Riot Read Online Free PDF Page A

ask me, she looks more German than Irish.
    LIAM, MAEVE, and ROSIE exit .
JOHN
Never mind that crowd. They don’t even know what they’re doing. I’m headed uptown. Lock the doors after me and stay off the streets.
    JOHN exits .
ELLEN
Are you all right, Claire?
CLAIRE
I hate people who don’t even know what they’re doing.
ELLEN
Hate ’s a strong word for people you don’t know, Claire.
CLAIRE
That girl hates me because I’m black; I can hate her because she’s white.
ELLEN
Maybe she hates you because Liam has a sparkle in his voice when he talks about you. Now that would be a good reason not to like you. Wouldn’t it?
    She crosses to CLAIRE and puts both arms around her.
    CLAIRE starts to answer but instead begins to cry softly.
CLAIRE
Liam was just my friend a few days ago. We could laugh together, and I would kid him when he came to make deliveries. Now everything is upside down.
ELLEN
When things get back to normal around here we’ll—
CLAIRE
They’ll never be normal again.
    Sobbing, she puts her head down as her whole body shakes.
ELLEN
When things come around—
    The door to the Peacock opens.
ELLEN
    (cont’d)
We’re closed! We’re closed!
    A thin white man, the poet WALT WHITMAN (44), enters, accompanied by FARLEY (11), a black boy, small for his age, whom he has hired to help him on his visit to New York. WHITMAN has been working as a nurse during the Civil War, but is far better known as a journalist and the poet who published Leaves of Grass . He looks much older than his age. He has a slight hesitant manner; he walks unevenly and leans on furniture as he passes.
ELLEN
    (to WHITMAN)
I told you we were closed!
WHITMAN
    (seeing CLAIRE)
Can I help? I have some experience as a nurse.
ELLEN
No. And we’re closed.
WHITMAN
There’s a covey of angry young men flapping and strutting their way down the street. I need to keep Farley here safe until they pass, and then we’ll be on our way.
    ELLEN looks at them cautiously and then goes and locks the door to the Peacock.
ELLEN
As soon as they pass…
WHITMAN
What happened?
ELLEN
A young man who worked for us has joined the rioters. He brought some friends by and they’ve upset my daughter.
CLAIRE
They don’t like me because I’m black.
    WHITMAN and FARLEY both turn and look at CLAIRE, who lifts her chin proudly for a second but then turns away.
WHITMAN
Well, I’ve seen them—swaggering through the streets with crowd courage and searching for themselves in the storm they create with their shouts.
    He settles at a table.
ELLEN
They’re rioting in the streets. And stealing what they can in the bargain.
CLAIRE
Last night they burned down the Colored Orphanage.
WHITMAN
Yes, well, yes. I guess America has finally shaken off the stupor of its promise and its beauty and is asking itself questions it should have answered seventy-five years ago.
ELLEN
Is it charms you’re selling? Bibles? We don’t need charms and we have a Bible.
WHITMAN
I saw them lying on the battlefields and in the hospitals in Washington. Sometimes I would see them holding up little bits of mirrors and staring at the strangers looking out at them. In their hearts they’re asking what America means. They’re groping their wounds and their trauma and searching for meaning to their lives before those lives drip out onto the rich Southern soil or in some obscure cow pasture.
CLAIRE
And who do you pretend to be?
WHITMAN
Pretend? Har! A good question. I am Walt Whitman, newspaper reporter, sometimes nurse, sometimes great poet, sometimes an even greater drunk. And this is my man Farley, who keeps my room clean up at the Hotel Albert when I am out of town. Farley is eleven years old and passes as a fair philosopher. Am I right, Farley?
FARLEY
Yes, sir.
ELLEN
Well, if there’s a thought in that crowd out there it’s running between their legs, not dancing in their heads. That’s for sure. They’re chasing black people in the streets. They hanged a man on Baxter Street.
WHITMAN
Could I trouble