Beauty’s Daughter, Monster, The Gimmick: Three Plays

SOPHIA: Now, Theresa, listen well. I know you still a child. A lot of what I’m saying may not make sense to you, but remember, Nana is leaving the house to your mama for now, but after your mama dies this house will go to you. Do you understand? This is your house. (Yells aside to Beula) You hear that, Beula? It is writtten in my will that this child will be the sole heir of this house. Not those nappy head niggers you mess around with. So, Theresa, you listen to me. You are not to live like a nigger, do you understand? You educate yourself by reading. By listening to the white people talk. By staying in school, you hear? You are to marry a light skinned man. House, money, everything in your name. If you have a child, especially a girl child, you pass on what I’m sayin’, even if you have to beat, beat, beat it into her. Don’t do what your mama did, Theresa. Look at her as an example of what not to do. You listen to me. You listen to Nana, ’cause I wouldn’t tell you nothing to hurt you. I tried to teach your mama not to live like a nigger. What happens? She marries the darkest, crustiest, no account one she can find. I’m sorry to have to tell you that, Theresa, but it’s true. Your father didn’t play a role in your life at all. He was ill equipped. Inferior. You see, honey, dark skinned men are evil, ignorant! Your great-grandmother, my mama, Christine, died at forty-three years old. You know why? Because she married a dark man. The man that fathered me. Notice I didn’t call him Father, I just said fathered me. He hated me for being the lightest of us kids. Hated me. And he would beat, beat, beat me like the nigger savage he was till I bled. It broke my mama. Broke her. But it made me strong. After she died that man stayed in the bottle. Stayed in the bottle. And on his deathbed he said, “Oh, Sophie, I sorry. Please, Sophie, I want you to be my baby,” in that horrible geechy accent. I just looked at him and said, “You killed my mama. I loved her. (Beat) I don’t love you, but I will provide for you. If you love me as you say, you sign house, land, everything over to me.” And, Theresa, he did. Everything. ’Cause he was dyin’. He was scared. Weak. And I took. I deserved to take. I tried to tell your mother this, but she ended up a drunk just like him. Theresa, I look at you and thank God you were not born dark. Look at you, a yellow girl. A bright yellow girl. You know, Nana use to be bright too, bright, like the Sun. But with this lung cancer I’ve grown dark. Dark. All my life I’ve tried to take care of myself, and look what happens to Nana. Get struck down with lung cancer. Never smoked a day in my life. All on account of your mother smokin’. Yeah, your mother smokin’, drinkin’ herself to death, and determined to take everybody with her. You, me, everybody. (Aside to Beula) Right, Beula? You satisfied? You did this to me. You want me dead. Well you gettin’ your wish. Theresa, your grandfather and I gave your mother everything. When we lived in Bonneau, South Carolina, at the height of the Depression we took care, Theresa. We took care with money. When we came to New York, still in the Depression, we lived well. We were the only colored on the block that owned property. Owned. How many colored people can say that? All I asked your mother to do was appreciate what was given. Theresa, you listen to Nana. Listen. Because of this cancer, Nana does not have long on this Earth. Use your lightness to the best of your advantage. Read. Read books. Don’t sit in front of a television. Read. Nana only had a third grade education, but I always read, and I’d listen. You know how Nana learned to talk properly? By listening to the white people talk, and you must listen too. I see you do well in school, your grades are good, you’re smart. You can go far, Theresa. You must go far. Now I’m goin’ back to South Carolina ’cause I can’t function like I used to. Otherwise I’d take you with me. God knows I can’t keep watchin’ your mother destroyin’ herself. But you remember everything I said, you hear? You remember. Now if you don’t listen, if you drop out of school, marry something pitch black, when I die if there’s a way for me to come back and haunt you, I will. As God is my witness, I will. Do you hear me, Beula? That goes for you too. I’ll get you. I’ll haunt you.

THERESA: I’m walking 122nd Street and Madison Avenue trying to walk erect and correct, trying not to get lost, trying to block out my grandmother’s and mother’s machete voices screaming through at each other. I’m seeking quiet or hard-core riffs from a sparse guitar / Walter, Tootie, and Brother are dancing a Kool & the Gang / mandrill dance and Tootie and I / Tootie and I / I look in Tootie’s eyes / a second / her / my eyes lock / a second / I / she / we remember a conversation about a book we both read three years ago / we connected three years ago / on my stoop / two black girls on a Harlem stoop / then somebody / her brother they say / does her / does her they say / and she cries / goes hard / street hard / doesn’t call my name no more / in a second / I / she / we / remembered just now / I knew / felt / saw / she remembered / let’s go back to three years ago / she turns her back / keeps on dancing / they / they don’t want to let me pass / but I keep my hand on my shank / If you’re on 122nd Street and Madison Avenue trying to find your own, and you know it’s not there / where a game of hopscotch means dodging used syringes / you learn to cut / you better learn to cut someone deep / On 122nd Street and Madison Avenue in my room / my head / my headroom / I discover Iggy, Lou Reed, Hendrix, and I wanna James Baldwin, Kerouac, Jean Genet, Jean Cocteau, Go, Rimbaud, Go, Rimbaud. I better find the longest shank I can. What I listen to, it bleeds out to the streets. I get called “white girl” and Mother Beula shakes her head / wishes me dead / I brace myself for that long walk from 122nd Street to the subway contemplating ways to kill everyone / kill myself / chanting a genocide / suicide mantra.

BEULA: Oh, there goes Mommy’s baby! C’mere, Theresa. Look, Scotty, dere’s Mommy’s baby comin’ in. Wait, wait, don’t go to your room so quick. Come give Mummy a kiss. No? You don’ wan’ give Mummy kiss? Well that’s alright. Mummy loves you. You may not love Mummy, but Mummy loves you.

Look, Scotty, you see how pretty my baby is? Oh, what you mean don’t call you baby? As long as I live, you always be Mummy’s baby, right, Scotty? Look at her. You see her? See she’s grown tall, right? She’ll probably be tall like my mama Sophie, but too bad she don’t like to dress. (Beat)

Theresa, how come you don’t like to dress up? Me and your grandmother always dressed. Always. Eva tole me, said if Marsha didn’t wear a dress at least once a week, she’d kill her. And Marsha ain’t pretty. Oh shit—where’s Eva? Oh, she and Ray went to her place? Good. All that psoriasis and stuff. I mean you pretty. And you don’t take care. I mean she actually looks nasty. But even she tries to take care with her appearance. Scotty, you tell Theresa, tell her that men like feminine girls, right don’t they? They like girls to dress up … You would think that I don’t buy her clothes or nothin’, her dressin’ the way she does, right? And in all black like that? (To Theresa) Theresa, you fifteen years old dressin’ in all that stuff. No, no wait a minute. Don’t go to your room when I’m talkin’ to you. I’m just tellin’ you for your own good. Now I’m glad you’re smart and all (to Scotty) oh God, she’s smart, but she’s runnin’ down there to that ole Village listenin’ to that ole weird music.

Hey, show Mummy how you dance. Go get some music and show me and Scotty how you dance. (Theresa says no) No. You see, Scotty, you see? And she stays locked in that room in there listenin’ to that stuff—ole weird music with the lights off or she reads all the time. What, Scotty? You think she looks good? Yeah, she looks good to you? Scotty thinks you look good Theresa. He thinks you pretty. He thinks you dressed up in ole that black look’n like walkin’ death looks good. He thinks you pretty. Well pretty is as pretty does. You walk round here sullen and lookin’ me like you lookin’ at me now—like I shouldn’t enjoy myself. Well I will enjoy myself Theresa. Goddamn right! Yes, goddamn, I take a drink and yes Scotty is my man. Oh, you gettin’ mad? I don’t care nothin’ about you gettin’ mad. Look at you, dressed up like some old bull dyke. You disgust me. You really do. Nobody’s good enough for you, right? You so above it all, right? Winfred asked you out. Just to go to a movie. You’d think he asked you to marry him the way you acted. That’s all, but no. He doesn’t “share your interests.” You mean he ain’t like them freaks you hang with in that ole friggen Village. (Beat) Well let me tell you somethin’ baby. I may not be a young woman, but men still like me. A lot of ’em are young men. A lot of them much younger than you, Scotty. Young. And when I was young I was way better lookin’ than you. Ran rings around you. I was pretty as hell. You ain’t in my league. You ain’t in my league now. As a matter of fact, lemme hear you say it. That’s right. You are not in my league. (Beat)

You come in here all nasty after you had your good time in your “East Village.” (Beat) Scotty, you think she’s pretty, huh? Dat’s what you think? Well you don’t know her. You don’t know. So you get the fuck outta my house and tell Eva and Ray don’t come back in here tonight either. I’m sick of all a y’all. Just get out. Theresa you go on to your room, I’m sick of you too. Tryin’ to take my man from me, my own daughter. Haven’t you taken enough, goddamn you? Haven’t you taken enough?

MARSHA: Hey Theresa, how you doin’? (Theresa tells her that she’s getting ready to go out) Oh! You goin’ out? Downtown to the Village? (Beat) Girl, I don’t blame you. (Beat) I heard your mother yellin’ the other day. (Beat) Yup. Your mother, my mother, Ray and Scotty. Dey waz drinkin’ all day, girl. All day. (Beat) Just now I was watching TV, right? And Ray and my mama, dey was on the living room couch. And dey was drinkin’, kissin’ and stuff, actin’ like I wasn’t even there. And Ray, right, he grabbed my mother’s breast and said, “Eva, you gonna give me some tonight,” and my mommy just laughed, and dey didn’t even care I was sittin’ right there. They acted like I was invisible or somethin’. And den Winfred is home so I can’t go to the room. God, you so lucky, Theresa. You got your own room! Look at dis (she looks around) God! Man! Who’s dat on your wall? David Bowie—oh, it’s Bowie. Das how you say it? Dang, he got real red hair. (Beat) Damn, Theresa, you got so many rock albums. I ain’t never heard a all these people. Know what song I like? “Benny and the Jets.” You know, by Elton John. I like Elton John. I think he’s good. (Beat) That’s a pretty lipstick you wearin’, Theresa. It look nice on you. I was thinkin’ ’bout gettin’ some but … I’m waitin’ till my face clears up some more. (Theresa tells her that she can see her face clearing up) You can see it clearin’ up, right? Yeah, I still got it on my arms and chest, and this dermatologist gave me this salve and it’s working good. Thank God. But people still act stupid. (Beat) Like the other day I was comin’ up the block from school, right? And Lee, Brother, Tootie, Walter, they was out on the corner as usual, right. And I walked past dem—and Walter started screaming “Oh shit, oh shit, I’m itchin’ all over.” And then all of them, right? Dey was snappn on me, and I said, “You need to stop. You don’t get psoriasis like dat.” But dey kept snappn on me. (Beat) Like the girls in our school. You see them, right? Like the way they goof on me and stuff. Like how at lunch time they don’t want me to sit next to them. That’s so stupid. You know, when you sit with them at lunch I wish I could come over and hang with you, but they act stupid and start making faces. But there’s nothing you can do, ’cause I know you would if you could straighten. (Beat) But you know Rhonda? Rhonda Thompson, right? Well I thought me an’ her was okay, right? Because she came up to me an’ said, “Marsh, I haven’t had no breakfast. Could you lend me some money?” And I felt so bad for her, and lent it to her, and her face, right, she looked like she was gonna cry. Then a few minutes later, right, I’m in the lunch room and she’s sittin’ with the other girls, and they’re lookin at me, laughin’. She played me. Why? Why did I give her money? ’Cause I don’t want to see her go without nothin’. I don’t want to see people go without. But then, Theresa, when I do give her the money, she talked to me for a little while, and then she goes hangs out with the other girls. (Beat) I want to have friends, Theresa. Like you do. Like the way you go to the Village and stuff, and these niggars around here, they don’t like me or you, but at least you fight back. But I don’t know how. I mean, I ain’t into fightin’ and all that. And mommy says I should, but I can’t. She says, “Even Theresa fight them back.” And you know Theresa that a lot of the time Winfred is right there, and he don’t even do nothin’, and he’s my own brother. I just don’t tell my mother ’bout it no more, ’cause anytime I tell her she get mad, and then don’t let her be drinkin’, cause she really start screaming. (Beat) Theresa, you know what Winfred says? Winfred said if my skin was clear like yours our mother wouldn’t drink. So you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna use that salve three times a day, and it should clear up my skin real fast, hunh Theresa. (Beat) I’m glad you an’ me are friends Theresa, I really am. Theresa, I want to tell you something, but promise you won’t say nothin’, okay? And don’t laugh either? (She closes her eyes and speaks quickly, urgently) Okay. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I get mad at bein’ ugly with this psoriasis and I slap my own face and sometimes bite my own wrists or stick needles—you know, straight pins—in my hands, I sometimes bang my head against walls and stuff. (Beat, she opens her eyes) Please don’t tell nobody Theresa. Please. (Beat) You know Sister John at school had told me that she knew a therapist but I was scared to go cause I didn’t want nobody to call me crazy. (Pause) Mommy say that black people don’t go to therapy, that’s white people stuff. She say I should talk to Father Bill but I already know what he’s gonna say. (Wryly) “Young lady, hurting yourself is a mortal sin,” so I’m not gonna tell him either. Does your mother still give money to the church? (Theresa says “yes”—Martha shakes her head) My mother does too. (Beat) When they pass the offering basket for the poor, I look at Father Bill like he’s crazy. I mean we livin’ in Harlem—we are the poor! Then the basket comes around again, then if you want to light the candle they want you to pay money for that. Then when you go to anoint yourself with holy water dere’s another offering for that, right? (She’s somewhat excited) Then they say gambling is bad but every Friday night they got that bingo game in the basement of the church. (She pauses) Yeah, I’m not telling Father Bill and the nuns nothin’. (Beat) I’m glad you’re my friend, Theresa. I really, really am. You my home girl, you know dat right? (Beat)

Theresa, you ever think about dyin’? I think about it. I wonder what it’s like. But nobody gonna come back and tell you, right? (She laughs—beat) Oh, you gotta go? Oh wait, before you go, guess what? Winfred got a crush on you. He told me he want you to be his girl. He always talkin’ about girls and stuff. He’s nasty. Oh wait—wait, before you go, know what I’m gonna buy? “Benny and the Jets.” (Beat) Theresa, um, I know you gotta go, but can I ask you somethin’? Can I hang in your room for a while? See I feel funny ’bout bein’ round Mommy and Ray. And you know Winfred, well, he’s … you know … can I hang here? (Theresa says yes) Oh good. Oh—oh, Theresa, before you go, when my skin clears up, we can go hang in the Village together. Yeah, you look real nice. Yeah, that’s a nice lipstick. One day, I’m gonna get me one. Yeah, okay Theresa, I know you gotta go. Um, bye. And thank you.

EMMA: Theresa! Theresa! Theresa, wake up, baby! Heard you callin’ my name way up in my house! I’m here, darlin’. (Theresa signals that Beula’s asleep) Beula still sleepin’? Good. Yeah, she breathin’ easy now, ain’t it. Lawd. Lawd, her face just as smooth now. Like she ain’t got a worry in the world. Yeah, when the Lawd take her she won’t feel a ting. Nothin’. (She looks at her) She don’t look sick at all, do she? I’m cookin’ some okra soup for ya. I know ya like it and it’s good for ya too. Yeah, ya got to eat, Theresa. Take care of yourself. I see you beginnin’ to drink some, ain’t it? You better mind. Don’t fall inta dat. You should know better. (She points) You see ya mama layin’ there. You seen what it done to her, right? It hard seeing Beula like this. Really is. Your mama was a good woman. Just got lost along the way. (Beat)

When your mama and me were girls together in Bonneau she was always nice to me. Always. Always spoke. Then when I come up here to New York and run into your mama on Sixty-eighth Street, she helped me get my apartment here you know. The lady I work for say she ain’t want no sleep-ins, and that same day I seen your mama on the street and she took me to Ms. Sophie and said, “Mama, Emma need a place to stay, and you gonna give her one.” An’ Ms. Sophie look at your mama, and me, and finally say okay. So, Theresa, your mama got good in her. It’s just a shame she couldn’t stand up for herself. See, your mama could dance. Lord that woman could move. She had come across a woman who had a dance troupe, and the woman come here to talk to Ms. Sophie about Beula joinin’. And Ms. Sophie scared the woman, said, “My daughter ain’t gonna stand up there shaking her tail for money and goin’ around the country like a damn gypsy. Dat’s a whore’s job.” Theresa, that crushed Beula, really crush her.

That’s why I believe your mama started to drink heavy, ’cause everything had to be Ms. Sophie way. Like the way she bad run this house. How if anybody made a noise she bang the pipe. And how you could eat off the floor ’cause it was so clean. Man, I use to feel funny comin’ in here ’cause, like if I sat down, I feel I would dirty it up in some kind of way. And when Beula took it over things change. I bet Ms. Sophie turnin’ in her grave. I tried to get your mama to paint the house a different color. I never did like brown, it make things look sad. I like white and dark orange, they’re warm colors like down South. And now, baby, it looks like this house is goin’ to you. You gonna own this house and I see you weighed down. I see how weighed down you feel, especially with Beula like this. (Beat)

When you was a little girl I used to love to hear you read your stories, and poetry, and sing. Listenin’ to all kinds of music, an’ dreamin’. Don’t feel funny, baby. I used to do that too. Talkin’ to myself and pretending I was a queen livin’ in a castle. I would tell my mama one day I was gonna live in a castle and she would point to the outhouse an’ say, “Oh yeah, der’s your castle right there.” Everybody would laugh, but I ain’ care. (Beat) Theresa, you still a young woman, you can do something about them dreams, baby. I see you gettin’ hard, bitter. I know it ain’t easy seein’ Beula like this, knowing she ain’t got long. But because Beula ain’t got long, you gonna have to make some decisions for yourself.

(Beat)

Sell this house an’ go, an’ live where you want. And don’t go worryin’ ’bout me neither. I old. I done live my life and I can always go back to Bonneau, you hear? This is a death place. Now if you wanna live in Harlem, fine. If not, fine. Not all black people supposed to live in the same place. Don’t pay people mind when they say that. Treat yourself good, baby, or you’ll end up like your mama there. Please. Yeah, Beula’s still breathing good. I glad. Ya, let me go on an’ check up on that soup, and you think about what I said. Don’t let them dreams die.

HERMAN: Theresa, Theresa. Theresa! Please, can you lower the music. I was trying to read and it’s just so loud. I never understand why you play music so loud. I mean, how can you appreciate it? Assuming you call that music. Listen, now that I’m down here, I have a letter from a company saying that they’re coming to appraise and need to see my apartment. So, Theresa—uh—I don’t know, really, what to make of this, you know—these people coming here, you know, everything in chaos, you know, I mean, Beula dying three weeks ago, and now what is this, Theresa. If you’re going to sell the building, I think maybe you should think about it some more. I mean, to own property is a good thing. (Beat) Miss Sophie always said that—property is good, remember? That people—responsible people hold on to property and Miss Sophie should know, right? I mean, she took good care of this house and she always said to me, “Herman, Theresa’s my legacy—I know she’ll do better than Beula. She’s the true heir to this house.” Yeah, that’s what Miss Sophie said, that you’d hold on to the house. As for Beula, she was weak, but Miss Sophie always spoke highly of you. (Beat) I miss her terribly. She was a good friend. She took good care of me. She was a good woman. You know, Miss Sophie would at least offer me a glass of water. Can I sit? (Beat) You know, when I first came to America, in 1944, from Warsaw, the first place I came to was Harlem. The only thing I had were the clothes on my back and the only family I had left was my sister Nella. Harlem. It was great. Music, families—it was lively. The colored people have always been good to me, and Miss Sophie was one of the first people I met. She would come to my newsstand and buy three papers a day, and we would talk about segregation, the Holocaust. Me and Miss Sophie, we know hardship. She was so kind. (Beat) I was living in a room on 119th Street but couldn’t afford anything lavish. Miss Sophie didn’t care. She said, “Herman, here is an apartment. It’s yours.” See, people who suffer look out for one another. Me and Miss Sophie know about hardship. Nobody ever gave us anything, and if they did, we would appreciate it, and care about other people. Yeah, Miss Sophie was one of the smartest people I knew. She read, read all the time. Me, too. That’s how we became friends. You know how on Sundays I would have dinner and afterward me and Miss Sophie would come here and talk. Talk about books, everything from Kafka to Langston Hughes, and me, I thought I knew everything about everything, until Ms. Sophie fed me the chitterlings. See, I didn’t know what it is so I say, “Ms. Sophie what is dis,” and she says, “Herman, you don’t want to know,” and I say, “Yes, Ms. Sophie you tell me,” and she says, “Herman, chitterlings is hog guts.” And I say, “What do you mean, ‘hog guts’?” and she say, “Hog guts, Herman.” I say “Vat, you mean like a pig?” and she said, “Yes, Herman,” and I say, “You’re feeding me pig guts?” and she said, “Herman, pure pig.” I vent upstairs, I trew up three times, I came back downstairs and had some more. You know why? It’s all in the mind, all in the mind.

And me and Miss Sophie laughed and laughed. We were close, you know that. Like family—you remember. Remember how me and Miss Sophie would double-check your homework? Remember Yeats? Huh? “Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, / enwrought with golden and silver light, / The blue and the dim and the dark cloths / Of night and light and the half-light, / I would spread the cloths under your feet: / But I, being poor, have only my dreams; / I have spread my dreams under your feet; / Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

I gave you a book of his poetry, remember? I gave it to you—that and Anne Frank. Before Miss Sophie went back to the South, she said, “Make sure Theresa reads, Herman, make sure.” I did, remember? I saw to it that you read. Remember how I would come to make sure Beula gave you something to eat? And sometimes when she was yelling too much, how I would sometimes try to talk to her about the drinking? You remember those things, right? And yet you treat me like this, like I’m not human? You don’t even come to me to say you’re selling the building—or trying to sell it—like a decent person? Miss Sophie would—even Beula would tell me. How can you do this to me? Look how long we know each other. You know I have no place to go. You don’t care what happens to me, is that it? I bet Miss Sophie and Beula turning in their graves. (Beat) Theresa, listen to me. I have no money, nothing. Where can I go, huh? Where? Tell these people you changed your mind. You’re not selling. You can’t. You can’t do this. The problem is, you’re still dreaming as if you’re a child. You’re playing loud music like some damn teenager and acting like a child. This dreaming, this dreaming. You’re being selfish. What you think, you sell the building, you find Utopia? You know the Nazis were dreamers too! When the people come and look at the apartment, Theresa? I won’t let them in. Do you hear me? You’ll have to break down the door. I won’t let them in.

WINFRED: I’m thinkin’ of my girl, Theresa. An’ I’m feelin’ bad ’cause, you know, she ain’t with me, right? I mean, you know what I’m talkin’ about? Like when your woman ain’t around man. Dat’s some hard shit. (Beat) She write poetry and listen to classical and rock. You know ’bout that shit, right? Well, my girl, she like it too. (Beat) You should see her, man, she got soft smooth skin. Yeah, an’ she got much booty—I likes dat booty, man. In order for me to peep a broad she got ta have some ass. Gots to. (Beat) Man, ever since we wuz kids she wuz writin’ poetry and stuff to me, thru the wall. Readin’ thru da wall. See, the buildin’ I lived in, right, her mother owned. Me, my sister Marsha, and my mother live there. And me, Theresa, an’ Marsha wuz friends. Tight, like family, right? Like I would look after dem, you know, ’cause it’s rough. (Beat) Like, I protect Theresa. Niggas ’round the way hated her ’cause she listened to rock and all that shit, and dressed different from them. But see, dey ain’t know her like I did. Niggas wanted to get next to her, man—see, dat’s what it wuz. An’ they wuz jealous, ’specially when I tole ’em how she would talk to me through the walls. (Beat) See me and Tee, see das what I call her, Tee, right? We close. We have our own thing. Y’all wouldn’t understand it. It was like a made up language, the way she talks to me, an’ me listenin’. (Beat) “I spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly for you tread on my dreams.” And she got this white gown on? And she ain’t wearin’ nothin’ underneath it or nothin’. And she got her hair, right, she got nice long hair and it’s spread all over the pillow. And she sayin’ all this, lyin’ on the bed. And her legs is open. She’s touchin’ herself. Puttin’ her fingers up there and gettin’ wet. She gettin’ real wet. And this classical music is playin’, and her eyes is close, and I hear her call my name in our language. She’s talkin’ through the wall ’cause she want me to come to her. But she scared ’cause she never did it before. (Beat) So this one night I’m goin’ upstairs, but I sees Theresa’s door is open, and I walks down da hall an’ she cold sleep in da bed. Like she waitin’ for me? An’ I walks over to the bed an’ sits down, an’ she wakes up an’ I say, “Hey, baby,” and she say, “Winfred, watcho doin’ here?” an’ I say, “Well you want me here. I’m here.” (Beat) Den she say, “Winfred, I don’ want choo here, go!” And I’m lookin’ at her like she crazy an’ I say, “Well, you tole me so, readin’ an’ talkin’ to me through the wall.” Then she like, “I never tole you nothin’. Get outta my room. Get the fuck out now.” And then I gets mad ’cause all this time the bitch was playin’ me. Bitch wuz playin’ me. So I slaps the bitch an’ say, “Put yo’ face in dat pillow, bitch, and don’t even look at me.” And she’s breathin’ hard and she got on pajamas and got a big ass, Nice big ass. Always did like dat big ass o’ hers. I tell her, “I want me some of dat fat ass of yours, I’m gonna get some.” And I’m lookin’ all dese posters of white boys ’cept for dat nigga Jimi Hendrix. An’ I goes over to him and pulls his face down, ’cause he ain’t nothin’ but a white nigger too. And I say to her, “You a white bitch. You a real white bitch. Dat’s why nobody like you.” And I gits on top of her and she says, “I hope nobody raped Marsha. I hope nobody did to her what you doin’ to me now. I hope your dick rots, faggot.” An’ I slaps her ass an’ say, “Bitch, you talks white too, huh? You talks like a whitey. Git bad wit me again.” Then I slaps her across the head but she don’t cry and I say, “Oh, you a hard rock bitch? You hard.” An’ I pulls down her pajama pants and she says, “Oh my God.” And I, “He ain’t gonna help you now.” And this white music is playing in the background and I’m sweatin’ and I know if somebody catches me I’m gonna go to jail, but I don’t care. So I goes to the record player and takes that white rock shit off ’cause I can’t get hard to that shit and put on some Marvin Gaye and my dick is on the bone. And I says, “You gotta nigga dick in yo’ ass now, bitch.” And she starts to cry and I say, “You like it, bitch. Like it? I ain’t no white boy in yo’ ass. You got a man’s dick in yo’ ass. A real nigga dick, bitch. A black, black dick. Ain’t no pink or some high yella nigga he’ah either. You ain’t so high an’ mighty now, bitch.” And I rides this bitch. I ride her hard and say, “You gonna ’member me, bitch. Yeah, you an’ all this white shit. I’m too low for you to talk to, huh, bitch? Yeah, I got me a white bitch wid a nigga ass in Harlem.” (He closes his eyes) I’m ridin’ her, man, I’m in her, man. She’s my girl, my girl, an’ I say, “Theresa, let’s make a baby.” I say, “I want you to have my baby. An’ I’m a be the man of da house.” And she cries real hard and says, “No.” And I slap her ’cross da back and ride her harder. (He smiles) And she’s sayin’, “Winfred, why? Why?” She got her head in da pillow. An’ I tell her, “See you like it, right? You do.” Then I gets off. Walks ’round da room. TV’s too big for me to take. Then I goes back to da dresserette, dere’s only five dollars, I takes dat and I say, “I got to go now, honey. But I’m gonna takin’ dis five dollars off da dresserette, okay.” Then I piss all over dat white linoleum floor.

THERESA: (Patti Smith’s “Gloria” plays in the background) And Winfred’s dick is in my ass. In my ass. He mocks me for liking rock ’n’roll. He doesn’t like rock ’n’ roll. Doesn’t wanna rock ’n’ roll. “White bitch,” he calls me. And Patti’s in the background chanting, “G-L-O-R-I-A,” and I’m thinking, How could this happen? I’m blindfolded—cold, sharp metal and he wants to make a baby, he says, “You and me,” he says, and he could be the man of the house, he says. ’Cause he was always the man of the house, and I’m thinking, I’m only fifteen. I don’t want a baby. I’m thinking how God doesn’t like me. God doesn’t know I’m here. Or if he did, he doesn’t care. I left the door open, how could I have done that, his dick is way in my ass. Winfred he’s forcing his dick in through me. I’m going to shit myself I can’t/won’t cry out. Winfred wants to know if there’s any more pussy for the taking. My mother she’s in her room. Can’t/won’t let him do it. Get next to her. “Put your shit on me,” I say. “Get your shit off on me,” I say. He’s laughing, calls me a freaky bitch, freaky white freaky nigga bitch he says. Winfred he’s forcing his dick in, through me and I say, “I hope it rots, motherfucker, I hope it rots.” He slaps me. I talk to myself. I talk to myself. Maintain myself. Try to maintain some cool by talking to myself. ’Cause that’s all I’ve got right now. Myself. Cold metal. Cold metal. In, through me. He mocks me for liking rock ’n’ roll. He’s in out of my ass. He’s in out of my ass. Where is God right now? Where is God? Why, God? There is no God. Take me now, God. Take me now. He gets off, pees on the linoleum, kisses me, kisses me like a sister, like a child, says it’s our secret. I’m blindfolded. I fall off the bed, belly crawl, belly crawl, through in his urine, my face wet with his urine it lands on my tongue, I’m belly crawling, belly crawling, I belly crawl to Beula’s door she screams how she wants to die, she wants to die. “He should have killed us both,” she screams. I’m on the floor doing a belly crawl, I can’t feel myself, Emma she holds me close, Mommy Beula swigs from Scotch, she reaches for Johnnie Walker Red Label, I reach for Emma, don’t let me go, Emma, please don’t let me go. There are policemen, questions, and a hospital room. How’d I get here, I’m on a table, my legs are bound in stirrups. Stirred up legs. A male doctor Jamaican demands, yells, screams that I “open my legs, stop being foolish,” he says, I unbind my legs, punch him, punch him, he screams like a punk, like a faggot hearted punk-ass bastard, then a nurse, a white nurse, pink lips uneven pink lips on pasty skin gonna try and jump and stop me, jump and stop me. I twist her arm back. I’ll take you down, bitch, low down, bitch, down. Down. I bring her down, down, down to her knees. Security guards come, warn me “Someone will give you a hypo,” they say, “Be cool,” they say, “Better be cool,” they say. I adjust myself, check, rearrange myself I become cool.

CHRISTINE: (Hearing Sophia getting whipped) Oh Lawd, Lawd, please let this man stop. Please, Jesus, let him stop. (Beat) Eugene! Eugene! You stop beatin’ my baby. You stop. You stop it, hear? (Beat) Oh, Sophie. Sophie, please don’t be angry. Ya daddy does get mad ’cause he don’t understand you. He think you be tryin’ to sass him, but I’m a talk to him, hear? This time I’m a talk to him. I mean it. (Beat) See, baby, your daddy had a hard life. People don’ treat dark skinned people right. White and colored. Can’t you see dat? See how my mama does treat your daddy? And see, his own daddy was white and don’ want him. See? So dat’s why you daddy is the way he is. (Beat) I does always tell ya daddy I love him. He figga ’cause I light I gonna rejec’ him one day. Know what he say? He always say, “Christine, one day you ga lef me for a high yella man.” And I always tell him I ain’ ga do dat. No I ain’t gonna never. (Beat) Sophie, you da lightest of all da chillin and you da smartest, so you try an’ understand ya daddy, hear? Try ta understand him. (Beat) You know, sometimes ya daddy does look at me hard, and sometimes I hate myself for bein’ light, hear? I hate myself. (Beat) Sophie, you have to except certain things the way they is. You know, sometime you sound kind a uppity. Like them crackers. You can’t be like them, Sophie. Colored people can’ live like white people. Why can’ you ’cept that? (Beat) Don’ ask ya daddy a whole lot of questions, okay? And that way he won’t beat ya, ya hear? (Beat) See it would be different if Eugene was light like you an’ me. Da’s why he mad, see? (Beat—the beating sounds stop—Sophie enters) Sophie, don’ look at me like that. Baby, please don’. It finish. All finish. You be alright. Don’ think about it no more. (Beat) Come on. Come on, sing me a song, Sophie. I ain’t heard ya sing for long time. Come on, sing “One Day at a Time” with Mama. (She sings) (Beat) No? You don’ feel like singin’? Okay. Den tell Mama about da book I seen you readin’. Tell me ’bout da book, Sophie. Please. (Beat) Sophie, please talk to me, baby. C’mon talk—talk to me, please. You don’ hardly talk no mo’. Ain’t you got a voice? Where your voice at, Sophie? (Beat) You can talk. Why you so quiet? (Beat) Oh Lord, Sophie! Look at you, so fill up wit hate. Lawd God, you so fill up wit hate.

Sophie, please, let me hear your voice.

THERESA: Marsha, I’m watching a drunk street bitch / Ballantine Ale Triple X in one hand / holding it / caressing it / it’s her lover / she’s clutching it / clinging to it / her other hand slaps / a child / boy— / “little motherfucker” she says / calls him / “A no good motherfucker just like your father” / she says / and he has no voice / the tears / roll down his face / but / he doesn’t make a sound / I’m listening to her voice / slurry all over the place / voice / hating her / hating this bitch / and me / I go outside / wanna kill / stop / her / I got the heart to / got the heart / I say / stop hitting that child / you stop / be cool / cool yourself / she turns / eyes / jaw / loose / gone / says / she’ll “kill me” / “stomp my ass” she says / and my blood it rises / rises to my head / expands to my fists / I’m on her / punching / stomping this / bitch / there’s a crowd pointing / yelling / laughing / I feel good so good / Her blood lands on my shirt / on me / I’m mad / Marsha / mad / Satanic / glad / I’m killing / her / killing her / somewhere / her son screams / somewhere / I don’t care / don’t care / somebody / they part the crowd / somebody / puts their hands on my shoulder / I knock it away / I’ll take you down / I’ll bring you down / It’s Emma / “stop chile” she says / and she’s holding the boy / the crying boy with no voice / and / his eyes wide / afraid / I’m no better / than a animal / no better / not human / the crowd it disperses / and I’m walking / anger / in through my walk / his eyes / the boy’s / they disappear / I’m animal / pure animal / I don’t care about anything / anyone / dog eat dog / that’s all there is / and Herman stops me / says something about his sister dying / Nella / her name is / was / and him / he’s dreaming / dreaming Holocaust dreams / can’t figure out why / I say we all gotta deal / cut their throat / before they cut yours / go for yours / His eyes fall / they fall / I walk on / I keep walking on / I move fast / thinking about fighting / thinking about fighting / killing / about how I beat the woman / with the little boy with no voice / and big eyes / I know why / Oh! God / I know why / I recognized myself / I beat her / ’cause I can see me / beating the boy / I saw myself slapping / the boy / the boy with the huge eyes / and / no voice / she is / me / the woman / the bitch / she is / me hitting the boy / I saw / Emma saw / I saw myself / and I knew I was no longer human / in that moment / no longer human.

Marsha / I’ve lost my way, Marsha / lost my way / how can I get back / how can I get back to thinking, caring about the young boys and young girls like us who didn’t / don’t fit how do I get back to wanting to care about the meaning behind the words / music / I remember thinking are there people like us I use to ask oh! Marsha, back then I use to wonder, “Do kids like us exist? Are they thinking of us now? Are they? Do they lie on their beds with closed eyes / hearing / dreaming where’s music do they see colors do they hear outside voices pouring into their rooms / trying to shoot them down?” / I’ve often wondered how the rope felt around your neck / choking / bruising your neck / how painful / how strong were the voices that day / why was it worse than any other day / me I’ve often said why you? not me / why you? / I had wanted to do it but didn’t know how didn’t know how to leave this house / all of it behind / but then maybe when you did it you saw / did you see / did you save yourself / part of you / did you save yourself? / or did you just go crashing down / down to the ground / letting them devour you piece by piece / and afterward they sat back / full lazy fat cat happy / Marsha / I really want to tell you, Marsha / that I thought you were a beautiful beautiful black black dark black girl / but I was trying to keep myself for myself / I was only fifteen / we were only fifteen / but there is no difference between being fifteen and now / I was / am busy trying to be cool / I was / am busy trying to maintain my cool / ’cause there are no answers for me in / against the altars of churches / I’ve got to find my way back now I’ve got to I can’t do it your way I can’t / it’s my time, Marsha, my time / I have to sell the house and go / sell, burn this house / burn down the voices / It’s time to go / It’s my time.