by Claude McKay
Lij Alamaya resided in a downtown hotel. But he was a special guest in Harlem, where his headquarters was established in the residence of Pablo Peixota, chairman of the Hands to Ethiopia, in 138th Street. He was treated as a royal guest. The entire first floor of the Peixota residence was placed at the envoy’s disposal and served the purpose of reception room and office. The arms of Ethiopia, with the symbol of the lion carrying a cross, was affixed to the street door of the house, a green canopy extended from the entrance to the curb and under its full length was unrolled a red carpet. Peixota insisted upon according his guest all the respect and dignity of an imperial envoy. He wanted the envoy’s visit and contemplated tour to pass off without drawing the ridicule of the powerful white world. And for that reason he had at first regretted the irruption of Professor Koazhy and his fantastic exhibition, even though his resentment was softened by the extra avalanche of dollars.
Lij Alamaya had arrived prepared for simplicity and the democratic way of doing things. He had experienced enough of the routine of ceremony abroad, and here in America, he felt, there was a chance of escape; he would be taking a holiday away from it. And he had thought that of all Americans, the Aframericans would be less interested in the formalities of titles and courts. Evidently he was not conversant with the pomp and splendor of titles and uniforms that glittered in Harlem in the heyday of the Pan-African movement.1
That same evening Chairman Peixota had invited some of his colleagues to dinner in order that they should become more closely acquainted with Lij Alamaya and plan immediate work for the organization. Peixota possessed the executive ability of a steam drill. And he was planning a campaign to raise funds for the organization. Alamaya’s schedule was planned for him to meet a number of important persons in the vestry of the church. But the prolongation of the ceremony had caused Peixota to cancel this arrangement in order that he should rest before dinner.
The dinner was served in the large basement dining room. Those present were the Rev. Zebulon Trawl and Mrs. Trawl; the Hands to Ethiopia secretary, schoolteacher Newton Castle; Elks Official and Chief Scout William Headley; Second Scout Professor Dorsey Flagg of one of the Aframerican universities; Dr. Phineas Bell of Harlem Hospital and Mrs. Bell; Libby Brace, a nurse of Lincoln Hospital; and Mrs. Leah Arzell of the Colored Women’s Clubs, tentative head of the Women’s Division of the Hands to Ethiopia.2 In addition there were the members of the household, the hostess, Kezia Peixota, and her daughter, Seraphine.
Kezia Peixota was an efficient housekeeper. Not nearly as enthusiastic as her doughty husband over the defense of Ethiopia and the issues involved, she was nevertheless his reliable helper where the household was concerned. She was a haughty-looking woman and very conscious of the fact that she was the wife of one of the wealthiest men in Harlem.
The guests were assembled in Lij Alamaya’s reception room, where they had drinks: whiskey and soda and imported sherry. The amazing mass meeting was naturally the chief thing talked about. “I think that that Professor Koazhy is a bad actor and something should be done about him,” said Mrs. Leah Arzell.
“I would say he is an excellent actor,” said Peixota. “His stunt brought us a lot of money. At first I was disgusted when he popped in like a man from Mars bringing all that bedlam with him. But he dominated that mighty crowd and that’s a big achievement.”
Leaning against the grand piano and tossing down a double drink of straight whiskey, Professor Dorsey Flagg said: “The trouble with a man like that is that he wants to be a modern scholar as well as an African medicine-man and he gets all tangled up in a crazy jumble of information. I can’t see where he is helping our people with such antics. He’s just a burlesque of an unconvincing pedant.”
Lij Alamaya said quietly that he thought Professor Koazhy was amazingly convincing.
“You don’t mean that, do you?” Mrs. Castle injected her affectedly husky voice. “Today’s demonstration was a big build-up for you and Koazhy spoiled the effect of it with his jungle burlesque. He looked so much like one of those hideous African masks in which some white people profess to see a new art.”
“If you care to have my opinion,” said William Headley, “I think Professor Koazhy’s part was anything but a burlesque. And he couldn’t take away any worthwhile thing from the stature of Prince Alamaya, even if some of the crowd thought he was the Prince. I think he was a mighty big help to your meeting. Gee! I wish I could get him to join the Elks.”
“I think you are right and I agree with you entirely,” said Alamaya. “I prefer Professor Koazhy’s performance with his sword and uniform to that of Mussolini and Hitler in Africa.”
“I object to all uniforms,” said Newton Castle.
“All the world loves uniforms and won’t do without them,” said Alamaya. “Perhaps the best uniform for this age is the obsolete theatrical kind that was chosen by Professor Koazhy—”
“Oh, I thought that was the same kind of uniform the Ethiopian warriors are wearing today,” Seraphine said brightly.
“Oh no, that’s the ceremonial uniform of the old tribal kings,” said Alamaya. “It isn’t worn now. The Emperor has been working for years to modernize the army and the country.”
“And has he been successful, Prince?” said Headley.
“I wish you would not call me a prince—”
“But you are one, aren’t you?” said Seraphine.
“I am not a member of the Imperial Family.”
“But you are a Lij,” said Peixota, “and I was informed that the Ethiopian Lij is the equivalent of the European prince.”3
“I am a Lij and if a title is necessary, I prefer the African to the European.”
“It shall be as you desire,” said Peixota.
“I was wondering whether Professor Koazhy’s name would not be a good addition to the Hands to Ethiopia committee,” said Alamaya.
Speaking at the same time, Mr. and Mrs. Castle said “Impossible!” “Oh no!”
“Personally persona non grata,” said Professor Dorsey Flagg, pouring a big drink of rye.
Newton Castle said: “Koazhy is a one-man show. He will frighten away the better elements. And right now we need them more than the mob. Up till now we haven’t been able to pull in any of the big Aframericans—those who front for the people and can get a hearing in Washington. In an organization like this we need such people, because we’ll have to depend a lot on diplomacy.”
“And so it’s better to leave Koazhy out of this particular picture,” said Mrs. Castle.
All the guests were grouped around Alamaya except Dorsey Flagg, who was helping himself to another rye when Mrs. Arzell cried: “Shame on you, Dorsey Flagg, you’re acting like a person in a barroom. Look!” she said crossing over to the piano. “He has finished the bottle.”
“Sallright,” said Flagg, “Peixota got plenty. Peixota, I’ll take Scotch as a chaser.”
“If you care to mix your drinks, I’ll get some,” said Peixota. “Seraphine, will you get a bottle of Scotch?” he said.
But the maid came in and announced that dinner was ready and they all descended to the dining room. Mrs. Peixota indicated the place where each guest should sit. She had made careful preparations for the dinner. She had done the marketing herself, selected a huge red snapper which had been baked, and also leg of lamb for the roast. In the place of the regular maid she had a butler in to serve.
The serious conversation was continued during the dinner. There had been a considerable difference over the question of admitting white persons to the newly formed committee. A majority of the professional persons thought that there should be a white representative and favored a member of the White Friends of Ethiopia. But led by the Elks’ Exalted Ruler, William Headley, who formerly was the outstanding agitator of the Garvey Pan-African movement,4 the masses of the people had vociferously opposed the inclusion of a white. It was also their pressure that had
brought about the election of a type of man like Pablo Peixota as chairman.
“I still insist that it was a mistake to exclude whites from the committee,” said Newton Castle. “That is purely black chauvinism and isolationism, and no people can stand alone today.”
“The common people feel that Ethiopia was betrayed by the white nations,” said Peixota. “And you’ve got to respect their feelings. It is unfair to say their stand is chauvinism. Ethiopia is fighting alone and I’m sure you’ll get a lot more out of an all-colored organization. You’ve got to sell it to them: one little black nation, single-handed, almost unarmed, fighting against a mighty white nation.”
“But Ethiopia is not alone,” said Castle. “What about the sanctions? All the countries in the League of Nations are joined in sanctions against Italy.”5
“The sanctions are like passing a lot of resolutions and not acting on them,” said Alamaya. “Italy is importing all the essential things she needs. The League of Nations is like those curious creatures that I hear exist in Haiti—the zombies. Dead nations which act as if they were living without knowing they are dead.”
“But Soviet Russia is not in that class,” said Castle. “She led the fight to defend Ethiopia in the League of Nations, she insisted on sanctions—”
“Russia is selling more war goods to Italy than any nation,” said Dorsey Flagg. “Deeds speak better than words, Mr. Castle, and the deeds of Soviet Russia make a mockery of her words.”
Newton Castle flared: “I’ll challenge any sodden foul-mouthed Trotskyite6 who tries to slander Soviet Russia to prove the charges. I have the facts—”
“Gentlemen,” said Peixota, “our aim is to help Ethiopia. That is the mandate of today’s meeting. And we must work in unity and harmony to achieve anything. We must not be confused and divided by the issues of the white world. I don’t know what is a Trotskyite; I don’t know anything about Russia except that it is a Communist country and I am not a Communist nor is Ethiopia.”
“Mr. Castle, won’t you eat?” said Mrs. Peixota. “I won’t be flattered if my guests neglect my food and imagine my dining room is a committee room. Won’t you have some more snapper?” She spoke in a slightly playful manner, but her face was stern.
“If Castle is looking for a real scrap, we’ll have to ship him to Ethiopia,” said Flagg.
“Now I hope we’ll all get along like a good team without any resignations or sabotage,” said Headley. “But we are fortunate to have Lij Alamaya here, so that when there is any trouble he can arbitrate.”
“Lij Alamaya is a representative of the Emperor and a symbol of our united strength,” said Peixota. “He must stand above everything.”
“That’s perfectly lovely,” said Seraphine, “and I’ll stand up with him above everybody.” She was sitting right opposite Alamaya and beamed broadly at him.
Everybody laughed and Seraphine said: “Well, I did make you all happy.” And extracting a cigarette from her case, she lit it and smoked, although they were in the middle of the dinner.
Mrs. Peixota said, not disapprovingly: “Shame on you, Sirrie, always saying and doing what you please without any regard to the time and place.”
“Are the Ethiopian girls like that, Lij Alamaya?” said Mrs. Castle, who had the privilege of sitting on his right. Alamaya smiled and replied: “Our women are very modern in some things.”
The conversation now turned on Ethiopian customs, women, dress, food, and nothing serious about the work of the committee was discussed during the rest of the meal.
3
THE PEIXOTA FAMILY
The Peixota family was one of the most remarkably interesting in the Aframerican community. Pablo Peixota was a wealthy man. He owned other private houses besides the one he lived in and three large tenement buildings. Also he was the owner of one of the best bars in Harlem. And he had interests in other enterprises that were not generally known to the public.
He was thought to be a Brazilian. But it was his father who was. His father had emigrated to Central America and, after prospecting in various countries, settled down in Honduras. Pablo was born there and came to the United States when he was a youth. He had built himself up to his present substantial position by the unorthodox method of starting in as an operator of the notorious numbers game.1 This was long before the world became acquainted with the Aframerican racket. But by the time it was overtaken by national notoriety, Peixota had poured his huge profits into the channel of real estate.
He married Kezia Hooker twenty years ago, long before he bought his first piece of real estate. It was her second marriage. She was a Durham girl and vastly admired for her beauty, which was more sensuously South European than Aframerican in its appeal. At the age of eighteen she had eloped from a Southern college with one of her ardent admirers. They came to New York and were married. But the passionate romance could not hold its own against the difficulty of the young couple’s living in Harlem and finding work in New York. They both regretted leaving school for love. They quarreled, each blaming the other for the false step. And the young husband went about his business.
Kezia could not go home to Durham. Her schoolteacher mother informed her that she could not help her now. But she did come to New York when Seraphine was born. The first two years Kezia received some help from her mother, but it was a desperately hard life. Then she was fortunate to find a place where she could work as a maid and keep the child. Seraphine was five years old when Kezia met Pablo Peixota at a Democratic club. A district captain had advised her to join, as there was a chance of her getting a better job or some help through the club.
Peixota obtained a place for Kezia as stenographer and typist in an employment agency. He did not fail to remark her beauty. And he showed his interest by promising to find her a better job and extending an invitation to dinner and the theatre. Of course, he told Kezia his business. But she was not even surprised. Five years had taught her a lot. During which she was plagued by unhappy memories of college days, of the time that whenever she entered a room she was the center of attraction and a string of young men sought the privilege of taking her to the theatre or the dance.
She had paid dear for her lesson in that school of vanity and harked back to it with hatred. Now her interest was in tangible things only. She had learned that charm and beauty could be worthless unless a woman was placed in a position to show them off.
Kezia Hooker and Pablo Peixota were married during the second year of the first World War. They agreed to give their name to Seraphine. It was the time of the beginning of the expansion of the Aframerican community and of the blacks’ migration from the South to the Northern centers of industry. And also it was the beginning of the new growth of the numbers game into an enormous clandestine lottery. Having started with the racket from the cradle, Peixota was in a handsome position to exploit its growth. Cautiously he launched out and bought his first piece of property—a private house in 133rd Street. In the basement he transacted the business of numbers while the family lived on the first floor and the rest was let.
Peixota was a Mason. And also he was persuaded to join the new order of Colored Elks.2 As he transferred the profits of his illegitimate business into respectable holdings, his influence correspondingly increased in the community. He became a power in local politics and the captains of the district always sought his advice. The white district leader consulted him about the distribution of patronage. In its early days he was Honorable Treasurer and Industrial Advisor to the Pan-African organization.3 He was a member of an African Methodist Church and his name appeared as a patron of affairs to promote funds for churches.
Eschewing fashionable activities, Mrs. Peixota was an excellent foil to her husband. She gave gifts to the Colored Orphanage and the Co-operative Residence for Young Unmarried Colored Mothers and her name appeared as a sponsor on programmes of benefit affairs for like institutions. She was a member of the Aldermanic
Committee of Christmas Cheer for Needy Colored Families. She had devoted herself to the education of Seraphine. Peixota had suggested that the girl should be sent to a colored college after her graduation from high school. But Mrs. Peixota persuaded him that an academic education in New York might be of greater value to Seraphine. And so the girl was sent to Hunter College.
Seraphine did not possess the beautiful regular features of her mother. But she was an arresting type with an extraordinary personality. Her father was a reddish person and so covered with freckles, he looked like a cinnamon sandwich. He had been nicknamed “Red” at college. Seraphine’s skin was so fair that her appearance was suggestive of an albino. She had inherited her father’s hair, which was a coarse dark-dull red. Her eyes were strange, the right one slightly bluish and the other of a chameleonlike yellowish tint. She was slender but taller than her mother.
In training Seraphine her mother had put a great deal of emphasis upon her making a competent hostess. She pushed her into the company of older people and to converse with them. Above all Mrs. Peixota impressed upon Seraphine’s mind the value of being always in the company of persons who were outstanding in some line and bolstered by an economic asset, a business or a decent job. And so even when she was in high school, Seraphine was always seen at affairs with people older than herself. She was often escorted to parties and dances by doctors or lawyers or other persons of prominence. She never gave much thought to the youngsters of her own age and so was not popular among the younger set. They often referred to her as black Peixota’s white daughter.
