Jack
Then you’ve got an upright! Let’s go and see. [They go out together.]
[From offstage is heard the rippling of some chords on the piano. Then Jack’s voice breaks out in the words of “Red Hot Mama.” He sings it with that rich plaintiveness which, combined with syncopation, has become the convention for the rendition of jazz. Half-way through the chorus the center door opens and the Cantor enters. He stands rooted to the floor, outraged at the sounds he hears. He looks toward the door of the music room, then, as if afraid of what he might see there, moves back automatically, taking his hat off, leaving the skull-cap on his head. Then, beginning to realize that this blasphemous noise really is occurring in his own home, he slams his prayer book down on the table and moves toward the music room. Jack who has finished the chorus and is about to play it again, has yielded to his mother’s audible shocked protests. They come out of the music room, not seeing the Cantor. Jack, who is facing his mother, walks out almost backward. Sara is saying—]
Sara
No, no, Jakie! You shouldn’t sing like that! It is wrong!
Jack
You’ll get used to it, Mama, and you’ll like it if you’ll learn the words. I know a million songs like that. [Then Jack turns, sees the Cantor, and suddenly the bravado, the glibness, the flippant smartness with which he has been buoying himself up, drop from him like a cloak. It is a feeble echo of the Jack we have seen who now addresses his father.] Well, well! Hello, Papa.
Cantor
[Slowly]. What are you doing in this house?
Jack