John. You got a chile? Gee, that great! Ah always wanted one, but didn’t have no luck. Now we kin start off with a family. Girl or boy?
Emma (slowly). A girl. Comin’ tuh see me agin soon, John?
John. Comin’ agin? Ah aint gone yet! We aint talked, you aint kissed me an’ nothin’, and you aint showed me our girl. (Another groan, more prolonged.) She must be pretty sick—let’s see. (He turns in his chair and Emma rushes over to the bed and covers the girl securely, tucking her long hair under the covers, too—before he arises. He goes over to the bed and looks down into her face. She is mulatto. Turns to Emma teasingly.) Talkin’ ’bout me liking high-yallers—yo husband musta been pretty near white.
Emma (slowly). Ah, never wuz married, John.
John. It’s alright, Emma. (Kisses her warmly.) Everything is going to be O.K. (Turning back to the bed.) Our child looks pretty sick, but she’s pretty. (Feels her forehead and cheek.) Think she oughter have a doctor.
Emma. Ah done had one. Course Ah cain’t git no specialist an’ nothin’ lak dat. (She looks about the room and his gaze follows hers.) Ah aint got a whole lot lake you. Nobody don’t git rich in no white-folks’ kitchen, nor in de washtub. You know Ah aint no school-teacher an’ nothin’ lak dat.
(John puts his arm about her.)
John. It’s all right, Emma. But our daughter is bad off—run out an’ git a doctor—she needs one. Ah’d go if Ah knowed where to find one—you kin git one the quickest—hurry, Emma.
Emma (looks from John to her daughter and back again.) She’ll be all right, Ah reckon, for a while. John, you love me—you really want me sho’ nuff?
John. Sure Ah do—think Ah’d come all de way down here for nothin’? Ah wants to marry agin.