Chapter IV: Act ONE: Scene Four

SCENE—_Some weeks or so later. A street in the same ward in front of
an old brick church. The church sets back from the sidewalk in a
yard enclosed by a rusty iron railing with a gate at center. On
each side of this yard are tenements. The buildings have a stern,
forbidding look. All the shades on the windows are drawn down,
giving an effect of staring, brutal eyes that pry callously at
human beings without acknowledging them. Even the two tall, narrow
church windows on either side of the arched door are blanked with
dull green shades. It is a bright sunny morning. The district is
unusually still, as if it were waiting, holding its breath._

_From the street of the blacks to the right a Negro tenor sings in
a voice of shadowy richness—the first stanza with a contented,
childlike melancholy_—

Sometimes I feel like a mourning dove,
Sometimes I feel like a mourning dove,
I feel like a mourning dove.

_The second with a dreamy, boyish exultance_—

Sometimes I feel like an eagle in the air,
Sometimes I feel like an eagle in the air,
I feel like an eagle in the air.

_The third with a brooding, earthbound sorrow_—

Sometimes I wish that I’d never been born,
Sometimes I wish that I’d never been born,
I wish that I’d never been born.

_As the music dies down there is a pause of waiting stillness.
This is broken by one startling, metallic clang of the
church-bell. As if it were a signal, people—men, women,
children—pour from the two tenements, whites from the tenement to
the left, blacks from the one to the right. They hurry to form
into two racial lines on each side of the gate, rigid and
unyielding, staring across at each other with bitter hostile eyes.
The halves of the big church door swing open and_ JIM _and_ ELLA
_step out from the darkness within into the sunlight. The doors
slam behind them like wooden lips of an idol that has spat them
out._ JIM _is dressed in black._ ELLA _in white, both with extreme
plainness. They stand in the sunlight, shrinking and confused. All
the hostile eyes are now concentrated on them. They become aware
of the two lines through which they must pass; they hesitate and
tremble; then stand there staring back at the people as fixed and
immovable as they are. The organ grinder comes in from the right.
He plays the chorus of “Old Black Joe.” As he finishes the bell of
the church clangs one more single stroke, insistently dismissing._

JIM—[_As if the sound had awakened him from a trance, reaches out and takes her hand._] Come. Time we got to the steamer. Time we sailed away over the sea. Come, Honey! [_She tries to answer but her lips tremble; she cannot take her eyes off the eyes of the people; she is unable to move. He sees this and, keeping the same tone of profound, affectionate kindness, he points upward in the sky, and gradually persuades her eyes to look up._] Look up, Honey! See the sun! Feel his warm eye lookin’ down! Feel how kind he looks! Feel his blessing deep in your heart, your bones! Look up, Honey! [_Her eyes are fixed on the sky now. Her face is calm. She tries to smile bravely back at the sun. Now he pulls her by the hand, urging her gently to walk with him down through the yard and gate, through the lines of people. He is maintaining an attitude to support them through the ordeal only by a terrible effort, which manifests itself in the hysteric quality of ecstasy which breaks into his voice._] And look at the sky! Ain’t it kind and blue! Blue for hope. Don’t they say blue’s for hope? Hope! That’s for us, Honey. All those blessings in the sky! What’s it the Bible says? Falls on just and unjust alike? No, that’s the sweet rain. Pshaw, what am I saying? All mixed up. There’s no unjust about it. We’re all the same—equally just—under the sky—under the sun—under God—sailing over the sea—to the other side of the world—the side where Christ was born—the kind side that takes count of the soul—over the sea—the sea’s blue, to——. Let’s not be late—let’s get that steamer! [_They have reached the curb now, passed the lines of people. She is looking up to the sky with an expression of trancelike calm and peace. He is on the verge of collapse, his face twitching, his eyes staring. He calls hoarsely_:] Taxi! Where is he? Taxi!

[_The Curtain Falls_]

ACT II