Читать книгу All God'S Chillun Got Wings - Eugene O'Neill - Страница 4

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A corner in lower New York, at the edge of a colored district. Three narrow streets converge. A triangular building in the rear, red brick, four-storied, its ground floor a grocery. Four-story tenements stretch away down the skyline of the two streets. The fire escapes are crowded with people. In the street leading left, the faces are all white; in the street leading right, all black. It is hot Spring. On the sidewalk are eight children, four boys and four girls. Two of each sex are white, two black. They are playing marbles. One of the black boys is Jim Harris. The little blonde girl, her complexion rose and white, who sits behind his elbow and holds his marbles is Ella Downey. She is eight. They play the game with concentrated attention for a while. People pass, black and white, the Negroes frankly participants in the spirit of Spring, the whites laughing constrainedly, awkward in natural emotion. Their words are lost. One hears only their laughter. It expresses the difference in race. There are street noises--the clattering roar of the Elevated, the puff of its locomotives, the ruminative lazy sound of a horse-car, the hooves of its team clacking on the cobbles. From the street of the whites a high-pitched, nasal tenor sings the chorus of "Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage." On the street of the blacks a Negro strikes up the chorus of: "I Guess I'll Have to Telegraph My Baby." As this singing ends, there is laughter, distinctive in quality, from both streets. Then silence. The light in the street begins to grow brilliant with the glow of the setting sun. The game of marbles goes on.

WHITE GIRL--(tugging at the elbow of her brother) Come on, Mickey!

HER BROTHER--(roughly) Aw, gwan, youse!

WHITE GIRL--Aw right, den. You kin git a lickin' if you wanter. (gets up to move off)

HER BROTHER--Aw, git off de eart'!

WHITE GIRL--De old woman'll be madder'n hell!

HER BROTHER--(worried now) I'm comin', ain't I? Hold your horses.

BLACK GIRL--(to a black boy) Come on, you Joe. We gwine git frailed too, you don't hurry.

JOE--Go long!

MICKEY--Bust up de game, huh? I gotta run! (jumps to his feet)

OTHER WHITE BOY--Me, too! (jumps up)

OTHER BLACK GIRL--Lawdy, it's late!

JOE--Me for grub!

MICKEY--(to Jim Harris) You's de winner, Jim Crow. Yeh gotta play tomorrer.

JIM--(readily) Sure t'ing, Mick. Come one, come all! (He laughs.)

OTHER WHITE BOY--Me, too! I gotta git back at yuh.

JIM--Aw right, Shorty.

LITTLE GIRLS--Hurry! Come on, come on! (The six start off together. Then they notice that Jim and Ella are hesitating, standing awkwardly and shyly together. They turn to mock.)

JOE--Look at dat Jim Crow! Land sakes, he got a gal! (He laughs. They all laugh.)

JIM--(ashamed) Ne'er mind, you Chocolate!

MICKEY--Look at de two softies, will yeh! Mush! Mush! (He and the two other boys take this up.)

LITTLE GIRLS--(pointing their fingers at Ella) Shame! Shame! Everybody knows your name! Painty Face! Painty Face!

ELLA--(hanging her head) Shut up!

LITTLE WHITE GIRL--He's been carrying her books!

COLORED GIRL--Can't you find nuffin' better'n him, Ella? Look at de big feet he got! (She laughs. They all laugh. Jim puts one foot on top of the other, looking at Ella.)

ELLA--Mind yer own business, see! (She strides toward them angrily. They jump up and dance in an ecstasy, screaming and laughing.)

ALL--Found yeh out! Found yeh out!

MICKEY--Mush-head! Jim Crow de Sissy! Stuck on Painty Face!

JOE--Will Painty Face let you hold her doll, boy?

SHORTY--Sissy! Softy! (Ella suddenly begins to cry. At this they all howl.)

ALL--Cry-baby! Cry-baby! Look at her! Painty Face!

JIM--(suddenly rushing at them, with clenched fists, furiously) Shut yo' moufs! I kin lick de hull of you! (They all run away, laughing, shouting, and jeering, quite triumphant now that they have made him, too, lose his temper. He comes back to Ella, and stands beside her sheepishly, stepping on one foot after the other. Suddenly he blurts out) Don't bawl no more. I done chased 'em.

ELLA--(comforted, politely) Tanks.

JIM--(swelling out) It was a cinch. I kin wipe up de street wid any one of dem. (He stretches out his arms, trying to bulge out his biceps.) Feel dat muscle!

ELLA--(does so gingerly--then with admiration) My!

JIM--(protectingly) You mustn't never be scared when I'm hanging round, Painty Face.

ELLA--Don't call me that, Jim--please!

JIM--(contritely) I didn't mean nuffin'. I didn't know you'd mind.

ELLA--I do--more'n anything.

JIM--You oughtn't to mind. Dey's jealous, dat's what.

ELLA--Jealous? Of what?

JIM--(pointing to her face) Of dat. Red 'n' white. It's purty.

ELLA--I hate it!

JIM--It's purty. Yes, it's--it's purty. It's--outa sight!

ELLA--I hate it. I wish I was black like you.

JIM--(sort of shrinking) No you don't. Dey'd call you Crow, den--or Chocolate--or Smoke.

ELLA--I wouldn't mind.

JIM--(somberly) Dey'd call you nigger sometimes, too.

ELLA--I wouldn't mind.

JIM--(humbly) You wouldn't mind?

ELLA--No, I wouldn't mind. (an awkward pause)

JIM--(suddenly) You know what, Ella? Since I been tuckin' yo' books to school and back, I been drinkin' lots o' chalk 'n' water tree times a day. Dat Tom, de barber, he tole me dat make me white, if I drink enough. (pleadingly) Does I look whiter?

ELLA--(comfortingly) Yes--maybe--a little bit--

JIM--(trying a careless tone) Reckon dat Tom's a liar, an' de joke's on me! Dat chalk only makes me feel kinder sick inside.

ELLA--(wonderingly) Why do you want to be white?

JIM--Because--just because--I lak dat better.

ELLA--I wouldn't. I like black. Let's you and me swap. I'd like to be black. (clapping her hands) Gee, that'd be fun, if we only could!

JIM--(hesitatingly) Yes--maybe--

ELLA--Then they'd call me Crow, and you'd be Painty Face!

JIM--They wouldn't never dast call you nigger, you bet! I'd kill 'em! (A long pause. Finally she takes his hand shyly. They both keep looking as far away from each other as possible.)

ELLA--I like you.

JIM--I like you.

ELLA--Do you want to be my feller?

JIM--Yes.

ELLA--Then I'm your girl.

JIM--Yes. (then grandly) You kin bet none o' de gang gwine call you Painty Face from dis out! I lam' 'em good! (The sun has set. Twilight has fallen on the street. An organ grinder comes up to the corner and plays "Annie Rooney." They stand hand-in-hand and listen. He goes away. It is growing dark.)

ELLA--(suddenly) Golly, it's late! I'll git a lickin'!

JIM--Me, too.

ELLA--I won't mind it much.

JIM--Me nuther.

ELLA--See you going to school tomorrow?

JIM--Sure.

ELLA--I gotta skip now.

JIM--Me, too.

ELLA--I like you, Jim.

JIM--I like you.

ELLA--Don't forget.

JIM--Don't you.

ELLA--Good-by.

JIM--So long. (They run away from each other--then stop abruptly, and turn as at a signal.)

ELLA--Don't forget.

JIM--I won't, you bet!

ELLA--Here! (She kisses her hand at him, then runs off in frantic embarrassment.)

JIM--(overcome) Gee! (Then he turns and darts away, as

The Curtain Falls)