(From Part 1, Chapter 3 of Passing from the perspective of Gertrude)
Dear Irene,
I
couldn't get this out of my head so I just had to write you. I saw your face while Mr. Bellew was
speaking and I know you didn't think I cared as much as you did about what he
was saying. Don't think I missed
how when he would say something particularly hurtful, like when he called us
"black scrimy devils," you would get this look of appalled horror on
your face and would sneer not only at them but at me as well (172). As if I had said something to offend
you. I could not tell why you
detest me so much. I am writing
you this letter to let you know how it is to live my life so you might better
understand what I have to go through.
Then you might not hate me so.
When
I first married Fred, I was in the clouds. A white man wanted to marry me! I gained the material
comforts of living on the west side.
I could have light children.
I could pass as white in most of my life without having to take the risk
that Clare Kendry did. Everything
was going to be perfect. I had my
Fred, yet I still got to keep my family and friends on the south side. I could live a white life while
retaining my black.
On
our wedding day, I realized not everything was ideal as I had made it out to be
in my mind. Because Fred did not
hide the fact that I was black to his family, they all knew at the
wedding. And it showed. The fact that much of my family is dark
also made my race very clear when they arrived at the church. His family would not sit close to mine
at the ceremony. They made it
abundantly clear the disdain they felt for me and my family as they glared and
walked past half empty rows to sit far from my relatives. As I walked down the aisle, many of
them did not stand up.
And
this was how I have lived my life the past decade. I have been the Negro wife of Fred the butcher. My blackness has been at the forefront
of the mind of every person I meet who knows. Because Fred acts as if he does not care about my race, he
is very open about it. So when I
am helping him at the shop, white people will come in and order me around as if
I was their house servant. When he
is in the back, they will say the most horrid things about me and my marriage. My children's schoolmates know they are
not fully white, even though they are some of the lightest children you could
ever imagine, and they let them know every day how different, how inferior,
they are because of their parentage.
Fred tries to ignore this.
It is easier for him than me, because no one ever hurls insults at
him. No, in this situation my role
is criminal and his is not.
So
the way I escape is I sometimes do pass, in small situations like shopping in
one of the upscale department stores downtown. Sometimes I will eat lunch at a restaurant I could never eat
at if they knew. I do pretend that
I am white, just for little bits of time, to avoid the stares and abuse I have
to deal with at home. I was so
very glad that Clare invited me over, that her husband thought I was white,
because that meant I was not the intentional subject of his harsh words. That is not to say that I was not
offended by them. Oh dear, I was
horrified at the awful words that came out of that man's mouth. But it was also somewhat of a relief to
know that strangers on the street do not guess my race while I walk with my
husband and my boys. They do not
immediately construct hateful things in their head about me and my family
because we do not look as if we are a couple society tells not to exist. So yes, being with Clare was my break
from my own life. Until her
husband came back, I was enjoying myself.
I was sitting in a fabulous hotel, being treated like a white lady. What could I hate about that? Please try and convince me that you also
do not enjoy these perks of our light skin.
Sincerely,
Gertrude
(Photo: This is a photo that Gertrude sent with the letter from her wedding. The unhappiness on her face is supposed to portray how difficult the day was for her. Source: http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/1940s%20wedding)
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