Mrs. Lane: No. Thank you, very much.
Rachel (Goes into the kitchenette and returns with a fringed napkin, a plate, and a big, red apple, cut into quarters. She goes to the little girl, who cowers away from her; very gently). Here, dear, little girl, is a beautiful apple for you. (The gentle tones have no appeal for the trembling child before her).
Mrs. Lane (Coming forward): I’m sorry, but I’m afraid she won’t take it from you. Ethel, the kind lady has given you an apple. Thank her nicely. Here! I’ll spread the napkin for you, and put the plate in your lap. Thank the lady like a good little girl.
Ethel (Very low): Thank you. (They return to their seats. Ethel with difficulty holds the plate in her lap. During the rest of the interview between Rachel and her mother, she divides her attention between the apple on the plate and her mother’s face. She makes no attempt to eat the apple, but holds the plate in her lap with a care that is painful to watch. Often, too, she looks over her shoulder fearfully. The conversation between Rachel and her mother is carried on in low tones).
Mrs. Lane: I’ve got to move—it’s Ethel.
Rachel: What is the matter with that child? It’s—it’s heartbreaking to see her.
Mrs. Lane: I understand how you feel,—I don’t feel anything, myself, any more. (A pause). My husband and I are poor, and we’re ugly and we’re black. Ethel looks like her father more than she does like me. We live in 55th Street—near the railroad. It’s a poor neighborhood, but the rent’s cheap. My husband is a porter in a store; and, to help out, I’m a caretaker. (Pauses). I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. We had a nice little home—and the three of us were happy. Now we’ve got to move.
Rachel: Move! Why?
Mrs. Lane: It’s Ethel. I put her in school this September. She stayed two weeks. (Pointing to Ethel) That’s the result.
Rachel (In horror): You mean—that just two weeks—in school—did that?