The Matter Is Life (2 page)

I look at all the fine, bright clothes on some of the young and old strong bodies. Some don’t look just right cause the woman’s arms are muscled and strong from pullin and hoein cotton, pullin corn, washin by hand and wringin them big heavy sheets and quilts out. Reachin for distant berries, pullin greens, and workin in the cabbage patch. Strong arms, strong backs, muscles in legs strong from pushin and pullin not only things, but life. Sweat already under some arms, I see. Some of these clothes was meant to be for little frail weak, stylish lady-like bodies. I see a ruffle on a strong corded neck, a crocheted collar coverin the shoulders of a woman who plows for herself. She probly crocheted that collar, too.

Anyway they’s all greetin each other and holdin hands, shakin heads, rollin eyes, laughin. Plenty kisses and huggin
them that done come from a long way off, least bout 150 miles or so! Some more, some less.

It’s some white folks here, too. One old white couple I know was his true friends and the other three white men was them I recognized as them who done stole much of the oil and lumber land from some of these same people sittin right here in the church next to em! Come to make friends with the widow, I reckon. See what she got they can get!

Wellll, they done filled the church now and all a sudden they done got serious and sad. Cause the widow is so sad and cryin, standin by the casket of her forty-five-, fifty-year husband. I blive I’m countin right. After enough years, who counts anyway?

She still a young woman, just done got a little ugly with time and hard work and children, just livin. She still young. Bout fifty somethin, I guess. I wish I was fifty one more time! But now … she alone. Like me. Enh! Ehn!

Everybody seated and pattin dresses and children down and straight.

The piano started!
Good player! It’s a good song. I done forgot what it was. The choir sings. At first you don’t want them to join in and mess up that good piano, but after they start, you glad they did, cause they good, too!

Then the solo woman came on. A medium size woman, brown, hair smoothed close to her head in them little oily curls full with sweat now, a wide gap tween her teeth that had a little gold on em. Had a good, strong deep voice full of sorghum syrup, blackberry juice, collard greens and plenty of pain. That woman sent me somewhere! That she was holdin on to God and her man was all in the cracks of her
voice. I heard it! I know the sound! Of a woman who loves her God, and her man and who thinks she is ugly, big and awkward cept with one thing, a beautiful voice. She use it every time she can, so her man can hear it … and forget that other pretty woman who won’t let him lone. And that other woman ain’t really so pretty either, just pretty to his wife cause she wants her husband!

When they done moaned and laid everybody back with the like of that, the preacher step slowwwly up to the pulpit. Got a microphone in the Big Church now. He talk about the scriptures. People commence to sayin, “Sure nuff. Lord!” and things like that. Some hollar, “Mercy!” Well, everybody know what they need.

Then he talk about the dead man in the coffin, while I hears the piano playin
softly in the background.
But I hear, too, the pattin of the feet some people is playin out their feelin’s with.

Slow ones.… Pat. …… pat ..… pat ..… pat ..… pat ..… pat ..… pat. The ones with full hearts.… Pat … pat … pat … pat … pat … pat … pat. Hurt
ones.… PATPATPATPATPATPATPATPAT.
And a moan, now and then, to let go some pain. Piano still playin
softly.