die happy if I didn't. Couldn't get over you—couldn't forget. Forget me, Emma?
Emma. Naw, John. How could I?
John (leans over impulsively to catch her hand). Oh, Emma, I love you so much. Strike a light honey so I can see you—see if you changed much. You was such a handsome girl!
Emma. We don't exactly need no light, do we, John, tuh jus' set an' talk?
John. Yes, we do, Honey. Ah wanna see you. Gwan, make a light.
(There is a silence.)
Emma. Bet you' wife wuz some high-yaller dickty-doo.
John. Naw she wasn't neither. She was jus' as much like you as Ah could get her. Make a light an' Ah'll show you her pictcher. Shucks, ah gotta look at mah old sweetheart. (He strikes a match and holds it up between their faces and they look intently at each other over it until it burns out.) You aint changed none atall, Emma, jus' as pretty as a speckled pup yet.
Emma (lighter). Go long, John! (Short pause) 'member how you useter bring me magnolias?
John. Do I? Gee, you was sweet! 'Member how Ah useter pull mah necktie loose so you could tie it back for me? Emma, Ah can't see to mah soul how we lived all this time, way from one another. 'Member how you useter make out mah ears had done run down and you useter screw 'em up agin for me? (They laugh.)
Emma. Yeah, Ah useter think you wuz gointer be mah husban' then—but you let dat ole—.
John. Ah aint gonna let you alibi on me lak dat. Light dat lamp! You cain't lock me in de eye and say no such. (He strikes another match and lights the lamp.) Course, Ah don't wanta look too bossy, but Ah b'lieve you got to marry me tuh git rid of me. That is, if you aint married.
Emma. Naw, Ah aint. (She turns the lamp down.)
John (looking about the room). Not so good, Emma. But wait till you see dat little place in Philly! Got a little "Rolls-Rough," too—gointer teach you to drive it, too.
Emma. Ah been havin' a hard time, John, an' Ah lost you—oh, aint nothin' been right for me! Ah aint never been happy.
(John takes both of her hands in his.)
John. You gointer be happy now, Emma. Cause Ah'm gointer make you. Gee Whiz! Ah aint but forty-two and you aint forty yet—we got plenty time. (There is a groan from the bed.) Gee, what's that?
Emma (ill at ease). Thass mah chile. She's sick. Reckon Ah bettah see 'bout her.
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.
Emma. Soon, John?
John. Real soon.
Emma. Ah wuz jus' thinkin', mah folks is away now on a little trip—be home day after tomorrow —we could git married tomorrow.
John. Al right. Now run on after the doctor —we must look after our girl. Gee, she's got a full suit of hair! Glad you didn't let her chop it off. (Looks away from bed and sees Emma standing still.)
John. Emma, run on after the doctor, honey. (She goes to the bed and again tucks the long braids of hair in, which are again pouring over the side of
