Scene II

Scene II

.....

CLAY [Kissing her neck and fingers] And then what?

LULA Then? Well, then we'll go down the street, late night, eating apples and winding very deliberately toward my house.

CLAY Deliberately?

LULA I mean, we'll look in all the shop windows, and make fun of the queers. Maybe we'll meet a Jewish Buddhist and flatten his conceits over some very pretentious coffee.

CLAY In honor of whose God? 

LULA Mine.

CLAY Who is ... ? 

LULA Me ... and you?

CLAY A corporate Godhead.              ,

LULA Exactly. Exactly. [Notices one of the other people entering]

CLAY Go on with the chronicle. Then what happens to us?

LULA [A mild depression, but she still makes her description triumphant and increasingly direct] To my house, of course.

CLAY Of course.

.....

LULA And with my apple‐eating hand I push open the door and lead you, my tender big‐eyed prey, into my ... God, what can I call it ... into my hovel.

CLAY Then what happens?

....

LULA Don't think you'll get out of your responsibility that way. It's not cold at all. You Fascist! Into my dark living room. Where we'll sit and talk endlessly, endlessly.

CLAY About what?

  LULA About what? About your manhood, what do you think? What do you think we’ve been talking about all this time?

CLAY Well, I didn't know it was that. That's for sure. Every other thing in the world but that. [Notices another person entering, looks quickly, almost involuntarily up and down the car, seeing the other people in the car] Hey, I didn't even notice when those people got.

...

LULA And you'll call my rooms black as a grave. You'll say, "This place is like Juliet's tomb." 

CLAY [Laughs] I might.

.....

CLAY Wow. All these people, so suddenly. They must all come from the same place. 

LULA Right. That they do.

CLAY Oh? You know about them too?

  Lula yeah. About them more than I know about you. Do they frighten you? 

  CLAY Frighten me? Why should they frighten me?

LULA 'Cause you're an escaped nigger. 

CLAY Yeah?

LULA 'Cause you crawled through the wire and made tracks to my side. 

CLAY Wire?

LULA Don't they have wire around plantations?

CLAY You must be Jewish. All you can think about is wire. Plantations didn't have any wire. Plantations were big open whitewashed places like heaven, and everybody on 'em was grooved to be there. Just strummin' and hummin' all day.

LULA Yes, yes.

CLAY And that's how the blues was born.

LULA Yes, yes. And that's how the blues was born. [Begins to make up a song that becomes quickly hysterical. As she sings she rises from her seat, still throwing things out of her bag into the aisle, beginning a rhythmical shudder and twistlike wiggle, which she continues up and down the aisle, bumping into many of the standing people and tripping over the feet of those sitting. Each time she runs into a person she lets out a very vicious piece of profanity, wiggling and stepping all the time] And that's how the blues was born. Yes. Yes. Son of a bitch, get out of the way. Yes. Quack. Yes. Yes. And that's how the blues was born. Ten little niggers sitting on a limb, but none of them ever looked like him. [Points to CLAY, returns toward the seat, with her hands extended for him to rise and dance with her] And that's how blues was born. Yes. Come on, Clay. Let's do the nasty. Rub bellies. Rub bellies.                                                                                                             .

CLAY [Waves his hands to refuse. He is embarrassed, but determined to get a kick out of the proceedings] Hey, what was in those apples? Mirror, mirror on the wall", who's the fairest one of all? Snow White, baby, and don’t you forget it.

LULA [Grabbingfor his hands, which he draws away] Come on, Clay. Let's rub bellies on the train. The nasty. The nasty. Do the gritty grind, like your old rag‐head mammy. Grind till you lose your mind. Shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it! OOOOweeee! Come on, Clay. Let's do the choo‐choo train shuffle, the navel scratcher.

CLAY Hey, you coming on like the lady who smoked up her grass skirt.

LULA [Becoming annoyed that he will not dance, and becoming more animated as if to embarrass him still further] Come on, Clay ... let's do the thing. Uhh! Uhh! Clay! Clay! You middle‐class black bastard. Forget your social‐working mother for a few seconds and let's knock stomachs. Clay, you liver‐lipped white man. You would‐be Christian. You ain't no nigger, you're just a dirty white man. Get up, Clay. Dance with me, Clay!

CLAY Lula! Sit down, now. Be cool.

LULA [Mocking him, in wild dance] Be cool. Be cool. That's all you know ... shaking that wildroot cream‐oil on your knotty head, jackets buttoning up to your chin, so full of white man's words Christ, God, Get up' , and scream at these people. Like scream meaningless shit in these hopeless faces. [She screams at people in train, still dancing} Red trains cough Jewish underwear for keeps! Expanding smells of silence. Gravy snot whistling like sea birds. Clay. Clay, you got to break out. Don't sit there dying the way they want you to die. Getup.

CLAY Oh, sit the fuck own. (He moves to restrain her) Sit down, goddamn it.

.....

CLAY [Slaps her as hard as he can, across the mouth. Back of the seat. LULA’s head bangs against the back of the seat. When she raises it again. CLAY slaps her again] Now shut up and let me talk [He turns toward the other riders, some of whom are sitting on the edge of their seats. The DRUNK is one one knee, rubbing his head, and singing softly the same song. He shuts up too when he sees CLAY watching him. The others go back to newspapers or stare out the windows.] Shit, you don't have any sense, Lula, nor feelings either. I could murder you now. Such a tiny ugly throat. I could squeeze it flat, and, watch you turn blue, on a humble. For dull kicks. And all these weak‐faced ofays squatting around here, staring over their papers at me. Murder them too. Even if they expected it. That man there ... [Points to a WELL‐ DRESSED MAN] I could rip that Times right out of his hand, as skinny and middle‐classed as I am, I could rip that paper out of his hand and just as easily rip out his throat. It takes no great effort: For what? To kill you soft idiots? You don't understand anything but luxury.

LULA You fool!

CLAY [Pushing her against the seat] I'm not telling you again, Tallulah Bankhead! Luxury. In your face and your fingers. You telling me what I ought to do. [Sudden scream frightening the whole coach] Well, don't! Don't you tell me anything! If I'm a middle‐class fake white man ... let me be. And let me be in the way I want. [Through his teeth] I'll rip your lousy breasts off! Let me be who I feel like being. Uncle Tom. Thomas. Whoever. It's none of your business. You don't know anything except what's there for you to see. An act. Lies. Device. Not the pure heart, the pumping black heart. You don't ever know that. And I sit here in this buttoned‐up suit to keep myself from cutting all your throats. I mean wantonly. You great liberated whore! You fuck some black man, and right away you're an expert on black people. What a lotta shit that is. The only thing you know is that you come if he bangs you hard enough. And that's all. The belly rub? You wanted to do the belly rub? Shit, you don't even know how. You don't know how. That ol’ dipty‐dip shit you do, rolling your ass like an elephant. That's not my kind of belly rub. Belly rub is not Queens. Belly rub is dark places with big hats and overcoats held up with one arm. Belly rub hates you...

        .....

CLAY [Bending across the girl to retrieve his belongings) Sorry, baby, I don't think we could make it. [As he is bending over her, the girl brings up a small knife and plunges it into CLAY'S chest. Twice. He slumps across her knees, his mouth working stupidly)

LULA Sorry is right. [Turning to the others in the car who have already gotten up from their seats) Sorry is the rightest thing you've said. Get this man off me! Hurry, now! [The others come and drag CLAY'S body down the aisle) Open the door and throw his body out. [They throw him off] And all of you get off at the next stop. [LULA busies herself straightening her things. Getting everything in order. She takes out a notebook and makes a quick scribbling note. Drops it in her bag. The train apparently stops and all the others get off, leaving her alone in the coach.

       Very soon a YOUNG NEGRO of about twenty comes into the coach with a couple of books under his arm. He sits a few seats in back of LULA. When he is seated she turns and gives him a long slow look. He looks up from his book and drops the book on his lap. Then an OLD NEGRO CONDUCTOR comes into the car, doing a sort of restrained soft shoe, and half mumbling the words of some song. He looks at THE YOUNG MAN, briefly, with a quick greeting]

CONDUCTOR Hey, brother!

YOUNG MAN Hey.

    [The CONDUCTOR continues down the aisle with his little dance and the mumbled song. LULA turns to stare at him and follows his movements down the aisle. The CONDUCTOR tips his hat when he reaches her seat, and continues out the car]