BOY WILLIE: Now, I’m gonna tell you the way I see it. The only thing that make that piano worth something is them carvings Papa Willie Boy put on there. That’s what make it worth something. That was my great-grandaddy. Papa Boy Charles brought that piano into the house. Now, I’m supposed to build on what they left me. You can’t do nothing with that piano sitting up here in the house. That’s just like if I let them watermelons sit out there and rot. I’d be a fool. Alright now, if you say to me, Boy Willie, I’m using that piano. I give out lessons on it and that help me make my rent or whatever. Then that be something else. I’d have to go on and say, well, Berniece using that piano. She building on it. Let her go on and use it. I got to find another way to get Sutter’s land. But Doaker say you ain’t touched that piano the whole time it’s been up here. So why you wanna stand in my way? See, you just looking at the sentimental value. See, that’s good. That’s alright. I take my hat off whenever somebody say my daddy’s name. But I ain’t gonna be no fool about no sentimental value. You can sit up here and look at the piano for the next hundred years and it’s just gonna be a piano. You can’t make more than that. Now I want to get Sutter’s land with that piano. I get Sutter’s land and I can go down and cash in the crop and get my seed. As long as I got the land and the seed then I’m alright. I can always get me a little something else. Cause that land give back to you. I can make me another crop and cash that in. I still got the land and the seed. But that piano don’t put out nothing else. You ain’t got nothing working for you. Now, the kind of man my daddy was he would have understood that. I’m sorry you can’t see it that way. But that’s why I’m gonna take that piano out of here and sell it.

BERNIECE: You ain’t taking that piano out of my house.
(She crosses to the piano.)

Look at this piano. Look at it. Mama Ola polished this piano with her tears for seventeen years. For seventeen years she rubbed on it till her hands bled. Then she rubbed the blood in . . . mixed it up with the rest of the blood on it. Every day that God breathed life into her body she rubbed and cleaned and polished and prayed over it. “Play something for me, Berniece. Play something for me, Berniece.” Every day. “I cleaned it up for you, play something for me, Berniece.” You always talking about your daddy but you ain’t never stopped to look at what his foolishness cost your mama. Seventeen years’ worth of cold nights and an empty bed. For what? For a piano? For a piece of wood? To get even with somebody? I look at you and you’re all the same. You, Papa Boy Charles, Wining Boy, Doaker, Crawley . . . you’re all alike. All this thieving and killing and thieving and killing. And what it ever lead to? More killing and more thieving. I ain’t never seen it come to nothing. People getting burned up. People getting shot. People falling down their wells. It don’t never stop.