Juba! Read Online Free PDF Page B

dollar or two, but that wasn’t enough to get excited about.
    The real money was in the theater. Any kind of theater where people came and paid their money to see you dance. Sometimes a show would last for months, even years. I had never seen a show with a black dancer in it. There were minstrel shows, where white men put on black face paint and pretended they were colored, but it wasn’t the same. They were being paid to clown around and tell jokes, not to dance.
    I didn’t know much about Mr. Reeves except what I had heard. People said he recognized talent when he saw it but didn’t want to pay very much for his acts. That was all right with me. All I needed was someplace where people could see me dancing, and I would let my feet do the rest. When Mr. Reeves’s little theater got closed up, he tried renting out other theaters, but he never got anything going that lasted more than a few performances. Once he worked putting on sideshows with Mr. Barnum, but they had a falling-out.
    I decided to make the best showing at the audition, so I met up with Fred and asked him to come practice with me.
    â€œYou can fiddle while I dance,” I said.
    â€œJuba, I don’t know how many black dancers they’re looking for,” Fred said. “But you’re a dancer and I’m a dancer, so that’s two, and I don’t know who else may show up. I’m not going to sit around and fiddle for you when I should be practicing.”
    In my heart I knew that Fred Flamer couldn’t dance anywhere near my level, but I had to give him credit for thinking the thing through. Any dancer I would ask to practice with me would be nosing around to see what was going on and trying to make a place for himself. Then I thought of one dancer who might be willing to give me a hand. It wouldn’t be easy.
    â€œI do not like people knocking on my door,” Miss Margaret said. “And I especially do not want the likes of you standing here when I’m trying to get my sewing done.”
    â€œIf I didn’t need help, I wouldn’t be here,” I said. “And if you weren’t the only person in the world who could help me, I wouldn’t be here. But I do need the help, and the good Lord has done me the favor of putting you here.”
    â€œYou’d better be having another cup of tea with the Lord and getting some more names, because I don’t give money to insolent children,” Miss Margaret said. The door slammed inches from my face.
    â€œThought you could help me with my dancing!” I called through the closed barrier.
    No answer. I had started walking away when a flash of light from Miss Margaret’s apartment hit the floor in the hallway. Iturned and saw her silhouetted in the doorway. “So?”
    I explained to Miss Margaret how Mr. Reeves was trying to open up his theater again and was having auditions for both black and white dancers and singers. “If anyone is looking for the best dancer in New York City, they don’t have to look any further than me,” I went on. “But I just want to be good and ready for this audition, because I got a feeling it’s going to work out just fine. Once he sees me dancing, once he sees my style, he’s got to hire me.”
    â€œDo you get kinks in your neck from patting yourself on the back?” Miss Margaret asked me. “Because I’ve seen you dancing in the hallway and I’m not writing to the Pope about how wonderful you are. And if you’re as good as you think you are and half as good as you say you are, then why do you need me?”
    â€œBecause I know that practice makes perfect,” I said.
    â€œAnd what’s my piece of this pie?” Miss Margaret asked.
    â€œYou watch my dancing, and tell me if you see anything off, and I’ll . . . give you my first week’s pay when I’m working for Mr. Reeves,” I said.
    â€œWhich is like telling me that I’ll