Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 53

Out of the many conflicts of American life, past and present, Mr. Greene sees possibilities for a great native drama. _White Dresses_ presents a fundamental aspect of the race problem in America.

CHARACTERS

CANDACE MCLEAN, _an old negro woman_, MARY'S _aunt_ MARY MCLEAN, _a quadroon girl, niece of_ CANDACE JIM MATTHEWS, _Mary's lover_ HENRY MORGAN, _the landlord, a white man_

WHITE DRESSES

TIME: _The evening before Christmas, 1900_.

SCENE: _The scene is laid in a negro cabin, the home of_ CANDACE _and_ MARY MCLEAN, _in eastern North Carolina_.

_In the right corner of the room is a rough bed covered with a ragged counterpane. In the centre at the rear is an old bureau with a cracked mirror, to the left of it a door opening to the outside.

In the left wall is a window with red curtains. A large chest stands near the front on this side, and above it hang the family clothes, several ragged dresses, an old bonnet, and a cape. At the right, toward the front, is a fireplace, in which a small fire is burning. Above and at the sides of the fireplace hang several pots and pans, neatly arranged. Above these is a mantel, covered with a lambrequin of dingy red c.r.a.pe paper. On the mantel are bottles and a clock. A picture of "Daniel in the Lion's Den" hangs above the mantel. The walls are covered with newspapers, to which are pinned several ill.u.s.trations clipped from popular magazines. A rough table is in the centre of the room. A lamp without a chimney is on it.

Several chairs are about the room. A rocking-chair with a rag pillow in it stands near the fire. There is an air of cleanliness and poverty about the whole room._

_The rising of the curtain discloses the empty room. The fire is burning dimly._ AUNT CANDACE _enters at the rear, carrying several sticks of firewood under one arm. She walks with a stick, and is bent with rheumatism. She is dressed in a slat bonnet, which hides her face in its shadow, brogan shoes, a man's ragged coat, a checkered ap.r.o.n, a dark-colored dress. She mumbles to herself and shakes her head as she comes in. With great difficulty she puts the wood on the fire, and then takes the poker and examines some potatoes that are cooking in the ashes. She takes out her snuff-box and puts snuff in her lip. As she does this her bonnet is pushed back, and in the firelight her features are discernible--sunken eyes, high cheek-bones, and big, flat nose. Upon her forehead she wears a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles._

_She sits down in a rocking-chair, now and then putting her hand to her head, and groaning as if in pain. She turns and looks expectantly toward the door. After a moment she hobbles to the chest on the right and takes out an old red crocheted fascinator.

s.h.i.+vering she wraps it around her neck and stands looking down in the chest. She lifts out a little black box and starts to unfasten it, when the door suddenly opens and_ MARY MCLEAN _comes in_. AUNT CANDACE _puts the box hastily back into the chest, and hurries to the fire_.

MARY MCLEAN _has a "turn" of collards in one arm and a paper bundle in the other. She lays the collards on the floor near the window and puts her shawl on the bed. She is a quadroon girl about eighteen years old, with an oval face and a ma.s.s of fine dark hair, neatly done up. There is something in her bearing that suggests a sort of refinement. Her dress is pitifully shabby, her shoes ragged. But even this cannot hide the lines of an almost perfect figure. For a negro she is pretty. As she comes up to the fire her pinched lips and the tired expression on her face are plainly visible. Only her eyes betray any signs of excitement._

AUNT CANDACE. Honey, I's been a-waitin' foh you de las' two hours. My haid's been bad off. Chile, whah you been? Miss Mawgin must a had a pow'ful was.h.i.+n' up at de big house.

[MARY _opens her hand and shows her a five-dollar bill_.

AUNT CANDACE. De Lawd help my life, chile!

MARY. An' look here what Mr. Henry sent you, too. [_She undoes the bundle, revealing several cooked sweet potatoes, sausages, spareribs, and some boiled ham._] He said as 'twas Christmas time he sent you this with the collards there.

[_She points toward the collards at the window._ AUNT CANDACE _pays little attention to the food as_ MARY _places it in her lap, but continues to look straight into_ MARY'S _face. The girl starts to give her the money, but she pushes her away._

AUNT CANDACE. [_Excitedly._] Whah'd you git dat, honey? Whah'd you git it? Mr. Henry ain't never been dat kind befo'. Dey ain't no past Christmas times he was so free wid 'is money. He ain't de kind o' man foh dat. An' he a-havin' 'is was.h.i.+n' done on Christmas Eve. [_Her look is direct and troubled._] Chile, Mr. Hugh didn't give you dat money, did he?

MARY. [_Still looking in the fire._] Aunty, I ain't said Mr. Henry sent you this money. Yes'm, Mr. Hugh sent it to you. I done some was.h.i.+n' for him. I washed his socks and some s.h.i.+rts--pure silk they was. [_She smiles at the remembrance._] An' he give me the money an' tole me to give it to you--said he wished he could give you somethin' more.

[_She hands the money to_ AUNT CANDACE, _who takes it quickly_.

AUNT CANDACE. Help my soul an' body! De boy said dat! Bless 'is soul! He ain't fo'got 'is ol' aunty, even if he ain't been to see 'er since he come back from school way out yander. De Lawd bless 'im! Allus was a good boy, an' he ain't changed since he growed up nuther. When I useter nuss 'im he'd never whimper, no suh. Bring me de tin box, honey. An'

don't notice what I's been sayin'. I spects I's too perticler 'bout you.

I dunno.

[MARY _goes to the bureau and gets a tin box. She puts the money in it, returns it, and lights the lamp._ AUNT CANDACE _takes off her bonnet and hangs it behind her on the rocking-chair. Then she begins to eat greedily, now and then licking the grease off her fingers. Suddenly she utters a low scream, putting her hands to her head and rocking to and fro. She grasps her stick and begins beating about her as if striking at something, crying out in a loud voice._

AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah, I'll git you! I'll git you!

[MARY _goes to her and pats her on the cheek_.

MARY. It's your poor head, ain't it, aunty? You rest easy, I'll take care of you. [_She continues to rub her cheek and forehead until the spell pa.s.ses._] Set still till I git in a turn of light-wood. It's goin'

to be a terrible cold night an' looks like snow.

[_After a moment_ AUNT CANDACE _quiets down and begins eating again_. MARY _goes out and brings in an armful of wood which she throws into the box. She takes a bottle and spoon from the mantel, and starts to pour out some medicine._

AUNT CANDACE. I's better now, honey. Put it back up. I ain't gwine take none now. D'ain't no use ... d'ain't no use in dat. I ain't long foh dis world, ain't long. I's done my las' was.h.i.+n' an' choppin' an' weighed up my las' cotton. Medicine ain't no mo' good.

MARY. You're allus talkin' like that, aunty. You're goin' to live to be a hundred. An' this medicine----

AUNT CANDACE. I ain't gwine take it, I say. No, suh, ain't gwine be long. I's done deef. I's ol' an' hipshot now. No, suh, I don't want no medicine. [_Childishly._] I's got a taste o' dese heah spareribs an'

sausages, an' I ain't gwine take no medicine. [MARY _puts the bottle and spoon back on the mantel and sits down_. AUNT CANDACE _stops eating and looks at_ MARY'S _dreaming face_.] Honey, what makes you look like dat?

[_Excitedly._] Mr. Henry ain't said ... he ain't said no mo' 'bout us havin' to leave, has he?

MARY. [_Looking up confusedly._] No'm, he ... no'm, he said ... he said to-day that he'd 'bout decided to let us stay right on as long as we please.

AUNT CANDACE. Huh, what's dat?

MARY. He said it might be so we could stay right on as long as we please.

AUNT CANDACE. [_Joyously._] Thank de Lawd! Thank de Lawd! I knowed he's gwine do it. I knowed. But I's been pow'ful feared, chile, he's gwine run us off. An' he ain't never liked Mr. Hugh's takin' up foh us. But now I c'n rest in peace. Thank de Lawd, I's gwine rest my bones rat whah I loves to stay till dey calls foh me up yander. [_Stopping._] Has you et?

MARY. Yes'm, I et up at Mr. Henry's. Mr. Hugh ... [_hesitating_] he said 'twas a shame for me to come off without eatin' nothin' an' so I et.

[AUNT CANDACE _becomes absorbed in her eating_. MARY _goes to the chest, opens it, and takes out a faded cloak and puts it on. Then she goes to the bureau, takes out a piece of white ribbon, and ties it on her hair. For a moment she looks at her reflection in the mirror. She goes to the chest and stands looking down in it. She makes a movement to close it. The lid falls with a bang._ AUNT CANDACE _turns quickly around_.

AUNT CANDACE. What you want, gal? You ain't botherin' de li'l box, is you?

MARY. [_Coming back to the fire._] Botherin' that box! Lord, no, I don't worry about it no more ... I'm just dressin' up a little.

AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah, but you better not be messin' 'round de chist too much. You quit puttin' you' clothes in dere. I done tol' you. What you dressin' up foh? Is Jim comin' round to-night?

[_She wraps up the remainder of her supper and puts it in the chimney corner._

MARY. [_Not noticing the question._] Aunty, don't I look a little bit like a white person?

AUNT CANDACE. [_Taking out her snuff-box._] Huh, what's dat?

MARY. I don't look like a common n.i.g.g.e.r, do I?

AUNT CANDACE. Lawd bless you, chile, you's purty, you is. You's jes' as purty as any white folks. You's lak yo' mammy what's dead an' gone.

Yessuh, you's her very spit an' image, 'ceptin' you's whiter. [_Lowering her voice._] Yes, suh, 'ceptin' you's whiter. [_They both look in the fire._] 'Bout time foh Jim to be comin', ain't it?

MARY. Yes'm, he'll be comin', I reckon. They ain't no gittin' away from him an' his guitar.

AUNT CANDACE. _What_ you got agin Jim? Dey ain't no better n.i.g.g.e.r'n Jim.

He's gwine treat you white, an' it's time you's gittin' married. I's done nussin' my fust chile at yo' age, my li'l Tom 'twas. Useter sing to 'im. [_Pausing._] Useter sing to 'im de sweetest kin' o' chunes, jes'

lak you, honey, jes' lak you. He's done daid an' gone do'. All my babies is. De Marster he call an' tuck 'em. An' 'druther'n let 'em labor an'