Jonah's Gourd Vine (7 page)

H
ello, John.”

“Hello, Bully.”

“Whut you doin' back over here?”

“Come tuh git me uh job uh work again. Whuss de news?”

“Oh de white folks is still in de lead. Seen Mist' Alf yit?”

“Naw, goin' up tuh de big house now.”

“Soon's yuh git back tuh de quarters Ah got uh bug tuh put in yo' ear.”

“Awright, be back tuhreckly.”

There were more used suits in Alf Pearson's clothes closet and John received them.

“My son, Mister Alfred's, clothes don't fit you now as well as they did last year, John. Too tight. Reckon I'll have to give you mine from now on. By the way, John, I've lost two hogs since you've been gone. Get back on your same job. Can you read and write fairly well now, John?”

“Yes suh.”

“That's fine. I want you to take this note book and keep up with the groceries and fertilizer and feed that the folks in the quarters draw. It's hard for me to do it with running the bank and watching slick politicians. I had thought my son would have been home by now to help me, but it seems to take quite a long time to finish studying in Paris.”

“Yes suh.”

“You just take everybody's name on a separate page and put down everything they get the moment you hand it to 'em.”

“Yes suh.”

“And John, if you've been fooling around Duke's wife, leave her alone. He's been up here to me about it. Don't start no fight about it. There's plenty single girls around here.”

“Ah ain't studyin' 'bout his Exie, Mist' Alf. He better talk tuh
her.
She de one come pullin' on me.”

Alf Pearson laughed heartily and gave John a playful shove.

“Get along you rascal you! You're a walking orgasm. A living exultation.”

“Whut's dat, Mist' Alf?”

“Oh never mind about that. Keep up with the pigs.”

That night M'haley and Big 'Oman and Bootsie got up a game of “Hide and Seek” but John counted and let the other boys hide. The game ended fairly early. John had been around behind the house to look at his writing and the chimney and found it all defaced, so he didn't want to play. When the game was over he called Bully aside.

“Bully, Ah wrote some writin' on de back uh An' Pheemy's chimbley.”

“Yeah, Ah know you did. Fack is, ev'rybody know yuh did, and dat's de very crow Ah wants tuh pick wid yuh.”

“Is you heard who took and scratched it, and put smut out de chimbley all over it and mommucked it all up?”

“You ain't mad, is yuh?”

“Yeah, Ahm mad. Ahm jes' ez hot ez Tucker when de mule kicked his mammy, and any man dat tell me tuh mah face dat he done it he got tuh smell mah fist. You know who done it, Bully?”

“Don't yuh say Ah tole yuh and when you go tuh git atter her, don't you call my name, but M'haley took and done dat when she heered you wuz singin' in de choir. Some of 'em say you jes' done it so you could git a chance tuh see Lucy Potts.”

“Whut M'haley got tuh do wid dat? Ah feel lak Ah could take and lam her wid lightnin'.”

“Why doncher do it, John? If 'twas me felt bad lak you do, Ah'd beat her jes' ez long ez she last. Anyhow she takin' de under currents on you.”

“Naw, Ah don't choose beatin' lady people. Uh man is crazy tuh do dat—when he know he got tuh submit hisself tuh 'em. Ahm gittin' sleepy. B'lieve Ah'll turn in.”

Bully went away whistling, and John made to go inside to bed.

“John!” in a soft whisper from around the corner of the house. “Come heah, John.”

John stepped to the corner, “Who dat callin' me?”

“Aw, you come see,” the voice retreated into the shoulder-high cotton. John followed.

“Whut you want wid me, M'haley?”

“Look lak you ain't glad youse back.”

“Yes Ah is, M'haley, but 'tain't lak de fust night Ah come. Ah reckon all de new done wore off de plantation.”

“'Tain't de plantation. Dat's jes' de same. Ah reckon you jes' ain't got time tuh strain wid us quarters niggers now. You sings on de choir at Macedony.”

“Whut's singin' notes got tuh do wid it? It jus' 'tain't new no mo'.”

“Naw, you jes' stuck on dat li'l' ole Lucy Ann, and she ain't nothin' but uh baby. She ain't but leben years ole.”

“She twelve now, goin' on thirteen. She had her birth night de day befo' mines. Her'n on December 31, and mine's January 1. Ain't dat funny?”

“Ahm fifteen, so goody, goody, goody.”

John said nothing. After a while M'haley said, “John, Ah thought once me and you wuz gointer make uh wed.” He stood stolid and silent.

In the silence she threw her arms about John's passive neck and swung herself off the ground, then lay still against him.

“John.”

“Hunh.”

“Feel mah heart. Put yo' hand right heah. Ain't it beatin' hard? Dat's 'cause Ahm so glad youse back. Feel it again. My
heart is rearin' and pitchin' fur you lak uh mule in uh tin stable. John, Ah loves you, Ah swear Ah does. You so pretty and you ain't color-struck lak uh whole heap uh bright-skin people. John?”

“Hunh.”

“John, hug me till mah dress fit tight.”

The next day John whitewashed Pheemy's chimney, and wrote Lucy's name in huge letters across it, and on Sunday he was at church far ahead of anybody else, with a three-cornered note in his hymn-book.

“Hope ole big-mouf M'haley don't come pukin' her guts 'round heah,” he thought aloud. This was another day and another place. Pearson's quarters and M'haley had no business here. His eye wandered out of the window and down the dusty road. A bunch of girls approached in starchy elegance. “Lawd, dat look lak M'haley now—comin' heah tuh bull-doze and dominize.”

John fell to his knees and prayed for cleansing. He prayed aloud and the empty house threw back his resonant tones like a guitar box.

“Dat sho sound good,” John exulted. “If mah voice sound
dat
good de first time Ah ever prayed in de church house, it sho won't be de las'.” He arose from his knees and before the drove of girls had reached the steps John had forgotten all about his sins and fears, but he retreated to the choir-stand out of M'haley's reach.

As soon as Lucy took her seat before him he leaned forward and thrust his hymn-book into her hand. She coyly dropped hers, and he picked it up and pretended to search for a song. Lucy slyly did the same and read:

John was so sweetly distracted by this note that he was blind and deaf to his surroundings. Bud Potts had rapped loudly and importantly and had gestured with his hands as if he were pushing a wash-basket of clothes up on a high shelf for the choir to rise. Everyone was standing but John. He never noticed this until Oral Johnson nudged him.

“Get yo' pitch!” Bud ordered as if he were giving the order to fire on Fort Sumter.

“Basses—duh-h-h-h. Y'all got it? Altos—fah-h-h—Trebles—me-e-e-e—. Pay 'tension dere, Lucy!”

Satisfied in the matter of the pitch, Bud took a full breath and broke out thru his nose—“Duh, duh, duh, duh! Dole la fee so lah so fee.” The altos were right behind the basses and fighting in haughty jerks for sound supremacy—“fah! fah! me! sol! fah-so-la-so-lah-so-fah!” The trebles pitched out in full, Ory behind the pack and keened furiously to make up for lost time, “—me, me, ray, do! Me-fah-lah-so-lah-so-fah! Oh me, me, me,—”

It was a hard race and hotly contended at the top of the lungs all the way. The trebles won because while altos, basses and even other trebles forgot their notes in confusion and fell by the wayside, Lucy never missed a note. Bud growled away in the bass but Lucy treed him and held him growling in discomfiture out upon a limb until the end of the piece cut him down.

John beat the bass notes by a vigorous side-to-side motion of his head and everybody in the audience thought they heard him singing them.

The preacher arose.

“Ah takes mah tex' and Ah takes mah time.” He pursed up his wrinkled black face and glared all over the church. No one accepting the challenge he went on—“Ah takes mah tex' 'tween de lids uh de Bible,” and slammed it shut. Another challenging glare about the room. Same results. “Don't you take and meddle wid
whar
Ah takes mah tex'. Long ez Ah gives yuh de word uh Gawd, 'tain't none uh yo' business whar Ah gits it from.”

For two hours his voice beat about the ears of the people and the “Amen's” rocked and rolled back to the pulpit.

John heard little of it. He studied the back of Lucy's head and shoulders and the way the white rice buttons ran down her back and found plenty to entertain him the whole while.

When the cotton had been picked and ginned, Alf had John to pick out the hogs for the barbecue. The same elaborate preparations as usual. Same high laughter, but John sat passively in a doorway with Zeke who was getting tall and emitting ram odors.

“Less we dance, John Buddy. Ah wants tuh swing one dem gals.”

John laughed scornfully, “Whut you know 'bout swingin' gals? You don't eben know how tuh dance.”

“Dat's much ez
you
know. Ah done been tuh four, five frolics 'cross de Creek since you been gone.”

Phrony came dashing up, hair wrapped with blue rag strings and reeking of lemon extract used as a perfume.

“John how come you ain't dancin'?”

“Ah got uh bone in mah leg,” John bantered.

“Aw come on, John.”

“Go head on, Phrony. You got plenty boys 'sides me. Ah tell yuh Ah got uh bone in mah leg.”

“Sho 'nuff, John? When did you git it in dere? You wuz walkin' all righ' jes' fo' dark.”

“He jes' funnin' wid yuh,” Zeke cut in, “'Course he got uh bone in his leg. How he goin' tuh walk if he ain't? Come on and lemme switch yo' coat.”

Zeke grabbed Phrony by the point of her elbow and they plunged into the cauldron of sound.

John sat on, thinking of the words on the chimney back, but soon Exie found him.

“John, how come you ain't in de play party? M'haley dancin' wid Bully.”

“She's uh much-right gal. Much right for Bully ez it is for me.”

Exie laughed happily, “Big 'Oman huntin' you too and plenty mo'.”

“Whut for?”

“Dey say de dance don't go so good 'thout you. Dey say de boys neither de gals don't do 'round when you ain't dere lak dey do when yo' is.”

“Dey done 'thout me 'fo' dey seen me. Ah jes' don't feel lak no dancin' and whoopin' and hollerin' t'night.”

“Me neither. Less we all jes' set and talk, John.”

“Naw, Gawd! Ah don't want Duke pickin' no fight wid me over you. You his'n.”

“Us ain't got no courthouse papers. Dat's commissary license us got. Ah kin quit anytime, and then agin effen Ah had courthouse license Ah got divorce in mah heels.” She picked up John's hand and pulled it into her lap. Just then M'haley walked up to them.

“Oh 'scuse me,” she turned away scornfully, “Ah didn't reckon you wuz so busy, John,” she whirled and ran back to the dance.

“You better g'wan back tuh de play party, Exie. M'haley's goin' tuh tell Duke on you.”

“Let her tell 'im, tell 'im, turn 'im up and smell 'im.”

John rose. “Ah got tuh step off a li'l' piece. Ah'll be right back.” He walked off and Exie started on back to the fire. Half way she met Duke, and John could hear the struggle of battle. He turned about and hurried to them.

“Whut you beatin' Exie 'bout? She ain't done nothin'.”

“If she wan't doin' nothin', whut y'all doin' up heah in de
dark?” He struck her violently in the face again. John stepped between them.

“Don't lam dis 'oman no mo', Duke. She ain't did a thing wrong. You wanta beat on somebody, hop me. Mah shoulders is broad.”

Besides the ones who had heard M'haley say out loud that John and Exie were up the hill in the dark too busy to dance, there were others who had heard what Duke said when he left the fire-lit circle. So the crowd had surrounded the three. Exie, bruised but exultant, John and Duke standing face to face.

“Fight, fight, you no kin. Kill on 'nother 'twon't be no sin,” Nunkie shouted.

Old Pheemy stepped between and scattered the crowd.

“Neb mind,” Duke threatened as he was led away, “Ah ain't through wid you, John Pearson. Ahm goin' git yuh! Ahm goin' tuh git yuh if Ah have tuh steal yuh! Youse bigger'n me, but mah Barlow knife'll even us up.”

The dance went on. John danced a little with Big 'Oman and Bootsie but he wasn't flamboyant.

In the bed with Zeke later he said, “Zeke, Ahm goin' 'way from here.”

“You ain't skeered uh Duke, is yuh?”

“Naw, Duke cuts and shoots too, but all de shootin' he do is shoot fuh home if somebody git behind 'im, and cut fuh de nearest way. He don't fight no men-folks. He's uh woman-jessie. Beat up women and run from mens. Ah ain't got him tuh study 'bout, but Ah feel lak Ah weighs uh thousand pounds and it's mah heart make me feel that away.”

“How come?”

“Y'know dat li'l' gal dat trebles in de choir at Macedony—de one whut don't wrop her hair, de onliest one up dere dat don't wrop her hair no time wid all dat cord-string lake de rest? Well, Ah loves her, and she say she love me too, and Ah betcha old moufy M'haley uh some uh dese other niggers goin' make out Ahm goin' wid Exie, and dat's whut me and Duke lak tuh fought over, and then agin Mist' Alf done tole
me not tuh fool wid Exie and Duke goin' up tuh de big house and tell uh lie on me.”