Serena stepped forth, her arms filled with the morning’s wash.
“‘Ain’t it hahd tuh be er nigger!’” someone sang in a loud, clear voice. And everybody laughed.
Down the street, like an approaching freight train, came the drays, jarring the building and rattling the windows, as the heavy tires rang against the cobbles.
Bess and Porgy came out with the others, and seated themselves against the wall in the gracious sunlight. Of the life, yet apart from it, sufficient unto each other, they did not join in the loud talk and badinage that was going on about them. Like people who had come on a long, dark journey, they were content to sit, and breathe deeply of the sun. The baby was sleeping in Bess’s arms, and from time to time she would sing a stave to it in a soft, husky voice.
Into the court strode a group of stevedores. Their strong white teeth flashed in the sunshine, and their big, panther-like bodies moved easily among the women and children that crowded about them.
“Wey all de gals?” called one in a loud, resonant voice. “Mus’ be dey ain’t know dat dis is pay-day.”
Two women who were sitting near Porgy and Bess rose and went forward, with their arms twined about each other’s waists. In a few minutes they were out of the crowd again, each looking up with admiring eyes into the face of one of the men.
“Mens an’ ’omans ain’t de same,” said Porgy. “One mont’ ago dem gals been libbin’ wid dey own mens. Den de storm tek um. Now dey is fuhgit um a’ready, an’ gibbin’ dey lub tuh de nex’.”
“No; dey is diff’rent fuh true,” replied Bess. “An’ yuh won’t nebber onduhstan’. All two dem gal gots baby fuh keep alibe.” She heaved a deep sigh; and then added, “Dey is jus’ ’oman, an’ nigger at dat. Dey is doin’ de bes’ dey kin—dat all.”
She was looking down at the baby while she spoke, and when she raised her eyes and looked at Porgy, he saw that they were full of tears.