Scene 2: JACK’s dressing room a few minutes later. JACK enters looking very unhappy. Automatically he glances at himself in the mirror, takes off his tie, his coat, his trousers, revealing another pair underneath. Then he sits down before the mirror. There is a knock at the door.
JACK
Come in.
[MARY enters. She is in pink costume. As she opens the door, music off-stage is heard. As the door closes the music is muted.]
MARY
Hello.
JACK
Hello.
MARY
Well?
JACK
Well, what?
MARY
Haven’t you anything to say about my costume?
JACK
Oh ... it’s nice ... very nice....
MARY
What enthusiasm!
[The dialogue that follows goes on while JACK is preparing his make-up. He moves about occasionally, going from his dressing table to the wash-basin, to the clothes closet. This movement and this general business of his hands give an air of casualness to the rendition of lines which are anything but casual in their meaning to JACK and to MARY.]
JACK
Gee, Mary, I’ve got other things besides costumes on my mind.
MARY
What is worrying you? That man who was here just now? [JACK nods.] What’s the matter with him?
JACK
Nothing the matter with him. He brought me some news about my father and mother.
MARY
Oh, it isn’t fair! It isn’t fair for him to disturb you when you are all keyed up before your opening tonight.... Oh, Jack—I just want to keep you away from everything—from everybody—until tonight is over.
JACK
You’ve got the right hunch all right. Mary, Yudelson told me things that are making me hate myself.
MARY
Tell me about it. Maybe I can help.
JACK
No, if I told you about it, you’d hate me, too.
MARY
I don’t think anything could make me hate you, Jack.... [There is a pause. She leans back, pretends to be absorbed in the ruffles on her costume.] Did you mean it ... when you said you loved me?
JACK
Sure, didn’t you know that? I’m crazy about you....
MARY
No, I didn’t know it.... Jack, since you told me about your father I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t get you out of my mind. A son of a Cantor....
JACK
Maybe it’s better that you should get me out of your mind. Maybe it would be better if I got you out of my mind.... Since Yudelson was here, I got a different slant on everything.... Yudelson and me, Dillings and you.... We’re far apart. We’re worlds apart. [He is now standing by the wash-basin filing a small bowl of water, and he moves slowly back to the dressing table carefully balancing the water.]
MARY
You don’t have to worry about Randolph. I’m not like him.
JACK
Well, you’re certainly not like me.... I know what you’re figuring. I’m a rough diamond—you’ll get me and polish me. Well, it’ll never happen. I’m going to be what I am all my life. And you’re going to be what you are.
MARY
[Slowly]. Then why did you say you loved me?
JACK
[Pause]. Do you really want to know? [MARY nods her head breathlessly.] Because I couldn’t help it. Love means marriage to me, and marriage means a home and kids.... I—I’d like to have a kid like you ... a little boy—but like you.... Gee, I’m crazy about you!
MARY
[Quaintly]. Say it again!
JACK
I ain’t going to say it no more ... because I’ve got no right to say it.... Yudelson came and told me—
MARY
You’ve simply got to forget.... Let’s just talk about you and me.
JACK
I can’t forget what Yudelson said. He said my father is sick. Tonight is the eve of the Day of Atonement—the most solemn Jewish holy day of the year, the big day of every Cantor’s year. You know what a Cantor is? He’s the mouthpiece of the congregation. He sings to God. My mother sent Yudelson to ask me to sing in my father’s place. You don’t know what it means to them. For five generations the Rabinowitzes have been Cantors. The name Rabinowitz is like a trade mark on Orchard Street. No substitutes will do....
MARY
What did you tell Mr. Yudelson?
JACK
What could I tell him?... The most important part of the services will be starting just about the time I have to go on the stage tonight.... I told him no, that I wouldn’t miss this opening, not even for my father and mother.
MARY
[Gravely]. I am glad you said that, Jack.
JACK
Glad?
MARY
Yes, my dear. You’ve got to think only of your work.
JACK
I’ve tried so hard to do that, but ... Mary, here’s something I never told anybody in my life.... Sometimes when I’m alone—and I’m alone a lot more than you think—the old songs from the synagogue start wailing in my ears ... and I—I cry.... In that hall bedroom in Chicago, I used to get down on my knees in the dark and talk to God in Hebrew. I—bawled him out ... because he made me only half a Cantor—half a Cantor, and half a bum. [He begins to black up.] If I was all bum, I wouldn’t care. What does a bum care? But if I was all Cantor, I would be happy.
MARY
Would you?
JACK
I think I would.
MARY
Then why didn’t you go with Yudelson?
JACK
[As he blacks up]. Why? You know why—people like you—like Lee. I’ve got Broadway in my blood. There’s something sweet about the sound of the English language in my ears.... I want to be part of America. I want to take it in my arms.... Gee, I wish I could express myself!...
MARY
[Understandingly]. My dear, I think I realize what you’re going through.
JACK
No you don’t.... [Intently.] Mary, my father is sick because of me.
MARY
[Quickly]. Nonsense.
JACK
He said a month ago he never wanted to see me again. I can see him now, eating his heart out ever since.
MARY
[Gently]. What can you do about it? Go down on the East Side and be a Cantor the rest of your life?
JACK
No. [Pause.]
MARY
Don’t you care about your career on the stage?
JACK
[Passionately]. It’s the only thing in the world for me.
MARY
The only thing?
JACK
Yes, the only thing.
MARY
[Slowly]. More than me, Jack?
JACK
MARY
[Swiftly, with feeling]. That’s what I’ve been waiting to find out. [Music begins again off-stage.] Oh, don’t you see, Jack—I don’t want you selfishly. I want to see you live your own life. If the thing you want most is to be a black-face minstrel, then don’t let anything stand in your way—not your parents—me—anything....
JACK
[He is finishing blacking up]. I guess you’ve got the right idea, Mary. You’re O. K. [There is a knock on the door.] Come in.
GENE
[Enters]. Time you’re ready for your first number, Mr. Robin.
JACK
I’m almost ready now, Gene.
GENE
All right, Mr. Robin. [He goes.]
JACK
Hear that music? That’s that new fox-trot. [Hums, crosses stage and washes hands.] It’s a steal from something.... Mary, you know, if people only knew what it was to black up like this, I bet everybody would do it. What’s the name of that bird that puts his head in the ground and thinks he’s all covered up?
Ostrich?
JACK
Well, I feel like him with this black on. It covers your face and hides everything.... You know, Mary, this would be a good job if I didn’t have to buy so much soap. [Crosses to make-up shelf. Another knock on the door.] Come in.
JIMMY
[Enters, leaving door wide open. Music swells until door closes]. That man, Mr. Robin, the one who was here a while ago—he’s back. He insists on seeing you at once.
JACK
[Visibly affected]. It’s Yudelson.... Tell him he’ll have to wait until after this number.
JIMMY
There’s somebody with him—a lady.
JACK
A lady?
MARY
I’ll go, Jack. [She starts. JACK stops her.]
JACK
No, Mary. Stay here. [JACK moves swiftly in front of her. He has almost got to the door when YUDELSON enters, followed by SARA. She has evidently come in great haste, for all she wears is a shawl over her house dress. She is almost exhausted from the trip, and numb with the emotions with which she is stricken.] Mama!
SARA
Jakie, this ain’t you....
YUDELSON
It’s a nigger!
JACK
[In sudden agony]. Yudelson, didn’t you tell my mama?
YUDELSON
I told her everything, the same way you told me, Jakie, but she made me I should bring her here.
SARA
[In a monotone]. Jakie, your papa is sick. He is laying in bed. His face is white....
JACK
Mama, sit down, please.
[All this happens very quickly. And now JACK, for an instant, has forgotten everything except his mother’s presence. He places a chair for her and automatically sinks back in his chair, arms on knees, facing her.]
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.
JACK
[Bends over her hands]. I know, Mama. I know.
GENE
[Enters.] Your specialty’ll be on in a minute, Mr. Robin.
JACK
All right, Gene.... Mama, I haven’t time to tell you—I’ve got to go on! Yudelson ... Mary ... tell my mother....
MARY
I’ll go out and see if I can’t hold them for a moment. [She hastens out.]
SARA
[As if in a trance]. Your papa said, “Ask Jakie he should forgive me. He is doing things from sin, but he don’t mean it. In his heart he is a Rabinowitz”.... Jakie, the way I’m sitting here, before God I swear it—that is what he said.
JACK
[His voice almost breaking]. I believe you, mama! I believe you!
GENE
[Enters again]. We’re waiting for you, Mr. Robin. We can’t hold it any longer.
JACK
[Frantic]. Yes, yes, I’m coming!... Mama, if you only knew how the manager is depending on me.... [Off-stage can be heard the introductory chords to a jazz song.] They’re going to make me a star, Mama....
GENE
[With irritated finality]. There’s your introduction, Mr. Robin! [He goes.]
JACK
Yes, yes! [He is now in full comedy costume and is kneeling before his mother.] Mama, there’s my introduction—wait here fifteen minutes—I haven’t got time to tell you.... Yudelson! Please talk to my mama.
GENE
[Enters again]. Mr. Robin, they’ll blame me for this!
JACK
Yes, yes, I’m coming. Mama—Yudelson—wait! Please!
[He goes. The door is open. We see the changing lights through the door. YUDELSON gently forces SARA into a chair by the door as we hear JACK off-stage shouting the comedy lines of the beginning of the act.... “I’m going down South to the land of cotton and jasmine, where the watermelons grow, where I can be with my Mammy. If you’ll all sit down I’ll sing you a song all about it”....
Then the orchestra throbs into wailing, syncopating life, and JACK is heard, off-stage singing a verse and chorus of “Dixie Mammy.” His rendition is excellent jazz—that is, it has an evangelical fervor, a fanatical frenzy; it wallows in plaintiveness and has moments of staggering dramatic intensity, despite the obvious shoddiness of the words and the music. We are listening to a Cantor in blackface, to a ritual supplication on the stage, to religion cheapened and intensified by the trappings of Broadway. He finishes his first chorus.]
YUDELSON
[Crosses to the door, listens]. That’s Jakie.
[JACK is going into a complicated staccato “talking” dramatization of the last half of the chorus—something like this:
“I—want—you—to—understand....
That—it’s—my—mammy....
My—mammy—I—tell—you....
And—my—daddy....
You—bet....
Your—life....
It’s—my—mammy—and—daddy, I—tell—you....
I’m—going—back—
I’m—going—back—down—South—
Down—South,—I—tell—you....”
[SARA rises, a broken creature, her frail body barely able to carry her out. She moves out of the door, YUDELSON following her, trying to detain her.]
SARA
That ain’t my Jakie! That ain’t my boy!... I’m going home!
[The stage is empty. We see the grotesque, elongated shadows of SARA and YUDELSON against the multi-colored lights back-stage as they pass, evidently out of the theatre. We are hearing JACK’s last line of the song—
“I’ve had my fling,
And it don’t mean a thing—”
His voice breaks. He repeats in intensely personal agony, “It don’t mean a thing ... it don’t mean a thing—my God!—it don’t mean a....”
There is a sudden awkward silence—a silence of a fraction of a second; and then we hear, offstage, a surge of congratulations. We hear Carter’s voice, the voices of women, GENE’s voice. The next instant JACK is in the door-way. He sees that the dressing room is empty. He turns, helplessly looking about. He knows it is no use—that his mother has gone. He stands for a second brushing the eyes of his blacked up face with his white glove.
And then CARTER, GENE, half a dozen chorus girls, and FORBES break in upon him. They are enthusiastic, excited, congratulatory. Their remarks tumble one on top of the other in a confusion of sound:
“I take off my hat to you, JACK!”
“You certainly can put over a song!”
“Oh, Mr. Robin, it was wonderful!”
“It was grand, Mr. Robin—just grand!”
“You won’t need a press agent after tonight, old fellow!”
“It was just gorgeous—simply gorgeous!”
LEE plunges in and scatters them all, crying—“Get out for the next number!” ... and LEE and JACK are alone. JACK is standing, his back to LEE, his head bent.]
LEE
Jack, that was wonderful! Why, you actually cried! Say, do it that way tonight and you’ll be a knock-out. [LEE bolts out, calling as he goes.] All right, Gene! Ready for the next number!
[JACK is alone on the stage. He sinks into a chair as the curtain falls.]