In Search of Satisfaction (4 page)

Yin sat on the church bench, lost, forlorn. She felt like she was dying of fear. She was alone. All by herself. She had prayed so hard to God for so long and everything only got worse. Harder. Sadder. Now Josephus was gone. Pajo. There could be no God and still let all these bad things happen. Where was God now? Her prayers dried up with her tears. She did not know enough to know that Josephus had made choices which he had just naturally paid for. That she would be making her own choices from now on, from which she would reap her own life.

Yinyang thought of what the future held in store for her, but she remembered what her father, Josephus, had told her about the gold hidden back home. She also had that little handkerchief full of gold coins given to her by Josephus, “just in case.” She had never told anyone about these coins. Indeed, there was no one to trust or tell. She knew her stepmother though, and since Yin was outside doing some of the field work with the few laborers, she had hidden her gold coins in a
crocker sack in a hole in a tree. Josephus had taught her about things. She hid it safely. It stayed there until one day just after her sixteenth birthday.

On that day, Yin stood at the kitchen sink, daydreaming out the window as the sun was coming up. Her hands were in soapy, greasy dishwater, washing dishes from the boarders’ breakfast before she went to the fields to work. SLAM! The hand smashed against her nose and mouth. “You ain’t got time to stand there restin!” Nattie Lee reached for a long, heavy, iron ladle and beat the girl on the head and shoulders until Yin sank to her knees on the floor, her arms trying to protect and cover her head. She cried as the blood streamed from her nose. She used to take such beatings for her father to have peace, but now, he already had the deepest peace in the world. Yin screamed from somewhere deep in her intimidated and frightened soul, a sound which encompassed her years of suffering from this woman and the death of her only friend, her father. She was used to taking the abuse as silently as possible, but the pain turned to anger and the anger lifted her body, ran down her arm and filled her hand, making it reach out and grab a large, heavy, black, greasy, frying pan which she swung, without looking to see what she did. With her own blood dripping down her face onto her breast, she turned to Miz Josephus and swung, hearing the impact of pan on flesh. The blood flowed from Miz Nattie Lee Josephus’ head as her eyes rolled back, her body slowly crumbling to the floor.

Yin panicked, fearing Miz Josephus (she hated to call her that name) would wake any minute, get up and beat her again. But Miz Josephus was almost dead. Yin ran to her tiny closet-room (“We have to make money from these bigger rooms,” Miz Nattie Lee had said), threw some of her things into an old carpetbag her father had picked for her when they left Yoville, the only thing Miz Josephus had not taken. She saw the blood on her own clothes, rushed to wash her face, removing the bloody apron. Grabbing her bag, she backed against the wall of the kitchen as she stepped gingerly around Miz Josephus. One of Miz Nattie Lee’s eyes was open now, her mouth moving but making no sounds, her hand raised as though for help. Yin looked at her from the back door, her eyes caught the glint of the necklace. She went back, stooping to take it from the woman’s neck; it held locked. In trying to loosen it, she noticed the handkerchief pinned to Miz Nattie Lee’s undershirt. She raised her eyes to the one open eye in the face attached to the neck where her mama’s
necklace was held tight. Yin removed the pin from the handkerchief and put it in her pocket as she looked into Nattie Lee’s eye. Reaching again to unloose the necklace catch, Yin tried not to look in that eye. Hate glowered there above the twisting, soundless mouth from which foamy saliva bubbled. The woman grabbed Yinyang’s wrist as the necklace lock gave—at last!—and the necklace slipped loose. Yin gasped and, snatching her arm away, backed to the doorway … and out of it, to freedom.

Yin ran from the house far out to the fields, found her tree, found her handkerchief with the gold, stuffed it into her bag, ran through the woods to the road. Yin headed for New Orleans, the place her father always spoke of visiting because “everything” was there. She never looked back; there was nothing of value alive to her there. Her face hurt, the slap still stung. Her fear was great. As she made up her mind to move ahead into the future, she thought of Josephus, and her steps became firm, her resolve, strong.

Satan, the devil, happened to notice and smiled at both dead Josephus and dying Miz Nattie Lee. Then, as he moved on to bigger game, he glanced at Yinyang, saw her beauty and her tight clutch on the gold. He smiled again, saw fear and doubt in her heart, and left, thinking, “Beauty. And fear. Grand potential there. Particularly in large cities!” God saw in her, strangely, a respect for the truth and love of learning. He set in her future chances to learn; her choice as to what. The truth or the lies.

j
ust so you will know, if you like. Miz Josephus lay on the floor until a boarder found her. A doctor was called; she was helped. But she was unable to move with purpose again. Only one eye would open, her speech slurred. She had to pay dearly. Paid all that good money she had hoarded, cheated for and stolen as it were, for help the rest of her life. Since people knew her ways from the past, she was cheated, stolen from and lied to. Until she was broke, her home lost, and she was discarded to the back room of some old woman just like she had been, who forgot to feed her half the time and seldom changed her bed. The remainder of her life ran out with her tears onto the dirty sheet under her head.

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n the meantime around the year 1894, when Josephus was being poisoned by his wife, and dying in Yoville, Josephus’ other daughter, Ruth, was growing up. She was a good young lady, worked hard helping her mother, Bessel, after her husband had left. Ruth had called him her “first father.” Her mother, thinking Josephus was still alive and could help her, told the child that Josephus was really her father. But when Bessel tried to find Josephus, he was gone. Everybody was gone! Wasn’t nobody living on that ranch of the Krupts’ since them two old people, Master Krupt and his wife, had been found dead. A bad batch of alcohol they said had caused it. But, just in case Josephus ever came back, now the story was told, she left Ruth with it. “You got you a half-white sister, Yinzang, or somethin.”

Ruth had a favorite friend-boy, Joel Jones. She loved him, but he didn’t know it. He loved her, but she didn’t know it. She was only in her early teens, while he was going on twenty years. Her mother thought he was too old. Bessel also thought he was too poor. Owned no land, no nothing. “His family didn’t even ever own nothin,” she said as she scratched her head for dandruff.

Ruth used to say, “But, mama, we just only rentin and workin this
here land. We don’t own nothin either!” Bessel would answer, “That’s why we got to make sure you marry somebody with somethin!” Bessel was one of two domestics working for Miz Befoe and tried to put on airs because of it. That’s why she was always talking about “somebody with somethin.”

Well, there wasn’t anybody with “somethin” around. Hadn’t been too long since everybody was slaves! Some Negroes had gotten a’holt of something, had a house, some farm animals, but not too many. A few rich families, mostly the Befoes, owned most everything in Yoville, and they didn’t sell too easy, unless it was a little bit to a favorite Negro of theirs. And, who had the money to buy anyway?

Ruth and Joel would just see each other at church most of the time. Peek at each other, smile shyly. Joel was a good-looking young man, a teaser, liked to have fun and make people laugh. Girls liked him and didn’t care whether he was poor or not. They expected poor anyway. Ruth was jealous and grieved her heart a lot because she thought she didn’t have a chance with Joel on account of the fast, pretty girls round him all the time. Then, too, she thought Joel felt she was too young for him. So she just looked at him, blushed and passed on by. But Joel liked Ruth’s shyness, loved her goodness. He respected her, so naturally love grew, because respect is what love grows on! This had been going on for about two years, since Ruth was thirteen.

Ruth had dreams of a wedding night with all the beauty she had heard her mama preach about. She was saving herself to be special for it. No matter how she thought she would never have Joel, he was always the person in her wedding-night dreams. Oh, how she loved that man.

Joel didn’t like Bessel much, even though he knew Bessel was raising her child right and trying to guard her from life pains she had known. Joel would sit and brood. “Hell!” he would say to himself. “I’m gettin on to old. I got to be gettin married soon! Least she could let me court her! I ain’t a slave no more! We ought to be free to pick who we wants!” But poverty, though he worked at the Befoes’ as a gardener, gave him no control over their lives. He was too poor to take any steps on his own.

Joel was well-raised himself, so he waited, trying to find a way. He even worked over on Bessel’s rented land at times, just to be near Ruth and to try to influence Bessel with how good he was and how hard he worked.

Bessel’s land was next door to the old Krupt plantation. Her family
had worked that land since slavery ended. Her closeness to the Krupt land was one of the reasons Josephus had gotten so close to her right under her daddy’s nose. All her family was separated and gone, or dead and gone now. She just held on to the little house and land and worked even some Krupt land she didn’t rent because there was no one there to stop her. The Krupts were dead, least them who had lived in that big ole house all closed down now. No one came to check around.

So, that’s how things were going on—full of hopes, dreams, worries, frustrations and work. Life.

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n one particular harvest time, the day had started out as clear and sparkling as ever you could see. A slight breeze stirred the trees and clothes hanging on lines, the corn stalks and all other vegetation. It seemed as though the sun would finish coming up any minute, but the sky in the east remained gray with only golden flashes now and then. Birds, all sorts, flew about the sky taking care of the business of feeding their young, building nests, all that birds do. All the field workers were out because this was the time to make money if you worked for someone other than yourself. If you worked for yourself, it was the time to make haste while the sun shone. Eyes and hands flashed as people met and passed, throwing words of greeting over their shoulders, or stopping to talk awhile or inspect what the other had to show. A good day!

Without notice, within a few hours, the day changed. The birds stopped their flying and their chirping sounds. The wind stilled. There is no evil sun, no evil sky, but the dark clouds that gathered slowly, silently, stealing across the horizon, hovering over the earth, were evil looking indeed. Darkness came where there had been light. First, scattered drops of water came down lightly then gathered in abundance and speed. The winds whipped up and around everything, gathering strength, hitting with force. You could hear it whirring through space. Sapling trees were bending to the ground easily. Bits of roof flew off, pots and buckets toppled over on porches. Ashes, sand, dirt swirled up and around in the fierce air. Fences leaned over, gates squeaked, hinges let loose, in time, broke. Soon the very air and land was being bruised with the great force of mighty nature. Before it would be over, all the houses and land would be changed. A storm had arrived without warning.
Ahhh, but the harvest, the harvest! Shining, new, fresh vegetation, necessary food for the people and animals, tried to stand, rose and fell again and again, then lost the battle against the mighty storm. These things were the very LIFE to these people. They must be saved as much as could be.

No one could run for cover, be warm, be safe from the storm. Everyone must work to save the harvest so they could eat, cover themselves with clothes, continue to live even poorly. Everyone in the little houses and shacks must come out and work. Even some of the sick. So, the people jumped into action. Rushed into the fields to save what they could. Pulled, plucked, picked everything in sight, throwing it into bags, pots, sacks, aprons, anything. “God help us,” they prayed as people do in a disaster, even those who don’t believe in Him. At first, the elements don’t scare you. Because you are man! Human beings who can do anything! Then it comes to you, you ain’t got a hell-of-a’chance against nature. Man ain’t nothing. You are fighting for your life. Yet, this time, they were fighting for themselves. To white folks, when they had been the slaves, they had seemed indifferent. But on land which these former slaves and their children knew they owned, they counted on for sustenance, independence and freedom, ahhh, this land was different. They were the kings. They were responsible to feed the hungry, themselves. To survive. And the days were already lean.

Those who had been committing adultery cried to God they would never do it again. Oh, how loud they cried. Those who had been lying, cried, “Lord, let me go this time, I will not lie again.” Those who had stolen from others, cried, “Lord, let me go this time and I will take everything I have back to the one they belong to. I will, I will! I’m sorry, Lord, I’m sorry.” None of them kept their word, of course. But, you see, He reads hearts, not words. And the storm wasn’t the end of the world anyway!

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uring the storm Joel and Ruth were working the same field. Joel watched Ruth fight the rain and wind and keep coming back for more, always near where he was fighting to cut and stow the cane or corn. Bleeding hands, bruised arms, legs and bare feet kept at the fight for the food of life, the bare necessities.

After many hours of the grueling work, people already on their knees were falling to the side of their rows, prostrate in their tracks. Exhausted, breathless, worn out, drained. The fields were not completely clear, but more than expected had been done. Beside Joel and Ruth, others young and strong carried, dragged and helped those fallen to their damp but warm shacks. There was only cold food to give anyone because all had been called to help in the fields, none left behind to cook. Children had taken care of babies. But cold food was also good, good to the tired, grateful workers.