Sara
[Continues numbly, hardly seeing the youth in blackface]. All the time he is talking about you. His eyes is open like a baby’s eyes. His face is white like a yahrzeit candle. He was saying, “Sara,” he said—his voice was so low, I could hardly hear him—“maybe Jakie will sing tonight in the synagogue....”
Jack
[Strangely touched]. He really said that, Mama?
Sara
He said it—the way I’m sitting here this minute, he said it.... For five generations God always heard a Rabinowitz sing every Day of Atonement, every holy day, every Sabbath. God is used to it now.... Maybe your papa is dying. God will ask him, Is Jakie singing in the synagogue tonight? How can he say, No, he is singing in a theatre!... Oh, my son, my heart is breaking in pieces.... You got two hours before the sun goes out of the sky and it gets dark. Come with me home, Jakie.
Jack
[Despairingly, head sunk on his chest]. Mama, I can’t. I can’t do it!
Sara
[In a more intense monotone]. How can you say this to me, your mama?... When you was a little boy, we were so poor.... I slaved my fingers to the bone that there should be money to buy you nice things. My fingers, they used to bleed. Look at my hands, Jakie. It is still there the marks.