ACT I
The curtain rises on the sitting-room of a Negro’s squalid dwelling in Goat Alley, Washington, D. C. At Right Back, there is a door giving directly on the street and when it is open one gets a glimpse of the miserable, tumble-down houses on the opposite side. At Left Back is a window, with one pane broken and an old shirt stuffed in the hole. The one or two old rag-carpet rugs which lie on the floor serve only in a small measure to cover its bareness. Several old, broken and battered chairs stand here and there about the room. At Left Center is a door leading into the other downstairs room of the house. Between it and the wall, Back, is a door opening into a closet.
There is another door, down Right, giving on a flight of stairs which lead to the one upper room of the house. Near the door, Left Center, and toward the front stands a battered table on which lie, in disordered array newspapers and one or two dog-eared books with their backs off. It is evening and a lighted oil lamp, with the chimney badly smoked, rests in the center. The wick is turned low and the guttering flame causes countless shadows to disport themselves eerily about the room. Between the door, Left Center, and the door, up Left, stands a fancy cupboard. There is a large easy chair between the table and the wall, Left Center. Both of these pieces of furniture look out of place in the room.
Flamboyant lithographs, a gilt-framed picture of Jack Johnson, wearing his golden smile, a framed engraving of Abraham Lincoln, and several grotesque crayon portraits of members of the family adorn the dirty and discolored walls. An old corset, a half-eaten roll, and a doll, with its head off, lie about on the floor. A horseshoe is nailed over the center of the door, Back.
Aunt Rebecca, an old coal-black Negress, enters, Back. She wears no hat and has just a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She presents the appearance of an animated mummy. Her eyes are small and bead-like and shine with an uncanny lustre; her hands are long and bony, resembling the talons of a hawk. She glances about inquiringly, gives an impatient grunt, then turns and slowly closes the door.
AUNT REBECCA (in high-pitched raspy tones as she moves to the Center)
Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle!
LUCY BELLE (from the next room)
Dat yo’, Aun’ Becky?