“Where’s Bess? Tell me, quick, where’s Bess?”
The big negress did not answer, and after a moment her ponderous face commenced to shake.
Porgy beat the side of his wagon with his fist.
“Where, where—” he began, in a voice that was suddenly shrill.
But Maria placed a steadying hand over his frantic one and held it still.
“Dem dutty dogs got she one day w’en I gone out,” she said in a low, shaken voice. “She been missin’ yuh an’ berry low in she min’ ’cause she can’t fin’ out how long yuh is lock up fuh. Dat damn houn’ she knock off de wharf las’ summer fin’ she like dat an’ git she tuh tek er swalluh ob licker. Den half a dozen of de mens gang she, an’ mek she drunk.”
“But wuh she now?” Porgy cried. “I ain’t keer ef she wuz drunk. I want she now.”
Maria tried to speak, but her voice refused to do her bidding. She covered her face with her hands, and her throat worked convulsively.
Porgy clutched her wrist. “Tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me, now.”
“De mens all carry she away on de ribber boat,” she sobbed. “Dey leabe word fuh me dat dey goin’ tek she all de way tuh Sawannah, an’ keep she dey. Den Serena, she tek de chile, an’ say she is goin’ gib um er Christian raisin’.”