STEVENS
You have got to sin, too?
NANCY
You ain’t got to. You can’t help it. And He knows that. But you can suffer. And He knows that too. He don’t tell you not to sin, he just asks you not to. And He don’t tell you to suffer. But He gives you the chance. He gives you the best He can think of, that you are capable of doing. And He will save you.
STEVENS
You too? A murderess? In heaven?
NANCY
I can work.
STEVENS
The harp, the raiment, the singing, may not be for Nancy Mannigoe — not now. But there’s still the work to be done — the washing and sweeping, maybe even the children to be tended and fed and kept from hurt and harm and out from under the grown folks’ feet?
(he pauses a moment. Nancy says nothing, immobile, looking at no one)
Maybe even that baby?
(Nancy doesn’t move, stir, not looking at anything apparently, her face still, bemused, expressionless)
That one too, Nancy? Because you loved that baby, even at the very moment when you raised your hand against it, knew that there was nothing left but to raise your hand?
(Nancy doesn’t answer nor stir)
A heaven where that little child will remember nothing of your hands but gentleness because now this earth will have been nothing but a dream that didn’t matter? Is that it?
TEMPLE
Or maybe not that baby, not mine, because, since I destroyed mine myself when I slipped out the back end of that train that day five years ago, I will need about all the forgiving and forgetting that one six-months-old baby is capable of. But the other one: yours: that you told me about, that you were carrying six months gone, and you went to the picnic or dance or frolic or fight or whatever it was, and the man kicked you in the stomach and you lost it? That one too?
STEVENS
(to Nancy)
What? Its father kicked you in the stomach while you were pregnant?
NANCY
I don’t know.
STEVENS
You don’t know who kicked you?
NANCY
I know that. I thought you meant its pa.
STEVENS
You mean, the man, who kicked you wasn’t even its father?
NANCY
I don’t know. Any of them might have been.
STEVENS
Any of them? You don’t have any idea who its father was?
NANCY
(looks at Stevens impatiently)
If you backed your behind into a buzz-saw, could you tell which tooth hit you first?
(to Temple)
What about that one?
TEMPLE
Will that one be there too, that never had a father and never was even born, to forgive you? Is there a heaven for it to go to so it can forgive you? Is there a heaven, Nancy?
NANCY
I don’t know. I believes.
TEMPLE
Believe what?
NANCY
I don’t know. But I believes.
They all pause at the sound of feet approaching beyond the exit door, all are looking at the door as the key clashes again in the lock and the door swings out and the Jailor enters, drawing the door to behind him.
JAILOR
(locking the door)
Thirty minutes, Lawyer. You named it, you know: not me.
STEVENS
I’ll come back later.
JAILOR
(turns and crosses toward them)
Provided you don’t put it off too late. What I mean, if you wait until tonight to come back, you might have some company; and if you put it off until tomorrow, you won’t have no client.
(to Nancy)
I found that preacher you want. He’ll be here about sundown, he said. He sounds like he might even be another good baritone. And you can’t have too many, especially as after tonight you won’t need none, huh? No hard feelings, Nancy. You committed about as horrible a crime as this county ever seen, but you’re fixing to pay the law for it, and if the child’s own mother ——
(he falters, almost pauses, catches himself and continues briskly, moving again)
There, talking too much again. Come on, if Lawyer’s through with you. You can start taking your time at daylight tomorrow morning, because you might have a long hard trip.
He passes her and goes briskly on toward the alcove at rear. Nancy turns to follow.
TEMPLE
(quickly)
Nancy.
(Nancy doesn’t pause. Temple continues, rapidly)
What about me? Even if there is one and somebody waiting in it to forgive me, there’s still tomorrow and tomorrow. And suppose tomorrow and tomorrow, and then nobody there, nobody waiting to forgive me ——
NANCY
(moving on after the Jailor)
Believe.
TEMPLE
Believe what, Nancy? Tell me.
NANCY
Believe.
She exits into the alcove behind the Jailor. The steel door off-stage clangs, the key clashes. Then the Jailor reappears, approaches, and crosses toward the exit. He unlocks the door and opens it out again, pauses.
JAILOR
Yes, sir. A long hard way. If I was ever fool enough to commit a killing that would get my neck into a noose, the last thing I would want to see would be a preacher. I’d a heap rather believe there wasn’t nothing after death than to risk the station where I was probably going to get off.
(he waits, holding the door, looking back at them. Temple stands motionless until Stevens touches her arm slightly. Then she moves, stumbles slightly and infinitesimally, so infinitesimally and so quickly recovered that the Jailor has barely time to react to it, though he does so: with quick concern, with that quality about him almost gentle, almost articulate, turning from the door, even leaving it open as he starts quickly toward her)
Here; you set down on the bench; I’ll get you a glass of water.
(to Stevens)
Durn it, Lawyer, why did you have to bring her ——
TEMPLE
(recovered)
I’m all right.
She walks steadily toward the door. The Jailor watches her.
JAILOR
You sure?
TEMPLE
(walking steadily and rapidly toward him and the door now)
Yes. Sure.
JAILOR
(turning back toward the door)
Okay. I sure don’t blame you. Durned if I see how even a murdering nigger can stand this smell.
He passes on out the door and exits, invisible though still holding the door and waiting to lock it.
Temple, followed by Stevens, approaches the door.
JAILOR’S VOICE
(off-stage: surprised)
Howdy, Gowan, here’s your wife now.
TEMPLE
(walking)
Anyone to save it. Anyone who wants it. If there is none, I’m sunk. We all are. Doomed. Damned.
STEVENS
(walking)
Of course we are. Hasn’t He been telling us that for going on two thousand years?
GOWAN’S VOICE
(off-stage)
Temple.
TEMPLE
Coming.
They exit. The door closes in, clashes, the clash and clang of the key as the Jailor locks it again; the three pairs of footsteps sound and begin to fade in the outer corridor.
(CURTAIN)
The End
