The river began to go down the third day after Annie’s son was born. It
was a good sign, the old colored woman said, and she said, too, that
Annie’s baby was the finest baby in the world. Annie lay and listened
to her with a smile. She uncovered the plump little body and saw for
herself that it was perfect. She lay smiling as she nursed it at her
breast.
This child would live.... She had given it to Henry--God couldn’t let
it die like the others....
Will was still in town, and the doctor had not come; there was no need
now, Annie and the baby were both doing well. Henry tapped up and down
with his stick, a smile always hovering about his soft lips.
“If I just could see him.” He sat with the child in his lap. “If the
Lord would just give in once and let me see him, I wouldn’t never ask
for nothin’ else.”
Annie raised herself in the bed on one elbow and lay looking at them.
“He’s like you, Henry, mor’n he is like Will.”
“He’s goin’ to be a big man,” Henry said. The child’s curling fingers
clung tightly to his thumb. It was night. Aunt Julia nodded in the
slat-bottomed rocker before the fireplace....
“I’m goin’ give him pot-licker an’ black-eyed peas--make him grow----”
Annie crooned, her fingers poking the baby under the arm. It gurgled
and they both laughed. “He called yore name, Henry.” Annie prepared to
lie down again in bed.
“I’ll betcher he’s smilin’, ain’t he, Annie?”
“You know he ain’t, he’s too little yit--yessir, his mammy’s goin’ to
give this baby pot-licker an’ peas----”
“Hold the lamp here, Aunt Julia,” Henry called. “We got to see what
this baby’s doin’.”
The old woman came to herself with a start and rubbed her eyes, “Sho’
is smilin’--it’s de bes’ young un----” She pattered over for the lamp,
lifted off the shield of cardboard and brought it close to the bed.
“Look, Annie, ain’t I right?”
Annie raised herself once more. “Hold it closer, Mammy.”
“Gwine burn my chile,” the old woman grumbled as she obeyed.
“No, we ain’t, the idea of such a thing,” Annie half laughed, and then
she drew herself quickly higher up in the bed and leaned closer to the
baby. “Look, Mammy, what makes him do like that?”
“Do lak whut?”
Annie passed her hand rapidly across the child’s face. “He don’t close
his eyes like he ought when I do like that!” There was the beginning of
panic in Annie’s voice.
“Bless God Almighty!” The woman put down the lamp and lifted the child
from Henry’s lap. It wailed feebly at being so suddenly disturbed.
“What’s the matter with its eyes?” Annie’s voice was shrill with fear.
“Tell me! Make her tell--” she appealed to Henry.
Henry struggled to his feet, his knees grown suddenly weak and
unresponsive. He clutched at the woman’s shoulder. “What is it? What’s
wrong with that baby’s eyes?” he demanded in a choked whisper.
The old colored woman held the child against her breast. She made no
effort to avoid Henry’s hand.
“What is it?” Annie cried again.
The woman shook off Henry’s hand and drew herself upright. “Dis chile,”
she said with strange dignity, “is bline.”
“Blind!” Annie screamed. “Tain’t so--you’re lying! ’Tain’t so,
Henry----”
“No, I ain’t tellin’ no lie. Dis chile is bline----”
As she spoke the child’s thin wails filled the room. She clutched it
again to her flat breast, hushing its cries against her.
“No! No! I won’t have it blind----”
“Hush, honey, don’t you carry on so. Yo’ got to git yo’ stren’th
back.” She attempted to push Annie down upon the bed.
“I don’t care! I don’t care!” Annie evaded her. She struggled to
her knees and sat swaying back and forth, her hands clutching in
desperation at the mass of tangled hair that fell about her face.
Henry had fallen back into his chair and now he sat, his fat hands
twisting and untwisting about the arms of it, his loose mouth uttering
words that died away before they passed his lips. The old woman carried
the child across the room. She wrapped it in a piece of blanket and
seated herself in the slat-bottomed rocker as before. Slowly she rocked
back and forth, patting the little round back with her skinny brown
hand. “Hush, chile, go to sleep,” she crooned to it.
Slower and slower went the rocker. Annie’s cries had ceased. Henry’s
head had dropped upon his breast ... his hands were still. A log fell
apart on the hearth. The old woman did not get up to replace it. The
tick of the clock on the mantelpiece was the only sound in the room.
They slept.... They slept the peace of exhaustion ... the peace of
acceptance.