THE STATE: You are in a position to reassure us on this point?
PARNELL: My friends do not lie.
THE STATE: You are remarkably fortunate. You are aware of the attitude of the late Richard Henry toward white women? You saw the photographs he carried about with him?
PARNELL: We never discussed women. I never saw the photographs.
THE STATE: But you knew of their existence?
PARNELL: They were not obscene. They were simply snapshots of people he had known in the North.
THE STATE: Snapshots of white women?
PARNELL: Yes.
THE STATE: You are the first witness to admit the existence of these photographs, Mr. James.
PARNELL: It is very likely that the other witnesses never saw them. The boy had been discouraged, very early on, from mentioning them or showing them about.
THE STATE: Discouraged by whom?
PARNELL: Why—by—me.
THE STATE: But you never saw the photographs—
PARNELL: I told him I didn’t want to see them and that it would be dangerous to carry them about.
THE STATE: He showed these photographs to you, but to no one else?
PARNELL: That would seem to be the case, yes.
THE STATE: What was his motive in taking you into his confidence?
PARNELL: Bravado. He wanted me to know that he had white friends in the North, that—he had been happy—in the North.
THE STATE: You did not tell his father? You did not warn your close friend?
PARNELL: I am sure that Richard never mentioned these photographs to his father. He would have been too ashamed. Those women were beneath him.
THE STATE: A white woman who surrenders to a colored man is beneath all human consideration. She has wantonly and deliberately defiled the temple of the Holy Ghost. It is clear to me that the effect of such a boy on this town was irresponsible and incendiary to the greatest degree. Did you not find your close friendship with Reverend Henry somewhat strained by the son’s attempt to rape the wife of your other close friend, Lyle Britten?
PARNELL: This attempt was never mentioned before—before today.
THE STATE: You are as close as you claim to the Britten family and knew nothing of this attempted rape? How do you explain that?
PARNELL: I cannot explain it.
THE STATE: This is a court of law, Mr. James, and we will have the truth!
WHITETOWN: Make him tell the truth!
BLACKTOWN: Make him tell the truth!
THE STATE: How can you be the close friend you claim to be of the Britten family and not have known of so grave an event?
PARNELL: I—I knew of a fight. It was understood that the boy had gone to Mr. Britten’s store looking for a fight. I—I cannot explain that, either.
THE STATE: Who told you of the fight?
PARNELL: Why—Mr. Britten.
THE STATE: And did not tell you that Richard Henry had attempted to assault his wife? Come, Mr. James!
PARNELL: We were all very much upset. Perhaps he was not as coherent as he might have been—perhaps I failed to listen closely. It was my assumption that Mrs. Britten had misconstrued the boy’s actions—he had been in the North a long time, his manner was very free and bold.
THE STATE: Mrs. Britten has testified that Richard Henry grabbed her and pulled her to him and tried to kiss her. How can those actions be misconstrued?
PARNELL: Those actions are—quite explicit.
THE STATE: Thank you, Mr. James. That is all.
JUDGE: The witness may step down.
(Parnell leaves the stand.)
BLACKTOWN: What do you think of our fine friend now? He didn’t do it to us rough and hard. No, he was real gentle. I hardly felt a thing. Did you? You can’t never go against the word of a white lady, man, not even if you’re white. Can’t be done. He was sad. Sad!
WHITETOWN: It took him long enough! He did his best not to say it—can you imagine! So her story was true—after all! I hope he’s learned his lesson. We been trying to tell him—for years!
CLERK (Calls): Mr. Lyle Britten!
(Lyle, in the woods)
LYLE: I wonder what he’ll grow up to look like. Of course, it might be a girl. I reckon I wouldn’t mind—just keep on trying till I get me a boy, ha-ha! Old Miss Josephine is something, ain’t she? I really struck oil when I come across her. She’s a nice woman. And she’s my woman—I ain’t got to worry about that a-tall! You’re making big changes in your life, Lyle, and you got to be ready to take on this extra responsibility. Shoot, I’m ready. I know what I’m doing. And I’m going to work harder than I’ve ever worked before in my life to make Jo happy—and keep her happy—and raise our children to be fine men and women. Lord, you know I’m not a praying man. I’ve done a lot of wrong things in my life and I ain’t never going to be perfect. I know You know that. I know You understand that. But, Lord, hear me today and help me to do what I’m supposed to do. I want to be as strong as my Mama and Daddy and raise my children like they raised me. That’s what I want, oh Lord. In a few years I’ll be walking here, showing my son these trees and this water and this sky. He’ll have his hand in my hand, and I’ll show him the world. Isn’t that a funny thing! He don’t even exist yet—he’s just an egg in his mother’s belly, I bet you couldn’t even find him with a microscope—and I put him there—and he’s coming out soon—with fingers and toes and eyes—and by and by, he’ll learn to walk and talk—and I reckon I’ll have to spank him sometime—if he’s anything like me, I know I will. Isn’t that something! My son! Hurry up and get here, so I can hug you in my arms and give you a good start on your long journey!
(Blackout. Lyle, with Papa D. Drunk. Music and dancing)
LYLE: You remember them days when Willa Mae was around? My mind’s been going back to them days. You remember? She was a hot little piece, I just had to have some of that, I just had to. Half the time she didn’t wear no stockings, just had them brown, round legs just moving. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her legs when she didn’t wear no stockings. And you know what she told me? You know what she told me? She said there wasn’t a nigger alive could be as good to her as me. That’s right. She said she’d like to see the nigger could do her like I done her. You hear me, boy? That’s something, ain’t it? Boy—she’d just come into a room sometimes and my old pecker would stand up at attention. You ain’t jealous, are you, Joel? Ha-ha! You never did hear from her no more, did you? No, I reckon you didn’t. Shoot, I got to get on home. I’m a family man now, I got—great responsibilities! Yeah. Be seeing you, Joel. You don’t want to close up and walk a-ways with me, do you? No, I reckon you better not. They having fun. Sure wish I could be more like you all. Bye-bye!
(Blackout. As Lyle approaches the witness stand, the lights in the courtroom dim. We hear voices from the church, singing a lament. The lights come up.)
JUDGE: Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?
FOREMAN: We have, Your Honor.
JUDGE: Will the prisoner please rise?
(Lyle rises.)
Do you find the defendant, Mr. Lyle Britten, guilty or not guilty?
FOREMAN: Not guilty, Your Honor.
(Cheering in WHITETOWN. Silence in BLACKTOWN. The stage is taken over by Reporters, Photographers, Witnesses, Townspeople. Lyle is congratulated and embraced, BLACKTOWN files out silently, not looking back, WHITETOWN files out jubilantly, and yet with a certain reluctance. Presently, the stage is empty, except for Lyle, Jo, Mother Henry, Meridian, Parnell, Juanita, and Lorenzo.)
JO: Let’s get out of here and go home. We’ve been here just for days. I wouldn’t care if I never saw the insides of a courtroom again! Let’s go home, sugar. We got something to celebrate!
JUANITA: We, too, must go—to another celebration. We’re having a prayer meeting on the City Hall steps.
LORENZO: Prayer meeting!
LYLE: Well, it was touch and go there for awhile, Parnell, but you sure come through. I knew you would.
JO: Let’s go, Lyle. The baby’s hungry.
MERIDIAN: Perhaps now you can ask him to tell you the truth. He’s got nothing to lose now. They can’t try him again.
LYLE: Wasn’t much sense in trying me now, this time, was there, Reverend? These people have been knowing me and my good Jo here all our lives, they ain’t going to doubt us. And you people—you people—ought to have better sense and more things to do than running around stirring up all this hate and trouble. That’s how your son got himself killed. He listened to crazy niggers like you!
MERIDIAN: Did you kill him?
LYLE: They just asked me that in court, didn’t they? And they just decided I didn’t, didn’t they? Well, that’s good enough for me and all those white people and so it damn sure better be good enough for you!
PARNELL: That’s no answer. It’s not good enough for me.
LYLE: What do you mean, that’s no answer? Why isn’t it an answer? Why isn’t it good enough for you? You know, when you were up on the stand right now, you acted like you doubted my Jo’s word. You got no right to doubt Jo’s word. You ain’t no better than she is! You ain’t no better than me!
PARNELL: I am aware of that. God knows I have been made aware of that—for the first time in my life. But, as you and I will never be the same again—since our comedy is finished, since I have failed you so badly—let me say this. I did not doubt Jo’s word. I knew that she was lying and that you had made her lie. That was a terrible thing to do to her. It was a terrible thing that I just did to you. I really don’t know if what I did to Meridian was as awful as what I did to you. I don’t expect forgiveness, Meridian. I only hope that all of us will suffer past this agony and horror.
LYLE: What’s the matter with you? Have you forgotten you a white man? A white man! My Daddy told me not to never forget I was a white man! Here I been knowing you all my life—and now I’m ashamed of you. Ashamed of you! Get on over to niggertown! I’m going home with my good wife.
MERIDIAN: What was the last thing my son said to you—before you shot him down—like a dog?
LYLE: Like a dog! You a smart nigger, ain’t you?
MERIDIAN: What was the last thing he said? Did he beg you for his life?
LYLE: That nigger! He was too smart for that! He was too full of himself for that! He must have thought he was white. And I gave him every chance—every chance—to live!
MERIDIAN: And he refused them all.
LYLE: Do you know what that nigger said to me?
(The light changes, so that everyone hut Lyle is in silhouette. Richard appears, dressed as we last saw him, on the road outside Papa D.’s joint.)
RICHARD: I’m ready. Here I am. You asked me if I was ready, didn’t you? What’s on your mind, white man?
LYLE: Boy, I always treated you with respect. I don’t know what’s the matter with you, or what makes you act the way you do—but you owe me an apology and I come out here tonight to get it. I mean, I ain’t going away without it.
RICHARD: I owe you an apology! That’s a wild idea. What am I apologizing for?
LYLE: You know, you mighty lucky to still be walking around.
RICHARD: So are you. White man.
LYLE: I’d like you to apologize for your behavior in my store that day. Now, I think I’m being pretty reasonable, ain’t I?
RICHARD: You got anything to write on? I’ll write you an IOU.
LYLE: Keep it up. You going to be laughing out of the other side of your mouth pretty soon.
RICHARD: Why don’t you go home? And let me go home? Do we need all this shit? Can’t we live without it?
LYLE: Boy, are you drunk?
RICHARD: No, I ain’t drunk. I’m just tired. Tired of all this fighting. What are you trying to prove? What am I trying to prove?
LYLE: I’m trying to give you a break. You too dumb to take it.
RICHARD: I’m hip. You been trying to give me a break for a great, long time. But there’s only one break I want. And you won’t give me that.
LYLE: What kind of break do you want, boy?
RICHARD: For you to go home. And let me go home. I got things to do. I got—lots of things to do!
LYLE: I got things to do, too. I’d like to get home, too.
RICHARD: Then why are we standing here? Can’t we walk? Let me walk, white man! Let me walk!
LYLE: We can walk, just as soon as we get our business settled.
RICHARD: It’s settled. You a man and I’m a man. Let’s walk.
LYLE: Nigger, you was born down here. Ain’t you never said sir to a white man?
RICHARD: No. The only person I ever said sir to was my Daddy.
LYLE: Are you going to apologize to me?
RICHARD: No.
LYLE: Do you want to live?
RICHARD: Yes.
LYLE: Then you know what to do, then, don’t you?
RICHARD: Go home. Go home.
LYLE: You facing my gun. (Produces it) Now, in just a minute, we can both go home.
RICHARD: You sick mother! Why can’t you leave me alone? White man! I don’t want nothing from you. You ain’t got nothing to give me. You can’t eat because none of your sad-assed chicks can cook. You can’t talk because won’t nobody talk to you. You can’t dance because you’ve got nobody to dance with—don’t you know I’ve watched you all my life? All my life! And I know your women, don’t you think I don’t—better than you!
(Lyle shoots, once.)
Why have you spent so much time trying to kill me? Why are you always trying to cut off my cock? You worried about it? Why?
(Lyle shoots again.)
Okay. Okay. Okay. Keep your old lady home, you hear? Don’t let her near no nigger. She might get to like it. You might get to like it, too. Wow!
(Richard falls.)
Juanita! Daddy! Mama!
(Singing from the church. Spot on Lyle)
LYLE: I had to kill him then. I’m a white man! Can’t nobody talk that way to me! I had to go and get my pick-up truck and load him in it—I had to carry him on my back—and carry him out to the high weeds. And I dumped him in the weeds, face down. And then I come on home, to my good Jo here.
JO: Come on, Lyle. We got to get on home. We got to get the little one home now.
LYLE: And I ain’t sorry. I want you to know that I ain’t sorry!
JO: Come on, Lyle. Come on. He’s hungry. I got to feed him.
(Jo and Lyle exit.)
MOTHER HENRY: We got to go now, children. The children is already started to march.
LORENZO: Prayer!
MERIDIAN: You know, for us, it all began with the Bible and the gun. Maybe it will end with the Bible and the gun.
JUANITA: What did you do with the gun, Meridian?
PARNELL: You have the gun—Richard’s gun?
MERIDIAN: Yes. In the pulpit. Under the Bible. Like the pilgrims of old.
(Exits.)
MOTHER HENRY: Come on, children.
(Singing)
(Pete enters.)
PETE (Stammers): Are you ready, Juanita? Shall we go now?
JUANITA: Yes.
LORENZO: Come here, Pete. Stay close to me.
(They go to the church door. The singing swells.)
PARNELL: Well.
JUANITA: Well. Yes, Lord!
PARNELL: Can I join you on the march, Juanita? Can I walk with you?
JUANITA: Well, we can walk in the same direction, Parnell. Come. Don’t look like that. Let’s go on on.
(Exits.)
(After a moment, Parnell follows.)
Curtain
THE END
JAMES BALDWIN
James Baldwin was born in 1924. He is the author of more than twenty works of fiction and nonfiction. Among the awards he received are a Eugene F. Saxon Memorial Trust Award, a Rosenwald Fellowship, a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Partisan Review Fellowship, and a Ford Foundation grant. He was made Commander of the Legion of Honor in 1986. He died in 1987.
ALSO BY JAMES BALDWIN
Go Tell
It on the Mountain (1953)
Notes of a Native Son (1955)
Giovanni’s Room (1956)
Nobody Knows My Name: More Notes of a Native Son (1961)
Another Country (1962)
The Fire Next Time (1963)
Nothing Personal (with Richard Avedon) (1964)
Blues for Mister Charlie (1964)
Going to Meet the Man (1965)
The Amen Corner (1968)
Tell Me How Long the Train’s Been Gone (1968)
One Day When I Was Lost (1972)
No Name in the Street (1972)
If Beale Street Could Talk (1973)
The Devil Finds Work (1976)
Little Man, Little Man (with Yoran Cazac) (1976)
Just Above My Head (1979)
The Evidence of Things Not Seen (1985)
Jimmy’s Blues (1985)
The Price of the Ticket (1985)
ALSO BY JAMES BALDWIN
THE AMEN CORNER
For years Sister Margaret Alexander has moved her congregation with a mixture of personal charisma and ferocious piety. But when her estranged husband, Luke, comes home to die, she is in danger of losing both her standing in the church and the son she has tried to keep on the godly path. The Amen Corner is an uplifting, sorrowful, and exultant masterpiece of the modern American theater.
Drama
ANOTHER COUNTRY
Set in Greenwich Village, Harlem, and France, among other locales, Another Country is a novel of passions sexual, racial, political, artistic that is stunning for its emotional intensity and haunting sensuality, depicting men and women stripped of their masks of gender and race by love and hatred at their most elemental and sublime.
Fiction/Literature
BLUES FOR MISTER CHARLIE
In a small Southern town, a white man murders a black man, then throws his body in the weeds. With this act of violence Baldwin launches an unsparing and at times agonizing probe of the wounds of race. For where once a white storekeeper could have shot a “boy” like Richard Henry with impunity, times have changed. In Blues for Mister Charlie, Baldwin turns a murder and its aftermath into an inquest in which even the most well-intentioned whites are implicated and in which even a killer receives his share of compassion.