The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored ManJohnson, James Weldon
General
The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man
Johnson, James Weldon
African American men -- Fiction; Racially mixed people -- Fiction
Even after changes in the
conversation she reverted several times to the subject of "Shiny."
Whether it was more than mere curiosity I could not tell, but I was
convinced that she herself knew very little about prejudice.
Just why it should have done so I do not know, but somehow the "Shiny"
incident gave me encouragement and confidence to cast the die of my
fate. I reasoned, however, that since I wanted to marry her only, and
since it concerned her alone, I would divulge my secret to no one
else, not even her parents.
One evening, a few days afterwards, at her home we were going over
some new songs and compositions when she asked me, as she often did,
to play the Thirteenth Nocturne. When I began, she drew a chair near
to my right and sat leaning with her elbow on the end of the piano,
her chin resting on her hand, and her eyes reflecting the emotions
which the music awoke in her. An impulse which I could not control
rushed over me, a wave of exultation, the music under my fingers
sank almost to a whisper, and calling her for the first time by her
Christian name, but without daring to look at her, I said: "I love
you, I love you, I love you." My fingers were trembling so that I
ceased playing. I felt her hand creep to mine, and when I looked at
her, her eyes were glistening with tears. I understood, and could
scarcely resist the longing to take her in my arms; but I remembered,
remembered that which has been the sacrificial altar of so much
happiness--Duty; and bending over her hand in mine, I said: "Yes, I
love you; but there is something more, too, that I must tell you."
Then I told her, in what words I do not know, the truth. I felt her
hand grow cold, and when I looked up, she was gazing at me with a
wild, fixed stare as though I was some object she had never seen.
Under the strange light in her eyes I felt that I was growing black
and thick-featured and crimp-haired. She appeared not to have
comprehended what I had said. Her lips trembled and she attempted to
say something to me, but the words stuck in her throat. Then, dropping
her head on the piano, she began to weep with great sobs that shook
her frail body. I tried to console her, and blurted out incoherent
words of love, but this seemed only to increase her distress, and when
I left her, she was still weeping.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account