bumblebee, a yellow streetcar buzzed. The trees moved. They did not wait.
“ Victoria,” he said.
“Wait, chile,” said Victoria, breathing hard. “You wait till we’re safe across.”
“Now what is it, honey?” she asked, once they had attained the other curb.
“Why is your skin so dark?”
He saw her bright little eyes thrust into him through the little lenses and he felt a strong current of pain or danger. He knew that something was wrong. She did not answer him immediately but peered down at him sharply. Then the current passed and she looked away from him, readjusting her fingers so that she took his hand. Her face looked very far away, and resolute. “Just because, chile,” she said in a stern and gentle voice. “Just because that was the way God made me.”
“Is that why you’re colored, Victoria?”
He felt a change in her hand when he said the word “colored.” Again she did not answer immediately, nor would she look at him. “Yes,” she said at length, “that’s why I’m colored.”
He felt deeply sad as they walked along, but he did not know why. She seemed to have no more to say, and he had a feeling that it was not proper for him to say anything either. He watched her great, sad face beneath its brilliant cap, but she did not seem to know that he was watching her or even that he was there. But then he felt the pressure of her hand, and squeezed her hand, and he felt that whatever had been wrong was all right again.
After quite a little while Victoria said, “ Chile, I want to tell you sumpn.” He waited: they walked. “ Victoria don’t pay it no mind, because she knows you. She knows you wouldn’t say a mean thing to nobody, not for this world. But
