If Zeda had been my Katy’s own sister, e couldn’ ’a’ been better to em
whilst e was down sick. Gawd ain’ gwine be too hard on Zeda. You’ll see
it too.”
“Shucks! Zeda kin grin at you, an’ you fo’git all dat deviltry Zeda’s
done; but Gawd’s got it wrote down in a book. Zeda kin fool de breeches
off o’ you, but ’e can’ fool Gawd. Zeda’s got ten head o’ livin’
chillen an’ no two is got de same daddy. You b’lieve Gawd is gwine
ex-cuse Zeda? You must be crazy. Zeda’s as sho’ fo’ hell as a martin
fo’ his gourd. You’ll see, too. Gawd ain’ gwine let people off light as
you t’ink. No, suh. Zeda don’ like to see no other ’oman hab no man.
Zeda wants ’em all. All!”
VII
A BIRTH-NIGHT SUPPER
The birth-night supper had begun, and the big drum, answering licks
that somebody laid on its head, called the people to come on. Louder
and louder it boomed until the air itself was humming. Now and then
when a rackety thump sounded in an unlooked for place Big Sue laughed.
When the measure shortened beat by beat her fat toes made pats on the
floor.
“Lawd, de drum’s got de people steppin’ light to-night. Is dey marchin’
or dancin’?”
“Marchin’. Dat’s Sherry a-beatin’ de drum, now. When de dancin’ starts
Uncle Isaac beats de drum an’ Sherry squeezes de accordion.”
Big Sue got up and went to the door to hear better, and her thick
stumpy body rocked softly from side to side. “Po’ ol’ Uncle! Most ready
fo’ de grave an’ de biggest sinner roun’ here.” But the thought of
Uncle’s sin made her laugh, as she swayed this way and that. “I feel
light as a feather, Uncle Bill. Ain’ Sherry got dat drum talkin’ funny
talk! E don’ sound noways sinful to me. You t’ink marchin’ is a sin?”
“No. It ain’ sinful to march. How ’bout walkin’ out an’ lookin’ at ’em
a while.”
Breeze sat up. “Please lemme go too, Cousin Big Sue. I ain’ sleep.
I too scared to stay by myself.” The corners of the room were full
of darkness, the shed-room at the back was black, and the sea’s roar
unsmothered by the drum-beats.
“How come you had you’ eyes shut, so? You been playin’ possum, enty? I
caught you. I don’ like dat. No. Don’ you never make like you sleep if
you ain’ sleep. No. But git up an’ dress. Me an’ Uncle Bill would walk
on. You dress fast an’ catch up wid us.”
When Breeze overtook them, Uncle Bill, who walked in front, called
back, “How you do, stranger? I glad to see you. Come shake han’s wid
me.” Then he added, “A cowardly heart makes swift-runnin’ feet, enty?”
When Breeze answered promptly, “Yes suh,” Uncle Bill chuckled.
“You’s got manners, boy! Nice manners! I’m glad to see dat.”
“Sho’ e is!” Big Sue agreed. “All dat breed is mannersable people.
Dat’s how come I took so much pains to git em.”
“Dat is nice,” Uncle Bill approved. “I ever did like people to hab
manners.”
“Me too! I can’ stan’ no-manners people, specially a no-manners
boy-chile. I’m all de time tellin’ Leah, Brudge’ll git hung if e lives.
Brudge is too no-manners. I’d skin em if e was my own.”
The noise from the birth-night supper grew thicker and stronger as they
got nearer the Quarters. Every beat of the drum throbbed unbroken by
the laughter and singing and loud-ringing talk. Breeze’s feet stepped
with the time it marked, and so did Uncle Bill’s and Big Sue’s.
The Quarter houses were all solid darkness but one, and its doorway was
choked with people pushing in and out; its front yard hidden by a great
ring of marching couples, that wheeled slowly around a high-reaching
fire. These were holding hands, laughing into one another’s faces,
their feet plumping down with flat-footed steps that raised the dust,
or cutting little extra fancy hops besides the steady tramping bidden
by the drum.
Two big iron washpots sat side by side with the fire leaping high
between them. Zeda stirred one with a long wooden paddle, and a short
thick-set woman stirred the other. They added seasoning, stirred,
tasted, added more seasoning, until a tall fellow, black as the night,
and strong-looking as one of the oaks around them, broke through the
ring and stepped up to the pots, and put his hand on Zeda’s shoulder.
What he said was lost in the noise, but his teeth and eyes flashed in
the red light as Zeda put a hand on each of his broad shoulders and
quickly pushed him outside the ring again. The short woman took the
steaming paddle out of the pot and shook it gaily at him, shouting to
him to get a partner and march until the victuals were done and ready
to sell instead of setting such a bad example for the young people.
The marchers laughed, and the drummer, a long-legged young man, dropped
his sticks and yelled out, “How long befo’ supper, Ma! I’m done
perished. I’m pure weak, I’m so hongry!”
Zeda stopped short in her tracks and yelled back to him, “Shut you’
mouth, Sherry! You ain’ perished, nothin’! You beat dat drum or Bina’ll
put all two feets on you’ neck!”
The other woman pointed her paddle at him threateningly, shouting as
she did it, “You’ ma is sho’ right, son! I wouldn’ pay you, not one
cent to-night, if you don’ beat dat drum sweet as you kin! Keep de
people marchin’ a while yet. I got a whole hog an’ a bushel o’ rice
a-cookin’! Right in dese pots. I wouldn’ sell half if you don’ git
ev’ybody good an’ hongry! Rattle dem sticks, Sherry! Rattle ’em like
you was beatin’ a tune fo’ Joy to step by!”
This brought a shower of laughter and funny sayings and jokes as the
crowd bantered Sherry about the way he beat the drum when Joy was here
to march. But instead of answering a word, Sherry rolled the sticks
softly on the drum’s head, making a low sobbing sound that held on and
on, swelling, mounting until a battering roar made the air throb and
hum, then he stopped off short with a sudden sharp drub.
For a second there was a dead silence, then somebody cried out, “Lawd,
if you much as call Joy’s name, Sherry kin make dat drum talk some
pitiful talk! Joy ought to heared em to-night!”
“I got goose bumps big as hickory nuts all over me!”
“Me too. I’m pure shakin’ like a chill! Beat, Sherry! I got to march to
warm up now!”
Everybody laughed and the clatter of voices made a merry confusion.
Zeda laughed with the crowd. Then she added a handful of salt to her
washpot, tasted it, smacked her lips and added several pods of red
pepper.
“Yunnuh got to dance nice if you want to eat dis rice an’ hash! I ain’
mixin’ no cool Christian stew!”
Bina laughed and chimed in, “Dat’s de Gawd’s truth, Zeda! Not wid all
dat pepper.”
But Big Sue sucked her teeth. “Zeda don’ know one kind o’ seasoning
f’om anudder. Pepper an’ salt; dat’s all Zeda knows. E never could cook
no decent rations.”
A short fat man, with a well-greased face and a good-natured smile,
who stood waiting for Bina to say the word, began bawling with all
his might, “De victuals is ready, peoples! Come on up, men! Treat de
ladies! We’s got t’ings seasoned fit to make you miss an’ chaw you’
finger! Liver-hash an’ rice! Chitterlings an’ pig feet! Spare-ribs
an’ backbone! All kind o’ hog-meat.” He trailed off into a sing-song
chant, while the crowd pressed close around the pots.
Uncle Bill treated Breeze and Big Sue to heaped-up panfuls of food and
tin cups of molasses-sweetened water to wash it down. “Dis is sweetened
wid store-bought molasses. It ain’t fittin’ fo’ nobody to drink.” Big
Sue made an ugly face and threw the sweetened water on the ground. “I
wouldn’ have de face to sell sich slops to people an’ call it sweetened
water. Bina ever was a triflin’ ’oman. Gittin’ money is Bina’s Gawd!”
“How ’bout a little nip o’ toddy?” a deep voice spoke out of the
darkness and Big Sue turned quickly around to face it, then she laughed
out with pleasure. “No, t’ank you, April. I wouldn’t fool wid dat
whisky. You don’ know if it’ll kill you o’ not.”
“Come off, Big Sue,” the voice chided, “when did you get so scared o’
whisky?”
“I ain’ scared o’ good whisky,” Big Sue gurgled as he walked up near
and took her hand. “Dat last one you fetched me is sho’ fine. But I
sho’ don’ trust de whisky Jake makes! Lawd!” She broke into a loud
laugh. “I’m pure shame’ to say it but somebody told me when Jake gits
in a big hurry fo’ de whisky he don’ stop wid puttin’ lye in de mash!
Dat scoundrel goes straight to de horse stable an’ gits de yeast to
make em work! My stomach tries to retch if I much as t’ink on de way
Jake makes whisky! Jake’s a case in dis world!”
April and Uncle Bill both laughed with her, and Jake’s voice called
out cheerfully from the fire-brightened doorway, “Git you’ partners
ready fo’ de square dance! Git you’ nickels ready too! Fi’ cents a set!
All you chu’ch-members better git on home befo’ Sherry squeezes dat
’cordion. I’d hate to see anybody hab sin to-night! Cherry’s gwine
mash out tunes dat would tickle a preacher’s toe! A deacon’s ear would
git eetchy! Git you’ partners, boys! Don’ be wastin’ time!”
“How you like de boy’s looks?” Big Sue mumbled, casting a smiling look
up at April.
“I ain’ had a chance to look at em, not yet,” he answered low.
Sherry squeezed a long chord out of the accordion and the crowd
shouted with laughter. Uncle Isaac battered the drum, and swarms of
them trooped inside the cabin, falling into step with the accordion’s
frolicsome measure, but instead of Uncle Bill’s leading the way
straight home, he took a stand outside the cabin by an open window to
watch. The tall strange man leaned over and said to Breeze, “You’s too
low to see, son. Le’ me hold you up.” And he lifted him as if he were
no heavier than a feather.
The light was dim. Two glass kerosene lamps burned on the high
mantel-shelf, doing their best to help the fire light up the room.
Music and drum-beats and lively chatter swung into time with dance
steps. The confusion flowed into clean-cut swing.
Every man had his hat on. Some were tilted back, some balanced on the
side, some pulled to the front; few were right and straight. Many of
the dancers wore shoes, and the loose boards on the floor rose and
clattered to the regular beat of their feet.
“Did you ever seen people dance before?” April murmured in Breeze’s ear.
Breeze’s bashful “No, suh” was lost in noise, for Jake, who took up the
nickels at the door, was yelling briskly, his words guiding the dancers
into figures. “Hands ’round, all!” shifted the couples into a wide
circle that had to crumple in spots because the room was too small. As
it turned around every heel bumped the floor until the stamping tramp
shook the cabin from pillars to roof. Once in a while Breeze could feel
the big chest pressed against him shaking with laughter.
“Ladies to de center! Gentlemens surround dem!” Jake yelled it, and
the ring split and went double ply. “Make a basket!” he howled. Feet
shuffled and scraped the floor, as the men made a cord of long arms and
tight clasped hands that slipped over the ladies’ heads. The swaying
bodies were tied together tight. Sweat shone on every face. Eyes
gleamed. Teeth flashed.
“How you like dat, son?” April asked, and Breeze answered, “I like em
nice.”
“Wheel de basket!” Jake bawled, and the solid ring turned, slowly,
evenly at first, then faster and faster until its wild whirling threw
the dancers into knots of dizzy cavorters. Hot breath poured through
the windows. The rank smell of over-heated sweaty bodies ran high. The
house shook and creaked. Breeze could feel the strong throb of the
heart in the man’s breast beating against him. Gradually the long black
face leaned forward nearer to his.
“Right hand to you’ partner!” Jake cried, and hands trembling with
excitement squeezed each other and held fast.
“Do de gran’ right an’ left!”
Jake dashed the sweat out of his eyes with a bare hand, as the dancers
fell into two lines. A thread of ladies wound in and out between the
gentlemen, whose feet kept up a frisky jumping and jigging and jerking,
like drumsticks gone crazy and trying to hammer in the floor.
“Ain’ dey done dat nice!” Big Sue exclaimed.
“Dey done it mighty well,” the big man approved, his mouth close to
Breeze’s ear.
When the ladies had gone clear ’round and come to their partners again,
“Swing you’ own true love!” set every skirt to spinning in a giddy
ring that twirled until “Sasshay, all! Croquette! Salute de lady on de
right!” unwound them, let them fall limp.
Shrieks of laughter followed smacking kisses. Sherry’s accordion
blared out. Then something went wrong. The joyful clamor died into a
frightened hush as a long arm shot up. A razor flashed. A muttered
curse was followed by a slap on a cheek. Everybody stood still for
the length of a heart-beat. The muscles of the arms holding Breeze
hardened. A long low hiss of sucked-in breath made him shiver with
terror as the tall man leaned forward and said coolly:
“If yunnuh don’ quit dat doins’ it wouldn’ take me two minutes to come
in dere an’ butt you’ brains out o’ you’ skull! We ain’ gwine hab no
cuttin’ scrape here, not to-night, boys. Outen de lamps, Sherry. Outen
de fire, too. Dis dance is done broke up!”
“No, Cun April,” Jake began pleading. “Nobody ain’ fightin’ now. Dem
boys was just a-playin’. Dey ain’ gwine be rough no mo’. You wouldn’
broke up a dance not for a li’l’ prankin’, would you?”
The two fighters were held apart, one with his bullet head crouched
forward, his fists clenched; the other with his razorless fingers
reaching out to grab and strangle. April looked at them with a half
smile.
“Put dem boys out de door, den, Jake. Dey ain’ fit to be wid ladies.
Let ’em go wallow wid de hogs an’ cuss all dey please, so long as dey
don’ cut wid no razor.”
But Uncle Bill spoke out, “Dey is too no-manners to wallow wid de hogs.
Yes, suh. My hogs yonder to de barnyard is too nice to ’sociate wid any
such mens. Cussin’ befo’ ladies! Dey makes me feel pure blush.”
Big Sue wanted to go home, but April and Uncle Bill said there’d be
no more trouble, and as the accordion sang out with a low sad whine,
another dance set was made up. Pairs of feet were already cutting happy
capers patting flat-footed and with heel and toe.
They were going to black bottle, and that was a dance that beat the
four-horse altogether. The cabin room, packed with a seething mass,
rocked with the reeling and rolling inside it. The accordion’s mournful
crying timed to the beat of the drum sounded faint above the confusion,
but its pitiful wailing went clear through to Breeze’s very backbone.
Gusts of hot breath poured out through the window. The smoky lamps
sputtered low. The yellow light grew dim. Little sharp outcries mixed
with mad stormy thundering steps. Big Sue called out shrilly that she
wanted to go! People get drunk if they listen to music too long. Sherry
was squeezing out a mighty wicked tune. First thing they knew somebody
would kick both those lamps off the mantelpiece and when the crowd
started jumping out of the windows, they’d get trampled to death. She
hadn’t forgotten how the last birth-night supper broke up in a terrible
fight. April could hold those boys down a while, but when that music
got to working in their blood, the devil himself couldn’t stop them.
She could feel that music going straight to her head, and she was a
good quiet Christian woman. April laughed and put Breeze down and bowed
low and said good night. Big Sue invited him to walk home with them
and when he declined, saying he was tired and ready to go home to bed,
she insisted, but he declared that he hadn’t the heart to get in Uncle
Bill’s way. He’d see them to-morrow or some time soon.
On the way home Big Sue asked Uncle Bill why it was so sinful to
dance, yet not sinful at all to march by the drum. She never could
exactly understand. Uncle Bill said that crossing your feet is the
sinful thing. The people in the Bible used to march. Of course it was
wrong to march by reel tunes. Christians ought to march by hymns.
* * * * *
Breeze fell into a sound sleep and left Big Sue talking, but he woke
up in the night with his throat tight and dry sore, and a hoarse cough
that barked. Everything was dark and Big Sue’s heavy snoring was the
only sound to be heard. What must he do? Suppose he choked to death!
Nobody would ever know it. His mother was way off yonder on Sandy
Island, and Big Sue sound asleep. He’d wake her. He couldn’t die here
in this dark by himself.
Crawling out of bed and guiding his way toward the sound of the
snortles that were all but strangling her, Breeze went to Big Sue’s bed
in the shed-room, felt for her shoulder and coughed as loud as he could
in her ear.
“Great Gawd, who dat?” she cried out. “Who dat, I say!” Big Sue was on
the other side of the bed!
“Dis is me,” Breeze whispered.
“How come you’s up a-walkin’ round, boy? Git on back to bed. You’ ma
didn’ told me you was a sleepwalker. Great Gawd a’mighty! I can’ stan’
a sleepwalker.”
“I ain’ ’sleep,” Breeze whispered again, but she didn’t hear him, so he
gave a loud cough that all but split his throat in two.
“Who dat cough? You, Breeze?”
“Yes’m.”
“Jedus, hab mussy! I ain’ never hear such a cough. You’ palate must be
fell down. Git on back in de bed. If you keep coughin’ I’ll gi’ you a
spoonful o’ kerosene. If you’ palate is down Maum Hannah must tie up
you’ palate lock. Go on back to bed. I sho’ am sorry you’ palate is
fell, but don’ you ever walk in on me a-sleepin’, not no mo’!”
The threat of the kerosene made Breeze struggle to hold in his coughs,
and whenever one tried to burst out he covered up his head, although it
seemed to him somebody was laughing in the shed-room with Big Sue.
VIII
THE PREMISES
Breeze slept late next morning. When he woke Big Sue stood by his bed,
looking straight into his eyes. A bar of sunlight fallen through a
crack in the wooden window blind laid a dazzling band on her face.
“Looka de sun shinin’ on you, son. You is gwine be lucky. Git up now,
I’m got to off a piece. But you’ breakfast is settin’ on de hearth.
I bet you had a bad dream last night. Don’t tell it befo’ breakfast.
Dat’ll make it come true.”
But Breeze couldn’t remember any dream at all, and, slipping out of Big
Sue’s night-gown and into his own clothes, he took his pan of breakfast
and went to sit on the front step in the sunshine while he ate. He
swallowed down the grits and bacon grease in a hurry, keeping the sweet
potato for the last. A lean spotted hound trotted up and sniffed at
his feet and legs, then turned to the empty pan on the step and licked
it clean. When he looked beseechingly at the potato, Breeze gave him a
taste and patted his head and stroked his long silky ears and together
they went to look around the premises.
Big Sue had told Breeze that Blue Brook was the finest plantation on
the whole Neck, and the Big House the largest dwelling, but those
chimneys, towering high as the tree-tops, and the tall closed windows
and doors had a cold unfriendly look. The yard was empty except for a
few chickens and a flock of geese. The old gander looked at Breeze and
flapped his wings and screamed out, and Breeze turned back, frightened
by his threats.
Behind Big Sue’s cabin were a tiny fowl-house and a pig-pen with a big
hog lying down inside. When Breeze looked over the fence the creature
grunted and struggled to get to his feet. Fat had it weighted down,
yet its snout made hungry snuffles at the empty trough, and the small
bright eyes watched through the cracks to see if Breeze had brought
any food. The hound stopped to smell a fresh mole-hill, then walked
leisurely on, and Breeze left the hog to follow him and see what the
premises held.
Weeds narrowed the path. Once a lizard barely got out of his way. He
must watch out for snakes. The morning was sunlit, sweet with fragrance
that the sun, already high up in the glittering sky, wrung out of the
shrubbery; but everything was so silent.
As Breeze went toward the still shadowy garden, with its boxwood
borders and bird pool and old gray sun-dial, Big Sue, unexpectedly,
came out of the side door in the Big House and behind her came April,
who had held him last night. Without a word April strode off in a
different direction, but Big Sue called to Breeze that she’d walk with
him. Going in front she led him past flowers of every color, bushes of
all leaves, telling him about them as she went. Years ago the garden
had been stiff and trimmed, and the shrubbery had grown in close-cut
bushes between straight box hedges. But time had changed everything.
Uncle Isaac was old and deaf, and instead of staying home at night and
resting so he could work at the roses and keep them from running wild
and getting all tangled up with vines, he ran around to birth-night
suppers and cut up like a boy. She pointed out boughs that reached
across the path. Clumps of paper-white narcissus, not waiting for
spring, bloomed in the wrong places. White patches of sweet alyssum
crept right up to the edge of the boxwood borders, the delicate perfume
making the air honey-sweet. But it was out of place, and ought to be
cut away. Uncle Isaac was too trifling to be the gardener now.
Tall tangled heads of grass were in some of the beds, and a bold vine
whose topmost branch was gay with orange-scarlet bells swayed from the
tip of a magnolia tree. The bright bunch of blossoms nodded at Breeze
with a slow persistence, sunlight filled each flower cup, and its hot
scent streamed out in the soft wind. There was something queer in its
steady silent bowing. A light sound hissed through the stiff magnolia
leaves whenever the mild wind freshened, but the magnolia tree held
every crisp, brown-lined leaf still. Unmoved. The light stir of the
morning’s breeze could not move that tall dark tree, which was splashed
here and there with over-ripe blossoms.
“Son, is you see de way dat trumpet vine is a-wavin’ at you? Better bow
back at em!”
Breeze did bow the best he knew how, but Big Sue laughed.
“When you bow, you must pull you’ foot.” She showed him how to do it.
She reached up and broke off a half-open bud, and tearing its creamy
petals apart showed Breeze how they closed over a core of gold. She
showed him the sun-dial marking the time of day. A spattering of
water called them to see the birds enjoying a bird bath; a flock of
pigeons dropped with a slanting flight, then hurried off. A tinkling of
sheep bells told that a flock browsed peacefully not far away. When a
blue-jay perched overhead with a screech, Big Sue shook a fat fist at
him. “Git off,” she scolded. “You don’t know to-day’s Friday. Is you
forgot you is due to tote a stick o’ wood to Satan? Git on to torment,
lessen you done been dere a’ready dis mornin’!” A streak of scarlet
flashed where a cardinal darted across a bright path of sunlight as a
hammer banged down on a nail. Old deaf Uncle Isaac was mending a broken
place in the fence, and talking to himself. His deaf ears had not
heard Big Sue and Breeze, and his murmured talk droned on out of his
stammering lips.
“Po’ old Uncle Isaac!” Big Sue sighed. “When e can’ talk to de livin’
e talks to de dead. His eyes is so full up wid speerits right now, he
don’ see we. You kin see speerits, too, son, enty? You’ ma said so.”
Before Breeze had time to deny it, all of a sudden she turned on him
and gave a sharp cry. “Looka here, boy! You been a-steppin’ in my
tracks! I know it! A’ awful pain is come right on de top o’ my head!
You done it! You needn’ shake you’ head. I was feelin’ good when I come
in dis flowers yard. Git a stick! Now broke em in two an’ cross ’em!
Put em in one o’ you’ tracks! Git me shet o’ dis pain! I declare to
Gawd, dat’s a provokin’ t’ing you done! I was feelin’ so good too. If
you try to conjure me, I’ll kill you!”
Breeze denied it humbly. He had not meant to step in her tracks. He
didn’t even know it would work her harm. When he had placed the broken
sticks as she bade him, she spoke more kindly, and warned him to be
careful never to step in anybody’s tracks.
Once she missed and stepped in Uncle Isaac’s tracks and it gave him a
terrible tooth-ache. She had to cross twenty sticks before she got him
rid of it. Poor Uncle! They’d better not go near him. He was on the
side of the garden where spirits stayed. Let him talk to them.