Authors: Lorraine Hansberry

Les Blancs (12 page)

BOOK: Les Blancs

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(
RICE
shoots
MADAME
a look
.
MARTA
rises to assist her
)

RICE
(
To
TSHEMBE
) There is an eight-thirty curfew for all natives. (
He looks at his watch
) It is now eight-fourteen. (
To all, crisply
) Good night.

(
He exits
.
CHARLIE
stands looking after him
)

MARTA
(
Her arm about
MADAME
) Good night, Mr. Morris. Good night, Tshembe.

CHARLIE
Good night, Doctor.

MADAME
(
Pausing before
TSHEMBE
) You must come back and tell me all about your travels, Tshembe. I am so pleased that you got to see my mountains. I should have loved to have seen them again … Ah yes … (
She reaches out to touch him, but instead balls up her
fist as if to compress all the emotion that is in her and lightly touches his chest
.) Good night, child.

(
They exit
.
CHARLIE
and
TSHEMBE
regard each other across the veranda
)

CHARLIE
Well, Mr.—

TSHEMBE
(
Turning, crisply
) Matoseh.

CHARLIE
(
Hand extended
) Morris. (
They shake. It is cursory, abrupt; the pace set by the African’s disinterest
) How’s about a drink? I know where they keep the liquor and it’s pretty decent stuff. Even without ice.

TSHEMBE
(
As if stirring from a preoccupation
) Thank you, no. In fact, I will say good night also.

CHARLIE
(
Swiftly, to stop him
) I think I know everything you were feeling when that ugly scene was happening, Mr. Matoseh.

TSHEMBE
(
Halting, with restrained hostility
) Do you?

CHARLIE
Yes. I felt very sorry for
both
you men, you and Rice, then. It’s a particular kind of vantage point given to an outsider.

TSHEMBE
(
Crisply
) Yes, it was precisely the “vantage point” I had in your country.

CHARLIE
(
Getting it and smiling easily
) I’m sure. How about that drink?

TSHEMBE
I think you heard. There is a curfew here for—“natives.”

CHARLIE
I don’t think either one of us cares one hell of a lot about that curfew. (
Pointing to the veranda roof and grinning
) Besides, you are indoors technically.

TSHEMBE
Men die here on account of such technicalities.

CHARLIE
(
Simply, looking at the other
) I really would like to talk. (
TSHEMBE
says nothing but remains
) I’ll get the bottle. (
He does so. Smoothly, engagingly: a man practiced at setting others at ease
) I’ll tell you right off, Matoseh, I know you are trying to decide: which
kind
am I? One of the obtuse ones who is sure to ask you all about
rituals and lions? Or one of the top-heavy “little magazine” types who is going to engage a real live African intellectual in a discussion of “negritude” and Senghor’s poetry to show that I am—(
He winks;
TSHEMBE
smiles back the least bit, warming
)—really—“in.” Well, I am neither. I am a man who feels like talking. Sit down.

TSHEMBE
(
Sits
) American straightforwardness is
almost
as disarming as Americans invariably think it is.

(
CHARLIE
grins and lifts his glass in friendly salute;
TSHEMBE
reacts in kind and they drink
)

CHARLIE
You married?

TSHEMBE
Yes. I have, however, only
one
wife!

CHARLIE
(
Annoyed
) Look, I thought we had decided to assume that the other was something more than an ass, Matoseh.

TSHEMBE
It may be, Mr. Morris, that I have developed counterassumptions because I have had—(
Mimicking lightly but cruelly
)—too many long, lo-o-ong “talks” wherein the white intellectual begins by suggesting not only fellowship but the universal damnation of imperialism. But that, you see, is always only the beginning. Then the real game is begun. (
With mock grandiloquence
) The game of plumbing
my
depths! Of trying to dig out
my
“frustrations”! And of finding deep in my “primeval soul” what
you
think is the secret—quintessential—“root” of my nationalism: “envy and SHAME”! (
As swiftly dropping it
) But, you see, I have already had those talks. They bore me.

CHARLIE
I see that you are outraged by others’ assumptions but that
you
are full of them! Let’s get a simple thing understood: I am not a hundred other people. Are you? (
They glare at one another; by his silence and barely perceptible smile
TSHEMBE
concedes
) Cigarette?

TSHEMBE
Thank you.

CHARLIE
What parts of the States were you in?

TSHEMBE
Most of your urban capitals: Boston, Los Angeles, Chicago … New York, of course.

CHARLIE
Man, you really got around. I hope the shortness of your visit didn’t distort your view? That happens, you know.

TSHEMBE
(
Dryly
) I believe I understood what I saw in America.

CHARLIE
(
Laughing
) Well now, it’s the damnedest thing—everybody seems to come with preconceptions. You know, America is a lot more than supermarkets, instant coffee and the fast buck.

TSHEMBE
I don’t believe that America is misunderstood because of its instant coffee, Mr. Morris. But then I don’t believe it is very often misunderstood.

CHARLIE
(
Turning his cigarette about
) Did you get down to our … tobacco country at all?

TSHEMBE
Yes, I was in
the South!
(
With deliberate impatience
) And yes, I did find your American
apartheid
absolutely enraging!

CHARLIE
(
Openly frustrated
) You really can’t come off it, can you! Why the hell should it be so hard for us to talk, man?! Christ, all I want to do is talk!

TSHEMBE
(
Whirling on him, words flying
) And just why should we be able to “talk” so easily? What is this marvelous nonsense with you Americans? For a handshake, a grin, a cigarette and half a glass of whiskey you want three hundred years to disappear—and in five minutes! Do you really think the rape of a continent dissolves in cigarette smoke? (
He drops and crushes his cigarette underfoot
) This is Africa, Mr. Morris, and I am an African, not one of your simpering American Negroes sitting around discussing admission to country clubs!

(
He hands his glass to
CHARLIE
and turns to go
.
CHARLIE
slams it down
)

CHARLIE
You know even less about American Negroes than you think you know about me!

TSHEMBE
Perhaps my obsessions have made me myopic! In this light, for instance, I really cannot tell you from Major Rice! (
Peering close into the other’s face, he grins
) You all really do look alike,
you know … (
He starts out
) There, I have given you a first sentence for your notebooks!

CHARLIE
(
Rather shouting
) What—will happen if we cannot … talk to one another, Matoseh? (
TSHEMBE
halts and their eyes meet
.
CHARLIE
grins disarmingly
) You know, I really cannot shoulder my father’s sins … I have quite enough of my own to contend with. (
TSHEMBE
comes back and sits. A beat
) Did you know Kumalo?

TSHEMBE
Know him? I worked as his second-in-command for a year … until they kicked me off the committee. I know him well.

CHARLIE
Oh? Why were you kicked off?

TSHEMBE
(
Leaning back, blowing smoke rings
) They said that I lacked—ah—“passion” … for “freedom”! And other things. (
With amused pride
) There were several
large
reports drafted about me. (
Then, turning his eyes on the other
) I am so sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Morris.

CHARLIE
(
The American
) Oh, come on now, to hell with all this “Mister” stuff. You call me Charlie and I’ll call you Tshembe.

TSHEMBE
No.

CHARLIE
What?

TSHEMBE
I said “No.” I prefer to be addressed formally. And if we decide to change it you won’t decide by yourself. (
Smiling
) We will have to hold a referendum which includes me!

CHARLIE
Now, isn’t that silly!

TSHEMBE
(
Knowing it is
) Of course.

CHARLIE
But is has something to do with a principle?

TSHEMBE
I’ll think of one.

CHARLIE
(
Mystified, but accepting it
) About Kumalo—

TSHEMBE
(
Sighs, looking off
) Kumalo … is a scholar, a patriot, a dreamer and a crazy old man. If you ask him the time of day he
looks at you without seeing you and says with passion glistening at the corners of his lips (
Cruelly, mockingly
)
“Independence!”
If you ask him the weather he says,
“Free-dom, now!”
If you ask him has he a woman, he says (
Raising his hand in the salute
) “AHFREEKA!” They are all like that, the sincere ones. And the others, those for whom it is all a pose—drive themselves just as hard to ensure a position when the day comes!

CHARLIE
(
Intently
) Then it really doesn’t matter, does it, once you get under the skin? White rule, black rule—they’re not so very different?

TSHEMBE
I don’t know, Mr. Morris. We haven’t had much chance to find out.

CHARLIE
Oh, come on, Matoseh. You’ll get your chance. We both know that. The question is will you do any better than the rest of us with it? (
Crossing up he refills his drink
) Look, let me tell you something. (
Confidentially
) Have you ever been to—Twin Forks Junction?

TSHEMBE
(
Dryly
) Somehow, Mr. Morris, I missed it.

CHARLIE
(
Tongue-in-cheek
) Twin Forks Junction,
Nebraska
.

TSHEMBE
(
Amused
) Oh.
That
Twin Forks Junction!

CHARLIE
(
Playing it big
) Twin Forks Junction, Nebraska, is the fifth-largest town in Boone County—except at harvest time when the influx of farm laborers swells the population to … twenty! It has the largest silo east of Albion. An all-year movie house. A jim-dandy Federal Agricultural Station. And there’s something else about Twin Forks Junction—

TSHEMBE
I can’t wait, Mr. Morris!

CHARLIE
When I was a boy the two darkest faces within sixty miles were … a “black Irishman” and a sunburned Greek! And one day (
He sits on the edge of the veranda, looking off
) a contingent of colored troops came through—and you know what? Some of us played hookey so we could go down and see—don’t laugh, Matoseh—what a black man looked like. I’ll never forget it. They
marched along in perfect formation, their eyes looking straight ahead, and it was the damnedest thing: I could feel their eyes on me, even though it was
I
who was watching
them
. And then they were gone and it was too late … and I kept wanting to call them back, to reach out and say, “Hey! … Lookit me! I never knew you were. Did you know
I
was …?”

(
He sits silently: for a moment he is in that other time
)

TSHEMBE
Yes?

CHARLIE
(
Turning to him as if the point should be self-evident
) Well, don’t you see—? (
But
TSHEMBE
merely waits, blankly
) Matoseh, we cannot spend our lives like this! Sometime, the contingents have got to stop—and look at each other. Tshembe, if we can’t find ways to build bridges—to transcend governments, race, the rest of it—starting from whatever examples we have—then we’ve had it. (
Smiling thoughtfully
) Which, in fact, is why I came here.

TSHEMBE
To this Mission …?

CHARLIE
To this Mission. Do you know where I am really supposed to be right now? Geneva—the Summit Conference on Disarmament. Fifty new ways to talk peace—and plan war! The world likes its cynicism in heavy doses these days and my editors wanted my own inimitable version. But, you see, I took a different airplane. I walked into that airport and realized that I had had it, that my insides were up for grabs—that from here on in, well, no matter what, I had to find the
other
part.
This
part. Nobody believes it even exists anymore. And you know something? Until I came chugging down that river, I didn’t know that I had stopped believing it either. That they would actually be here—the Reverend, Dr. Gotterling, DeKoven, Mme. Neilsen—doing—being—what most of us think is impossible. (
A beat. Shrugs
) “Confession of the Week.” (
He gets up and crosses to the liquor cabinet. They are silent for a moment
)

TSHEMBE
(
Sincerely
) Mr. Morris, I am touched, truly. But tell me, when you passed through Zatembe, did you just happen to see the hills there and the scars in them? (
CHARLIE
stares at him uncomprehendingly
) The great gashes from whence came the silver, gold,
diamonds, cobalt, tungsten? (Charlie
nods
) Then answer me this: are there scars in the hills of Twin Forks Junction—cut by strangers? Well, that, you see, is the difference: we
know
you are, and we have known it for a very long time! I like your glistening eyes, dear man, and your dream of bridges, but the fact is those great gashes have everything to do with this Mission—and the “other part” virtually nothing!

CHARLIE
(
Incredulous
) Matoseh, I don’t believe it—that you can sit here, under this very roof where you learned to read and write—and deny the dedication of those who came here—

TSHEMBE
(
Utter dismissal
) I do not deny it. It is simply that the conscience, such as it is, of imperialism is … irrelevant.

CHARLIE
(
Clutching his head in despair
) Oh, for Christ’s sake, man! “Imperialism!” Can’t we, even for five minutes, throw away yesterday’s catchwords?! The sacrifice that these people—

TSHEMBE
(
Jumping up, afire
) “Sacrifice!” There, you see, it is impossible! You come thousands of miles to inform us about “yesterday’s catchwords”? Well, it is still yesterday in Africa, Mr. Morris, and it will take a million tomorrows to rectify what has been done here—

CHARLIE
(
Intently
)
You hate all white men
, don’t you, Matoseh?

TSHEMBE
(
A burst of laughter. Casting his eyes up
) Oh, dear God,
why?
(
He crosses down and away
) Why do you all
need
it so?! This absolute
lo-o-onging
for my hatred! (
A sad smile plays across his lips
) I shall be honest with you, Mr. Morris. I do not “hate” all white men—but I desperately wish that I did. It would make everything infinitely easier! But I am afraid that, among other things, I have
seen
the slums of Liverpool and Dublin and the caves above Naples. I
have seen
Dachau and Anne Frank’s attic in Amsterdam. I have seen too many raw-knuckled Frenchmen coming out of the Metro at dawn and too many hungry Italian children to believe that those who raided Africa for three centuries ever “loved” the white race either. I would like to be simple-minded for you, but—(
Turning these eyes that have “seen” up to the other with a smile
)—I cannot. I have—(
He touches his brow
)
—seen
.

CHARLIE
(
An inspired stab
) And you are something of—a Communist?

TSHEMBE
(
Roars with laughter
) You demand respect, and then return with your own simple-minded—

CHARLIE
Don’t patronize me, answer me! You have studied Marx, Lenin—

TSHEMBE
I am
of
my century, Mr. Morris!

CHARLIE
(
Hot on the scent
) How do you feel about Russia?

TSHEMBE
(
With a sigh
) I’ve not been there.

CHARLIE
Don’t evade, Matoseh. If you’re above the panaceas, answer me. Would you be with them?

TSHEMBE
Sometimes.

CHARLIE
Aren’t you afraid of them—they’re
white
men?

TSHEMBE
(
Gesture of futility, staring at him
) You do not listen at all. You really do not want to hear beyond a point at all. (
Sighing
) In any case, I did not say that I was
not
afraid of them or that I
would
be with them. To know more than that—(
Slyly, a wide slow grin
)—you shall have to do what the rest of the world will have to do:
Wait and see
. (
Suddenly, wearily, closes his eyes
) Mr. Morris, mostly I am tired. I came home for sentimental reasons. I should not have come. (
Smiling with his own thoughts
) My wife is European, Mr. Morris … a marvelous girl. We have a son now. I’ve named him Abioseh after my father and John after hers. And all this time I have, mainly, been thinking of them. In the future when you tell some tale or other of me, will you take the trouble to recall that as I stood here, spent and aware of what will probably happen to me, most of all I longed to be in a dim little flat off Langley Square, watching the telly with my family …