Raisin in the Sun - Lorraine Hansberry [20]
BENEATHA (Wheeling, passionately, sharply) I am not an assimilationist!
ASAGAI (The protest hangs in the room for a moment and ASAGAI studies her, his laughter fading) Such a serious one. (There is a pause) So—you like the robes? You must take excellent care of them—they are from my sister’s personal wardrobe.
BENEATHA (With incredulity) You—you sent all the way home—for me?
ASAGAI (With charm) For you—I would do much more … Well, that is what I came for. I must go.
BENEATHA Will you call me Monday?
ASAGAI Yes … We have a great deal to talk about. I mean about identity and time and all that.
BENEATHA Time?
ASAGAI Yes. About how much time one needs to know what one feels.
BENEATHA You see! You never understood that there is more than one kind of feeling which can exist between a man and a woman—or, at least, there should be.
ASAGAI (Shaking his head negatively but gently) No. Between a man and a woman there need be only one kind of feeling. I have that for you … Now even … right this moment …
BENEATHA I know—and by itself—it won’t do. I can find that anywhere.
ASAGAI For a woman it should be enough.
BENEATHA I know—because that’s what it says in all the novels that men write. But it isn’t. Go ahead and laugh—but I’m not interested in being someone’s little episode in America or—(With feminine vengeance)—one of them! (ASAGAI has burst into laughter again) That’s funny as hell, huh!
ASAGAI It’s just that every American girl I have known has said that to me. White—black—in this you are all the same. And the same speech, too!
BENEATHA (Angrily) Yuk, yuk, yuk!
ASAGAI It’s how you can be sure that the world’s most liberated women are not liberated at all. You all talk about it too much!
(MAMA enters and is immediately all social charm because of the presence of a guest)
BENEATHA Oh—Mama—this is Mr. Asagai.
MAMA How do you do?
ASAGAI (Total politeness to an elder) How do you do, Mrs. Younger. Please forgive me for coming at such an outrageous hour on a Saturday.
MAMA Well, you are quite welcome. I just hope you understand that our house don’t always look like this. (Chatterish) You must come again. I would love to hear all about—(Not sure of the name)—your country. I think it’s so sad the way our American Negroes don’t know nothing about Africa ’cept Tarzan and all that. And all that money they pour into these churches when they ought to be helping you people over there drive out them French and Englishmen done taken away your land.
(The mother flashes a slightly superior look at her daughter upon completion of the recitation)
ASAGAI (Taken aback by this sudden and acutely unrelated expression of sympathy) Yes … yes …
MAMA (Smiling at him suddenly and relaxing and looking him over) How many miles is it from here to where you come from?
ASAGAI Many thousands.
MAMA (Looking at him as she would WALTER) I bet you don’t half look after yourself, being away from your mama either. I spec you better come ’round here from time to time to get yourself some decent home-cooked meals …
ASAGAI (Moved) Thank you. Thank you very much. (They are all quiet, then—) Well … I must go. I will call you Monday, Alaiyo.
MAMA What’s that he call you?
ASAGAI Oh—“Alaiyo.” I hope you don’t mind. It is what you would call a nickname, I think. It is a Yoruba word. I am a Yoruba.
MAMA (Looking at BENEATHA) I—I thought he was from—(Uncertain)
ASAGAI (Understanding) Nigeria is my country. Yoruba is my tribal origin—
BENEATHA YOU didn’t tell us what Alaiyo means … for all I know, you might be calling me Little Idiot or something …
ASAGAI Well … let me see … I do not know how just to explain it … The sense of a thing can be so different when it changes languages.
BENEATHA You’re evading.
ASAGAI No—really it is difficult … (Thinking) It means