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou closed her eyes once more, and tried +to sublimate her mental reverie into a sleep-inducing +lullaby. Most of all, she wanted to sleep. One had to +look “pert” when one sought a job, and she wondered +if eight o’clock would find her looking any +more “pert” than she did at this present moment. +What had caused her to urge John to spend what she +knew would be his last night with her when she was +so determined to be at her best the following morning! +O, what the hell was the use? She was going to +sleep.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The alarm had not yet rung, but Emma Lou was +awakened gradually by the sizzling and smell of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>fried and warmed-over breakfast, by the raucous early +morning wranglings and window to window greetings, +and by the almost constant squeak of those impudent +hall floor boards as the various people in her apartment +raced one another to the kitchen or to the bathroom +or to the front door. How could Harlem be so +happily busy, so alive and merry at eight o’clock. +Eight o’clock? The alarm rang. Emma Lou scuttled +out of the bed and put on her clothes.</p> + +<p>An hour later, looking as “pert” as possible, she +entered the first employment agency she came to on +135th Street, between Lenox and Seventh Avenues. +It was her first visit to such an establishment and +she was particularly eager to experience this phase +of a working girl’s life. Her first four weeks in Harlem +had convinced her that jobs were easy to find, +for she had noticed that there were three or four +employment agencies to every block in business Harlem. +Assuring herself in this way that she would +experience little difficulty in obtaining a permanent +and tasty position, Emma Lou had abruptly informed +Mazelle Lindsay that she was leaving her +employ.</p> + +<p>“But, child,” her employer had objected, “I feel +responsible for you. Your—your mother! Don’t be +preposterous. How can you remain in New York +alone?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> + +<p>Emma Lou had smiled, asked for her money once +more, closed her ears to all protest, bid the chagrined +woman good-bye, and joyously loafed for a week.</p> + +<p>Now, with only thirty-five dollars left in the bank, +she thought that she had best find a job—find a job +and then finish seeing New York. Of course she had +seen much already. She had seen John—and he—oh, +damn John, she wanted a job.</p> + +<p>“What can I do for you?” the harassed woman at +the desk was trying to be polite.</p> + +<p>“I—I want a job.” R-r-ring. The telephone insistently +petitioned for attention, giving Emma Lou a +moment of respite, while the machine-like woman +wearily shouted monosyllabic answers into the instrument, +and, at the same time, tried to hush the +many loud-mouthed men and women in the room, +all, it seemed, trying to out-talk one another. While +waiting, Emma Lou surveyed her fellow job-seekers. +Seedy lot, was her verdict. Perhaps I should have +gone to a more high-toned place. Well, this will do +for the moment.</p> + +<p>“What kinda job d’ye want?”</p> + +<p>“I prefer,” Emma Lou had rehearsed these lines +for a week, “a stenographic position in some colored +business or professional office.”</p> + +<p>“’Ny experience?”</p> + +<p>“No, but I took two courses in business college, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>during school vacations. I have a certificate of competency.”</p> + +<p>“’Ny reference?”</p> + +<p>“No New York ones.”</p> + +<p>“Where’d ya work before?”</p> + +<p>“I—I just came to the city.”</p> + +<p>“Where’d ya come...?” R-r-ring. The telephone +mercifully reiterated its insistent blare, and, for a +moment, kept that pesky woman from droning out +more insulting queries.</p> + +<p>“Now,” she had finished again, “where’d ya come +from?”</p> + +<p>“Los Angeles.”</p> + +<p>“Ummm. What other kind of work would ya +take?”</p> + +<p>“Anything congenial.”</p> + +<p>“Waal, what is that, dishwashing, day work, nurse +girl?”</p> + +<p>Didn’t this damn woman know what congenial +meant? And why should a Jewish woman be in +charge of a Negro employment agency in Harlem?</p> + +<p>“Waal, girlie, others waiting.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll consider anything you may have on hand, if +stenographic work is not available.”</p> + +<p>“Wanta work part-time?”</p> + +<p>“I’d rather not.”</p> + +<p>“Awright. Sit down. I’ll call you in a moment.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> + +<p>“What can I do for you, young man?” Emma Lou +was dismissed.</p> + +<p>She looked for a place to sit down, and, finding +none, walked across the narrow room to the window, +hoping to get a breath of fresh air, and at the same +time an advantageous position from which to watch +the drama of some one else playing the rôle of a job-seeker.</p> + +<p>“R-r-ring.”</p> + +<p>“Whadda want? Wait a minute. Oh, Sadie.”</p> + +<p>A heavy set, dark-brown-skinned woman, with full, +flopping breasts, and extra wide buttocks, squirmed +off a too narrow chair, and bashfully wobbled up to +the desk.</p> + +<p>“Wanta’ go to a place on West End Avenue? Part-time +cleaning, fifty cents an hour, nine rooms, yeah? +All right? Hello, gotta girl on the way. ’Bye. Two +and a half, Sadie. Here’s the address. Run along now, +don’t idle.”</p> + +<p>R-r-ring. “’Lo, yes. What? Come down to the +office. I can’t sell jobs over the wire.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou began to see the humor in this sordid +situation, began to see something extremely comic +in all these plaintive, pitiful-appearing colored folk, +some greasy, some neat, some fat, some slim, some +brown, some black (why was there only one mulatto +in this crowd?), boys and men, girls and women, all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>single-filing up to the desk, laconically answering laconic +questions, impertinently put, showing thanks +or sorrow or indifference, as their cases warranted, +paying off promptly, or else seeking credit, the while +the Jewish overseer of the dirty, dingy office asserted +and reasserted her superiority.</p> + +<p>Some one on the outside pushed hard on the warped +door. Protestingly it came open, and the small stuffy +room was filled with the odor and presence of a stout, +black lady dressed in a greasy gingham housedress, +still damp in the front from splashing dishwater. On +her head was a tight turban, too round for the rather +long outlines of her head. Beneath this turban could +be seen short and wiry strands of recently straightened +hair. And her face! Emma Lou sought to observe +it more closely, sought to fathom how so much +grease could gather on one woman’s face. But her +head reeled. The room was vile with noise and heat +and body-smells, and this woman——</p> + +<p>“Hy, Rosie. Yer late. Got a job for ya.”</p> + +<p>The greasy-faced black woman grinned broadly, +licked her pork chop lips and, with a flourish, sat +down in an empty chair beside the desk. Emma Lou +stumbled over three pairs of number ten shoes, +pulled open the door and fled into the street.</p> + +<p>She walked hurriedly for about twenty-five yards, +then slowed down and tried to collect her wits. Telephone +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>bells echoed in her ears. Sour smells infested +her nostrils. She looked up and discovered that she +had paused in front of two garbage cans, waiting on +the curbstone for the scavenger’s truck.</p> + +<p>Irritated, she turned around and retraced her steps. +There were few people on the street. The early morning +work crowds had already been swallowed by the +subway kiosks on Lenox Avenue, and it was too +early for the afternoon idlers. Yet there was much +activity, much passing to and fro. One Hundred and +Thirty-Fifth Street, Emma Lou mumbled to herself +as she strolled along. How she had longed to see it, +and what a different thoroughfare she had imagined +it to be! Her eyes sought the opposite side of the +street and blinked at a line of monotonously regular +fire-escape decorated tenement buildings. She thanked +whoever might be responsible for the architectural +difference of the Y. M. C. A., for the streaming bit +of Seventh Avenue near by, and for the arresting corner +of the newly constructed teachers’ college building, +which dominated the hill three blocks away, and +cast its shadows on the verdure of the terraced park +beneath.</p> + +<p>But she was looking for a job. Sour smells assailed +her nostrils once more. Rasping voices. Pleading +voices. Tired voices. Domineering voices. And the +insistent ring of the telephone bell all re-echoed in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>her head and beat against her eardrums. She must +have staggered, for a passing youth eyed her curiously, +and shouted to no one in particular, “oh, <i>no</i>, +now.” Some one else laughed. They thought she was +drunk. Tears blurred her eyes. She wanted to run, +but resolutely she kept her steady, slow pace, lifted +her head a little higher, and, seeing another employment +agency, faltered for a moment, then went in.</p> + +<p>This agency, like the first, occupied the ground +floor front of a tenement house, three-quarters of the +way between Lenox and Seventh Avenue. It was +cagey and crowded, and there was a great conversational +hubbub as Emma Lou entered. In the rear of +the room was a door marked “private,” to the left of +this door was a desk, littered with papers and index +cards, before which was a swivel chair. The rest of +the room was lined with a miscellaneous assortment +of chairs, three rows of them, tied together and trying +to be precise despite their varying sizes and shapes. +A single window looked out upon the street, and the +Y. M. C. A. building opposite.</p> + +<p>All of the chairs were occupied and three people +stood lined up by the desk. Emma Lou fell in at the +end of this line. There was nothing else to do. In +fact, it was all she could do after entering. Not another +person could have been squeezed into that +room from the outside. This office too was noisy and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>hot and pregnant with clashing body smells. The +buzzing electric fan, in a corner over the desk, with +all its whirring, could not stir up a breeze.</p> + +<p>The rear door opened. A slender, light-brown-skinned +boy, his high cheekbones decorated with +blackheads, his slender form accentuated by a tight +fitting jazz suit of the high-waistline, one-button +coat, bell-bottom trouser variety, emerged smiling +broadly, cap in one hand, a slip of pink paper in the +other. He elbowed his way to the outside door and +was gone.</p> + +<p>“Musta got a job,” somebody commented. “It’s +about time,” came from some one else, “he said he’d +been sittin’ here a week.”</p> + +<p>The rear door opened again and a lady with a +youthful brown face and iron-gray hair sauntered in +and sat down in the swivel chair before the desk. +Immediately all talk in the outer office ceased. An +air of anticipation seemed to pervade the room. All +eyes were turned toward her.</p> + +<p>For a moment she fingered a pack of red index +cards, then, as if remembering something, turned +around in her chair and called out:</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Blake says for all elevator men to stick +around.”</p> + +<p>There was a shuffling of feet and a settling back +into chairs. Noticing this, Emma Lou counted six +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>elevator men and wondered if she was right. Again +the brown aristocrat with the tired voice spoke up:</p> + +<p>“Day workers come back at one-thirty. Won’t be +nothing doin’ ’til then.”</p> + +<p>Four women, all carrying newspaper packages, got +out of their chairs, and edged their way toward the +door, murmuring to one another as they went, “I +ain’t fixin’ to come back.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, she keeps you hyar.”</p> + +<p>They were gone.</p> + +<p>Two of the people standing in line sat down, the +third approached the desk, Emma Lou close behind.</p> + +<p>“I wantsa—”</p> + +<p>“What kind of job do you want?”</p> + +<p>Couldn’t people ever finish what they had to say?</p> + +<p>“Porter or dishwashing, lady.”</p> + +<p>“Are you registered with us?”</p> + +<p>“No’m.”</p> + +<p>“Have a seat. I’ll call you in a moment.”</p> + +<p>The boy looked frightened, but he found a seat and +slid into it gratefully. Emma Lou approached the +desk. The woman’s cold eyes appraised her. She must +have been pleased with what she saw for her eyes +softened and her smile reappeared. Emma Lou +smiled, too. Maybe she was “pert” after all. The +tailored blue suit——</p> + +<p>“What can I do for you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> + +<p>The voice with the smile wins. Emma Lou was +encouraged.</p> + +<p>“I would like stenographic work.”</p> + +<p>“Experienced?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” It was so much easier to say than “no.”</p> + +<p>“Good.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou held tightly to her under-arm bag.</p> + +<p>“We have something that would just about suit +you. Just a minute, and I’ll let you see Mrs. Blake.”</p> + +<p>The chair squeaked and was eased of its burden. +Emma Lou thought she heard a telephone ringing +somewhere in the distance, or perhaps it was the +clang of the street car that had just passed, heading +for Seventh Avenue. The people in the room began +talking again.</p> + +<p>“Dat last job.” “Boy, she was dressed right down +to the bricks.”</p> + +<p>“And I told him....” “Yeah, we went to see +‘Flesh and the Devil’.” “Some parteee.” “I just been +here a week.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou’s mind became jumbled with incoherent +wisps of thought. Her left foot beat a nervous +tattoo upon a sagging floor board. The door opened. +The gray-haired lady with the smile in her voice +beckoned, and Emma Lou walked into the private +office of Mrs. Blake.</p> + +<p>Four people in the room. The only window facing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>a brick wall on the outside. Two telephones, both +busy. A good-looking young man, fingering papers in +a filing cabinet, while he talked over one of the +telephones. The lady from the outer office. Another +lady, short and brown, like butterscotch, talking +over a desk telephone and motioning for Emma Lou +to sit down. Blur of high powered electric lights, +brighter than daylight. The butterscotch lady hanging +up the receiver.</p> + +<p>“I’m through with you young man.” Crisp tones. +Metal, warm in spite of itself.</p> + +<p>“Well, I ain’t through with you.” The fourth person +was speaking. Emma Lou had hardly noticed him +before. Sullen face. Dull black eyes in watery sockets. +The nose flat, the lips thick and pouting. One hand +clutching a derby, the other clenched, bearing down +on the corner of the desk.</p> + +<p>“I have no intention of arguing with you. I’ve +said my say. Go on outside. When a cook’s job comes +in, you can have it. That’s all I can do.”</p> + +<p>“No, it ain’t all you can do.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m not going to give you your fee back.”</p> + +<p>The lady from the outside office returns to her +post. The good-looking young man is at the telephone +again.</p> + +<p>“Why not, I’m entitled to it.”</p> + +<p>“No, you’re not. I send you on a job, the man +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>asks you to do something, you walk out, Mister Big +I-am. Then, show up here two days later and want +your fee back. No siree.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t walk out.”</p> + +<p>“The man says you did.”</p> + +<p>“Aw, sure, he’d say anything. I told him I came +there to be a cook, not a waiter. I——”</p> + +<p>“It was your place to do as he said, then, if not +satisfied, to come here and tell me so.”</p> + +<p>“I am here.”</p> + +<p>“All right now. I’m tired of this. Take either of +two courses—go on outside and wait until a job +comes in or else go down to the license bureau and +tell them your story. They’ll investigate. If I’m +right——”</p> + +<p>“You know you ain’t right.”</p> + +<p>“Not according to you, no, but by law, yes. That’s +all.”</p> + +<p>Telephone ringing. Warm metal whipping words +into it. The good-looking young man yawning. He +looks like a Y. M. C. A. secretary. The butterscotch +woman speaking to Emma Lou:</p> + +<p>“You’re a stenographer?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I have a job in a real estate office, nice firm, nice +people. Fill out this card. Here’s a pen.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Blake, you know you ain’t doin’ right.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> + +<p>Why didn’t this man either shut up or get out?</p> + +<p>“I told you what to do. Now please do one or the +other. You’ve taken up enough of my time. The +license bureau——”</p> + +<p>“You know I ain’t goin’ down there. I’d rather +you keep the fee, if you think it will do you any +good.”</p> + +<p>“I only keep what belongs to me. I’ve found out +that’s the best policy.”</p> + +<p>Why should they want three people for reference? +Where had she worked before? Lies. Los Angeles was +far away.</p> + +<p>“Then, if a job comes in you’ll give it to me?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Awright.” And finally he went out.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Blake grinned across the desk at Emma Lou. +“Your folks won’t do, honey.”</p> + +<p>“Do you have many like that?”</p> + +<p>The card was made out. Mrs. Blake had it in her +hand. Telephones ringing, both at once. Loud talking +in the outer office. Lies. Los Angeles was far away. +I can bluff. Mrs. Blake had finished reading over +the card.</p> + +<p>“Just came to New York, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Like it better than Los Angeles?”</p> + +<p>The good-looking young man turned around and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>stared at her coldly. Now he did resemble a +Y. M. C. A. secretary. The lady from the outer office +came in again. There was a triple criss-cross conversation +carried on. It ended. The short bob-haired +butterscotch boss gave Emma Lou instructions and +information about her prospective position. She was +half heard. Sixteen dollars a week. Is that all? Work +from nine to five. Address on card. Corner of 139th +Street, left side of the avenue. Dismissal. Smiles and +good luck. Pay the lady outside five dollars. Awkward, +flustered moments. Then the entrance door and +135th Street once more. Emma Lou was on her way +to get a job.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>She walked briskly to the corner, crossed the street +and turned north on Seventh Avenue. Her hopes +were high, her mind a medley of pleasing mental +images. She visualized herself trim and pert in her +blue tailored suit being secretary to some well-groomed +Negro business man. There had not been +many such in the West, and she was eager to know +and admire one. There would be other girls in the +office, too, girls who, like herself, were college trained +and reared in cultured homes, and through these fellow +workers she would meet still other girls and men, +get in with the right sort of people.</p> + +<p>She continued day-dreaming as she went her way, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>being practical only at such fleeting moments when +she would wonder,—would she be able to take dictation +at the required rate of speed?—would her +fingers be nimble enough on the keyboard of the typewriter? +Oh, bother. It wouldn’t take her over one +day to adapt herself to her new job.</p> + +<p>A street crossing. Traffic delayed her and she was +conscious of a man, a blurred tan image, speaking to +her. He was ignored. Everything was to be ignored +save the address digits on the buildings. Everything +was secondary to the business at hand. Let traffic +pass, let men aching for flirtations speak, let Seventh +Avenue be spangled with forenoon sunshine and +shadow, and polka-dotted with still or moving human +forms. She was going to have a job. The rest +of the world could go to hell.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou turned into a four-story brick building +and sped up one flight of stairs. The rooms were +not numbered and directing signs in the hallway only +served to confuse. But Emma Lou was not to be +delayed. She rushed back and forth from door to +door on the first floor, then to the second, until she +finally found the office she was looking for.</p> + +<p>Angus and Brown were an old Harlem real estate +firm. They had begun business during the first decade +of the century, handling property for a while in +New York’s far-famed San Juan Hill district. When +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>the Negro population had begun to need more and +better homes, Angus and Brown had led the way in +buying real estate in what was to be Negro Harlem. +They had been fighters, unscrupulous and canny. +They had revealed a perverse delight in seeing white +people rush pell-mell from the neighborhood in +which they obtained homes for their colored clients. +They had bought three six-story tenement buildings +on 140th Street, and, when the white tenants had +been slow in moving, had personally dispossessed +them, and, in addition, had helped their incoming +Negro tenants fight fistic battles in the streets and +hallways, and legal battles in the court.</p> + +<p>Now they were a substantial firm, grown fat and +satisfied. Junior real estate men got their business +for them. They held the whip. Their activities were +many and varied. Politics and fraternal activities occupied +more of their time than did real estate. They +had had their hectic days. Now they sat back and +took it easy.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou opened the door to their office, consisting +of one medium-sized outer room overlooking +139th Street and two cubby holes overlooking +Seventh Avenue. There were two girls in the outer +office. One was busy at a typewriter; the other was +gazing over her desk through a window into the +aristocratic tree-lined city lane of 139th Street. Both +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>looked up expectantly. Emma Lou noticed the powdered +smoothness of their fair skins and the marcelled +waviness of their shingled brown hair. Were they +sisters? Hardly, for their features were in no way +similar. Yet that skin color and that brown +hair——.</p> + +<p>“Can I do something for you?” The idle one spoke, +and the other ceased her peck-peck-pecking on the +typewriter keys. Emma Lou was buoyant.</p> + +<p>“I’m from Mrs. Blake’s employment agency.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” from both. And they exchanged glances. +Emma Lou thought she saw a quickly suppressed +smile from the fairer of the two as she hastily resumed +her typing. Then——</p> + +<p>“Sit down a moment, won’t you, please? Mr. +Angus is out but I’ll inform Mr. Brown that you are +here.” She picked a powder puff from an open side +drawer in her desk, patted her nose and cheeks, then +got up and crossed the office to enter cubby hole +number one. Emma Lou observed that she, too, +looked “pert” in a trim, blue suit and high-heeled +patent leather oxfords——</p> + +<p>“Mr. Brown?” She had opened the door.</p> + +<p>“Come in Grace. What is it?” The door was +closed.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou felt nervous. Something in the pit of +her stomach seemed to flutter. Her pulse raced. Her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>eyes gleamed and a smile of anticipation spread over +her face, despite her efforts to appear dignified and +suave. The typist continued her work. From the +cubby hole came a murmur of voices, one feminine +and affected, the other masculine and coarse. Through +the open window came direct sounds and vagrant +echoes of traffic noises from Seventh Avenue. Now +the two in the cubby hole were laughing, and the +girl at the typewriter seemed to be smiling to herself +as she worked.</p> + +<p>What did this mean? Nothing, silly. Don’t be so +sensitive. Emma Lou’s eyes sought the pictures on +the wall. There was an early twentieth century photographic +bust-portrait, encased in a bevelled glass +frame, of a heavy-set good-looking, brown-skinned +man. She admired his mustache. Men didn’t seem to +take pride in such hirsute embellishments now. +Mustaches these days were abbreviated and limp. +They no longer were virile enough to dominate and +make a man’s face appear more strong. Rather, they +were only insignificant patches weakly keeping the +nostrils from merging with the upper lip.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou wondered if that was Mr. Brown. He +had a brown face and wore a brown suit. No, maybe +that was Mr. Angus, and perhaps that was Mr. +Brown on the other side of the room, in the square, +enlarged kodak print, a slender yellow man, standing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>beside a motor car, looking as if he wished to +say, “Yeah, this is me and this is my car.” She hoped +he was Mr. Angus. She didn’t like his name and since +she was to see Mr. Brown first, she hoped he was +the more flatteringly portrayed.</p> + +<p>The door to the cubby hole opened and the girl +Mr. Brown had called Grace, came out. The expression +on her face was too business-like to be natural. +It seemed as if it had been placed there for a +purpose.</p> + +<p>She walked toward Emma Lou, who got up and +stood like a child, waiting for punishment and hoping +all the while that it will dissipate itself in threats. +The typewriter was stilled and Emma Lou could +feel an extra pair of eyes looking at her. The girl +drew close then spoke:</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, Miss. Mr. Brown says he has some one +else in view for the job. We’ll call the agency. Thank +you for coming in.”</p> + +<p>Thank her for coming in? What could she say? +What should she say? The girl was smiling at her, +but Emma Lou noticed that her fair skin was flushed +and that her eyes danced nervously. Could she be +hoping that Emma Lou would hurry and depart? +The door was near. It opened easily. The steps were +steep. One went down slowly. Seventh Avenue was +still spangled with forenoon sunshine and shadow. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>Its pavement was hard and hot. The windows in the +buildings facing it, gleaming reflectors of the mounting +sun.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou returned to the employment agency. It +was still crowded and more stuffy than ever. The +sun had advanced high into the sky and it seemed +to be centering its rays on that solitary defenseless +window. There was still much conversation. There +were still people crowded around the desk, still people +in all the chairs, people and talk and heat and +smells.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Blake is waiting for you,” the gray-haired +lady with the young face was unflustered and cool. +Emma Lou went into the inner office. Mrs. Blake +looked up quickly and forced a smile. The good-looking +young man, more than ever resembling a +Y. M. C. A. secretary, turned his back and fumbled +with the card files. Mrs. Blake suggested that he +leave the room. He did, beaming benevolently at +Emma Lou as he went.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Blake was very kind and +womanly. “Mr. Brown called me. I didn’t know he +had some one else in mind. He hadn’t told me.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” replied Emma Lou briskly. +“Have you something else?”</p> + +<p>“Not now. Er-er. Have you had luncheon? It’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>early yet, I know, but I generally go about this time. +Come along, won’t you. I’d like to talk to you. I’ll +be ready in about thirty minutes if you don’t mind +the wait.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou warmed to the idea. At that moment, +she would have warmed toward any suggestion of +friendliness. Here, perhaps, was a chance to make a +welcome contact. She was lonesome and disappointed, +so she readily assented and felt elated and superior +as she walked out of the office with the “boss.”</p> + +<p>They went to Eddie’s for luncheon. Eddie’s was +an elbow-shaped combination lunch-counter and +dining room that embraced a United Cigar Store on +the northeast corner of 135th Street and Seventh +Avenue. Following Mrs. Blake’s lead, Emma Lou +ordered a full noontime dinner, and, flattered by +Mrs. Blake’s interest and congeniality, began to talk +about herself. She told of her birthplace and her +home life. She told of her high school days, spoke +proudly of the fact that she had been the only Negro +student and how she had graduated cum laude. +Asked about her college years, she talked less freely. +Mrs. Blake sensed a cue.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you like college?”</p> + +<p>“For a little while, yes.”</p> + +<p>“What made you dislike it? Surely not the +studies?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> + +<p>“No.” She didn’t care to discuss this. “I was lonesome, +I guess.”</p> + +<p>“Weren’t there any other colored boys and girls? +I thought....”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou spoke curtly. “Oh, yes, quite a number, +but I suppose I didn’t mix well.”</p> + +<p>The waiter came to take the order for dessert, +and Emma Lou seized upon the fact that Mrs. Blake +ordered sliced oranges to talk about California’s +orange groves, California’s sunshine—anything but +the California college she had attended and from +which she had fled. In vain did Mrs. Blake try to +maneuver the conversation back to Emma Lou’s +college experiences. She would have none of it and +Mrs. Blake was finally forced to give it up.</p> + +<p>When they were finished, Mrs. Blake insisted upon +taking the check. This done, she began to talk about +jobs.</p> + +<p>“You know, Miss Morgan, good jobs are rare. +It is seldom I have anything to offer outside of the +domestic field. Most Negro business offices are family +affairs. They either get their help from within their +own family group or from among their friends. Then, +too,” Emma Lou noticed that Mrs. Blake did not +look directly at her, “lots of our Negro business men +have a definite type of girl in mind and will not +hire any other.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> + +<p>Emma Lou wondered what it was Mrs. Blake +seemed to be holding back. She began again:</p> + +<p>“My advice to you is that you enter Teachers’ +College and if you <i>will</i> stay in New York, get a job +in the public school system. You can easily take a +light job of some kind to support you through your +course. Maybe with three years’ college you won’t +need to go to training school. Why don’t you find +out about that? Now, if I were you....” Mrs. +Blake talked on, putting much emphasis on every +“If I were you.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou grew listless and antagonistic. She +didn’t like this little sawed-off woman as she was +now, being business like and giving advice. She was +glad when they finally left Eddie’s, and more than +glad to escape after having been admonished not to +oversleep, “But be in my office, and I’ll see what I +can do for you, dearie, early in the morning. There’s +sure to be something.”</p> + +<p>Left to herself, Emma Lou strolled south on the +west side of Seventh Avenue to 134th Street, then +crossed over to the east side and turned north. She +didn’t know what to do. It was too late to consider +visiting another employment agency, and, furthermore, +she didn’t have enough money left to pay +another fee. Let jobs go until tomorrow, then she +would return to Mrs. Blake’s, ask for a return of her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>fee, and find some other employment agency, a more +imposing one, if possible. She had had enough of +those on 135th Street.</p> + +<p>She didn’t want to go home, either. Her room had +no outside vista. If she sat in the solitary chair by +the solitary window, all she could see were other +windows and brick walls and people either mysteriously +or brazenly moving about in the apartments +across the court. There was no privacy there, little +fresh air, and no natural light after the sun began +its downward course. Then the apartment always +smelled of frying fish or of boiling cabbage. Her +landlady seemed to alternate daily between these two +foods. Fish smells and cabbage smells pervaded the +long, dark hallway, swirled into the room when the +door was opened and perfumed one’s clothes disagreeably. +Moreover, urinal and foecal smells surged upward +from the garbage-littered bottom of the court +which her window faced.</p> + +<p>If she went home, the landlady would eye her +suspiciously and ask, “Ain’t you got a job yet?” then +move away, shaking her head and dipping into her +snuff box. Occasionally, in moments of excitement, +she spat on the floor. And the little fat man who had +the room next to Emma Lou’s could be heard coughing +suggestively—tapping on the wall, and talking +to himself in terms of her. He had seen her slip John +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>in last night. He might be more bold now. He might +even try—oh no he wouldn’t.</p> + +<p>She was crossing 137th Street. She remembered +this corner. John had told her that he could always +be found there after work any spring or summer +evening.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had met John on her first day in New +York. He was employed as a porter in the theatre +where Mazelle Lindsay was scheduled to perform, +and, seeing a new maid on the premises, had decided +to “make” her. He had. Emma Lou had not liked +him particularly, but he had seemed New Yorkish +and genial. It was John who had found her her room. +It was John who had taught her how to find her way +up and down town on the subway and on the elevated. +He had also conducted her on a Cook’s tour +of Harlem, had strolled up and down Seventh +Avenue with her evenings after they had come uptown +from the theater. He had pointed out for her +the Y. W. C. A. with its imposing annex, the Emma +Ranson House, and suggested that she get a room +there later on. He had taken her on a Sunday to +several of the Harlem motion picture and vaudeville +theaters, and he had been as painstaking in pointing +out the churches as he had been lax in pointing out +the cabarets. Moreover, as they strolled Seventh +Avenue, he had attempted to give her all the “inside +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>dope” on Harlem, had told her of the “rent parties,” +of the “numbers,” of “hot” men, of “sweetbacks,” +and other local phenomena.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was now passing a barber shop near +140th Street. A group of men were standing there +beneath a huge white and black sign announcing, +“Bobbing’s, fifty cents; haircuts, twenty-five cents.” +They were whistling at three school girls, about fourteen +or fifteen years of age, who were passing, doing +much switching and giggling. Emma Lou curled her +lips. Harlem streets presented many such scenes. She +looked at the men significantly, forgetting for the +moment that it was none of her business what they +or the girls did. But they didn’t notice her. They +were too busy having fun with those fresh little +chippies.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou experienced a feeling of resentment, +then, realizing how ridiculous it all was, smiled it +away and began to think of John once more. She +wondered why she had submitted herself to him. +Was it cold-blooded payment for his kind chaperoning? +Something like that. John wasn’t her type. +He was too pudgy and dark, too obviously an ex-cotton-picker +from Georgia. He was unlettered and +she couldn’t stand for that, for she liked intelligent-looking, +slender, light-brown-skinned men, like, well +... like the one who was just passing. She admired +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>him boldly. He looked at her, then over her, and +passed on.</p> + +<p>Seventh Avenue was becoming more crowded now. +School children were out for their lunch hour, corner +loafers and pool-hall loiterers were beginning to collect +on their chosen spots. Knots of people, of no +particular designation, also stood around talking, or +just looking, and there were many pedestrians, either +impressing one as being in a great hurry, or else +seeming to have no place at all to go. Emma Lou +was in this latter class. By now she had reached +142nd Street and had decided to cross over to the +opposite side and walk south once more. Seventh +Avenue was a wide, well-paved, busy thoroughfare, +with a long, narrow, iron fenced-in parkway dividing +the east side from the west. Emma Lou liked +Seventh Avenue. It was so active and alive, so different +from Central Avenue, the dingy main street of +the black belt of Los Angeles. At night it was +glorious! Where else could one see so many different +types of Negroes? Where else would one view such a +heterogeneous ensemble of mellow colors, glorified +by the night?</p> + +<p>People passing by. Children playing. Dogs on +leashes. Stray cats crouching by the sides of buildings. +Men standing in groups or alone. Black men. +Yellow men. Brown men. Emma Lou eyed them. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>They eyed her. There were a few remarks passed. +She thought she got their import even though she +could not hear what they were saying. She quickened +her step and held her head higher. Be yourself, +Emma Lou. Do you want to start picking men +up off of the street?</p> + +<p>The heat became more intense. Brisk walking made +her perspire. Her underclothes grew sticky. Harlem +heat was so muggy. She could feel the shine on her +nose and it made her self-conscious. She remembered +how the “Grace” in the office of Angus and Brown +had so carefully powdered her skin before confronting +her employer, and, as she remembered this, she +looked up, and sure enough, here she was in front +of the building she had sought so eagerly earlier that +morning. Emma Lou drew closer to the building. +She must get that shine off of her nose. It was bad +enough to be black, too black, without having a shiny +face to boot. She stopped in front of the tailor shop +directly beneath the office of Angus and Brown, and, +turning her back to the street, proceeded to powder +her shiny member. Three noisy lads passed by. They +saw Emma Lou and her reflection in the sunlit show +window. The one closest to her cleared his throat +and crooned out, loud enough for her to hear, +“There’s a girl for you, ‘Fats.’” “Fats” was the one +in the middle. He had a rotund form and a coffee-colored +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>face. He was in his shirt sleeves and carried +his coat on his arm. Bell bottom trousers hid all save +the tips of his shiny tan shoes. “Fats” was looking +at Emma Lou, too, but as he passed, he turned his +eyes from her and broadcast a withering look at the +lad who had spoken:</p> + +<p>“Man, you know I don’t haul no coal.” There was +loud laughter and the trio merrily clicked their +metal-cornered heels on the sun-baked pavement as +they moved away.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="fh2"><span class="smcap">Part III</span></p> + <p class="fh2">ALVA</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak">III<br>ALVA</h2> +</div> + + +<p>It was nine o’clock. The alarm rang. Alva’s roommate +awoke cursing.</p> + +<p>“Why the hell don’t you turn off that alarm?”</p> + +<p>There was no response. The alarm continued to +ring.</p> + +<p>“Alva!” Braxton yelled into his sleeping roommate’s +ear, “Turn off that clock. Wake up,” he +began shaking him, “Wake up, damn you ... ya +dead?”</p> + +<p>Alva slowly emerged from his stupor. Almost +mechanically he reached for the clock, dancing +merrily on a chair close to the bed, and, finding it, +pushed the guilty lever back into the silent zone. +Braxton watched him disgustedly:</p> + +<p>“Watcha gettin’ up so early for? Don’tcha know +this is Monday?”</p> + +<p>“Shure, I know it’s Monday, but I gotta go to +Uncle’s. The landlord’ll be here before eleven +o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Watcha gonna pawn?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> + +<p>“My brown suit. I won’t need it ’til next Sunday. +You got your rent?”</p> + +<p>“I got four dollars,” Braxton advanced slowly.</p> + +<p>“Cantcha get the other two?”</p> + +<p>Braxton grew apologetic and explanatory, “Not +today ... ya ... see....”</p> + +<p>“Aw, man, you make me sick.”</p> + +<p>Disgust overcoming his languor, Alva got out of +the bed. This was getting to be a regular Monday +morning occurrence. Braxton was always one, two or +three dollars short of having his required half of the +rent, and Alva, who had rented the room, always had +to make it up. Luckily for Alva, both he and the +landlord were Elks. Fraternal brothers must stick +together. Thus it was an easy matter to pay the +rent in installments. The only difficulty being that +it was happening rather frequently. There is liable +to be a limit even to a brother Elk’s patience, especially +where money is concerned.</p> + +<p>Alva put on his dressing gown, and his house +shoes, then went into the little alcove which was curtained +off in the rear from the rest of the room. +Jumbled together on the marble topped stationary +washstand were a half dozen empty gin bottles bearing +a pre-prohibition Gordon label, a similar number +of empty ginger ale bottles, a cocktail shaker, and a +medley of assorted cocktail, water, jelly and whiskey +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>glasses, filled and surrounded by squeezed orange +and lemon rinds. The little two-burner gas plate atop +a wooden dry goods box was covered with dirty +dishes, frying pan, egg shells, bacon rinds, and a +dominating though lopsided tea kettle. Even Alva’s +trunk, which occupied half the entrance space between +the alcove and the room, littered as it was +with paper bags, cracker boxes and greasy paper +plates, bore evidence of the orgy which the occupants +of the room staged over every weekend.</p> + +<p>Alva surveyed this rather intimate and familiar +disorder, faltered a moment, started to call Braxton, +then remembering previous Monday mornings set +about his task alone. It was Braxton’s custom never +to arise before noon. Alva who worked as a presser +in a costume house was forced to get up at seven +o’clock on every week day save Monday when he +was not required to report for work until twelve +o’clock. His employers thus managed to accumulate +several baskets of clothes from the sewing room before +their pressers arrived. It was better to have them +remain at home until this was done. Then you didn’t +have to pay them so much, and having let the sewing +room get head start, there was never any chance for +the pressing room to slow down.</p> + +<p>Alva’s mother had been an American mulatto, his +father a Filipino. Alva himself was small in stature +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>as his father had been, small and well developed +with broad shoulders, narrow hips and firm well +modeled limbs. His face was oval shaped and his +features more oriental than Negroid. His skin was +neither yellow nor brown but something in between, +something warm, arresting and mellow with the +faintest suggestion of a parchment tinge beneath, +lending it individuality. His eyes were small, deep +and slanting. His forehead high, hair sparse and +finely textured.</p> + +<p>The alcove finally straightened up, Alva dressed +rather hurriedly, and, taking a brown suit from the +closet, made his regular Monday morning trip to +the pawn shop.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou finished rinsing out some silk stockings +and sat down in a chair to reread a letter she +had received from home that morning. It was about +the third time she had gone over it. Her mother +wanted her to come home. Evidently the home-town +gossips were busy. No doubt they were saying, +“Strange mother to let that gal stay in New York +alone. She ain’t goin’ to school, either. Wonder what +she’s doin’?” Emma Lou read all this between the +lines of what her mother had written. Jane Morgan +was being tearful as usual. She loved to suffer, and +being tearful seemed the easiest way to let the world +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>know that one was suffering. Sob stuff, thought +Emma Lou, and, tearing the letter up, threw it into +the waste paper basket.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was now maid to Arline Strange, who +was playing for the moment the part of a mulatto +Carmen in an alleged melodrama of Negro life in +Harlem. Having tried, for two weeks to locate +what she termed “congenial work,” Emma Lou had +given up the idea and meekly returned to Mazelle +Lindsay. She had found her old job satisfactorily +filled, but Mazelle had been sympathetic and had +arranged to place her with Arline Strange. Now her +mother wanted her to come home. Let her want. She +was of age, and supporting herself. Moreover, she +felt that if it had not been for gossip her mother +would never have thought of asking her to come +home.</p> + +<p>“Stop your mooning, dearie.” Arline Strange had +returned to her dressing room. Act one was over. The +Negro Carmen had become the mistress of a wealthy +European. She would now shed her gingham dress for +an evening gown.</p> + +<p>Mechanically, Emma Lou assisted Arline in making +the change. She was unusually silent. It was +noticed.</p> + +<p>“’Smatter, Louie. In love or something?”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou smiled, “Only with myself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> + +<p>“Then snap out of it. Remember, you’re going +cabareting with us tonight. This brother of mine +from Chicago insists upon going to Harlem to check +up on my performance. He’ll enjoy himself more if +you act as guide. Ever been to Small’s?” Emma Lou +shook her head. “I haven’t been to any of the +cabarets.”</p> + +<p>“What?” Arline was genuinely surprised. “You in +Harlem and never been to a cabaret? Why I thought +all colored people went.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou bristled. White people were so stupid. +“No” she said firmly. “All colored people don’t go. +Fact is, I’ve heard that most of the places are patronized +almost solely by whites.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I knew that, I’ve been to Small’s and +Barron’s and the Cotton Club, but I thought there +were other places.” She stopped talking, and spent +the next few moments deepening the artificial duskiness +of her skin. The gingham dress was now on its +hanger. The evening gown clung glamorously to her +voluptuous figure. “For God’s sake, don’t let on to +my brother you ain’t been to Small’s before. Act +like you know all about it. I’ll see that he gives you +a big tip.” The call bell rang. Arline said “Damn,” +gave one last look into the mirror, then hurried back +to the stage so that the curtain could go up on the +cabaret scene in Act Two.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> + +<p>Emma Lou laid out the negligee outfit Arline +would be killed in at the end of Act Three, and went +downstairs to stand in the stage wings, a makeup +box beneath her arm. She never tired of watching the +so-called dramatic antics on the stage. She wondered +if there were any Negroes of the type portrayed by +Arline and her fellow performers. Perhaps there were +since there were any number of minor parts being +played by real Negroes who acted much different +from any Negroes she had ever known or seen. It all +seemed to her like a mad caricature.</p> + +<p>She watched for about the thirtieth time Arline +acting the part of a Negro cabaret entertainer, and +also for about the thirtieth time, came to the conclusion +that Arline was being herself rather than the +character she was supposed to be playing. From +where she was standing in the wings she could see +a small portion of the audience, and she watched +their reaction. Their interest seemed genuine. Arline +did have pep and personality, and the alleged Negro +background was strident and kaleidoscopic, all of +which no doubt made up for the inane plot and vulgar +dialogue.</p> + +<p>They entered Small’s Paradise, Emma Lou, Arline +and Arline’s brother from Chicago. All the way uptown +he had plied Emma Lou with questions concerning +New York’s Black Belt. He had reciprocated +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>by relating how well he knew the Negro section +of Chicago. Quite a personage around the Black and +Tan cabarets there, it seemed. “But I never,” he +concluded as the taxi drew up to the curb in front +of Small’s, “have seen any black gal in Chicago act +like Arline acts. She claims she is presenting a Harlem +specie. So I am going to see for myself.” And +he chuckled all the time he was helping them out +of the taxi and paying the fare. While they were +checking their wraps in the foyer, the orchestra began +playing. Through the open entrance way Emma +Lou could see a hazy, dim-lighted room, walls and +ceiling colorfully decorated, floor space jammed with +tables and chairs and people. A heavy set mulatto in +tuxedo, after asking how many were in their party, +led them through a lane of tables around the +squared off dance platform to a ringside seat on the +far side of the cabaret.</p> + +<p>Immediately they were seated, a waiter came to +take their order.</p> + +<p>“Three bottles of White Rock.” The waiter +nodded, twirled his tray on the tip of his fingers and +skated away.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou watched the dancers, and noticed immediately +that in all that insensate crowd of dancing +couples there were only a few Negroes.</p> + +<p>“My God, such music. Let’s dance, Arline,” and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>off they went, leaving Emma Lou sitting alone. +Somehow or other she felt frightened. Most of the +tables around her were deserted, their tops littered +with liquid-filled glasses, and bottles of ginger ale +and White Rock. There was no liquor in sight, yet +Emma Lou was aware of pungent alcoholic odors. +Then she noticed a heavy-jowled white man with a +flashlight walking among the empty tables and looking +beneath them. He didn’t seem to be finding anything. +The music soon stopped. Arline and her +brother returned to the table. He was feigning +anxiety because he had not seen the type of character +Arline claimed to be portraying, and loudly +declared that he was disappointed.</p> + +<p>“Why there ain’t nothing here but white people. +Is it always like this?”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou said it was and turned to watch their +waiter, who with two others had come dancing across +the floor, holding aloft his tray, filled with bottles +and glasses. Deftly, he maneuvered away from the +other two and slid to their table, put down a bottle +of White Rock and an ice-filled glass before each +one, then, after flicking a stub check on to the table, +rejoined his companions in a return trip across the +dance floor.</p> + +<p>Arline’s brother produced a hip flask, and before +Emma Lou could demur mixed her a highball. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>didn’t want to drink. She hadn’t drunk before, +but....</p> + +<p>“Here come the entertainers!” Emma Lou followed +Arline’s turn of the head to see two women, one +light brown skin and slim, the other chocolate colored +and fat, walking to the center of the dance floor.</p> + +<p>The orchestra played the introduction and vamp +to “Muddy Waters.” The two entertainers swung +their legs and arms in rhythmic unison, smiling +broadly and rolling their eyes, first to the left and +then to the right. Then they began to sing. Their +voices were husky and strident, neither alto nor +soprano. They muddled their words and seemed to +impregnate the syncopated melody with physical +content.</p> + +<p>As they sang the chorus, they glided out among +the tables, stopping at one, then at another, and +another, singing all the time, their bodies undulating +and provocative, occasionally giving just a promise +of an obscene hip movement, while their arms waved +and their fingers held tight to the dollar bills and +silver coins placed in their palms by enthusiastic +onlookers.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou, all of her, watched and listened. As +they approached her table, she sat as one mesmerized. +Something in her seemed to be trying to +give way. Her insides were stirred, and tingled. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>two entertainers circled their table; Arline’s brother +held out a dollar bill. The fat, chocolate colored girl +leaned over the table, her hand touched his, she +exercised the muscles of her stomach, muttered a +guttural “thank you” in between notes and moved +away, moaning “Muddy Waters,” rolling her eyes, +shaking her hips.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had turned completely around in her +chair, watching the progress of that wah-wahing, +jello-like chocolate hulk, and her slim light brown +skin companion. Finally they completed their rounds +of the tables and returned to the dance floor. Red and +blue spotlights played upon their dissimilar figures, +the orchestra increased the tempo and lessened the +intensity of its playing. The swaying entertainers +pulled up their dresses, exposing lace trimmed stepins +and an island of flesh. Their stockings were rolled +down below their knees, their stepins discreetly short +and delicate. Finally, they ceased their swaying and +began to dance. They shimmied and whirled, charlestoned +and black-bottomed. Their terpsichorean ensemble +was melodramatic and absurd. Their execution +easy and emphatic. Emma Lou forgot herself. +She gaped, giggled and applauded like the rest of the +audience, and only as they let their legs separate, +preparatory to doing one final split to the floor, did +Emma Lou come to herself long enough to wonder +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>if the fat one could achieve it without seriously endangering +those ever tightening stepins.</p> + +<p>“Dam’ good, I’ll say,” a slender white youth at the +next table asseverated, as he lifted an amber filled +glass to his lips.</p> + +<p>Arline sighed. Her brother had begun to razz her. +Emma Lou blinked guiltily as the lights were turned +up. She had been immersed in something disturbingly +pleasant. Idiot, she berated herself, just because +you’ve had one drink and seen your first cabaret +entertainer, must your mind and body feel all +aflame?</p> + +<p>Arline’s brother was mixing another highball. All +around, people were laughing. There was much more +laughter than there was talk, much more gesticulating +and ogling than the usual means of expression +called for. Everything seemed unrestrained, abandoned. +Yet, Emma Lou was conscious of a note of +artificiality, the same as she felt when she watched +Arline and her fellow performers cavorting on the +stage in “Cabaret Gal.” This entire scene seemed +staged, they were in a theater, only the proscenium +arch had been obliterated. At last the audience and +the actors were as one.</p> + +<p>A call to order on the snare drum. A brutal sliding +trumpet call on the trombone, a running minor scale +by the clarinet and piano, an umpah, umpah by the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>bass horn, a combination four measure moan and +strum by the saxophone and banjo, then a melodic +ensemble, and the orchestra was playing another +dance tune. Masses of people jumbled up the three +entrances to the dance square and with difficulty, +singled out their mates and became closely allied +partners. Inadvertently, Emma Lou looked at +Arline’s brother. He blushed, and appeared uncomfortable. +She realized immediately what was on his +mind. He didn’t know whether or not to ask her to +dance with him. The ethics of the case were complex. +She was a Negro and hired maid. But was she +a hired maid after hours, and in this environment? +Emma Lou had difficulty in suppressing a smile, +then she decided to end the suspense.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you two dance. No need of letting the +music go to waste.”</p> + +<p>Both Arline and her brother were obviously relieved, +but as they got up Arline said, “Ain’t much +fun cuddling up to your own brother when there’s +music like this.” But off they went, leaving Emma +Lou alone and disturbed. John ought to be here, +slipped out before she remembered that she didn’t +want John any more. Then she began to wish that +John had introduced her to some more men. But he +didn’t know the kind of men she was interested in +knowing. He only knew men and boys like himself, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>porters and janitors and chauffeurs and bootblacks. +Imagine her, a college trained person, even if she +hadn’t finished her senior year, being satisfied with +the company of such unintelligent servitors. How had +she stood John so long with his constant of defense, +“I ain’t got much education, but I got mother wit.” +Mother wit! Creation of the unlettered, satisfying +illusion to the dumb, ludicrous prop to the mentally +unfit. Yes, he had mother wit all right.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou looked around and noticed at a near-by +table three young colored men, all in tuxedos, gazing +at her and talking. She averted her glance and turned +to watch the dancers. She thought she heard a burst +of ribald laughter from the young men at the table. +Then some one touched her on the shoulder, and she +looked up into a smiling oriental-like face, neither +brown nor yellow in color, but warm and pleasing +beneath the soft lights, and, because of the smile, +showing a gleaming row of small, even teeth, set off +by a solitary gold incisor. The voice was persuasive +and apologetic, “Would you care to dance with me?” +The music had stopped, but there was promise of an +encore. Emma Lou was confused, her mind blankly +chaotic. She was expected to push back her chair and +get up. She did. And, without saying a word, allowed +herself to be maneuvered to the dance floor.</p> + +<p>In a moment they were swallowed up in the jazz +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>whirlpool. Long strides were impossible. There were +too many other legs striding for free motion in that +over populated area. He held her close to him; the +contours of her body fitting his. The two highballs +had made her giddy. She seemed to be glowing inside. +The soft lights and the music suggested abandon +and intrigue. They said nothing to one another. +She noticed that her partner’s face seemed alive +with some inner ecstasy. It must be the music, +thought Emma Lou. Then she got a whiff of his +liquor-laden breath.</p> + +<p>After three encores, the clarinet shrilled out a +combination of notes that seemed to say regretfully, +“That’s all.” Brighter lights were switched on, and +the milling couples merged into a struggling mass +of individuals, laughing, talking, over-animated individuals, +all trying to go in different directions, and +getting a great deal of fun out of the resulting confusion. +Emma Lou’s partner held tightly to her arm, +and pushed her through the insensate crowd to her +table. Then he muttered a polite “thank you” and +turned away. Emma Lou sat down. Arline and her +brother looked at her and laughed. “Got a dance, +eh Louie?” Emma Lou wondered if Arline was being +malicious, and for an answer she only nodded her +head and smiled, hoping all the while that her smile +was properly enigmatic.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></p> + +<p>Arline’s brother spoke up. “Whadda say we go. +I’ve seen enough of this to know that Arline and +her stage director are all wet.” Their waiter was +called, the check was paid, and they were on their +way out. In spite of herself, Emma Lou glanced +back to the table where her dancing partner was +sitting. To her confusion, she noticed that he and his +two friends were staring at her. One of them said +something and made a wry face. Then they all +laughed, uproariously and cruelly.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Alva had overslept. Braxton, who had stayed out +the entire night, came in about eight o’clock, and +excitedly interrupted his drunken slumber.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t you goin’ to work?”</p> + +<p>“Work?” Alva was alarmed. “What time is it?”</p> + +<p>“’Bout eight. Didn’t you set the clock?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, I did.” Alva picked up the clock from +the floor and examined the alarm dial. It had been +set for ten o’clock instead of for six. He sulked for +a moment, then attempted to shake off the impending +mood of regretfulness and disgust for self.</p> + +<p>“Aw, hell, what’s the dif’. Call ’em up and tell +’em I’m sick. There’s a nickel somewhere in that +change on the dresser.” Braxton had taken off his +tuxedo coat and vest.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> + +<p>“If you’re not goin’ to work ever, you might as +well quit. I don’t see no sense in working two days +and laying off three.”</p> + +<p>“I’m goin’ to quit the damn job anyway. I been +working steady now since last fall.”</p> + +<p>“I thought it was about time you quit.” Braxton +had stripped off his white full dress shirt, put on +his bathrobe, and started out of the room, to go +downstairs to the telephone. Alva reached across the +bed and pulled up the shade, blinked at the inpouring +daylight and lay himself back down, one arm thrown +across his forehead. He had slipped off into a state of +semi-consciousness again when Braxton returned.</p> + +<p>“The girl said she’d tell the boss. Asked who I was +as usual.” He went into the alcove to finish undressing, +and put on his pajamas. Alva looked up.</p> + +<p>“You goin’ to bed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, don’t you think I want some sleep?”</p> + +<p>“Thought you was goin’ to look for a job?”</p> + +<p>“I was, but I hadn’t figured on staying out all +night.”</p> + +<p>“Always some damn excuse. Where’d you go?”</p> + +<p>“Down to Flo’s.”</p> + +<p>“Who in the hell is Flo?”</p> + +<p>“That little yaller broad I picked up at the cabaret +last night.”</p> + +<p>“I thought she had a nigger with her.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> + +<p>“She did, but I jived her along, so she ditched +him, and gave me her address. I met her there later.”</p> + +<p>Braxton was now ready to get into the bed. All +this time he had been preparing himself in his usual +bedtime manner. His face had been cold-creamed, his +hair greased and tightly covered by a silken stocking +cap. This done, he climbed over Alva and lay on top +of the covers. They were silent for a moment, then +Braxton laughed softly to himself.</p> + +<p>“Where’d <i>you</i> go last night?”</p> + +<p>“Where’d I go?” Alva seemed surprised. “Why I +came home, where’d ya think I went?” Braxton +laughed again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I thought maybe you’d really made a date +with that coal scuttle blond you danced with.”</p> + +<p>“Ya musta thought it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ya seemed pretty sweet on her.”</p> + +<p>“Whaddaya mean, sweet? Just because I danced +with her once. I took pity on her, cause she looked so +lonesome with those ofays. Wonder who they was?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she probably works for them. It’s good you +danced with her. Nobody else would.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t see nothing wrong with her. She might +have been a little dark.”</p> + +<p>“Little dark is right, and you know when they +comes blacker’n me, they ain’t got no go.” Braxton +was a reddish brown aristocrat, with clear-cut features +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>and curly hair. His paternal grandfather had been +an Iroquois Indian.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou was very lonesome. She still knew no +one save John, two or three of the Negro actors who +worked on the stage with Arline, and a West Indian +woman who lived in the same apartment with her. +Occasionally John met her when she left the theater +at night and escorted her to her apartment door. +He repeatedly importuned her to be nice to him once +more. Her only answer was a sigh or a smile.</p> + +<p>The West Indian woman was employed as a stenographer +in the office of a Harlem political sheet. +She was shy and retiring, and not much given to +making friends with American Negroes. So many of +them had snubbed and pained her when she was +newly emigrant from her home in Barbadoes, that +she lumped them all together, just as they seemed to +do her people. She would not take under consideration +that Emma Lou was new to Harlem, and not +even aware of the prejudice American-born Harlemites +nursed for foreign-born ones. She remembered +too vividly how, on ringing the bell of a house +where there had been a vacancy sign in the window, +a little girl had come to the door, and, in answer +to a voice in the back asking, “Who is it, Cora?” had +replied, “monkey chaser wants to see the room you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>got to rent.” Jasmine Griffith was wary of all contact +with American Negroes, for that had been only one +of the many embittering incidents she had experienced.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou liked Jasmine, but was conscious of +the fact that she could never penetrate her stolid +reserve. They often talked to one another when they +met in the hallway, and sometimes they stopped in +one another’s rooms, but there was never any talk +of going places together, never any informal revelations +or intimacies.</p> + +<p>The Negro actors in “Cabaret Gal,” all felt themselves +superior to Emma Lou, and she in turn felt +superior to them. She was just a maid. They were +just common stage folk. Once she had had an inspiration. +She had heard that “Cabaret Gal” was +liable to run for two years or more on Broadway +before road shows were sent out. Without saying +anything to Arline she had approached the stage +director and asked him, in all secrecy, what her +chances were of getting into the cabaret ensemble. +She knew they paid well, and she speculated that two +or three years in “Cabaret Gal” might lay the foundations +for a future stage career.</p> + +<p>“What the hell would Arline do,” he laughed, “if +she didn’t have you to change her complexion before +every performance?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>Emma Lou had smiled away this bit of persiflage +and had reiterated her request in such a way that +there was no mistaking her seriousness.</p> + +<p>Sensing this, the director changed his mood, and +admitted that even then two of the girls were dropping +out of “Cabaret Gal” to sail for Europe with +another show, booked for a season on the continent. +But he hastened to tell her, as he saw her eyes +brighten with anticipation:</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, we worked out a color scheme that +would be a complement to Arline’s makeup. You’ve +noticed, no doubt, that all of the girls are about one +color, and....”</p> + +<p>Unable to stammer any more, he had hastened +away, embarrassed.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou hadn’t noticed that all the girls were +one color. In fact, she was certain they were not. +She hastened to stand in the stage wings among them +between scenes and observe their skin coloring. +Despite many layers of liquid powder she could see +that they were not all one color, but that they were +either mulatto or light-brown skin. Their makeup +and the lights gave them an appearance of sameness. +She noticed that there were several black men in the +ensemble, but that none of the women were dark. +Then the breach between Emma Lou and the show +people widened.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> + +<p>Emma Lou had had another inspiration. She had +decided to move. Perhaps if she were to live with a +homey type of family they could introduce her to +“the right sort of people.” She blamed her enforced +isolation on the fact that she had made no worthwhile +contacts. Mrs. Blake was a disagreeable remembrance. +Since she came to think about it, Mrs. +Blake had been distinctly patronizing like ... like +... her high school principal, or like Doris Garrett, +the head of the only Negro sorority in the Southern +California college she had attended. Doris Garrett +had been very nice to all her colored schoolmates, but +had seen to it that only those girls who were of a +mulatto type were pledged for membership in the +Greek letter society of which she was the head.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou reasoned that she couldn’t go on as +she was, being alone and aching for congenial companionship. +True, her job didn’t allow her much +spare time. She had to be at Arline’s apartment at +eleven every morning, but except on the two matinee +days, she was free from two until seven-thirty P. M., +when she had to be at the theater, and by eleven-thirty +every night, she was in Harlem. Then she had +all day Sunday to herself. Arline paid her a good +salary, and she made tips from the first and second +leads in the show, who used her spare moments. She +had been working for six weeks now, and had saved +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>one hundred dollars. She practically lived on her +tips. Her salary was twenty-five dollars per week. +Dinner was the only meal she had to pay for, and +Arline gave her many clothes.</p> + +<p>So Emma Lou began to think seriously of getting +another room. She wanted more space and more air +and more freedom from fish and cabbage smells. She +had been in Harlem now for about fourteen weeks. +Only fourteen weeks? The count stunned her. It +seemed much longer. It was this rut she was in. Well, +she would get out of it. Finding a room, a new room, +would be the first step.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou asked Jasmine how one went about it. +Jasmine was noncommittal, and said she didn’t know, +but she had heard that <i>The Amsterdam News</i>, a +Harlem Negro weekly, carried a large “Furnished +rooms for rent” section. Emma Lou bought a copy +of this paper, and, though attracted, did not stop to +read the news columns under the streaming headlines +to the effect “Headless Man Found In Trunk”; +“Number Runner Given Sentence”; “Benefit Ball +Huge Success”; but turned immediately to the advertising +section.</p> + +<p>There were many rooms advertised for rent, rooms +of all sizes and for all prices, with all sorts of conveniences +and inconveniences. Emma Lou was more +bewildered than ever. Then, remembering that John +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>had said that all the “dictys” lived between Seventh +and Edgecombe Avenues on 136th, 137th, 138th and +139th Streets, decided to check off the places in these +streets. John had also told her that “dictys” lived in +the imposing apartment houses on Edgecombe, Bradhurst +and St. Nicholas Avenues. “Dictys” were Harlem’s +high-toned people, folk listed in the local social +register, as it were. But Emma Lou did not care to +live in another apartment building. She preferred, or +thought she would prefer, living in a private house +where there would be fewer people and more privacy.</p> + +<p>The first place Emma Lou approached had a double +room for two girls, two men, or a couple. They +thought their advertisement had said as much. It +hadn’t, but Emma Lou apologized, and left. The next +three places were nice but exorbitant. Front rooms +with two windows and a kitchenette, renting for +twelve, fourteen and sixteen dollars a week. Emma +Lou had planned to spend not more than eight or +nine dollars at the most. The next place smelled far +worse than her present home. The room was smaller +and the rent higher. Emma Lou began to lose hope, +then rallying, had gone to the last place on her list +from <i>The Amsterdam News</i>. The landlady was the +spinster type, garrulous and friendly. She had a high +forehead, keen intellectual eyes, and a sharp profile. +The room she showed to Emma Lou was both spacious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>and clean, and she only asked eight dollars and +fifty cents per week for it.</p> + +<p>After showing her the room, the landlady had invited +Emma Lou downstairs to her parlor. Emma +Lou found a place to sit down on a damask covered +divan. There were many other seats in the room, but +the landlady, <i>Miss</i> Carrington, as she had introduced +herself, insisted upon sitting down beside her. They +talked for about a half an hour, and in that time, +being a successful “pumper,” <i>Miss</i> Carrington had +learned the history of Emma Lou’s experiences in +Harlem. Satisfied of her ground, she grew more familiar, +placed her hand on Emma Lou’s knee, then +finally put her arm around her waist. Emma Lou +felt uncomfortable. This sudden and unexpected intimacy +disturbed her. The room was close and hot. +Damask coverings seemed to be everywhere. Damask +coverings and dull red draperies and mauve walls.</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry any more, dearie, I’ll take care of +you from now on,” and she had tightened her arm +around Emma Lou’s waist, who, feeling more uncomfortable +than ever, looked at her wrist watch.</p> + +<p>“I must be going.”</p> + +<p>“Do you want the room?” There was a note of +anxiety in her voice. “There are lots of nice girls +living here. We call this the ‘Old Maid’s Home.’ We +have parties among ourselves, and just have a grand +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>time. Talk about fun! I know you’d be happy here.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou knew she would too, and said as much. +Then hastily, she gave <i>Miss</i> Carrington a three dollar +deposit on the room, and left ... to continue +her search for a new place to live.</p> + +<p>There were no more places on her <i>Amsterdam +News</i> list, so noticing “Vacancy” signs in windows +along the various streets, Emma Lou decided to walk +along and blindly choose a house. None of the houses +in 137th Street impressed her, they were all too cold +looking, and she was through with 136th Street. <i>Miss</i> +Carrington lived there. She sauntered down the “L” +trestled Eighth Avenue to 138th Street. Then she +turned toward Seventh Avenue and strolled along +slowly on the south side of the street. She chose the +south side because she preferred the appearance of +the red brick houses there to the green brick ones on +the north side. After she had passed by three “Vacancy” +signs, she decided to enter the very next house +where such a sign was displayed.</p> + +<p>Seeing one, she climbed the terraced stone stairs, +rang the doorbell and waited expectantly. There was +a long pause. She rang the bell again, and just as she +relieved her pressure, the door was opened by a +bedizened yellow woman with sand colored hair and +deep set corn colored eyes. Emma Lou noted the incongruous +thickness of her lips.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> + +<p>“How do you do. I ... I ... would like to see +one of your rooms.”</p> + +<p>The woman eyed Emma Lou curiously and looked +as if she were about to snort. Then slowly she began +to close the door in the astonished girl’s face. Emma +Lou opened her mouth and tried to speak, but the +woman forestalled her, saying testily in broken +English:</p> + +<p>“We have nothing here.”</p> + +<p>Persons of color didn’t associate with blacks in the +Caribbean Island she had come from.</p> + +<p>From then on Emma Lou intensified her suffering, +mulling over and magnifying each malignant experience. +They grew within her and were nourished by +constant introspection and livid reminiscences. Again, +she stood upon the platform in the auditorium of the +Boise high school. Again that first moment of realization +and its attendant strictures were disinterred and +revivified. She was black, too black, there was no getting +around it. Her mother had thought so, and had +often wished that she had been a boy. Black boys can +make a go of it, but black girls....</p> + +<p>No one liked black, anyway....</p> + +<p>Wanted: light colored girl to work as waitress in +tearoom....</p> + +<p>Wanted: Nurse girl, light colored preferred (children +are afraid of black folks)....</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’ haul no coal....”</p> + +<p>“It’s like this, Emma Lou, they don’t want no dark +girls in their sorority. They ain’t pledged us, and +we’re the only two they ain’t, and we’re both black.”</p> + +<p><i>The ineluctability of raw experience! The muddy +mirroring of life’s perplexities.... Seeing everything +in terms of self.... The spreading sensitiveness +of an adder’s sting.</i></p> + +<p>“Mr. Brown has some one else in mind....”</p> + +<p>“We have nothing here....”</p> + +<p>She should have been a boy. A black boy could get +along, but a black girl....</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Arline was leaving the cast of “Cabaret Gal” for +two weeks. Her mother had died in Chicago. The +Negro Carmen must be played by an understudy, a +real mulatto this time, who, lacking Arline’s poise +and personality, nevertheless brought down the +house because of the crude vividity of her performance. +Emma Lou was asked to act as her maid while +Arline was away. Indignantly, she had taken the +alternative of a two weeks’ vacation. Imagine her +being maid for a <i>Negro</i> woman! It was unthinkable.</p> + +<p>Left entirely to herself, she proceeded to make herself +more miserable. Lying in bed late every morning, +semi-conscious, body burning, mind disturbed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>by thoughts of sex. Never before had she experienced +such physical longing. She often thought of John and +at times was almost driven to slip him into her room +once more. But John couldn’t satisfy her. She felt +that she wanted something more than just the mere +physical relationship with some one whose body and +body coloring were distasteful to her.</p> + +<p>When she did decide to get up, she would spend +an hour before her dresser mirror, playing with her +hair, parting it on the right side, then on the left, +then in the middle, brushing it straight back, or else +teasing it with the comb, inducing it to crackle with +electric energy. Then she would cover it with a cap, +pin a towel around her shoulders, and begin to experiment +with her complexion.</p> + +<p>She had decided to bleach her skin as much as possible. +She had bought many creams and skin preparations, +and had tried to remember the various bleaching +aids she had heard of throughout her life. She +remembered having heard her grandmother speak of +that “old fool, Carrie Campbell,” who, already a fair +mulatto, had wished to pass for white. To accomplish +this she had taken arsenic wafers, which were guaranteed +to increase the pallor of one’s skin.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had obtained some of these arsenic +wafers and eaten them, but they had only served to +give her pains in the pit of her stomach. Next she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>determined upon a peroxide solution in addition to +something which was known as Black and White +Ointment. After she had been using these for about +a month she thought that she could notice some +change. But in reality the only effects were an increase +in blackheads, irritating rashes, and a burning +skin.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile she found her thoughts straying often +to the chap she had danced with in the cabaret. She +was certain he lived in Harlem, and she was determined +to find him. She took it for granted that he +would remember her. So day after day, she strolled +up and down Seventh Avenue from 125th to 145th +Street, then crossed to Lenox Avenue and traversed +the same distance. <i>He</i> was her ideal. He looked like +a college person. He dressed well. His skin was such +a warm and different color, and she had been tantalized +by the mysterious slant and deepness of his +oriental-like eyes.</p> + +<p>After walking the streets like this the first few +days of her vacation, she became aware of the futility +of her task. She saw many men on the street, +many well dressed, seemingly cultured, pleasingly +colored men and boys. They seemed to congregate in +certain places, and stand there all the day. She found +herself wondering when and where they worked, and +how they could afford to dress so well. She began to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>admire their well formed bodies and gloried in the +way their trousers fit their shapely limbs, and in the +way they walked, bringing their heels down so firmly +and so noisily on the pavement. Rubber heels were +out of fashion. Hard heels, with metal heel plates +were the mode of the day. These corner loafers were +so care-free, always smiling, eyes always bright. She +loved to hear them laugh, and loved to watch them, +when, without any seeming provocation, they would +cut a few dance steps or do a jig. It seemed as if they +either did this from sheer exuberance or else simply +to relieve the monotony of standing still.</p> + +<p>Of course, they noticed her as she passed and repassed +day after day. She eyed them boldly enough, +but she was still too self-conscious to broadcast an +inviting look. She was too afraid of public ridicule or +a mass mocking. Ofttimes men spoke to her, and +tried to make advances, but they were never the kind +she preferred. She didn’t like black men, and the +others seemed to keep their distance.</p> + +<p>One day, tired of walking, she went into a motion +picture theater on the avenue. She had seen the feature +picture before, but was too lethargic and too +uninterested in other things to go some place else. In +truth, there was no place else for her to go. So she sat +in the darkened theater, squirmed around in her seat, +and began to wonder just how many thousands of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>Negroes there were in Harlem. This theater was practically +full, even in mid-afternoon. The streets were +crowded, other theaters were crowded, and then there +must be many more at home and at work. Emma Lou +wondered what the population of Negro Harlem was. +She should have read that Harlem number of the +Survey Graphic issued two or three years ago. But +Harlem hadn’t interested her then for she had had no +idea at the time that she would ever come to Harlem.</p> + +<p>Some one sat down beside her. She was too occupied +with herself to notice who the person was. The feature +picture was over and a comedy was being flashed +on the screen. Emma Lou found herself laughing, +and, finding something on the screen to interest her, +squared herself in her seat. Then she felt a pressure +on one of her legs, the warm fleshy pressure of another +leg. Her first impulse was to change her position. +Perhaps she had touched the person next to her. +Perhaps it was an accident. She moved her leg a little, +but she still felt the pressure. Maybe it wasn’t an +accident. Her heart beat fast, her limbs began to +quiver. The leg which was pressed against hers had +such a pleasant, warm, fleshy feeling. She stole a +glance at the person who had sat down next to her. +He smiled ... an impudent boyish smile and +pressed her leg the harder.</p> + +<p>“Funny cuss, that guy,” he was speaking to her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + +<p><i>Slap him in the face. Change your seat. Don’t be +an idiot. He has a nice smile. Look at him again.</i></p> + +<p>“Did you see him in ‘Long Pants’?”</p> + +<p>He was leaning closer now, and Emma Lou took +note of a teakwood tan hand resting on her knee. She +took another look at him, and saw that he had curly +hair. He leaned toward her, and she leaned toward +him. Their shoulders touched, his hand reached for +hers and stole it from her lap. She wished that the +theater wasn’t so dark. But if it hadn’t been so dark +this couldn’t have happened. She wondered if his +hair and eyes were brown or jet black.</p> + +<p>The feature picture was being reeled off again. +They were too busy talking to notice that. When it +was half over, they left their seats together. Before +they reached the street, Emma Lou handed him three +dollars, and, leaving the theater, they went to an +apartment house on 140th Street, off Lenox Avenue. +Emma Lou waited downstairs in the dirty marble +hallway where she was stifled by urinal smells and +stared at by passing people, waited for about ten +minutes, then, in answer to his call, climbed one flight +of stairs, and was led into a well furnished, though +dark, apartment.</p> + +<p>His name was Jasper Crane. He was from Virginia. +Living in Harlem with his brother, so he said. He +had only been in New York a month. Didn’t have a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>job yet. His brother wasn’t very nice to him ... +wanted to kick him out because he was jealous of +him, thought his wife was more attentive than a sister-in-law +should be. He asked Emma Lou to lend +him five dollars. He said he wanted to buy a job. She +did. And when he left her, he kissed her passionately +and promised to meet her on the next day and to telephone +her within an hour.</p> + +<p>But he didn’t telephone nor did Emma Lou ever +see him again. The following day she waited for an +hour and a half in the vicinity of that hallway where +they were supposed to meet again. Then she went to +the motion picture theater where they had met, and +sat in the same seat in the same row so that he could +find her. She sat there through two shows, then came +back on the next day, and on the next. Meanwhile +several other men approached her, a panting fat Jew, +whom she reported to the usher, a hunchback, whom +she pitied and then admired as he “made” the girl +sitting on the other side of him; and there were several +not very clean, trampy-looking men, but no +Jasper.</p> + +<p>He had asked her if she ever went to the Renaissance +Casino, a public hall, where dances were held +every night, so Emma Lou decided to go there on a +Saturday, hoping to see him. She drew twenty-five +dollars from the bank in order to buy a new dress, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>a very fine elaborate dress, which she got from a +“hot” man, who had been recommended to her by +Jasmine. “Hot” men sold supposedly stolen goods, +thus enabling Harlem folk to dress well but cheaply. +Then she spent the entire afternoon and evening preparing +herself for the night, had her hair washed and +marcelled, and her fingernails manicured.</p> + +<p>Before putting on her dress she stood in front of +her mirror for over an hour, fixing her face, drenching +it with a peroxide solution, plastering it with a +mudpack, massaging it with a bleaching ointment, +and then, as a final touch, using much vanishing +cream and powder. She even ate an arsenic wafer. +The only visible effect of all this on her complexion +was to give it an ugly purple tinge, but Emma Lou +was certain that it made her skin less dark.</p> + +<p>She hailed a taxi and went to the Renaissance +Casino. She did feel foolish, going there without an +escort, but the doorman didn’t seem to notice. +Perhaps it was all right. Perhaps it was customary +for Harlem girls to go about unaccompanied. She +checked her wraps and wandered along the promenade +that bordered the dance floor. It was early yet, +just ten-thirty, and only a few couples were dancing. +She found a chair, and tried to look as if she were +waiting for some one. The orchestra stopped playing, +people crowded past her. She liked the dance hall, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>liked its draped walls and ceilings, its harmonic color +design and soft lights.</p> + +<p>The music began again. She didn’t see Jasper. A +spindly legged yellow boy, awkward and bashful, +asked her to dance with him. She did. The boy danced +badly, but dancing with him was better than sitting +there alone, looking foolish. She did wish that he +would assume a more upright position and stop +scrunching his shoulders. It seemed as if he were trying +to bend both their backs to the breaking point. +As they danced they talked about the music. He +asked her did she have an escort. She said yes, and +hurried to the ladies’ room when the dance was over.</p> + +<p>She didn’t particularly like the looks of the crowd. +It was well-behaved enough, but ... well ... one +could see that they didn’t belong to the cultured +classes. They weren’t the right sort of people. Maybe +nice people didn’t come here. Jasper hadn’t been so +nice. She wished she could see him, wouldn’t she give +him a piece of her mind?—And for the first time she +really sensed the baseness of the trick he had played +on her.</p> + +<p>She walked out of the ladies’ room and found herself +again on the promenade. For a moment she stood +there, watching the dancers. The floor was more +crowded now, the dancers more numerous and gay. +She watched them swirl and glide around the dance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>floor, and an intense longing for Jasper or John or +any one welled up within her. It was terrible to be so +alone, terrible to stand here and see other girls contentedly +curled up in men’s arms. She had been foolish +to come, Jasper probably never came here. In +truth he was no doubt far away from New York by +now. What sense was there in her being here. She +wasn’t going to stay. She was going home, but before +starting toward the check room, she took one more +glance at the dancers and saw her cabaret dancing +partner.</p> + +<p>He was dancing with a slender brown-skin girl, his +smile as ecstatic and intense as before. Emma Lou +noted the pleasing lines of his body encased in a +form-fitting blue suit. Why didn’t he look her way?</p> + +<p>“May I have this dance?” A well modulated deep +voice. A slender stripling, arrayed in brown, with a +dark brown face. He had dimples. They danced. +Emma Lou was having difficulty in keeping track of +Alva. He seemed to be consciously striving to elude +her. He seemed to be deliberately darting in among +clusters of couples, where he would remain hidden +for some time, only to reappear far ahead or behind +her.</p> + +<p>Her partner was congenial. He introduced himself, +but she did not hear his name, for at that moment, +Alva and his partner glided close by. Emma Lou +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>actually shoved the supple, slender boy she was dancing +with in Alva’s direction. She mustn’t lose him +this time. She must speak. They veered close to one +another. They almost collided. Alva looked into her +face. She smiled and spoke. He acknowledged her +salute, but stared at her, frankly perplexed, and there +was no recognition in his face as he moved away, +bending his head close to that of his partner, the +better to hear something she was asking him.</p> + +<p>The slender brown boy clung to Emma Lou’s arm, +treated her to a soda, and, at her request, piloted her +around the promenade. She saw Alva sitting in a box +in the balcony, and suggested to her companion that +they parade around the balcony for a while. He assented. +He was lonesome too. First summer in New +York. Just graduated from Virginia Union University. +Going to Columbia School of Law next year. +Nice boy, but no appeal. Too—supple.</p> + +<p>They passed by Alva’s box. He wasn’t there. Two +other couples and the girl he had been dancing with +were. Emma Lou and her companion walked the +length of the balcony, then retraced their steps just +in time to see Alva coming around the corner carrying +a cup of water. She watched the rhythmic swing +of his legs, like symmetrical pendulums, perfectly +shaped; and she admired once more the intriguing +lines of his body and pleasing foreignness of his face. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>As they met, she smiled at him. He was certain he +did not know her but he stopped and was polite, feeling +that he must find out who she was and where he +had met her.</p> + +<p>“How do you do?” Emma Lou held out her hand. +He shifted the cup of water from his right hand to +his left. “I’m glad to see you again.” They shook +hands. His clasp was warm, his palm soft and sweaty. +The supple lad stepped to one side. “I—I,” Emma +Lou was speaking now, “have often wondered if we +would meet again.” Alva wanted to laugh. He could +not imagine who this girl with the purple-powdered +skin was. Where had he seen her? She must be mistaking +him for some one else. Well, he was game. He +spoke sincerely:</p> + +<p>“And I, too, have wanted to see you.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou couldn’t blush, but she almost blubbered +with joy.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps we’ll have a dance together.”</p> + +<p>“My God,” thought Alva, “She’s a quick worker.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly, where can I find you?”</p> + +<p>“Downstairs on the promenade, near the center +boxes.”</p> + +<p>“The one after this?” This seemed to be the easiest +way out. He could easily dodge her later.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” and she moved away, the supple lad clinging +to her arm again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> + +<p>“Who’s the ‘spade,’ Alva?” Geraldine had seen him +stop to talk to her.</p> + +<p>“Damned if I know.”</p> + +<p>“Aw, sure you know who she is. You danced with +her at Small’s.” Braxton hadn’t forgotten.</p> + +<p>“Well, I never. Is that <i>it</i>?” Laughter all around as +he told about their first meeting. But he didn’t dodge +her, for Geraldine and Braxton riled him with their +pertinacious badinage. He felt that they were making +more fun of him than of her, and to show them just +how little he minded their kidding he stalked off to +find her. She was waiting, the slim, brown stripling +swaying beside her, importuning her not to wait +longer. He didn’t want to lose her. She didn’t want +to lose Alva, and was glad when they danced off +together.</p> + +<p>“Who’s your boy friend?” Alva had fortified himself +with gin. His breath smelled familiar.</p> + +<p>“Just an acquaintance.” She couldn’t let him know +she had come here unescorted. “I didn’t think you’d +remember me.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I did; how could I forget you?” Smooth +tongue, phrases with a double meaning.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t forget <i>you</i>.” Emma Lou was being coy. +“I have often looked for you.”</p> + +<p>Looked for him where? My God, what an impression +he must have made! He wondered what he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>said to her before. Plunge in boy, plunge! The blacker +the berry—he chuckled to himself.</p> + +<p>Orchestra playing “Blue Skies,” as an especial favor +to her. Alva telling her his name and giving her his +card, and asking her to ’phone him some day. Alva +close to her and being nice, his arms tightening about +her. She would call him tomorrow. Ecstasy ended +too soon. The music stopped. He thanked her for the +dance and left her standing on the promenade by the +side of the waiting slender stripling. She danced with +him twice more, then let him take her home.</p> + +<p>At ten the next morning Emma Lou called Alva. +Braxton came to the telephone.</p> + +<p>“Alva’s gone to work; who is it?” People should +have more sense than to call that early in the morning. +He never got up until noon. Emma Lou was +being apologetic.</p> + +<p>“Could you tell me what time he will be in?”</p> + +<p>“’Bout six-thirty. Who shall I say called? This is +his roommate.”</p> + +<p>“Just.... Oh.... I’ll call him later. Thank +you.”</p> + +<p>Braxton swore. “Why in the hell does Alva give +so many damn women his ’phone number?”</p> + +<p>Six-thirty-five. His roommate had said about six-thirty. +She called again. <i>He</i> came to the ’phone. She +thought his voice was more harsh than usual.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m all right, only tired.”</p> + +<p>“Did you work hard?”</p> + +<p>“I always work hard.”</p> + +<p>“I ... I ... just thought I’d call.”</p> + +<p>“Glad you did, call me again some time. Goodbye”—said +too quickly. No chance to say “When +will I see you again?”</p> + +<p>She went home, got into the bed and cried herself +to sleep.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Arline returned two days ahead of schedule. Things +settled back into routine. The brown stripling had +taken Emma Lou out twice, but upon her refusal to +submit herself to him, had gone away in a huff, and +had not returned. She surmised that it was the first +time he had made such a request of any one. He did +it so ineptly. Work. Home. Walks. Theaters downtown +during the afternoon, and thoughts of Alva. +Finally, she just had to call him again. He came to +the ’phone:</p> + +<p>“Hello. Who? Emma Lou? Where have you been? +I’ve been wondering where you were?”</p> + +<p>She was shy, afraid she might be too bold. But +Alva had had his usual three glasses of before-dinner +gin. He helped her out.</p> + +<p>“When can I see you, Sugar?”</p> + +<p>Sugar! He had called her “sugar.” She told him +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>where she worked. He was to meet her after the +theater that very night.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“How many nights a week you gonna have that +little inkspitter up here?”</p> + +<p>“Listen here, Brax, you have who you want up +here, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“That ain’t it. I just don’t like to see you tied up +with a broad like that.”</p> + +<p>“Why not? She’s just as good as the rest, and you +know what they say, ‘The blacker the berry, the +sweeter the juice.’”</p> + +<p>“The only thing a black woman is good for is to +make money for a brown-skin papa.”</p> + +<p>“I guess I don’t know that.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” Braxton was satisfied now, “if that’s the +case....”</p> + +<p>He had faith in Alva’s wisdom.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="fh2"><span class="smcap">Part IV</span></p> + <p class="fh2">RENT PARTY</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak">IV<br>RENT PARTY</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Saturday evening. Alva had urged her to hurry +uptown from work. He was going to take her +on a party with some friends of his. This was the +first time he had ever asked her to go to any sort of +social affair with him. She had never met any of +his friends save Braxton, who scarcely spoke to her, +and never before had Alva suggested taking her to +any sort of social gathering either public or semi-public. +He often took her to various motion picture +theaters, both downtown and in Harlem, and at least +three nights a week he would call for her at the +theater and escort her to Harlem. On these occasions +they often went to Chinese restaurants or to ice +cream parlors before going home. But usually they +would go to City College Park, find an empty bench +in a dark corner where they could sit and spoon before +retiring either to her room or to Alva’s.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had, long before this, suggested going to +a dance or to a party, but Alva had always countered +that he never attended such affairs during the summer +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>months, that he stayed away from them for +precisely the same reason that he stayed away from +work, namely, because it was too hot. Dancing, said +he, was a matter of calisthenics, and calisthenics were +work. Therefore it, like any sort of physical exercise, +was taboo during hot weather.</p> + +<p>Alva sensed that sooner or later Emma Lou would +become aware of his real reason for not taking her +out among his friends. He realized that one as color-conscious +as she appeared to be would, at some not +so distant date, jump to what for him would be uncomfortable +conclusions. He did not wish to risk +losing her before the end of summer, but neither +could he risk taking her out among his friends, for +he knew too well that he would be derided for his +unseemly preference for “dark meat,” and told publicly +without regard for her feelings, that “black cats +must go.”</p> + +<p>Furthermore he always took Geraldine to parties +and dances. Geraldine with her olive colored skin and +straight black hair. Geraldine, who of all the people +he pretended to love, really inspired him emotionally +as well as physically, the one person he conquested +without thought of monetary gain. Yet he had to do +something with Emma Lou, and release from the +quandary presented itself from most unexpected +quarters.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> + +<p>Quite accidentally, as things of the sort happen in +Harlem with its complex but interdependable social +structure, he had become acquainted with a young +Negro writer, who had asked him to escort a group +of young writers and artists to a house-rent party. +Though they had heard much of this phenomenon, +none had been on the inside of one, and because of +their rather polished manners and exteriors, were +afraid that they might not be admitted. Proletarian +Negroes are as suspicious of their more sophisticated +brethren as they are of white men, and resent as +keenly their intrusions into their social world. Alva +had consented to act as cicerone, and, realizing that +these people would be more or less free from the +color prejudice exhibited by his other friends, had +decided to take Emma Lou along too. He was also +aware of her intellectual pretensions, and felt that +she would be especially pleased to meet recognized +talents and outstanding personalities. She did not +have to know that these were not his regular companions, +and from then on she would have no reason +to feel that he was ashamed to have her meet his +friends.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou could hardly attend to Arline’s change +of complexion and clothes between acts and scenes, +so anxious was she to get to Alva’s house and to the +promised party. Her happiness was complete. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>was certain now that Alva loved her, certain that he +was not ashamed or even aware of her dusky complexion. +She had felt from the first that he was superior +to such inane truck, now she knew it. Alva +loved her for herself alone, and loved her so much +that he didn’t mind her being a coal scuttle blond.</p> + +<p>Sensing something unusual, Arline told Emma Lou +that she would remove her own make-up after the +performance, and let her have time to get dressed for +the party. This she proceeded to do all through the +evening, spending much time in front of the mirror +at Arline’s dressing table, manicuring her nails, marcelling +her hair, and applying various creams and +cosmetics to her face in order to make her despised +darkness less obvious. Finally, she put on one of +Arline’s less pretentious afternoon frocks, and set +out for Alva’s house.</p> + +<p>As she approached his room door, she heard much +talk and laughter, moving her to halt and speculate +whether or not she should go in. Even her unusual +and high-tensioned jubilance was not powerful +enough to overcome immediately her shyness and +fears. Suppose these friends of Alva’s would not take +kindly to her? Suppose they were like Braxton, who +invariably curled his lip when he saw her, and seldom +spoke even as much as a word of greeting? Suppose +they were like the people who used to attend her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>mother’s and grandmother’s teas, club meetings and +receptions, dismissing her with—“It beats me how +this child of yours looks so unlike the rest of you.... +Are you sure it isn’t adopted.” Or suppose they +were like the college youth she had known in Southern +California? No, that couldn’t be. Alva would never +invite her where she would not be welcome. These +were his friends. And so was Braxton, but Alva +said he was peculiar. There was no danger. Alva had +invited her. She was here. Anyway she wasn’t so +black. Hadn’t she artificially lightened her skin about +four or five shades until she was almost brown? Certainly +it was all right. She needn’t be a foolish ninny +all her life. Thus, reassured, she knocked on the door, +and felt herself trembling with excitement and internal +uncertainty as Alva let her in, took her hat and +coat, and proceeded to introduce her to the people +in the room.</p> + +<p>“Miss Morgan, meet Mr. Tony Crews. You’ve +probably seen his book of poems. He’s the little jazz +boy, you know.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou bashfully touched the extended hand +of the curly-headed poet. She had not seen or read +his book, but she had often noticed his name in the +newspapers and magazines. He was all that she had +expected him to be except that he had pimples on +his face. These didn’t fit in with her mental picture.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> + +<p>“Miss Morgan, this is Cora Thurston. Maybe I +should’a introduced you ladies first.”</p> + +<p>“I’m no lady, and I hope you’re not either, Miss +Morgan.” She smiled, shook Emma Lou’s hand, then +turned away to continue her interrupted conversation +with Tony Crews.</p> + +<p>“Miss Morgan, meet ...,” he paused, and addressed +a tall, dark yellow youth stretched out on the +floor, “What name you going by now?”</p> + +<p>The boy looked up and smiled.</p> + +<p>“Why, Paul, of course.”</p> + +<p>“All right then, Miss Morgan, this is Mr. Paul, he +changes his name every season.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou sought to observe this person more +closely, and was shocked to see that his shirt was +open at the neck and that he was sadly in need of +a haircut and shave.</p> + +<p>“Miss Morgan, meet Mr. Walter.” A small slender +dark youth with an infectious smile and small features. +His face was familiar. Where had she seen him +before?</p> + +<p>“Now that you’ve met every one, sit down on the +bed there beside Truman and have a drink. Go on +with your talk folks,” he urged as he went over to +the dresser to fill a glass with a milk colored liquid. +Cora Thurston spoke up in answer to Alva’s adjuration:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> + +<p>“Guess there ain’t much more to say. Makes me +mad to discuss it anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“No need of getting mad at people like that,” said +Tony Crews simply and softly. “I think one should +laugh at such stupidity.”</p> + +<p>“And ridicule it, too,” came from the luxurious +person sprawled over the floor, for he did impress +Emma Lou as being luxurious, despite the fact that +his suit was unpressed, and that he wore neither socks +nor necktie. She noticed the many graceful gestures +he made with his hands, but wondered why he kept +twisting his lips to one side when he talked. Perhaps +he was trying to mask the size of his mouth.</p> + +<p>Truman was speaking now, “Ridicule will do no +good, nor mere laughing at them. I admit those weapons +are about the only ones an intelligent person +would use, but one must also admit that they are +rather futile.”</p> + +<p>“Why futile?” Paul queried indolently.</p> + +<p>“They are futile,” Truman continued, “because, +well, those people cannot help being like they are—their +environment has made them that way.”</p> + +<p>Miss Thurston muttered something. It sounded +like “hooey,” then held out an empty glass. “Give +me some more firewater, Alva.” Alva hastened across +the room and refilled her glass. Emma Lou wondered +what they were talking about. Again Cora broke the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>silence, “You can’t tell me they can’t help it. They +kick about white people, then commit the same +crime.”</p> + +<p>There was a knock on the door, interrupting something +Tony Crews was about to say. Alva went to the +door.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Ray.” A tall, blond, fair-skinned youth +entered. Emma Lou gasped, and was more bewildered +than ever. All of this silly talk and drinking, and +now—here was a white man!</p> + +<p>“Hy, everybody. Jusas Chraust, I hope you saved +me some liquor.” Tony Crews held out his empty +glass and said quietly, “We’ve had about umpteen +already, so I doubt if there’s any more left.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t kid me, bo. I know Alva would save +me a dram or two.” Having taken off his hat and +coat he squatted down on the floor beside Paul.</p> + +<p>Truman turned to Emma Lou. “Oh, Ray, meet +Miss Morgan. Mr. Jorgenson, Miss Morgan.”</p> + +<p>“Glad to know you; pardon my not getting up, +won’t you?” Emma Lou didn’t know what to say, +and couldn’t think of anything appropriate, but since +he was smiling, she tried to smile too, and nodded her +head.</p> + +<p>“What’s the big powwow?” he asked. “All of you +look so serious. Haven’t you had enough liquor, or +are you just trying to settle the ills of the universe?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>“Neither,” said Paul. “They’re just damning our +‘pink niggers’.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was aghast. Such extraordinary people—saying +“nigger” in front of a white man! Didn’t +they have any race pride or proper bringing up? +Didn’t they have any common sense?</p> + +<p>“What’ve they done now?” Ray asked, reaching +out to accept the glass Alva was handing him.</p> + +<p>“No more than they’ve always done,” Tony Crews +answered. “Cora here just felt like being indignant, +because she heard of a forthcoming wedding in +Brooklyn to which the prospective bride and groom +have announced they will <i>not</i> invite any dark people.”</p> + +<p>“Seriously now,” Truman began. Ray interrupted +him.</p> + +<p>“Who in the hell wants to be serious?”</p> + +<p>“As I was saying,” Truman continued, “you can’t +blame light Negroes for being prejudiced against dark +ones. All of you know that white is the symbol of +everything pure and good, whether that everything +be concrete or abstract. Ivory Soap is advertised as +being ninety-nine and some fraction per cent pure, +and Ivory Soap is white. Moreover, virtue and virginity +are always represented as being clothed in +white garments. Then, too, the God we, or rather +most Negroes worship is a patriarchal white man, +seated on a white throne, in a spotless white Heaven, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>radiant with white streets and white-apparelled angels +eating white honey and drinking white milk.”</p> + +<p>“Listen to the boy rave. Give him another drink,” +Ray shouted, but Truman ignored him and went on, +becoming more and more animated.</p> + +<p>“We are all living in a totally white world, where +all standards are the standards of the white man, +and where almost invariably what the white man +does is right, and what the black man does is wrong, +unless it is precedented by something a white man +has done.”</p> + +<p>“Which,” Cora added scornfully, “makes it all +right for light Negroes to discriminate against dark +ones?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” Truman objected. “It merely explains, +not justifies, the evil—or rather, the fact of intra-racial +segregation. Mulattoes have always been accorded +more consideration by white people than +their darker brethren. They were made to feel superior +even during slave days ... made to feel proud, as +Bud Fisher would say, that they were bastards. It +was for the mulatto offspring of white masters and +Negro slaves that the first schools for Negroes were +organized, and say what you will, it is generally the +Negro with a quantity of mixed blood in his veins +who finds adaptation to a Nordic environment more +easy than one of pure blood, which, of course, you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>will admit, is, to an American Negro, convenient if +not virtuous.”</p> + +<p>“Does that justify their snobbishness and self-evaluated +superiority?”</p> + +<p>“No, Cora, it doesn’t,” returned Truman. “I’m not +trying to excuse them. I’m merely trying to give what +I believe to be an explanation of this thing. I have +never been to Washington and only know what Paul +and you have told me about conditions there, but +they seem to be just about the same as conditions in +Los Angeles, Omaha, Chicago, and other cities in +which I have lived or visited. You see, people have +to feel superior to something, and there is scant satisfaction +in feeling superior to domestic animals or +steel machines that one can train or utilize. It is much +more pleasing to pick out some individual or some +group of individuals on the same plane to feel superior +to. This is almost necessary when one is a +member of a supposedly despised, mistreated minority +group. Then consider that the mulatto is much +nearer white than he is black, and is therefore more +liable to act like a white man than like a black one, +although I cannot say that I see a great deal of difference +in any of their actions. They are human beings +first and only white or black incidentally.”</p> + +<p>Ray pursed up his lips and whistled.</p> + +<p>“But you seem to forget,” Tony Crews insisted, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>“that because a man is dark, it doesn’t necessarily +mean he is not of mixed blood. Now look at....”</p> + +<p>“Yeah, let him look at you or at himself or at +Cora,” Paul interrupted. “There ain’t no unmixed +Negroes.”</p> + +<p>“But I haven’t forgotten that,” Truman said, ignoring +the note of finality in Paul’s voice. “I merely +took it for granted that we were talking only about +those Negroes who were light-skinned.”</p> + +<p>“But all light-skinned Negroes aren’t color struck +or color prejudiced,” interjected Alva, who, up to +this time, like Emma Lou, had remained silent. This +was, he thought, a strategic moment for him to say +something. He hoped Emma Lou would get the full +significance of this statement.</p> + +<p>“True enough,” Truman began again. “But I also +took it for granted that we were only talking about +those who were. As I said before, Negroes are, after +all, human beings, and they are subject to be influenced +and controlled by the same forces and factors +that influence and control other human beings. In +an environment where there are so many color-prejudiced +whites, there are bound to be a number of +color-prejudiced blacks. Color prejudice and religion +are akin in one respect. Some folks have it and some +don’t, and the kernel that is responsible for it is present +in us all, which is to say, that potentially we are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>all color-prejudiced as long as we remain in this environment. +For, as you know, prejudices are always +caused by differences, and the majority group sets +the standard. Then, too, since black is the favorite +color of vaudeville comedians and jokesters, and, +conversely, as intimately associated with tragedy, it +is no wonder that even the blackest individual will +seek out some one more black than himself to laugh +at.”</p> + +<p>“So saith the Lord,” Tony answered soberly.</p> + +<p>“And the Holy Ghost saith, let’s have another +drink.”</p> + +<p>“Happy thought, Ray,” returned Cora. “Give us +some more ice cream and gin, Alva.”</p> + +<p>Alva went into the alcove to prepare another concoction. +Tony started the victrola. Truman turned +to Emma Lou, who, all this while, had been sitting +there with Alva’s arm around her, every muscle in +her body feeling as if it wanted to twitch, not knowing +whether to be sad or to be angry. She couldn’t +comprehend all of this talk. She couldn’t see how +these people could sit down and so dispassionately +discuss something that seemed particularly tragic to +her. This fellow Truman, whom she was certain she +knew, with all his hi-faluting talk, disgusted her immeasurably. +She wasn’t sure that they weren’t all +poking fun at her. Truman was speaking:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>“Miss Morgan, didn’t you attend school in Southern +California?” Emma Lou at last realized where +she had seen him before. So <i>this</i> was Truman Walter, +the little “cock o’ the walk,” as they had called him +on the campus. She answered him with difficulty, for +there was a sob in her throat. “Yes, I did.” +Before Truman could say more to her, Ray called to +him:</p> + +<p>“Say, Bozo, what time are we going to the party? +It’s almost one o’clock now.”</p> + +<p>“Is it?” Alva seemed surprised. “But Aaron and +Alta aren’t here yet.”</p> + +<p>“They’ve been married just long enough to be late +to everything.”</p> + +<p>“What do you say we go by and ring their bell?” +Tony suggested, ignoring Paul’s Greenwich Village +wit.</p> + +<p>“’Sall right with me.” Truman lifted his glass to +his lips. “Then on to the house-rent party ... on to +the bawdy bowels of Beale Street!”</p> + +<p>They drained their glasses and prepared to leave.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Ahhhh, sock it.”... “Ummmm”.... Piano +playing—slow, loud, and discordant, accompanied by +the rhythmic sound of shuffling feet. Down a long, +dark hallway to an inside room, lit by a solitary red +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>bulb. “Oh, play it you dirty no-gooder.”... A room +full of dancing couples, scarcely moving their feet, +arms completely encircling one another’s bodies ... +cheeks being warmed by one another’s breath ... +eyes closed ... animal ecstasy agitating their perspiring +faces. There was much panting, much hip +movement, much shaking of the buttocks.... “Do +it twice in the same place.”... “Git off that dime.” +Now somebody was singing, “I ask you very confidentially....” +“Sing it man, sing it.”... Piano +treble moaning, bass rumbling like thunder. A swarm +of people, motivating their bodies to express in suggestive +movements the ultimate consummation of +desire.</p> + +<p>The music stopped, the room was suffocatingly +hot, and Emma Lou was disturbingly dizzy. She +clung fast to Alva, and let the room and its occupants +whirl around her. Bodies and faces glided by. Leering +faces and lewd bodies. Anxious faces and angular +bodies. Sad faces and obese bodies. All mixed up together. +She began to wonder how such a small room +could hold so many people. “Oh, play it again....” +She saw the pianist now, silhouetted against the dark +mahogany piano, saw him bend his long, slick-haired +head, until it hung low on his chest, then lift his +hands high in the air, and as quickly let them descend +upon the keyboard. There was one moment of cacophony, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>then the long, supple fingers evolved a slow, +tantalizing melody out of the deafening chaos.</p> + +<p>Every one began to dance again. Body called to +body, and cemented themselves together, limbs +lewdly intertwined. A couple there kissing, another +couple dipping to the floor, and slowly shimmying, +belly to belly, as they came back to an upright position. +A slender dark girl with wild eyes and wilder +hair stood in the center of the room, supported by +the strong, lithe arms of a longshoreman. She bent +her trunk backward, until her head hung below her +waistline, and all the while she kept the lower portion +of her body quivering like jello.</p> + +<p>“She whips it to a jelly,” the piano player was +singing now, and banging on the keys with such +might that an empty gin bottle on top of the piano +seemed to be seized with the ague. “Oh, play it Mr. +Charlie.” Emma Lou grew limp in Alva’s arms.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, honey, drunk?” She couldn’t +answer. The music augmented by the general atmosphere +of the room and the liquor she had drunk had +presumably created another person in her stead. She +felt like flying into an emotional frenzy—felt like +flinging her arms and legs in insane unison. She had +become very fluid, very elastic, and all the while she +was giving in more and more to the music and to the +liquor and to the physical madness of the moment.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> + +<p>When the music finally stopped, Alva led Emma +Lou to a settee by the window which his crowd had +appropriated. Every one was exceedingly animated, +but they all talked in hushed, almost reverential +tones.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t this marvelous?” Truman’s eyes were ablaze +with interest and excitement. Even Tony Crews +seemed unusually alert.</p> + +<p>“It’s the greatest I’ve seen yet,” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Alva seemed the most unemotional one in the +crowd. Paul the most detached. “Look at ’em all +watching Ray.”</p> + +<p>“Remember, Bo,” Truman counselled him. “Tonight +you’re ‘passing.’ Here’s a new wrinkle, white +man ‘passes’ for Negro.”</p> + +<p>“Why not? Enough of you pass for white.” They +all laughed, then transferred their interest back to +the party. Cora was speaking:</p> + +<p>“Didya see that little girl in pink—the one with +the scar on her face—dancing with that tall, lanky, +one-armed man? Wasn’t she throwing it up to him?”</p> + +<p>“Yeah,” Tony admitted, “but she didn’t have anything +on that little Mexican-looking girl. She musta +been born in Cairo.”</p> + +<p>“Saay, but isn’t that one bad looking darkey over +there, two chairs to the left; is he gonna smother +that woman?” Truman asked excitedly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> + +<p>“I’d say she kinda liked it,” Paul answered, then +lit another cigarette.</p> + +<p>“Do you know they have corn liquor in the kitchen? +They serve it from a coffee pot.” Aaron seemed +proud of his discovery.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Alva, “and they got hoppin’-john out +there too.”</p> + +<p>“What the hell is hoppin’-john?”</p> + +<p>“Ray, I’m ashamed of you. Here you are passing +for colored and don’t know what hoppin’-john is!”</p> + +<p>“Tell him, Cora, I don’t know either.”</p> + +<p>“Another one of these foreigners.” Cora looked +at Truman disdainfully. “Hoppin’-john is black-eyed +peas and rice. Didn’t they ever have any out in Salt +Lake City?”</p> + +<p>“Have they any chitterlings?” Alta asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>“No, Alta,” Alva replied, dryly. “This isn’t Kansas. +They have got pig’s feet though.”</p> + +<p>“Lead me to ’em,” Aaron and Alta shouted in unison, +and led the way to the kitchen. Emma Lou clung +to Alva’s arm and tried to remain behind. “Alva, +I’m afraid.”</p> + +<p>“Afraid of what? Come on, snap out of it! You +need another drink.” He pulled her up from the settee +and led her through the crowded room down the +long narrow dark hallway to the more crowded +kitchen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<p>When they returned to the room, the pianist was +just preparing to play again. He was tall and slender, +with extra long legs and arms, giving him the appearance +of a scarecrow. His pants were tight in the waist +and full in the legs. He wore no coat, and a blue silk +shirt hung damply to his body. He acted as if he +were king of the occasion, ruling all from his piano +stool throne. He talked familiarly to every one in +the room, called women from other men’s arms, demanded +drinks from any bottle he happened to see +being passed around, laughed uproariously, and made +many grotesque and ofttimes obscene gestures.</p> + +<p>There were sounds of a scuffle in an adjoining +room, and an excited voice exclaimed, “You goddam +son-of-a-bitch, don’t you catch my dice no more.” +The piano player banged on the keys and drowned +out the reply, if there was one.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou could not keep her eyes off the piano +player. He was acting like a maniac, occasionally +turning completely around on his stool, grimacing +like a witch doctor, and letting his hands dawdle over +the keyboard of the piano with an agonizing indolence, +when compared to the extreme exertion to which +he put the rest of his body. He was improvising. The +melody of the piece he had started to play was merely +a base for more bawdy variations. His left foot +thumped on the floor in time with the music, while +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span>his right punished the piano’s loud-pedal. Beads of +perspiration gathered grease from his slicked-down +hair, and rolled oleagenously down his face and +neck, spotting the already damp baby-blue shirt, and +streaking his already greasy black face with more +shiny lanes.</p> + +<p>A sailor lad suddenly ceased his impassioned hip +movement and strode out of the room, pulling his +partner behind him, pushing people out of the way +as he went. The spontaneous moans and slangy +ejaculations of the piano player and of the more +articulate dancers became more regular, more like +a chanted obligato to the music. This lasted for a +couple of hours interrupted only by hectic intermissions. +Then the dancers grew less violent in their +movements, and though the piano player seemed +never to tire there were fewer couples on the floor, +and those left seemed less loathe to move their legs.</p> + +<p>Eventually, the music stopped for a long interval, +and there was a more concerted drive on the kitchen’s +corn liquor supply. Most of the private flasks and +bottles were empty. There were more calls for food, +too, and the crap game in the side room annexed more +players and more kibitzers. Various men and women +had disappeared altogether. Those who remained +seemed worn and tired. There was much petty person +to person badinage and many whispered consultations +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>in corners. There was an argument in the hallway +between the landlord and two couples, who +wished to share one room without paying him more +than the regulation three dollars required of one +couple. Finally, Alva suggested that they leave. +Emma Lou had drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness +and was too near asleep or drunk to distinguish +people or voices. All she knew was that she +was being led out of that dreadful place, that the +perturbing “pilgrimage to the proletariat’s parlor +social,” as Truman had called it, was ended, and +that she was in a taxicab, cuddled up in Alva’s arms.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou awoke with a headache. Some one was +knocking at her door, but when she first awakened +it had seemed as if the knocking was inside of her +head. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples, +and tried to become more conscious. The knock +persisted and she finally realized that it was at her +door rather than in her head. She called out, “Who +is it?”</p> + +<p>“It’s me.” Emma Lou was not far enough out of +the fog to recognize who “me” was. It didn’t seem +important anyway, so without any more thought or +action, she allowed herself to doze off again. Whoever +was on the outside of the door banged the +louder, and finally Emma Lou distinguished the voice +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>of her landlady, calling, “Let me in, Miss Morgan, +let me in.” The voice grew more sharp.... “Let me +in,” and then in an undertone, “Must have some one +in there.” This last served to awaken Emma Lou +more fully, and though every muscle in her body +protested, she finally got out of the bed and went to +the door. The lady entered precipitously, and pushing +Emma Lou aside sniffed the air and looked around +as if she expected to surprise some one, either squeezing +under the bed or leaping through the window. +After she had satisfied herself that there was no one +else in the room, she turned on Emma Lou furiously:</p> + +<p>“Miss Morgan, I wish to talk to you.” Emma Lou +closed the door and wearily sat down upon the bed. +The wrinkled faced old woman glared at her and +shifted the position of her snuff so she could talk +more easily. “I won’t have it, I tell you, I won’t have +it.” Emma Lou tried hard to realize what it was she +wouldn’t have, and failing, she said nothing, just +screwed up her eyes and tried to look sober.</p> + +<p>“Do you hear me?” Emma Lou nodded. “I won’t +have it. When you moved in here I thought I made it +clear that I was a respectable woman and that I kept +a respectable house. Do you understand that now?” +Emma Lou nodded again. There didn’t seem to be +anything else to do. “I’m glad you do. Then it won’t +be necessary for me to explain why I want my room.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> + +<p>Emma Lou unscrewed her eyes and opened her +mouth. What was this woman talking about? “I don’t +think I understand.”</p> + +<p>The old lady was quick with her answer. “There +ain’t nothin’ for you to understand, but that I want +you to get out of my house. I don’t have no such +carryings-on around here. A drunken woman in my +house at all hours in the morning, being carried in +by a man! Well, you coulda knocked me over with +a feather.”</p> + +<p>At last Emma Lou began to understand. Evidently +the landlady had seen her when she had come in, no +doubt had seen Alva carry her to her room, and perhaps +had listened outside the door. She was talking +again:</p> + +<p>“You must get out. Your week is up Wednesday. +That gives you three days to find another room, and +I want you to act like a lady the rest of that time, +too. The idea!” she sputtered, and stalked out of the +room.</p> + +<p>This is a pretty mess, thought Emma Lou. Yet +she found herself unable to think or do anything +about it. Her lethargic state worried her. Here she +was about to be dispossessed by an irate landlady, +and all she could do about it was sit on the side of +her bed and think—maybe I ought to take a dose of +salts. Momentarily, she had forgotten it was Sunday, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>and began to wonder how near time it was for her to +go to work. She was surprised to discover that it was +still early in the forenoon. She couldn’t possibly have +gone to bed before four-thirty or five, yet it seemed as +if she had slept for hours. She felt like some one who +had been under the influence of some sinister potion +for a long period of time. Had she been drugged? +Her head still throbbed, her insides burned, her +tongue was swollen, her lips chapped and feverish. +She began to deplore her physical condition, and +even to berate herself and Alva for last night’s debauchery.</p> + +<p>Funny people, his friends. Come to think of it +they were all very much different from any one else +she had ever known. They were all so, so—she sought +for a descriptive word, but could think of nothing +save that revolting, “Oh, sock it,” she had heard on +first entering the apartment where the house-rent +party had been held.</p> + +<p>Then she began to wonder about her landlady’s +charges. There was no need arguing about the matter. +She had wanted to move anyway. Maybe now she +could go ahead and find a decent place in which to +live. She had never had the nerve to begin another +room hunting expedition after the last one. She shuddered +as she thought about it, then climbed back into +the bed. She could see no need in staying up so long +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>as her head ached as it did. She wondered if Alva had +made much noise in bringing her in, wondered how +long he had stayed, and if he had had any trouble +manipulating the double-barrelled police lock on the +outside door. Harlem people were so careful about +barricading themselves in. They all seemed to fortify +themselves, not only against strangers, but against +neighbors and friends as well.</p> + +<p>And Alva? She had to admit that she was a trifle +disappointed in him and in his friends. They certainly +weren’t what she could have called either intellectuals +or respectable people. Whoever heard of decent folk +attending such a lascivious festival? She remembered +their enthusiastic comments and tried to comprehend +just what it was that had intrigued and interested +them. Looking for material, they had said. More than +likely they were looking for liquor and a chance to +be licentious.</p> + +<p>Alva himself worried her a bit. She couldn’t understand +why gin seemed so indispensable to him. He +always insisted that he had to have at least three +drinks a day. Once she had urged him not to follow +this program. Unprotestingly, he had come to her +the following evening without the usual juniper berry +smell on his breath, but he had been so disagreeable +and had seemed so much like a worn out and dissipated +person that she had never again suggested that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>he not have his usual quota of drinks. Then, too, she +had discovered that he was much too lovable after +having had his “evening drams” to be discouraged +from taking them. Emma Lou had never met any +one in her life who was as loving and kind to her as +Alva. He seemed to anticipate her every mood and +desire, and he was the most soothing and satisfying +person with whom she had ever come into contact. +He seldom riled her—seldom ruffled her feelings. He +seemed to give in to her on every occasion, and was +the most chivalrous escort imaginable. He was always +courteous, polite and thoughtful of her comfort.</p> + +<p>As yet she had been unable to become angry with +him. Alva never argued or protested unduly. Although +Emma Lou didn’t realize it, he used more subtle +methods. His means of remaining master of all situations +were both tactful and sophisticated; for example, +Emma Lou never realized just how she had first +begun giving him money. Surely he hadn’t asked her +for it. It had just seemed the natural thing to do after +a while, and she had done it, willingly and without +question. The ethical side of their relationship never +worried her. She was content and she was happy—at +least she was in possession of something that +seemed to bring her happiness. She seldom worried +about Alva not being true to her, and if she questioned +him about such matters, he would pretend not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>to hear her and change the conversation. The only +visible physical reaction would be a slight narrowing +of the eyes, as if he were trying not to wince from +the pain of some inner hurt.</p> + +<p>Once she had suggested marriage, and had been +shocked when Alva told her that to him the marriage +ceremony seemed a waste of time. He had already +been married twice, and he hadn’t even bothered to +obtain a divorce from his first wife before acquiring +number two. On hearing this, Emma Lou had urged +him to tell her more about these marital experiments, +and after a little coaxing, he had done so, very impassively +and very sketchily, as if he were relating +the experiences of another. He told her that he had +really loved his first wife, but that she was such an +essential polygamous female that he had been forced +to abdicate and hand her over to the multitudes. +According to Alva, she had been as vain as Braxton, +and as fundamentally dependent upon flattery. She +could do without three square meals a day, but she +couldn’t do without her contingent of mealy-mouthed +admirers, all eager to outdo one another in the matter +of compliments. One man could never have satisfied +her, not that she was a nymphomaniac with abnormal +physical appetites, but because she wanted attention, +and the more men she had around her, the more attention +she could receive. She hadn’t been able to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>convince Alva, though, that her battalion of admirers +were all of the platonic variety. “I know niggers too +well,” Alva had summed it up to Emma Lou, “so I +told her she just must go, and she went.”</p> + +<p>“But,” Emma Lou had queried when he had +started to talk about something else, “what about +your second wife?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” he laughed, “well, I married her when I was +drunk. She was an old woman about fifty. She kept +me drunk from Sunday to Sunday. When I finally +got sober she showed me the marriage license and I +well nigh passed out again.”</p> + +<p>“But where is she?” Emma Lou had asked, “and +how did they let you get married while you were +drunk and already had a wife?”</p> + +<p>Alva had shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know +where she is. I ain’t seen her since I left her room +that day. I sent Braxton up there to talk to her. +Seems like she’d been drunk too. So, it really didn’t +matter. And as for a divorce, I know plenty spades +right here in Harlem get married any time they want +to. Who in the hell’s gonna take the trouble getting +a divorce, when, if you must marry and already have +a wife, you can get another without going through +all that red tape?”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had had to admit that this sounded +logical, if illegal. Yet she hadn’t been convinced. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>“But,” she had insisted, “don’t they look you up and +convict you of bigamy?”</p> + +<p>“Hell, no. The only thing the law bothers niggers +about is for stealing, murdering, or chasing white +women, and as long as they don’t steal from or murder +ofays, the law ain’t none too particular about +bothering them. The only time they act about bigamy +is when one of the wives squawk, and they hardly +ever do that. They’re only too glad to see the old man +get married again—then they can do likewise, without +spending lots of time on lawyers and courthouse +red tape.”</p> + +<p>This, and other things which Emma Lou had elicited +from Alva, had convinced her that he was undoubtedly +the most interesting person she had ever +met. What added to this was the strange fact that +he seemed somewhat cultured despite his admitted +unorganized and haphazard early training. On being +questioned, he advanced the theory that perhaps this +was due to his long period of service as waiter and +valet to socially prominent white people. Many +Negroes, he had explained, even of the “dicty” +variety, had obtained their <i>savoir faire</i> and knowledge +of the social niceties in this manner.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou lay abed, remembering the many different +conversations they had had together, most of +which had taken place on a bench in City College +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>Park, or in Alva’s room. With enough gin for stimulation, +Alva could tell many tales of his life and +hold her spellbound with vivid descriptions of the +various situations he had found himself in. He loved +to reminisce, when he found a good listener, and +Emma Lou loved to listen when she found a good +talker. Alva often said that he wished some one would +write a story of his life. Maybe that was why he cultivated +an acquaintance with these writer people.... +Then it seemed as if this one-sided conversational +communion strengthened their physical bond. +It made Emma Lou more palatable to Alva, and it +made Alva a more glamorous figure to Emma Lou.</p> + +<p>But here she was day dreaming, when she should +be wondering where she was going to move. She +couldn’t possibly remain in this place, even if the +old lady relented and decided to give her another +chance to be respectable. Somehow or other she felt +that she had been insulted, and for the first time, +began to feel angry with the old snuff-chewing termagant.</p> + +<p>Her head ached no longer, but her body was still +lethargic. Alva, Alva, Alva. Could she think of nothing +else? Supposing she sat upright in the bed—supposing +she and Alva were to live together. They +might get a small apartment and be with one another +entirely. Immediately she was all activity. The headache +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>was forgotten. Out of bed, into her bathrobe, +and down the hall to the bathroom. Even the quick +shower seemed to be a slow, tedious process, and she +was in such a hurry to hasten into the street and +telephone Alva, in order to tell him of her new plans, +that she almost forgot to make the very necessary +and very customary application of bleaching cream +to her face. As it was, she forgot to rinse her face +and hands in lemon juice.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Alva had lost all patience with Braxton, and profanely +told him so. No matter what his condition, +Braxton would not work. He seemed to believe that +because he was handsome, and because he was Braxton, +he shouldn’t have to work. He graced the world +with his presence. Therefore, it should pay him. “A +thing of beauty is joy forever,” and should be sustained +by a communal larder. Alva tried to show him +that such a larder didn’t exist, that one either worked +or hustled.</p> + +<p>But as Alva had explained to Emma Lou, Braxton +wouldn’t work, and as a hustler he was a distinct +failure. He couldn’t gamble successfully, he never had +a chance to steal, and he always allowed his egotism +to defeat his own ends when he tried to get money +from women. He assumed that at a word from him, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>anybody’s pocketbook should be at his disposal, and +that his handsomeness and personality were a combination +none could withstand. It is a platitude +among sundry sects and individuals that as a person +thinketh, so he is, but it was not within the power +of Braxton’s mortal body to become the being his +imagination sought to create. He insisted, for instance, +that he was a golden brown replica of Rudolph Valentino. +Every picture he could find of the late lamented +cinema sheik he pasted either on the wall or +on some of his belongings. The only reason that +likenesses of his idol did not decorate all the wall +space was because Alva objected to this flapperish +ritual. Braxton emulated his silver screen mentor in +every way, watched his every gesture on the screen, +then would stand in front of his mirror at home and +practice Rudy’s poses and facial expressions. Strange +as it may seem, there was a certain likeness between +the two, especially at such moments when Braxton +would suddenly stand in the center of the floor and +give a spontaneous impersonation of his Rudy making +love or conquering enemies. Then, at all times, +Braxton held his head as Rudy held his, and had +even learned how to smile and how to use his eyes in +the same captivating manner. But his charms were +too obviously cultivated, and his technique too +clumsy. He would attract almost any one to him, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>they were sure to bolt away as suddenly as they had +come. He could have, but he could not hold.</p> + +<p>Now, as Alva told Emma Lou, this was a distinct +handicap to one who wished to be a hustler, and live +by one’s wits off the bounty of others. And the competition +was too keen in a place like Harlem, where +the adaptability to city ways sometimes took strange +and devious turns, for a bungler to have much success. +Alva realized this, if Braxton didn’t, and tried +to tell him so, but Braxton wouldn’t listen. He felt +that Alva was merely being envious—the fact that +Alva had more suits than he, and that Alva always +had clean shirts, liquor money and room rent, and +that Alva could continue to have these things, despite +the fact that he had decided to quit work during +the hot weather, meant nothing to Braxton at all. He +had facial and physical perfection, a magnetic body +and much sex appeal. Ergo, he was a master.</p> + +<p>However, lean days were upon him. His mother +and aunt had unexpectedly come to New York to help +him celebrate the closing day of his freshman year +at Columbia. His surprise at seeing them was nothing +in comparison to their surprise in finding that their +darling had not even started his freshman year. The +aunt was stoic—“What could you expect of a child +with all that wild Indian blood in him? Now, our +people....” She hadn’t liked Braxton’s father. His +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span>mother simply could not comprehend his duplicity. +Such an unnecessarily cruel and deceptive performance +was beyond her understanding. Had she been +told that he was guilty of thievery, murder, or rape, +she could have borne up and smiled through her tears +in true maternal fashion, but that he could so completely +fool her for nine months—incredible; preposterous! +it just couldn’t be!</p> + +<p>She and her sister returned to Boston, telling +every one there what a successful year their darling +had had at Columbia, and telling Braxton before +they left that he could not have another cent of their +money that summer, that if he didn’t enter Columbia +in the fall ... well, he was not yet of age. They +made many vague threats; none so alarming, however, +as the threat of a temporary, if not permanent, +suspension of his allowance.</p> + +<p>By pawning some of his suits, his watch, and diamond +ring, he amassed a small stake and took to +gambling. Unlucky at love, he should, so Alva said, +have been lucky at cards, and was. But even a lucky +man will suffer from lack of skill and foolhardiness. +Braxton would gamble only with mature men who +gathered in the police-protected clubs, rather than +with young chaps like himself, who gathered in private +places. He couldn’t classify himself with the +cheap or the lowly. If he was to gamble, he must +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span>gamble in a professional manner, with professional +men. As in all other affairs, he had luck, but no skill +and little sense. His little gambling stake lasted but +a moment, flitted from him feverishly, and left him +holding an empty purse.</p> + +<p>Then he took to playing the “numbers,” placing +quarters and half dollars on a number compounded +of three digits and anxiously perusing the daily clearing +house reports to see whether or not he had chosen +correctly. Alva, too, played the numbers consistently +and somehow or other, managed to remain ahead of +the game, but Braxton, as was to be expected, “hit” +two or three times, then grew excited over his winnings +and began to play two or three or even five dollars +daily on one number. Such plunging, unattended +by scientific observation or close calculation, put +him so far behind the game that his winnings were +soon dissipated and he had to stop playing altogether.</p> + +<p>Alva had quit work for the summer. He contended +that it was far too hot to stand over a steam pressing +machine during the sultry summer months, and there +was no other congenial work available. Being a bellhop +in one of the few New York hotels where colored +boys were used, called for too long hours and broken +shifts. Then they didn’t pay much money and he +hated to work for tips. He certainly would not take +an elevator job, paying only sixty or sixty-five dollars +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>a month at the most, and making it necessary +for him to work nights one week from six to eight, +and days the next week, vice versa. Being an elevator +operator in a loft building required too much skill, +patience, and muscular activity. The same could be +said of the shipping clerk positions, open in the various +wholesale houses. He couldn’t, of course, be expected +to be a porter, and swing a mop. Bootblacking +was not even to be considered. There was nothing +left. He was unskilled, save as a presser. Once he had +been apprenticed to a journeyman tailor, but he preferred +to forget that.</p> + +<p>No, there was nothing he could do, and there was +no sense in working in the summer. He never had +done it; at least, not since he had been living in New +York—so he didn’t see why he should do it now. +Furthermore, his salary hardly paid his saloon bill, +and since his board and room and laundry and clothes +came from other sources, why not quit work altogether +and develop these sources to their capacity +output? Things looked much brighter this year than +ever before. He had more clothes, he had “hit” the +numbers more than ever, he had won a baseball +pool of no mean value, and, in addition to Emma Lou, +he had made many other profitable contacts during +the spring and winter months. It was safe for him to +loaf, but he couldn’t carry Braxton, or rather, he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>wouldn’t. Yet he liked him well enough not to kick +him into the streets. Something, he told Emma Lou, +should be done for him first, so Alva started doing +things.</p> + +<p>First, he got him a girl, or rather steered him in +the direction of one who seemed to be a good bet. +She was. And as usual, Braxton had little trouble in +attracting her to him. She was a simple-minded over-sexed +little being from a small town in Central Virginia, +new to Harlem, and had hitherto always lived +in her home town where she had been employed since +her twelfth year as maid-of-all-work to a wealthy +white family. For four years, she had been her master’s +concubine, and probably would have continued +in that capacity for an unspecified length of time, had +not the mistress of the house decided that after all +it might not be good for her two adolescent sons to +become aware of their father’s philandering. She +had had to accept it. Most of the women of her generation +and in her circle had done likewise. But these +were the post world war days of modernity ... and, +well, it just wasn’t being done, what with the growing +intelligence of the “darkies,” and the increased +sophistication of the children.</p> + +<p>So Anise Hamilton had been surreptitiously +shipped away to New York, and a new maid-of-all-work +had mysteriously appeared in her place. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>mistress had seen to it that this new maid was not as +desirable as Anise, but a habit is a habit, and the +master of the house was not the sort to substitute +one habit for another. If anything, his wife had made +herself more miserable by the change, since the last +girl loved much better than she worked, while Anise +had proved competent on both scores, thereby pleasing +both master and mistress.</p> + +<p>Anise had come to Harlem and deposited the +money her former mistress had supplied her with in +the postal savings. She wouldn’t hear to placing it +in any other depository. Banks had a curious and +discomforting habit of closing their doors without +warning, and without the foresight to provide their +patrons with another nest egg. If banks in Virginia +went broke, those in wicked New York would surely +do so. Now, Uncle Sam had the whole country behind +him, and everybody knew that the United States +was the most wealthy of the world’s nations. Therefore, +what safer place than the post office for one’s +bank account?</p> + +<p>Anise got a job, too, almost immediately. Her +former mistress had given her a letter to a friend of +hers on Park Avenue, and this friend had another +friend who had a sister who wanted a stock girl in +her exclusive modiste shop. Anise was the type to +grace such an establishment as this person owned, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span>just the right size to create a smart uniform for, +and shapely enough to allow the creator of the +uniform ample latitude for bizarre experimentation. +Most important of all, her skin, the color of beaten +brass with copper overtones, synchronized with the +gray plaster walls, dark hardwood furniture and powder +blue rugs on the Maison Quantrelle.</p> + +<p>Anise soon had any number of “boy friends,” with +whom she had varying relations. But she willingly +dropped them all for Braxton, and, simple village girl +that she was, expected him to do likewise with his +“girl friends.” She had heard much about the “two-timing +sugar daddies” in Harlem, and while she was +well versed in the art herself, having never been particularly +true to her male employer, she did think +that this sort of thing was different, and that any +time she was willing to play fair, her consort should +do likewise.</p> + +<p>Alva was proud of himself when he noticed how +rapidly things progressed between Anise and Braxton. +They were together constantly, and Anise, not unused +to giving her home town “boy friends” some of +“Mister Bossman’s bounty,” was soon slipping Braxton +spare change to live on. Then she undertook to +pay his half of the room rent, and finally, within +three weeks, was, as Alva phrased it, “treating Braxton +royally.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> + +<p>But as ever, he was insistent upon being perverse. +His old swank and swagger was much in evidence. +With most of his clothing out of the pawnshop, he +attempted to dazzle the Avenue when he paraded its +length, the alluring Anise, attired in clothes borrowed +from her employer’s stockroom, beside him. +The bronze replica of Rudolph Valentino was, in +the argot of Harlem’s pool hall Johnnies, “out the +barrel.” The world was his. He had in it a bottle, +and he need only make it secure by corking. But +Braxton was never the person to make anything +secure. He might manage to capture the entire universe, +but he could never keep it pent up, for he +would soon let it alone to look for two more like it. +It was to be expected, then, that Braxton would lose +his head. He did, deliberately and diabolically. Because +Anise was so madly in love with him, he imagined +that all other women should do as she had +done, and how much more delightful and profitable +it would be to have two or three Anises instead of +one. So he began a crusade, spending much of Anise’s +money for campaign funds. Alva quarrelled, and +Anise threatened, but Braxton continued to explore +and expend.</p> + +<p>Anise finally revolted when Braxton took another +girl to a dance on her money. He had done this many +times before, but she hadn’t known about it. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span>wouldn’t have known about it this time if he hadn’t +told her. He often did things like that. Thought it +made him more desirable. Despite her simple-mindedness, +Anise had spunk. She didn’t like to quarrel, but +she wasn’t going to let any one make a fool out of +her, so, the next week after the heartbreaking incident, +she had moved and left no forwarding address. +It was presumed that she had gone downtown to live +in the apartment of the woman for whom she worked. +Braxton seemed unconcerned about her disappearance, +and continued his peacock-like march for some +time, with feathers unruffled, even by frequent trips +to the pawnshop. But a peacock can hardly preen an +unplumaged body, and, though Braxton continued to +strut, in a few weeks after the break, he was only a +sad semblance of his former self.</p> + +<p>Alva nagged at him continually. “Damned if I’m +going to carry you.” Braxton would remain silent. +“You’re the most no-count nigger I know. If you +can’t do anything else, why in the hell don’t you get +a job?” “I don’t see you working,” Braxton would +answer.</p> + +<p>“And you don’t see me starving, either,” would be +the come-back.</p> + +<p>“Oh, jost ’cause you got that little black +wench....”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right about the little black wench. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span>She’s forty with me, and I know how to treat her. +I bet you couldn’t get five cents out of her.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t try.”</p> + +<p>“Hell, if you tried it wouldn’t make no difference. +There’s a gal ready to pay to have a man, and there +are lots more like her. You couldn’t even keep a +good-looking gold mine like Anise. Wish I could +find her.”</p> + +<p>Braxton would sulk a while, thinking that his +silence would discourage Alva, but Alva was not to +be shut up. He was truly outraged. He felt that he +was being imposed upon, being used by some one who +thought himself superior to him. He would admit +that he wasn’t as handsome as Braxton, but he certainly +had more common sense. The next Monday +Braxton moved.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Alva was to take Emma Lou to the midnight +show at the Lafayette Theater. He met her as she +left work and they had taken the subway uptown. +On the train they began to talk, shouting into one +another’s ears, trying to make their voices heard +above the roar of the underground tube.</p> + +<p>“Do you like your new home?” Alva shouted. He +hadn’t seen her since she had moved two days before.</p> + +<p>“It’s nice,” she admitted loudly, “but it would be +nicer if I had you there with me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span></p> + +<p>He patted her hand and held it regardless of the +onlooking crowd.</p> + +<p>“Maybe so, sugar, but you wouldn’t like me if you +had to live with me all the time.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was aggrieved: “I don’t see how you +can say that. How do you know? That’s what made +me mad last Sunday.”</p> + +<p>Alva saw that Emma Lou was ready for argument +and he had no intention of favoring her, or of discomfiting +himself. He was even sorry that he said +as much as he had when she had first broached the +“living together” matter over the telephone on Sunday, +calling him out of bed before noon while +Geraldine was there too, looking, but not asking, for +information. He smiled at her indulgently:</p> + +<p>“If you say another word about it, I’ll kiss you +right here in the subway.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou didn’t put it beyond him so she could +do nothing but smile and shut up. She rather liked +him to talk to her that way. Alva was shouting into +her ear again, telling her a scandalous tale he claimed +to have heard while playing poker with some of the +boys. He thus contrived to keep her entertained until +they reached the 135th Street station where they +finally emerged from beneath the pavement to mingle +with the frowsy crowds of Harlem’s Bowery, Lenox +Avenue.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> + +<p>They made their way to the Lafayette, the Jew’s +gift of entertainment to Harlem colored folk. Each +week the management of this theater presents a new +musical revue of the three a day variety with motion +pictures—all guaranteed to be from three to ten +years old—sandwiched in between. On Friday nights +there is a special midnight performance lasting from +twelve o’clock until four or four-thirty the next +morning, according to the stamina of the actors. +The audience does not matter. It would as soon sit +until noon the next day if the “high yaller” chorus +girls would continue to undress, and the black face +comedians would continue to tell stale jokes, just so +long as there was a raucous blues singer thrown in +every once in a while for vulgar variety.</p> + +<p>Before Emma Lou and Alva could reach the entrance +door, they had to struggle through a crowd of +well dressed young men and boys, congregated on the +sidewalk in front of the theater. The midnight show +at the Lafayette on Friday is quite a social event +among certain classes of Harlem folk, and, if one is +a sweetback or a man about town, one must be seen +standing in front of the theater, if not inside. It costs +nothing to obstruct the entrance way, and it adds +much to one’s prestige. Why, no one knows.</p> + +<p>Without untoward incident Emma Lou and Alva +found the seats he had reserved. There was much +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>noise in the theater, much passing to and fro, much +stumbling down dark aisles. People were always +leaving their seats, admonishing their companions +to hold them, and some one else was always taking +them despite the curt and sometimes belligerent, +“This seat is taken.” Then, when the original occupant +would return there would be still another argument. +This happened so frequently that there seemed +to be a continual wrangling automatically staged in +different parts of the auditorium. Then people were +always looking for some one or for something, always +peering into the darkness, emitting code whistles, and +calling to Jane or Jim or Pete or Bill. At the head of +each aisle, both upstairs and down, people were +packed in a solid mass, a grumbling, garrulous mass, +elbowing their neighbors, cursing the management, +and standing on tiptoe trying to find an empty, +intact seat—intact because every other seat in the +theater seemed to be broken. Hawkers went up and +down the aisle shouting, “Ice cream, peanuts, chewing +gum or candy.” People hissed at them and ordered +what they wanted. A sadly inadequate crew of ushers +inefficiently led people up one aisle and down another +trying to find their supposedly reserved seats; +a lone fireman strove valiantly to keep the aisles clear +as the fire laws stipulated. It was a most chaotic and +confusing scene.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> + +<p>First, a movie was shown while the organ played +mournful jazz. About one o’clock the midnight revue +went on. The curtain went up on the customary +chorus ensemble singing the customary, “Hello, we’re +glad to be here, we’re going to please you” opening +song. This was followed by the usual song and dance +team, a blues singer, a lady Charleston dancer, and +two black faced comedians. Each would have his +turn, then begin all over again, aided frequently by +the energetic and noisy chorus, which somehow managed +to appear upon the stage almost naked in the +first scene, and keep getting more and more naked +as the evening progressed.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had been to the Lafayette before with +John and had been shocked by the scantily clad +women and obscene skits. The only difference that +she could see in this particular revue was that the +performers were more bawdy and more boisterous. +And she had never been in or seen such an audience. +There was as much, if not more, activity in the +orchestra and box seats than there was on the stage. +It was hard to tell whether the cast was before or +behind the proscenium arch. There seemed to be a +veritable contest going on between the paid performers +and their paying audience, and Emma Lou +found the spontaneous monkey shines and utterances +of those around her much more amusing than the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span>stereotyped antics of the hired performers on the stage.</p> + +<p>She was surprised to find that she was actually +enjoying herself, yet she supposed that after the +house-rent party she could stand anything. Imagine +people opening their flats to the public and charging +any one who had the price to pay twenty-five cents +to enter? Imagine people going to such bedlam +Bacchanals?</p> + +<p>A new scene on the stage attracted her attention. +A very colorfully dressed group of people had gathered +for a party. Emma Lou immediately noticed that +all the men were dark, and that all the women were +either a very light brown or “high yaller.” She turned +to Alva:</p> + +<p>“Don’t they ever have anything else but fair chorus +girls?”</p> + +<p>Alva made a pretense of being very occupied with +the business on the stage. Happily, at that moment, +one of a pair of black faced comedians had set the +audience in an uproar with a suggestive joke. After +a moment Emma Lou found herself laughing too. +The two comedians were funny, no matter how prejudiced +one might be against unoriginality. There +must be other potent elements to humor besides surprise. +Then a very Topsy-like girl skated onto the +stage to the tune of “Ireland must be heaven because +my mother came from there.” Besides being +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>corked until her skin was jet black, the girl had on a +wig of kinky hair. Her lips were painted red—their +thickness exaggerated by the paint. Her coming +created a stir. Every one concerned was indignant +that something like her should crash their party. She +attempted to attach herself to certain men in the +crowd. The straight men spurned her merely by turning +away. The comedians made a great fuss about it, +pushing her from one to the other, and finally getting +into a riotous argument because each accused the +other of having invited her. It ended by them agreeing +to toss her bodily off the stage to the orchestral +accompaniment of “Bye, Bye, Blackbird,” while the +entire party loudly proclaimed that “Black cats +must go.”</p> + +<p>Then followed the usual rigamarole carried on +weekly at the Lafayette concerning the undesirability +of black girls. Every one, that is, all the males, +let it be known that high browns and “high yallers” +were “forty” with them, but that.... They were +interrupted by the re-entry of the little black girl +riding a mule and singing mournfully as she was being +thus transported across the stage:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A yellow gal rides in a limousine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A brown-skin rides a Ford,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A black gal rides an old jackass</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But she gets there, yes my Lord.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> + +<p>Emma Lou was burning up with indignation. So +color-conscious had she become that any time some +one mentioned or joked about skin color, she immediately +imagined that they were referring to her. +Now she even felt that all the people near by were +looking at her and that their laughs were at her +expense. She remained silent throughout the rest of +the performance, averting her eyes from the stage and +trying hard not to say anything to Alva before they +left the theater. After what seemed an eternity, the +finale screamed its good-bye at the audience, and Alva +escorted her out into Seventh Avenue.</p> + +<p>Alva was tired and thirsty. He had been up all +night the night before at a party to which he had +taken Geraldine, and he had had to get up unusually +early on Friday morning in order to go after his +laundry. Of course when he had arrived at Bobby’s +apartment where his laundry was being done, he +found that his shirts were not yet ironed, so he had +gone to bed there, with the result that he hadn’t been +able to go to sleep, nor had the shirts been ironed, +but that was another matter.</p> + +<p>“First time I ever went to a midnight show without +something on my hip,” he complained to Emma +Lou as they crossed the taxi-infested street in order +to escape the crowds leaving the theater and idling in +front of it, even at four A. M. in the morning.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> + +<p>“Well,” Emma Lou returned vehemently, “it’s the +last time I’ll ever go to that place any kind of way.”</p> + +<p>Alva hadn’t expected this. “What’s the matter with +you?”</p> + +<p>“You’re always taking me some place, or placing +me in some position where I’ll be insulted.”</p> + +<p>“Insulted?” This was far beyond Alva. Who on +earth had insulted her and when. “But,” he paused, +then advanced cautiously, “Sugar, I don’t know what +you mean.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou was ready for a quarrel. In fact she had +been trying to pick one with him ever since the night +she had gone to that house-rent party, and the landlady +had asked her to move on the following day. +Alva’s curt refusal of her proposal that they live +together had hurt her far more than he had imagined. +Somehow or other he didn’t think she could be so +serious about the matter, especially upon such short +notice. But Emma Lou had been so certain that he +would be as excited over the suggestion as she had +been that she hadn’t considered meeting a definite +refusal. Then the finding of a room had been irritating +to contemplate. She couldn’t have called it irritating +of accomplishment because Alva had done +that for her. She had told him on Sunday morning +that she had to move and by Sunday night he had +found a place for her. She had to admit that he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span>found an exceptionally nice place too. It was just +two blocks from him, on 138th Street between Eighth +Avenue and Edgecombe. It was near the elevated +station, near the park, and cost only ten dollars and +fifty cents per week for the room, kitchenette and +private bath.</p> + +<p>On top of his refusal to live with her, Alva had +broken two dates with Emma Lou, claiming that he +was playing poker. On one of these nights, after +leaving work, Emma Lou had decided to walk past +his house. Even at a distance she could see that there +was a light in his room, and when she finally passed +the house, she recognized Geraldine, the girl with +whom she had seen Alva dancing at the Renaissance +Casino, seated in the window. Angrily, she had gone +home, determined to break with Alva on the morrow, +and on reaching home had found a letter from her +mother which had disturbed her even more. For a +long time now her mother had been urging her to +come home, and her Uncle Joe had even sent her +word that he meant to forward a ticket at an early +date. But Emma Lou had no intentions of going home. +She was so obsessed with the idea that her mother +didn’t want her, and she was so incensed at the people +with whom she knew she would be forced to associate, +that she could consider her mother’s hysterically-put +request only as an insult. Thus, presuming, she had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>answered in kind, giving vent to her feelings about +the matter. This disturbing letter was in answer to +her own spleenic epistle, and what hurt her most was, +not the sharp counsellings and verbose lamentations +therein, but the concluding phrase, which read, “I +don’t see how the Lord could have given me such an +evil, black hussy for a daughter.”</p> + +<p>The following morning she had telephoned Alva, +determined to break with him, or at least make him +believe she was about to break with him, but Alva +had merely yawned and asked her not to be a goose. +Could he help it if Braxton’s girl chose to sit in his +window? It was as much Braxton’s room as it was +his. True, Braxton wouldn’t be there long, but while +he was, he certainly should have full privileges. That +had quieted Emma Lou then, but there was nothing +that could quiet her now. She continued arguing as +they walked toward 135th Street.</p> + +<p>“You don’t want to know what I mean.”</p> + +<p>“No, I guess not,” Alva assented wearily, then +quickened his pace. He didn’t want to have a public +scene with this black wench. But Emma Lou was not +to be appeased.</p> + +<p>“Well, you will know what I mean. First you take +me out with a bunch of your supposedly high-toned +friends, and sit silently by while they poke fun at me. +Then you take me to a theater, where you know I’ll +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span>have my feelings hurt.” She stopped for breath. Alva +filled in the gap.</p> + +<p>“If you ask me,” he said wearily, “I think you’re +full of stuff. Let’s take a taxi. I’m too tired to walk.” +He hailed a taxi, pushed her into it, and gave the +driver the address. Then he turned to Emma Lou, +saying something which he regretted having said a +moment later.</p> + +<p>“How did my friends insult you?”</p> + +<p>“You know how they insulted me, sitting up there +making fun of me ’cause I’m black.”</p> + +<p>Alva laughed, something he also regretted later.</p> + +<p>“That’s right, laugh, and I suppose you laughed +with them then, behind my back, and planned all +that talk before I arrived.”</p> + +<p>Alva didn’t answer and Emma Lou cried all the +rest of the way home. Once there he tried to soothe +her.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Sugar, let Alva put you to bed.”</p> + +<p>But Emma Lou was not to be sugared so easily. +She continued to cry. Alva sat down on the bed beside +her.</p> + +<p>“Snap out of it, won’t you, Honey? You’re just +tired. Go to bed and get some sleep. You’ll be all right +tomorrow.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou stopped her crying.</p> + +<p>“I may be all right, but I’ll never forget the way +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>you’ve allowed me to be insulted in your presence.”</p> + +<p>This was beginning to get on Alva’s nerves but he +smiled at her indulgently:</p> + +<p>“I suppose I should have gone down on the stage +and biffed one of the comedians in the jaw?”</p> + +<p>“No,” snapped Emma Lou, realizing she was being +ridiculous, “but you could’ve stopped your friends +from poking fun at me.”</p> + +<p>“But, Sugar,” this was growing tiresome. “How can +you say they were making fun of you. It’s beyond +me.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t beyond you when it started. I bet you +told them about me before I came in, told them I +was black....”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, weren’t some of them dark? I’m +afraid,” he advanced slowly, “that you are a trifle +too color-conscious,” he was glad he remembered that +phrase.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou flared up: “Color-conscious ... who +wouldn’t be color-conscious when everywhere you go +people are always talking about color. If it didn’t +make any difference they wouldn’t talk about it, they +wouldn’t always be poking fun, and laughing and +making jokes....”</p> + +<p>Alva interrupted her tirade. “You’re being silly, +Emma Lou. About three-quarters of the people at the +Lafayette tonight were either dark brown or black, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>and here you are crying and fuming like a ninny +over some reference made on the stage to a black +person.” He was disgusted now. He got up from the +bed. Emma Lou looked up.</p> + +<p>“But, Alva, you don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“I do know,” he spoke sharply for the first time, +“that you’re a damn fool. It’s always color, color, +color. If I speak to any of my friends on the street +you always make some reference to their color and +keep plaguing me with—‘Don’t you know nothing +else but light-skinned people?’ And you’re always +beefing about being black. Seems like to me you’d +be proud of it. You’re not the only black person in +this world. There are gangs of them right here in +Harlem, and I don’t see them going around a-moanin’ +’cause they ain’t half white.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not moaning.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes you are. And a person like you is far +worse than a hinkty yellow nigger. It’s your kind +helps make other people color-prejudiced.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just what I’m saying; it’s because of my +color....”</p> + +<p>“Oh, go to hell!” And Alva rushed out of the room, +slamming the door behind him.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Braxton had been gone a week. Alva, who had +been out with Marie, the creole Lesbian, came home +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>late, and, turning on the light, found Geraldine asleep +in his bed. He was so surprised that he could do +nothing for a moment but stand in the center of the +room and look—first at Geraldine and then at her +toilet articles spread over his dresser. He twisted his +lips in a wry smile, muttered something to himself, +then walked over to the bed and shook her.</p> + +<p>“Geraldine, Geraldine,” he called. She awoke +quickly and smiled at him.</p> + +<p>“Hello. What time is it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” he returned guardedly, “somewhere after +three.”</p> + +<p>“Where’ve you been?”</p> + +<p>“Playing poker.”</p> + +<p>“With whom?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the same gang. But what’s the idea?”</p> + +<p>Geraldine wrinkled her brow.</p> + +<p>“The idea of what?”</p> + +<p>“Of sorta taking possession?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she seemed enlightened, “I’ve moved to New +York.”</p> + +<p>It was Alva’s cue to register surprise.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter? You and the old lady fall +out?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all.”</p> + +<p>“Does she know where you are?”</p> + +<p>“She knows I’m in New York.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> + +<p>“You know what I mean. Does she know you’re +going to stay?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“But where are you going to live?”</p> + +<p>“Here.”</p> + +<p>“Here?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“But ... but ... well, what is this all about, +anyhow?”</p> + +<p>She sat up in the bed and regarded him for a +moment, a light smile playing around her lips. Before +she spoke she yawned; then in a cool, even tone +of voice, announced “I’m going to have a baby.”</p> + +<p>“But,” he began after a moment, “can’t you—can’t +you...?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve tried everything and now it’s too late. There’s +nothing to do but have it.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="fh2"><span class="smcap">Part V</span></p> + <p class="fh2">PYRRHIC VICTORY</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak">V<br>PYRRHIC VICTORY</h2> +</div> + + +<p>It was two years later. “Cabaret Gal,” which had +been on the road for one year, had returned to +New York and the company had been disbanded. +Arline was preparing to go to Europe and had decided +not to take a maid with her. However, she +determined to get Emma Lou another job before she +left. She inquired among her friends, but none of the +active performers she knew seemed to be in the +market for help, and it was only on the eve of sailing +that she was able to place Emma Lou with Clere +Sloane, a former stage beauty, who had married a +famous American writer and retired from public life.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou soon learned to like her new place. She +was Clere’s personal maid, and found it much less +tiresome than being in the theater with Arline. Clere +was less temperamental and less hurried. She led a +rather leisurely life, and treated Emma Lou more as +a companion than as a servant. Clere’s husband, +Campbell Kitchen, was very congenial and kind too, +although Emma Lou, at first, seldom came into contact +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>with him, for he and his wife practically led +separate existences, meeting only at meals, or when +they had guests, or when they both happened to arise +at the same hour for breakfast. Occasionally, they +attended the theater or a party together, and sometimes +entertained, but usually they followed their +own individual paths.</p> + +<p>Campbell Kitchen, like many other white artists +and intellectuals, had become interested in Harlem. +The Negro and all things negroid had become a fad, +and Harlem had become a shrine to which feverish +pilgrimages were in order. Campbell Kitchen, along +with Carl Van Vechten, was one of the leading spirits +in this “Explore Harlem; Know the Negro” crusade. +He, unlike many others, was quite sincere in his +desire to exploit those things in Negro life which he +presumed would eventually win for the Negro a more +comfortable position in American life. It was he who +first began the agitation in the higher places of journalism +which gave impetus to the spiritual craze. It +was he who ferreted out and gave publicity to many +unknown blues singers. It was he who sponsored most +of the younger Negro writers, personally carrying +their work to publishers and editors. It wasn’t his +fault entirely that most of them were published before +they had anything to say or before they knew +how to say it. Rather it was the fault of the faddistic +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>American public which followed the band wagon and +kept clamoring for additional performances, not because +of any manifested excellence, but rather because +of their sensationalism and pseudo-barbaric +<i>decor</i>.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou had heard much of his activity, and +had been surprised to find herself in his household. +Recently he had written a book concerning Negro +life in Harlem, a book calculated by its author to be +a sincere presentation of those aspects of life in +Harlem which had interested him. Campbell Kitchen +belonged to the sophisticated school of modern +American writers. His novels were more or less fantastic +bits of realism, skipping lightly over the surfaces +of life, and managing somehow to mirror depths +through superficialities. His novel on Harlem had +been a literary failure because the author presumed +that its subject matter demanded serious treatment. +Hence, he disregarded the traditions he had set up for +himself in his other works, and produced an energetic +and entertaining hodgepodge, where the bizarre was +strangled by the sentimental, and the erotic clashed +with the commonplace.</p> + +<p>Negroes had not liked Campbell Kitchen’s delineation +of their life in the world’s greatest colored city. +They contended that, like “Nigger Heaven” by Carl +Van Vechten, the book gave white people a wrong +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span>impression of Negroes, thus lessening their prospects +of doing away with prejudice and race discrimination. +From what she had heard, Emma Lou had expected +to meet a sneering, obscene cynic, intent upon ravaging +every Negro woman and insulting every Negro +man, but he proved to be such an ordinary, harmless +individual that she was won over to his side almost +immediately.</p> + +<p>Whenever they happened to meet, he would talk +to her about her life in particular and Negro life in +general. She had to admit that he knew much more +about such matters than she or any other Negro she +had ever met. And it was because of one of these +chance talks that she finally decided to follow Mrs. +Blake’s advice and take the public school teachers’ +examination.</p> + +<p>Two years had wrought little change in Emma Lou, +although much had happened to her. After that tearful +night, when Alva had sworn at her and stalked +out of her room, she had somewhat taken stock of +herself. She wondered if Alva had been right in his +allegations. Was she supersensitive about her color? +Did she encourage color prejudice among her own +people, simply by being so expectant of it? She tried +hard to place the blame on herself, but she couldn’t +seem to do it. She knew she hadn’t been color-conscious +during her early childhood days; that is, until +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>she had had it called to her attention by her mother +or some of her mother’s friends, who had all seemed +to take delight in marvelling, “What an extraordinarily +black child!” or “Such beautiful hair on such +a black baby!”</p> + +<p>Her mother had even hidden her away on occasions +when she was to have company, and her grandmother +had been cruel in always assailing Emma +Lou’s father, whose only crime seemed to be that he +had had a blue black skin. Then there had been her +childhood days when she had ventured forth into the +streets to play. All of her colored playmates had been +mulattoes, and her white playmates had never ceased +calling public attention to her crow-like complexion. +Consequently, she had grown sensitive and had soon +been driven to play by herself, avoiding contact with +other children as much as possible. Her mother encouraged +her in this, had even suggested that she not +attend certain parties because she might not have +a good time.</p> + +<p>Then there had been the searing psychological +effect of that dreadful graduation night, and the +lonely embittering three years at college, all of which +had tended to make her color more and more a paramount +issue and ill. It was neither fashionable nor +good for a girl to be as dark as she, and to be, at +the same time, as untalented and undistinguished. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>Dark girls could get along if they were exceptionally +talented or handsome or wealthy, but she had nothing +to recommend her, save a beautiful head of hair. +Despite the fact that she had managed to lead her +classes in school, she had to admit that mentally she +was merely mediocre and average. Now, had she been +as intelligent as Mamie Olds Bates, head of a Negro +school in Florida, and president of a huge national +association of colored women’s clubs, her darkness +would not have mattered. Or had she been as wealthy +as Lillian Saunders, who had inherited the millions +her mother had made producing hair straightening +commodities, things might have been different; but +here she was, commonplace and poor, ugly and undistinguished.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou recalled all these things, while trying +to fasten the blame for her extreme color-consciousness +on herself as Alva had done, but she was unable +to make a good case of it. Surely, it had not been +her color-consciousness which had excluded her from +the only Negro sorority in her college, nor had it been +her color-consciousness that had caused her to spend +such an isolated three years in Southern California. +The people she naturally felt at home with had, +somehow or other, managed to keep her at a distance. +It was no fun going to social affairs and being +neglected throughout the entire evening. There was no +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span>need in forcing one’s self into a certain milieu only +to be frozen out. Hence, she had stayed to herself, +had had very few friends, and had become more and +more resentful of her blackness of skin.</p> + +<p>She had thought Harlem would be different, but +things had seemed against her from the beginning, +and she had continued to go down, down, down, until +she had little respect left for herself.</p> + +<p>She had been glad when the road show of “Cabaret +Gal” had gone into the provinces. Maybe a year of +travel would set her aright. She would return to +Harlem with considerable money saved, move into +the Y. W. C. A., try to obtain a more congenial position, +and set about becoming respectable once more, +set about coming into contact with the “right sort of +people.” She was certain that there were many colored +boys and girls in Harlem with whom she could associate +and become content. She didn’t wish to chance +herself again with a Jasper Crane or an Alva.</p> + +<p>Yet, she still loved Alva, no matter how much +she regretted it, loved him enough to keep trying to +win him back, even after his disgust had driven him +away from her. She sadly recalled how she had +telephoned him repeatedly, and how he had hung up +the receiver with the brief, cruel “I don’t care to talk +to you,” and she recalled how, swallowing her pride, +she had gone to his house the day before she had left +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>New York. Alva had greeted her coolly, then politely +informed her that he couldn’t let her in, as he had +other company.</p> + +<p>This had made her ill, and for three days after +“Cabaret Gal” opened in Philadelphia, she had confined +herself to her hotel room and cried hysterically. +When it was all over, she had felt much better. The +outlet of tears had been good for her, but she had +never ceased to long for Alva. He had been the only +completely satisfying thing in her life, and it didn’t +seem possible for one who had pretended to love her +as much as he, suddenly to become so completely indifferent. +She measured everything by her own moods +and reactions, translated everything into the language +of Emma Lou, and variations bewildered her to the +extent that she could not believe in their reality.</p> + +<p>So, when the company had passed through New +York on its way from Philadelphia to Boston, she +had approached Alva’s door once more. It had never +occurred to her that any one save Alva would answer +her knock, and the sight of Geraldine in a negligee +had stunned her. She had hastened to apologize for +knocking on the wrong door, and had turned completely +away without asking for Alva, only to halt as +if thunderstruck when she heard his voice, as +Geraldine was closing the door, asking, “Who was it, +Sugar?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> + +<p>For a while, Alva had been content. He really +loved Geraldine, or so he thought. To him she seemed +eminently desirable in every respect, and now that +she was about to bear him a child, well ... he didn’t +yet know what they would do with it, but everything +would work out as it should. He didn’t even +mind having to return to work, nor, for the moment, +mind having to give less attention to the rest of his +harem.</p> + +<p>Of course, Geraldine’s attachment of herself to him +ruled Emma Lou out more definitely than it did any +of his other “paying off” people. He had been thoroughly +disgusted with her and had intended to relent +only after she had been forced to chase him for a +considerable length of time. But Geraldine’s coming +had changed things altogether. Alva knew when not +to attempt something, and he knew very well that +he could not toy with Emma Lou and live with +Geraldine at the same time. Some of the others were +different. He could explain Geraldine to them, and +they would help him keep themselves secreted from +her. But Emma Lou, never! She would be certain to +take it all wrong.</p> + +<p>The months passed; the baby was born. Both of +the parents were bitterly disappointed by this sickly, +little “ball of tainted suet,” as Alva called it. It had +a shrunken left arm and a deformed left foot. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>doctor ordered oil massages. There was a chance that +the infant’s limbs could be shaped into some semblance +of normality. Alva declared that it looked like +an idiot. Geraldine had a struggle with herself, trying +to keep from smothering it. She couldn’t see why +such a monstrosity should live. Perhaps as the years +passed it would change. At any rate, she had lost her +respect for Alva. There was no denying to her that +had she mated with some one else, she might have +given birth to a normal child. The pain she had experienced +had shaken her. One sight of the baby and +continual living with it and Alva in that one, now +frowsy and odoriferous room, had completed her disillusionment. +For one of the very few times in her life, +she felt like doing something drastic.</p> + +<p>Alva hardly ever came home. He had quit work +once more and started running around as before, +only he didn’t tell her about it. He lied to her or else +ignored her altogether. The baby now a year old was +assuredly an idiot. It neither talked nor walked. Its +head had grown out of all proportion to its body, +and Geraldine felt that she could have stood its +shrivelled arm and deformed foot, had it not been for +its insanely large and vacant eyes which seemed never +to close, and for the thick grinning lips, which always +remained half open and through which came no translatable +sounds.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> + +<p>Geraldine’s mother was a pious woman, and, of +course, denounced the parents for the condition of +the child. Had they not lived in sin, this would not +be. Had they married and lived respectably, God +would not have punished them in this manner. According +to her, the mere possession of a marriage +license and an official religious sanction of their mating +would have assured them a bouncing, healthy, +normal child. She refused to take the infant. Her +pastor had advised her not to, saying that the parents +should be made to bear the burden they had brought +upon themselves.</p> + +<p>For once, neither Geraldine nor Alva knew what +to do. They couldn’t keep on as they were now. Alva +was drinking more and more. He was also becoming +less interested in looking well. He didn’t bother about +his clothes as much as before, his almond shaped eyes +became more narrow, and the gray parchment conquered +the yellow in his skin and gave him a deathlike +pallor. He hated that silent, staring idiot infant +of his, and he had begun to hate its mother. He +couldn’t go into the room sober. Yet his drinking +provided no escape. And though he was often +tempted, he felt that he could not run away and leave +Geraldine alone with the baby.</p> + +<p>Then he began to need money. Geraldine couldn’t +work because some one had to look after the child. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span>Alva wouldn’t work now, and made no effort to come +into contact with new “paying off” people. The old +ones were not as numerous or as generous as formerly. +Those who hadn’t drifted away didn’t care enough +about the Alva of today to help support him, his wife +and child. Luckily, though, about this time, he “hit” +the numbers twice in one month, and both he and +Geraldine borrowed some money on their insurance +policies. They accrued almost a thousand dollars +from these sources, but that wouldn’t last forever, +and the problem of what they were going to do with +the child still remained unsolved.</p> + +<p>Both wanted to kill it, and neither had the courage +to mention the word “murder” to the other. Had +they been able to discuss this thing frankly with one +another, they could have seen to it that the child +smothered itself or fell from the crib sometime during +the night. No one would have questioned the +accidental death of an idiot child. But they did not +trust one another, and neither dared to do the deed +alone. Then Geraldine became obsessed with the fear +that Alva was planning to run away from her. She +knew what this would mean and she had no idea of +letting him do it. She realized that should she be left +alone with the child it would mean that she would be +burdened throughout the years it lived, forced to +struggle and support herself and her charge. But were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>she to leave Alva, some more sensible plan would +undoubtedly present itself. No one expected a father +to tie himself to an infant, and if that infant happened +to be ill and an idiot ... well, there were +any number of social agencies which would care for +it. Assuredly, then she must get away first. But +where to go?</p> + +<p>She was stumped again and forced to linger, fearing +all the while that Alva would fail to return home +once he left. She tried desperately to reintroduce a +note of intimacy into their relationship, tried repeatedly +to make herself less repellent to him, and, +at the same time, discipline her own self so that she +would not communicate her apprehensions to him. +She hired the little girl who lived in the next room to +take charge of the child, bought it a store of toys and +went out to find a job. This being done, she insisted +that Alva begin taking her out once again. He acquiesced. +He wasn’t interested one way or the other +as long as he could go to bed drunk every night and +keep a bottle of gin by his bedside.</p> + +<p>Neither, though, seemed interested in what they +were doing. Both were feverishly apprehensive at all +times. They quarrelled frequently, but would hasten +to make amends to one another, so afraid were they +that the first one to become angry might make a bolt +for freedom. Alva drank more and more. Geraldine +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>worked, saved and schemed, always planning and +praying that she would be able to get away first.</p> + +<p>Then Alva was taken ill. His liquor-burned stomach +refused to retain food. The doctor ordered him +not to drink any more bootleg beverages. Alva +shrugged his shoulders, left the doctor’s office and +sought out his favorite speakeasy.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou was busy, and being busy, had had less +time to think about herself than ever before. Thus, +she was less distraught and much less dissatisfied +with herself and with life. She was taking some +courses in education in the afternoon classes at City +College, preparatory to taking the next public school +teacher’s examination. She still had her position in +the household of Campbell Kitchen, a position she +had begun to enjoy and appreciate more and more +as the master of the house evinced an interest in her +and became her counsellor and friend. He encouraged +her to read and opened his library to her. Ofttimes +he gave her tickets to musical concerts or to the +theater, and suggested means of meeting what she +called “the right sort of people.”</p> + +<p>She had moved meanwhile into the Y. W. C. A. +There she had met many young girls like herself, +alone and unattached in New York, and she had soon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>found herself moving in a different world altogether. +She even had a pal, Gwendolyn Johnson, a likable, +light-brown-skinned girl, who had the room next to +hers. Gwendolyn had been in New York only a few +months. She had just recently graduated from +Howard University, and was also planning to teach +school in New York City. She and Emma Lou became +fast friends and went everywhere together. It +was with Gwendolyn that Emma Lou shared the +tickets Campbell Kitchen gave her. Then on Sundays +they would attend church. At first they attended a +different church every Sunday, but finally took to +attending St. Mark’s A. M. E. Church on St. Nicholas +Avenue regularly.</p> + +<p>This was one of the largest and most high-toned +churches in Harlem. Emma Lou liked to go there; +and both she and Gwendolyn enjoyed sitting in the +congregation, observing the fine clothes and triumphal +entries of its members. Then, too, they soon became +interested in the various organizations which +the church sponsored for young people. They attended +the meetings of a literary society every Thursday +evening, and joined the young people’s bible +class which met every Tuesday evening. In this way, +they came into contact with many young folk, and +were often invited to parties and dances.</p> + +<p>Gwendolyn helped Emma Lou with her courses in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>education and the two obtained and studied copies +of questions which had been asked in previous examinations. +Gwendolyn sympathized with Emma Lou’s +color hyper-sensitivity and tried hard to make her +forget it. In order to gain her point, she thought it +necessary to down light people, and with this in mind, +ofttimes told Emma Lou many derogatory tales +about the mulattoes in the social and scholastic life +at Howard University in Washington, D. C. The +color question had never been of much moment to +Gwendolyn. Being the color she was, she had never +suffered. In Charleston, the mulattoes had their own +churches and their own social life and mingled with +darker Negroes only when the jim crow law or racial +discrimination left them no other alternative. Gwendolyn’s +mother had belonged to one of these “persons +of color” families, but she hadn’t seen much in it all. +What if she was better than the little black girl who +lived around the corner? Didn’t they both have to +attend the same colored school, and didn’t they both +have to ride in the same section of the street car, and +were not they both subject to be called nigger by the +poor white trash who lived in the adjacent block?</p> + +<p>She had thought her relatives and associates all a +little silly, especially when they had objected to her +marrying a man just two or three shades darker than +herself. She felt that this was carrying things too far +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>even in ancient Charleston where customs, houses +and people all seemed antique and far removed from +the present. Stubbornly she had married the man of +her choice, and had exulted when her daughter had +been nearer the richer color of her father than the +washed-out color of herself. Gwendolyn’s father had +died while she was in college, and her mother had +begun teaching in a South Carolina Negro industrial +school, but she insisted that Gwendolyn must finish +her education and seek her career in the North.</p> + +<p>Gwendolyn’s mother had always preached for complete +tolerance in matters of skin color. So afraid +was she that her daughter would develop a “pink” +complex that she wilfully discouraged her associating +with light people and persistently encouraged her +to choose her friends from among the darker elements +of the race. And she insisted that Gwendolyn must +marry a dark brown man so that her children would +be real Negroes. So thoroughly had this become inculcated +into her, that Gwendolyn often snubbed +light people, and invariably, in accordance with her +mother’s sermonisings, chose dark-skinned friends +and beaux. Like her mother, Gwendolyn was very +exercised over the matter of intra-racial segregation +and attempted to combat it verbally as well as +actively.</p> + +<p>When she and Emma Lou began going around together, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>trying to find a church to attend regularly, +she had immediately black-balled the Episcopal +Church, for she knew that most of its members were +“pinks,” and despite the fact that a number of dark-skinned +West Indians, former members of the Church +of England, had forced their way in, Gwendolyn +knew that the Episcopal Church in Harlem, as in +most Negro communities, was dedicated primarily to +the salvation of light-skinned Negroes.</p> + +<p>But Gwendolyn was a poor psychologist. She didn’t +realize that Emma Lou was possessed of a perverse +bitterness and that she idolized the thing one would +naturally expect her to hate. Gwendolyn was certain +that Emma Lou hated “yaller” niggers as she called +them. She didn’t appreciate the fact that Emma +Lou hated her own color and envied the more mellow +complexions. Gwendolyn’s continual damnation of +“pinks” only irritated Emma Lou and made her more +impatient with her own blackness, for, in damning +them, Gwendolyn also enshrined them for Emma +Lou, who wasn’t the least bit anxious to be classified +with persons who needed a champion.</p> + +<p>However, for the time being, Emma Lou was more +free than ever from tortuous periods of self-pity and +hatred. In her present field of activity, the question +of color seldom introduced itself except as Gwendolyn +introduced it, which she did continually, even +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>to the extent of giving lectures on race purity and +the superiority of unmixed racial types. Emma Lou +would listen attentively, but all the while she was +observing Gwendolyn’s light-brown skin, and wishing +to herself that it were possible for her and +Gwendolyn to effect a change in complexions, since +Gwendolyn considered a black skin so desirable.</p> + +<p>They both had beaux, young men whom they had +met at the various church meetings and socials. +Gwendolyn insisted that they snub the “high yallers” +and continually was going into ecstasies over the +browns and blacks they conquested. Emma Lou +couldn’t get excited over any of them. They all +seemed so young and so pallid. Their air of being +all-wise amused her, their affected church purity and +wholesomeness, largely a verbal matter, tired her. +Their world was so small—church, school, home, +mother, father, parties, future. She invariably compared +them to Alva and made herself laugh by classifying +them as a litter of sick puppies. Alva was a +bulldog and a healthy one at that. Yet these sick +puppies, as she called them, were the next generation +of Negro leaders, the next generation of respectable +society folk. They had a future; Alva merely +lived for no purpose whatsoever except for the pleasure +he could squeeze out of each living moment. +He didn’t construct anything; the litter of pups +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>would, or at least they would be credited with constructing +something whether they did or not. She +found herself strangely uninterested in anything they +might construct. She didn’t see that it would make +much difference in the world whether they did or did +not. Months of sophisticated reading under Campbell +Kitchen’s tutelage had cultivated the seeds of pessimism +experience had sown. Life was all a bad dream +recurrent in essentials. Every dog had his day and +every dog died. These priggish little respectable persons +she now knew and associated with seemed infinitely +inferior to her. They were all hypocritical and +colorless. They committed what they called sin in the +same colorless way they served God, family, and +race. None of them had the fire and gusto of Alva, +nor his light-heartedness. At last she had met the +“right sort of people” and found them to be quite +wrong.</p> + +<p>However, she quelled her growing dissatisfaction +and immersed herself in her work. Campbell Kitchen +had told her again and again that economic independence +was the solution to almost any problem. +When she found herself a well-paying position she +need not worry more. Everything else would follow +and she would find herself among the pursued instead +of among the pursuers. This was the gospel +she now adhered to and placed faith in. She studied +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>hard, finished her courses at Teachers College, took +and passed the school board examination, and mechanically +followed Gwendolyn about, pretending to +share her enthusiasms and hatreds. All would soon +come to the desired end. Her doctrine of pessimism +was weakened by the optimism the future seemed to +promise. She had even become somewhat interested +in one of the young men she had met at St. Mark’s. +Gwendolyn discouraged this interest. “Why, Emma +Lou, he’s one of them yaller niggers; you don’t want +to get mixed up with him.”</p> + +<p>Though meaning well, she did not know that it was +precisely because he was one of those “yaller niggers” +that Emma Lou liked him.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou and her new “yaller nigger,” Benson +Brown, were returning from church on a Tuesday +evening where they had attended a Young People’s +Bible Class. It was a beautiful early fall night, warm +and moonlit, and they had left the church early, +intent upon slipping away from Gwendolyn, and taking +a walk before they parted for the night. Emma +Lou had no reason for liking Benson save that she +was flattered that a man as light as he should find +himself attracted to her. It always gave her a thrill +to stroll into church or down Seventh Avenue with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>him. And she loved to show him off in the reception +room of the Y. W. C. A. True, he was almost as colorless +and uninteresting to her as the rest of the crowd +with whom she now associated, but he had a fair +skin and he didn’t seem to mind her darkness. Then, +it did her good to show Gwendolyn that she, Emma +Lou, could get a yellow-skinned man. She always felt +that the reason Gwendolyn insisted upon her going +with a dark-skinned man was because she secretly +considered it unlikely for her to get a light one.</p> + +<p>Benson was a negative personality. His father was +an ex-preacher turned Pullman porter because, since +prohibition times, he could make more money on the +Pullman cars than he could in the pulpit. His mother +was an active church worker and club woman, “one +of the pillars of the community,” the current pastor +at their church had called her. Benson himself was in +college, studying business methods and administration. +It had taken him six years to finish high school, +and it promised to take him much longer to finish +college. He had a placid, ineffectual dirty yellow face, +topped by red mariney hair, and studded with gray +eyes. He was as ugly as he was stupid, and he had +been as glad to have Emma Lou interested in him as +she had been glad to attract him. She actually seemed +to take him seriously, while every one else more or +less laughed at him. Already he was planning to quit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span>school, go to work, and marry her; and Emma Lou, +while not anticipating any such sudden consummation, +remained blind to everything save his color and +the attention he paid to her.</p> + +<p>Benson had suggested their walk and Emma Lou +had chosen Seventh Avenue in preference to some of +the more quiet side streets. She still loved to promenade +up and down Harlem’s main thoroughfare. As +usual on a warm night, it was crowded. Street speakers +and their audiences monopolized the corners. +Pedestrians and loiterers monopolized all of the remaining +sidewalk space. The street was jammed with +traffic. Emma Lou was more convinced than ever +that there was nothing like it anywhere. She tried +to formulate some of her impressions and attempted +to convey them to Benson, but he couldn’t see anything +unusual or novel or interesting in a “lot of +niggers hanging out here to be seen.” Then, Seventh +Avenue wasn’t so much. What about Broadway or +Fifth Avenue downtown where the white folks gathered +and strolled. Now those were the streets, Seventh +Avenue, Harlem’s Seventh Avenue, didn’t enter +into it.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou didn’t feel like arguing. She walked +along in silence, holding tightly to Benson’s arm +and wondering whether or not Alva was somewhere +on Seventh Avenue. Strange she had never seen him. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>Perhaps he had gone away. Benson wished to stop in +order to listen to one of the street speakers who, he +informed Emma Lou, was mighty smart. It seemed +that he was the self-styled mayor of Harlem, and +his spiel nightly was concerning the fact that Harlem +Negroes depended upon white people for most +of their commodities instead of opening food and +dress commissaries of their own. He lamented the +fact that there were no Negro store owners, and regretted +that wealthy Negroes did not invest their +money in first class butcher shops, grocery stores, +et cetera. Then, he perorated, the Jews, who now grew +rich off their Negro trade, would be forced out, and +the money Negroes spent would benefit Negroes alone.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou knew that this was just the sort of +thing that Benson liked to hear. She had to tug hard +on his arm to make him remain on the edge of the +crowd, so that she could see the passing crowds +rather than center her attention on the speaker. In +watching, Emma Lou saw a familiar figure approach, +a very trim, well garbed figure, alert and swaggering. +It was Braxton. She didn’t know whether to speak +to him or not. She wasn’t sure that he would acknowledge +her salute should she address him, yet here was +her chance to get news of Alva, and she felt that she +might risk being snubbed. It would be worth it. He +drew near. He was alone, and, as he passed, she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>reached out her arm and touched him on the sleeve. +He stopped, looked down at her and frowned.</p> + +<p>“Braxton,” she spoke quickly, “pardon me for +stopping you, but I thought you might tell me where +Alva is.”</p> + +<p>“I guess he’s at the same place,” he answered +curtly, then moved away. Emma Lou bowed her +head shamefacedly as Benson turned toward her long +enough to ask who it was she had spoken to. She +mumbled something about an old friend, then suggested +that they go home. She was tired. Benson +agreed reluctantly and they turned toward the +Y. W. C. A.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>A taxi driver had brought Alva home from a +saloon where he had collapsed from cramps in the +stomach. That had been on a Monday. The doctor +had come and diagnosed his case. He was in a serious +condition, his stomach lining was practically eaten +away and his entire body wrecked from physical excess. +Unless he took a complete rest and abstained +from drinking liquor and all other forms of dissipation, +there could be no hope of recovery. This hadn’t +worried Alva very much. He chafed at having to remain +in bed, but possibility of death didn’t worry +him. Life owed him very little, he told Geraldine. +He was content to let the devil take his due. But +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span>Geraldine was quite worried about the whole matter. +Should Alva die or even be an invalid for any lengthy +period, it would mean that she alone would have the +burden of their misshapen child. She didn’t want +that burden. In fact, she was determined not to have +it. And neither did she intend to nurse Alva.</p> + +<p>On the Friday morning after the Monday Alva +had been taken ill, Geraldine left for work as was +her custom. But she did not come back that night. +Every morning during that week she had taken away +a bundle of this and a bundle of that until she had +managed to get away most of her clothes. She had +saved enough money out of her earnings to pay her +fare to Chicago. She had chosen Chicago because a +man who was interested in her lived there. She had +written to him. He had been glad to hear from her. +He ran a buffet flat. He needed some one like her to +act as hostess. Leaving her little bundles at a girl +friend’s day after day and packing them away in a +second hand trunk, she had planned to leave the +moment she received her pay on Saturday. She had +intended going home on Friday night, but at the last +moment she had faltered and reasoned that as long +as she was away and only had twenty-four hours +more in New York she might as well make her disappearance +then. If she went back she might betray +herself or else become soft-hearted and remain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span></p> + +<p>Alva was not very surprised when she failed to +return home from work that Friday. The woman in +the next room kept coming in at fifteen-minute intervals +after five-thirty inquiring: “Hasn’t your wife +come in yet?” She wanted to get rid of the child +which was left in her care daily. She had her own +work to do, her own husband and child’s dinner to +prepare; and, furthermore, she wasn’t being paid to +keep the child both day and night. People shouldn’t +have children unless they intended taking care of +them. Finally Alva told her to bring the baby back to +his room ... his wife would be in soon. But he knew +full well that Geraldine was not coming back. Hell +of a mess. He was unable to work, would probably +have to remain in bed another week, perhaps two. +His money was about gone, and now Geraldine was +not there to pay the rent out of her earnings. Damn. +What to do ... what to do? He couldn’t keep the +child. If he put it in a home they would expect him +to contribute to its support. It was too bad that he +didn’t know some one to leave this child of his with +as his mother had done in his case. He began to wish +for a drink.</p> + +<p>Hours passed. Finally the lady came into the room +again to see if he or the baby wanted anything. +She knew Geraldine had not come in yet. The partition +between the two rooms was so thin that the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>people in one were privy to everything the people +in the other did or said. Alva told her his wife must +have gone to see her sick mother in Long Island. He +asked her to take care of the baby for him. He would +pay her for her extra trouble. The whole situation +offered her much pleasure. She went away radiant, +eager to tell the other lodgers in the house her version +of what had happened.</p> + +<p>Alva got up and paced the room. He felt that he +could no longer remain flat on his back. His stomach +ached, but it also craved for alcoholic stimulant. So +did his brain and nervous system in general. Inadvertently, +in one of his trips across the room, he +looked into the dresser mirror. What he saw there +halted his pacing. Surely that wan, dissipated, bloated +face did not belong to him. Perhaps he needed a +shave. He set about ridding himself of a week’s +growth of beard, but being shaved only made his face +look more like the face of a corpse. It was liquor he +needed. He wished to hell some one would come along +and get him some. But no one came. He went back +to bed, his eyes fixed on the clock, watching its +hands approach midnight. Five minutes to go.... +There was a knock on the door. Eagerly he sat up +in the bed and shouted, “Come in.”</p> + +<p>But he was by no means expecting or prepared to +see Emma Lou.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span></p> + +<p>Emma Lou’s room in the Y. W. C. A. at three +o’clock that same morning. Emma Lou busy packing +her clothes. Gwendolyn in negligee, hair disarrayed, +eyes sleepy, yet angry:</p> + +<p>“You mean you’re going over there to live with +that man?”</p> + +<p>“Why not? I love him.”</p> + +<p>Gwendolyn stared hard at Emma Lou. “But don’t +you understand he’s just tryin’ to find some one to +take care of that brat of his? Don’t be silly, Emma +Lou. He doesn’t really care for you. If he did, he +never would have deserted you as you once told me +he did, or have subjected you to all those insults. +And ... he isn’t your type of man. Why, he’s nothing +but a ...”</p> + +<p>“Will you mind tending to your own business, +Gwendolyn,” her purple powdered skin was streaked +with tears.</p> + +<p>“But what about your appointment?”</p> + +<p>“I shall take it.”</p> + +<p>“What!” She forgot her weariness. “You mean to +say you’re going to teach school and live with that +man, too? Ain’t you got no regard for your reputation? +I wouldn’t ruin myself for no yaller nigger. +Here you’re doing just what folks say a black gal +always does. Where is your intelligence and pride? +I’m through with you, Emma Lou. There’s probably +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span>something in this stuff about black people being different +and more low than other colored people. You’re +just a common ordinary nigger! God, how I despise +you!” And she had rushed out of the room, leaving +Emma Lou dazed by the suddenness and wrath of +her tirade.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Emma Lou was busier than she had ever been before +in her life. She had finally received her appointment +and was teaching in one of the public schools in +Harlem. Doing this in addition to nursing Alva and +Alva Junior, and keeping house for them in Alva’s +same old room. Within six months she had managed +to make little Alva Junior take on some of the +physical aspects of a normal child. His little legs +were in braces, being straightened. Twice a week she +took him to the clinic where he had violet ray sun +baths and oil massages. His little body had begun to +fill out and simultaneously it seemed as if his head +was decreasing in size. There was only one feature +which remained unchanged; his abnormally large +eyes still retained their insane stare. They appeared +frozen and terrified as if their owner was gazing upon +some horrible, yet fascinating object or occurrence. +The doctor said that this would disappear in time.</p> + +<p>During those six months there had been a steady +change in Alva Senior, too. At first he had been as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>loving and kind to Emma Lou as he had been during +the first days of their relationship. Then, as he got +better and began living his old life again, he more +and more relegated her to the position of a hired +nurse girl. He was scarcely civil to her. He seldom +came home except to eat and get some pocket change. +When he did come home nights, he was usually +drunk, so drunk that his companions would have to +bring him home, and she would have to undress him +and put him to bed. Since his illness, he could not +stand as much liquor as before. His stomach refused +to retain it, and his legs refused to remain steady.</p> + +<p>Emma Lou began to loathe him, yet ached for his +physical nearness. She was lonesome again, cooped +up in that solitary room with only Alva Junior for +company. She had lost track of all her old friends, +and, despite her new field of endeavor, she had made +no intimate contacts. Her fellow colored teachers +were congenial enough, but they didn’t seem any +more inclined to accept her socially than did her +fellow white teachers. There seemed to be some question +about her antecedents. She didn’t belong to any +of the collegiate groups around Harlem. She didn’t +seem to be identified with any one who mattered. +They wondered how she had managed to get into the +school system.</p> + +<p>Of course Emma Lou made little effort to make +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span>friends among them. She didn’t know how. She was +too shy to make an approach and too suspicious to +thaw out immediately when some one approached +her. The first thing she noticed was that most of the +colored teachers who taught in her school were lighter +colored than she. The darkest was a pleasing brown. +And she had noticed them putting their heads together +when she first came around. She imagined that +they were discussing her. And several times upon +passing groups of them, she imagined that she was +being pointed out. In most cases what she thought +was true, but she was being discussed and pointed +out, not because of her dark skin, but because of +the obvious traces of an excess of rouge and powder +which she insisted upon using.</p> + +<p>It had been suggested, in a private council among +the Negro members of the teaching staff, that some +one speak to Emma Lou about this rather ludicrous +habit of making up. But no one had the nerve. She +appeared so distant and so ready to take offense at +the slightest suggestion even of friendship that they +were wary of her. But after she began to be a +standard joke among the pupils and among the white +teachers, they finally decided to send her an anonymous +note, suggesting that she use fewer aids to the +complexion. Emma Lou, on receiving the note, at first +thought that it was the work of some practical joker. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span>It never occurred to her that the note told the truth +and that she looked twice as bad with paint and +powder as she would without it. She interpreted it +as being a means of making fun of her because she +was darker than any one of the other colored girls. +She grew more haughty, more acid, and more distant +than ever. She never spoke to any one except as a +matter of business. Then she discovered that her +pupils had nicknamed her ... “Blacker’n me.”</p> + +<p>What made her still more miserable was the gossip +and comments of the woman in the next room. Lying +in bed nights or else sitting at her table preparing +her lesson plans, she could hear her telling every +one who chanced in——</p> + +<p>“You know that fellow in the next room? Well, let +me tell you. His wife left him, yes-sireee, left him flat +on his back in the bed, him and the baby, too. Yes, +she did. Walked out of here just as big as you please +to go to work one morning and she ain’t come back +yet. Then up comes this little black wench. I heard +her when she knocked on the door that very night +his wife left. At first he was mighty s’prised to see +her, then started laying it on, kissed her and hugged +her, a-tellin’ her how much he loved her, and she +crying like a fool all the time. I never heard the likes +of it in my life. The next morning in she moves an’ +she’s been here ever since. And you oughter see how +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>she carries on over that child, just as loving, like +as if she was his own mother. An’ now that she’s here +an’ workin’ an’ that nigger’s well again, what does +he do but go out an’ get drunk worse than he uster +with his wife. Would you believe it? Stays away +three and four nights a week, while she hustles out of +here an’ makes time every morning....”</p> + +<p>On hearing this for about the twentieth time, +Emma Lou determined to herself that she was not +going to hear it again. (She had also planned to ask +for a transfer to a new school, one on the east side +in the Italian section where she would not have to +associate with so many other colored teachers.) Alva +hadn’t been home for four nights. She picked Alva +Junior from out his crib and pulled off his nightgown, +letting him lie naked in her lap. She loved to +fondle his warm, mellow-colored body, loved to caress +his little crooked limbs after the braces had been removed. +She wondered what would become of him. +Obviously she couldn’t remain living with Alva, and +she certainly couldn’t keep Alva Junior forever. Suppose +those evil school teachers should find out how +she was living and report it to the school authorities? +Was she morally fit to be teaching youth? She remembered +her last conversation with Gwendolyn.</p> + +<p>For the first time now she also saw how Alva had +used her during both periods of their relationship. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>She also realized that she had been nothing more +than a commercial proposition to him at all times. +He didn’t care for dark women either. He had never +taken her among his friends, never given any signs +to the public that she was his girl. And now when +he came home with some of his boy friends, he always +introduced her as Alva Junior’s mammy. That’s +what she was, Alva Junior’s mammy, and a typical +black mammy at that.</p> + +<p>Campbell Kitchen had told her that when she +found economic independence, everything else would +come. Well now that she had economic independence +she found herself more enslaved and more miserable +than ever. She wondered what he thought of her. She +had never tried to get in touch with him since she +had left the Y. W. C. A., and had never let him +know of her whereabouts, had just quit communicating +with him as unceremoniously as she had quit the +Y. W. C. A. No doubt Gwendolyn had told him the +whole sordid tale. She could never face him again +unless she had made some effort to reclaim herself. +Well, that’s what she was going to do. Reclaim herself. +She didn’t care what became of Alva Junior. +Let Alva and that yellow slut of a wife of his worry +about their own piece of tainted suet.</p> + +<p>She was leaving. She was going back to the +Y. W. C. A., back to St. Mark’s A. M. E. Church, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>back to Gwendolyn, back to Benson. She wouldn’t +stay here and have that child grow up to call her +“black mammy.” Just because she was black was no +reason why she was going to let some yellow nigger +use her. At once she was all activity. Putting Alva +Jr.’s nightgown on, she laid him back into his crib +and left him there crying while she packed her trunk +and suitcase. Then, asking the woman in the next +room to watch him until she returned, she put on her +hat and coat and started for the Y. W. C. A., making +plans for the future as she went.</p> + +<p>Halfway there she decided to telephone Benson. It +had been seven months now since she had seen him, +seven months since, without a word of warning or +without leaving a message, she had disappeared, telling +only Gwendolyn where she was going. While +waiting for the operator to establish connections, she +recalled the conversation she and Gwendolyn had +had at the time, recalled Gwendolyn’s horror and disgust +on hearing what Emma Lou planned doing, +recalled ... some one was answering the ’phone. +She asked for Benson, and in a moment heard his +familiar:</p> + +<p>“Hello.”</p> + +<p>“Hello, Benson, this is Emma Lou.” There was +complete silence for a moment, then:</p> + +<p>“Emma Lou?” he dinned into her ear. “Well, where +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>have you been. Gwennie and I have been trying to +find you.”</p> + +<p>This warmed her heart; coming back was not +going to be so difficult after all.</p> + +<p>“You did?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes. We wanted to invite you to our wedding.”</p> + +<p>The receiver fell from her hand. For a moment she +stood like one stunned, unable to move. She could +hear Benson on the other end of the wire clicking +the receiver and shouting “Hello, Hello,” then the +final clicking of the receiver as he hung up, followed +by a deadened ... “operator” ... “operator” from +central.</p> + +<p>Somehow or other she managed to get hold of the +receiver and replace it in the hook. Then she left +the telephone booth and made her way out of the +drugstore into the street. Seventh Avenue as usual +was alive and crowded. It was an early spring evening +and far too warm for people to remain cooped +up in stuffy apartments. Seventh Avenue was the +gorge into which Harlem cliff dwellers crowded to +promenade. It was heavy laden, full of life and +color, vibrant and leisurely. But for the first time +since her arrival in Harlem, Emma Lou was impervious +to all this. For the moment she hardly realized +where she was. Only the constant jostling and the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>raucous ensemble of street noises served to bring her +out of her daze.</p> + +<p>Gwendolyn and Benson married. “What do you +want to waste your time with that yaller nigger for? +I wouldn’t marry a yaller nigger.”</p> + +<p>“Blacker’n me”.... “Why don’t you take a hint +and stop plastering your face with so much rouge and +powder.”</p> + +<p>Emma Lou stumbled down Seventh Avenue, not +knowing where she was going. She noted that she was +at 135th Street. It was easy to tell this particular +corner. It was called the campus. All the college boys +hung out there when the weather permitted, obstructing +the traffic and eyeing the passersby professionally. +She turned west on 135th Street. She wanted quiet. +Seventh Avenue was too noisy and too alive and too +happy. How could the world be happy when she felt +like she did? There was no place for her in the world. +She was too black, black is a portent of evil, black is +a sign of bad luck.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“A yaller gal rides in a limousine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A brown-skin does the same;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A black gal rides in a rickety Ford,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But she gets there, yes, my Lord.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>“Alva Jr’s black mammy.” “Low down common +nigger.” “Jes’ crazy ’bout that little yaller brat.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span></p> + +<p>She looked up and saw a Western Union office sign +shining above a lighted doorway. For a moment she +stood still, repeating over and over to herself Western +Union, Western Union, as if to understand its +meaning. People turned to stare at her as they passed. +They even stopped and looked up into the air trying +to see what was attracting her attention, and, seeing +nothing, would shrug their shoulders and continue +on their way. The Western Union sign suggested only +one thing to Emma Lou and that was home. For the +moment she was ready to rush into the office and send +a wire to her Uncle Joe, asking for a ticket, and thus +be able to escape the whole damn mess. But she immediately +saw that going home would mean beginning +her life all over again, mean flying from one +degree of unhappiness into another probably much +more intense and tragic than the present one. She +had once fled to Los Angeles to escape Boise, then +fled to Harlem to escape Los Angeles, but these mere +geographical flights had not solved her problems in +the past, and a further flight back to where her life +had begun, although facile of accomplishment, was +too futile to merit consideration.</p> + +<p>Rationalizing thus, she moved away from in front +of the Western Union office and started toward the +park two blocks away. She felt that it was necessary +that she do something about herself and her life and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>do it immediately. Campbell Kitchen had said that +every one must find salvation within one’s self, that +no one in life need be a total misfit, and that there +was some niche for every peg, whether that peg be +round or square. If this were true then surely she +could find hers even at this late date. But then hadn’t +she exhausted all possibilities? Hadn’t she explored +every province of life and everywhere met the same +problem? It was easy for Campbell Kitchen or for +Gwendolyn to say what they would do had they +been she, for they were looking at her problem in +the abstract, while to her it was an empirical reality. +What could they know of the adjustment proceedings +necessary to make her life more full and more happy? +What could they know of her heartaches?</p> + +<p>She trudged on, absolutely oblivious to the people +she passed or to the noise and bustle of the street. +For the first time in her life she felt that she must +definitely come to some conclusion about her life and +govern herself accordingly. After all she wasn’t the +only black girl alive. There were thousands on thousands, +who, like her, were plain, untalented, ordinary, +and who, unlike herself, seemed to live in some degree +of comfort. Was she alone to blame for her +unhappiness? Although this had been suggested to her +by others, she had been too obtuse to accept it. She +had ever been eager to shift the entire blame on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span>others when no doubt she herself was the major +criminal.</p> + +<p>But having arrived at this—what did it solve or +promise for the future? After all it was not the abstractions +of her case which at the present moment +most needed elucidation. She could strive for a +change of mental attitudes later. What she needed to +do now was to accept her black skin as being real and +unchangeable, to realize that certain things were, +had been, and would be, and with this in mind begin +life anew, always fighting, not so much for acceptance +by other people, but for acceptance of herself by +herself. In the future she would be eminently selfish. +If people came into her life—well and good. If they +didn’t—she would live anyway, seeking to find herself +and achieving meanwhile economic and mental +independence. Then possibly, as Campbell Kitchen +had said, life would open up for her, for it seemed as +if its doors yielded more easily to the casual, self-centered +individual than to the ranting, praying +pilgrim. After all it was the end that mattered, and +one only wasted time and strength seeking facile +open-sesame means instead of pushing along a more +difficult and direct path.</p> + +<p>By now Emma Lou had reached St. Nicholas Avenue +and was about to cross over into the park when +she heard the chimes of a clock and was reminded of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span>the hour. It was growing late—too late for her to wander +in the park alone where she knew she would be +approached either by some persistent male or an insulting +park policeman. Wearily she started towards +home, realizing that it was necessary for her to get +some rest in order to be able to be in her class room +on the next morning. She mustn’t jeopardize her job, +for it was partially through the money she was earning +from it that she would be able to find her place +in life. She was tired of running up blind alleys all +of which seemed to converge and lead her ultimately +to the same blank wall. Her motto from now on +would be “find—not seek.” All things were at one’s +finger-tips. Life was most kind to those who were +judicious in their selections, and she, weakling that +she now realized she was, had not been a connoisseur.</p> + +<p>As she drew nearer home she felt certain that +should she attempt to spend another night with Alva +and his child, she would surely smother to death +during the night. And even though she felt this, she +also knew within herself that no matter how much +at the present moment she pretended to hate Alva +that he had only to make the proper advances in +order to win her to him again. Yet she also knew that +she must leave him if she was to make her self-proposed +adjustment—leave him now even if she should +be weak enough to return at some not so distant date. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>She was determined to fight against Alva’s influence +over her, fight even though she lost, for she reasoned +that even in losing she would win a pyrrhic victory +and thus make her life less difficult in the future, for +having learned to fight future battles would be easy.</p> + +<p>She tried to convince herself that it would not be +necessary for her to have any more Jasper Cranes or +Alvas in her life. To assure herself of this she intended +to look John up on the morrow and if he +were willing let him re-enter her life. It was clear +to her now what a complete fool she had been. It +was clear to her at last that she had exercised the +same discrimination against her men and the people +she wished for friends that they had exercised against +her—and with less reason. It served her right that +Jasper Crane had fooled her as he did. It served her +right that Alva had used her once for the money she +could give him and again as a black mammy for his +child. That was the price she had had to pay for +getting what she thought she wanted. But now she +intended to balance things. Life after all was a give +and take affair. Why should she give important +things and receive nothing in return?</p> + +<p>She was in front of the house now and looking +up saw that all the lights in her room were lit. And +as she climbed the stairs she could hear a drunken +chorus of raucous masculine laughter. Alva had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>come home meanwhile, drunk of course and accompanied +by the usual drunken crowd. Emma Lou +started to turn back, to flee into the street—anywhere +to escape being precipitated into another sordid +situation, but remembering that this was to be +her last night there, and that the new day would find +her beginning a new life, she subdued her flight impulse +and without knocking threw open the door and +walked into the room. She saw the usual and +expected sight: Alva, face a death mask, sitting on +the bed embracing an effeminate boy whom she +knew as Bobbie, and who drew hurriedly away from +Alva as he saw her. There were four other boys in +the room, all in varied states of drunkenness—all +laughing boisterously at some obscene witticism. +Emma Lou suppressed a shudder and calmly said +“Hello Alva”—The room grew silent. They all +seemed shocked and surprised by her sudden appearance. +Alva did not answer her greeting but instead +turned to Bobbie and asked him for another drink. +Bobbie fumbled nervously at his hip pocket and +finally produced a flask which he handed to Alva. +Emma Lou stood at the door and watched Alva drink +the liquor Bobbie had given him. Every one else in +the room watched her. For the moment she did not +know what to say or what to do. Obviously she +couldn’t continue standing there by the door nor +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span>could she leave and let them feel that she had been +completely put to rout.</p> + +<p>Alva handed the flask back to Bobbie, who got up +from the bed and said something about leaving. The +others in the room also got up and began staggering +around looking for their hats. Emma Lou thought for +a moment that she was going to win without any +further struggle, but she had not reckoned with Alva +who, meanwhile, had sufficiently emerged from his +stupor to realize that his friends were about to go.</p> + +<p>“What the hell’s the matter with you,” he +shouted up at Bobbie, and without waiting for an +answer reached out for Bobbie’s arm and jerked him +back down on the bed.</p> + +<p>“Now stay there till I tell you to get up.”</p> + +<p>The others in the room had now found their hats +and started toward the door, eager to escape. Emma +Lou crossed the room to where Alva was sitting and +said, “You might make less noise, the baby’s asleep.”</p> + +<p>The four boys had by this time opened the door +and staggered out into the hallway. Bobbie edged +nervously away from Alva, who leered up at Emma +Lou and snarled “If you don’t like it—”</p> + +<p>For the moment Emma Lou did not know what +to do. Her first impulse was to strike him, but she +was restrained because underneath the loathsome +beast that he now was, she saw the Alva who had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span>first attracted her to him, the Alva she had always +loved. She suddenly felt an immense compassion for +him and had difficulty in stifling an unwelcome urge +to take him into her arms. Tears came into her eyes, +and for a moment it seemed as if all her rationalization +would go for naught. Then once more she saw +Alva, not as he had been, but as he was now, a +drunken, drooling libertine, struggling to keep the +embarrassed Bobbie in a vile embrace. Something +snapped within her. The tears in her eyes receded, +her features grew set, and she felt herself hardening +inside. Then, without saying a word, she resolutely +turned away, went into the alcove, pulled her suitcases +down from the shelf in the clothes-closet, and, +to the blasphemous accompaniment of Alva berating +Bobbie for wishing to leave, finished packing her +clothes, not stopping even when Alva Junior’s cries +deafened her, and caused the people in the next room +to stir uneasily.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes"> + Transcriber’s Notes + </h2> +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 1.0em;">Minor typographical and formatting errors have been silently corrected.</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 1.0em;"><a href="#Page_245">p. 245</a> changed “Geraldine” to “Gwendolyn” in “Gwendolyn in negligee” and “Gwendolyn stared hard”.</span> +</p> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78747 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78747-h/images/cover.jpg b/78747-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b31b511 --- /dev/null +++ b/78747-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78747-h/images/horiz.jpg b/78747-h/images/horiz.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a6055b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/78747-h/images/horiz.jpg diff --git a/78747-h/images/sm.jpg b/78747-h/images/sm.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b11ebb2 --- /dev/null +++ b/78747-h/images/sm.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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