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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> |