Joe: He was a big black man, big as me; proud feller, his grandaddy was a king in de Congo. Yes, suh, Misteh Porteh, suh, you needn’t laugh, dat’s a fact; dey was lots o great men captured an sold to be slaves. Uncle Caesar, dey call him, an he wore a long coat like de ginrals in Ginral Lee’s army. It was ole and patched, an de rain had washed it an de sun had faded it, but you could see it was a ginral’s coat—gold lace an tassels on it, an when dey was all gone, mah ole daddy he was boun to show it was a ginral’s coat, so he had mah mammy sew on rope to make loops an tassels an eppilets an things. An he would have to git himself tied up in it wid twine, cause all de buttons was gone, only one las button up near de top, a fine yelleh button, big as a half dollar. Yes suh, dat was a sho fine coat—Ah reckon mah ole daddy he wear it befo de throne of grace, cause dey done buried him in it. He stan by de do’ of de hack, wid his whip in one han an a ole feather duster in de odder, an he make like to dust off de seat of de hack, an he say: “Step right in, suh; aint a speck of dust in it—jes got back from a funeral, suh. Kyar you anywhere in de town fo fifty cents.” He sho knew how to git de money out of genlemen.
Porter: I know, I’ve had them operate on me. I can see a whole mob of them, lined up in front of a depot; they come charging at you—like a race riot, a company of freedmen, or Arabs, or Zulus, armed with whips.
Joe: Jes so, boss; jes so!
Porter: Uncle Caesar, as you describe him, might be the old hackman who drove me and Miss Athol Estes, that summer night when we ran away to get married. I was afraid the old hack would fall to pieces at the next bump. We hadn’t very far to go—for Miss Athol sang in the choir of the Presbyterian church, and the minister was good enough to marry us. One thing more; tell me what Major Caswell looked like.
Joe: De Major? He was one of dese fellers dat hunt roun in a hotel lobby, like a starved dog lookin fo a bone. He would hit a spittoon wid a squirt of tobacco juice farther’n any man in de place. He was always fightin de war oveh—I heerd de Judge tell him once, he was one of dese perfessional Southerners. He had a big face, kindeh red an pulpy-like, an sleepy. I tell you who he look like, dat convict feller what was cursin at de doctor jes now. You could take him fo de Major on a dark night. (a voice calling, off-stage right: “Joe!”) Da’s de capn! (calls) Yes, boss!
Porter: See here, you black-skinned rascal, if you tell anybody what we’ve been talking about, I’ll take the ebony hide off you!
Joe (grins): Naw, suh, Misteh Porteh, suh, Ah knows mah place. Us Southerners got to stan together. You lemme be yo body-servant, Ah take care of you like you belonged to de Jedge Adair famly! (moves reluctantly towards exit) You was in de drug business befo you come hyar, Misteh Porteh?
Porter: When I was a lad I worked five years in my uncle’s drug-store.
Joe: Ah bet you like to member dem days!
Porter: It was the little town of Greensboro. You know how it is down South in the springtime, the sweet odor of the honeysuckle, and the mocking-birds singing; this time in the evening there’s chairs in front of the store, and the girls come in their white muslin dresses, and the perfumes you sold them yesterday now make you kind of drunk while you’re squirting out vanilla and strawberry flavors! And Babe Harmony, clerk to the justice of the peace, has fetched his old guitar. (faint sound of music: “Carry me back to old Virginny.”) He’s singing wha de cotton and de golden taters grow—