pine knot on the fire to make a better light. The fire blazed up,
crackling merrily, making the room hot and bright, but shyness kept
Breeze’s face turned away from Joy, until with a quick laugh she
wheeled him around and lifted his chin.
“How come you won’ look at me, son?” Her face was so close Breeze could
feel her breath when she laughed again, but his eyes were riveted on
her twinkling shoe-buckles.
“Left de boy ’lone, Joy. E don’ feel like playin’. His ma was just
buried dis evenin’. Come unstring my shoes, son. I ain’ gwine let Joy
plague you.”
As he knelt to unlace the shoes Joy appealed to him: “I ain’ plaguin’
you, is I, Breeze? Me an’ you is gwine be buddies, enty?” Breeze looked
up and met her slanting eyes, and the smile that lit them seemed to him
so lovely, so gentle, he fairly tingled all over. He had never seen
anybody like Joy before. Her slight body in its scant, red satin dress
was not tall, but it had the straight, swift, upward thrust of a pine
sapling. Her slim black arms, bare from the elbows, and held akimbo,
came out from shoulders lean as his own. Her short skirt gave a flirt
and Breeze’s glance darted to the skinniness of her red-stockinged
legs. But her smile had thrilled the fear out of him, and given him
confidence enough to feast his eyes on her gay over-ripe little figure,
from the bright buckles on her shiny black slippers to the short coarse
straightened hair on her small head.
“Set down, honey. Talk to Uncle Bill an’ you’ Cun April whilst me an’
Breeze fixes supper.” Big Sue’s bare feet pattered back and forth from
the hearth to the four-legged safe against the wall, mixing bread,
and smoothing it on a hot griddle, slicing meat and dropping it on a
hot spider, once in a while scolding Breeze for dawdling, or asking
Joy a question about the town or the school. April smiled and joined
pleasantly in the talk Joy led. A necklace of blue glass beads clinked
against the smooth black skin of her neck, gold bracelets glittered on
her slim wrists. Breeze was bewildered, rapt with the glamour of her.
Her sparkling eyes strayed from one face to another until they met
April’s, bold and staring. Joy’s flickered and fell and her laughter
chilled. Like everybody else, she feared him, and his shining gaze,
fixed on her alone, withered all the fun out of her and put something
sober in its place.
Except for the fire’s crackling a hush filled the room. Big Sue
suddenly straightened up from bending over the pots and, looking over
her shoulder, said, “Git de plates out o’ de safe, Breeze. How come
yunnuh is so quiet? Dis ain’ church!”
April laughed and shifted in his chair and his eyes turned from Joy to
her mother. “De victuals smells so good, I’m gone got speechless!”
“Me too,” Joy chimed, but Uncle Bill got up to go. He had already
stayed longer than he intended. He must go see if everything at the
barnyard was in order.
April stood up to say good night, tall, straight-limbed,
broad-shouldered, hawk-eyed.
“Stay an’ eat wid us, Cun April, you too, Uncle Bill! What’s you’
hurry?”
Uncle Bill had to go. He had left Jake to see about feeding the stock,
and Jake was mighty forgetful and careless. Nobody could depend on him.
In spite of the fineness of her red satin dress, Joy took the plates
from Breeze and piling two of them with the collards dripping with
pot liquor, and chunks of fat meat and pieces of the newly baked
corn-bread, she gave Big Sue and April each one.
“Yunnuh must eat all dis I put on you’ plates,” Joy bade them gaily,
but silence had fallen over them. Both their faces wore a troubled
look. April’s eyes held both darkness and light, and a kind of sadness
Breeze had seen sometimes in Sis’ eyes.
“How was de buryin’?” April asked when the edge of his appetite was
dulled.
“Fine! Fine! All but dat fool boy Breeze. E made me pure shame.” Big
Sue’s words were smothered by food in her mouth, but Breeze felt the
sharp sting of their bitter contempt. He longed to get up and go back
into the dark shed-room and hide, but shame chained his feet to the
floor and made his neck so limp his head drooped lower and lower.
“Wha’ dat Breeze done so bad?”
April leaned his head against the mantel-shelf, and listened without a
word to Big Sue’s story. Most of the time he looked into the fire, deep
in thought, forgetting to eat his supper.
When Big Sue’s tale was done, Breeze listened for April’s abuse, but
instead of scolding him, April spoke kindly, gently.
“Don’ be too hard on de boy, Big Sue. Death kin scare bigger people
dan Breeze. I don’ like to look on em myself. Gawd made people so.
Mules too. When Dukkin put pizen in de spring last summer and killed
Uncle Isaac’s old mule, Lula, I had a time gittin’ em dragged off to de
woods. Sherry said he could hitch Clara to em, but Clara was so scared,
e reared up and kicked an’ tried to run away. Sherry had to blindfold
Clara wid a cloth over both eyes befo’ she’d go anywhere nigh old dead
Lula. It’s de Gawd’s truth. An’ Clara is a mighty sensible mule.”
“Po’ li’l’ Breeze,” Joy pitied softly, and Breeze’s heart warmed, for
April and Joy both took his part. Big Sue wouldn’t lick him to-night.
She never did lick him when April was there.
“You-all stop talkin’ ’bout death. You scare me so I wouldn’t sleep a
wink to-night! Whe’s Sherry?” Joy asked suddenly.
Big Sue looked at April instead of answering. April stirred in his
chair, his big feet shuffled on the floor, his slow answer was a growl.
“Sherry’s left de plantation, Joy. I run em off.” His black brows knit
into an angry line.
“Why--why--how come you done dat, Cun April?” Joy’s teeth looked white
and sharp, her red satin dress shimmered in the firelight, her words
were husky, half whispered.
“I had to, Joy. Sherry is a impudent rascal. I’d ’a’ killed em if e had
’a’ stayed here.”
April scratched his head and his eyes turned uneasily toward the door,
but before he spoke, tears welled up in Joy’s eyes, a deep sob burst
from her bosom, and she got up and ran back into the shed-room where
she lay on the bed and wept, in spite of Big Sue’s reproaches.
“Why, Joy! You ought not to take on so! Why, Honey, Sherry’ll be back
befo’ long.”
XVII
HOG-KILLING
Now that Joy had come home for good, Big Sue planned to fix up the
cabin. April sent Brudge to help Breeze whitewash the outside with
oyster-shell lime, burned and crushed right on the beach. Fresh clean
newspapers were brought from the store with eggs and each wide sheet
spread with white-flour paste and stuck fast to the inside walls over
the old soiled worn-out papers that were cracked and broken by last
year’s wind and weather. When this was done, the cabin was snug and
tight. With the window blinds pulled in and the doors closed, not a bit
of cold air could get in except through the cracks in the floor.
But Joy’s blood must have got thin, for she wore her long black cape
constantly, and had spells of shivering in spite of its warmth.
The weather was scarcely cold enough for hog-killing, but Big Sue said
Joy needed some rich food to thicken and hotten her blood. The girl
took little interest in anything. She’d stand and gaze vacantly out
of the window as if her soul were gone far away and her eyes tried to
follow its flight.
Jeems, the shoat in the pen, must be killed. Joy’s appetite must be
tempted somehow before her blood turned to pure water. She ate scarcely
enough to keep a bird alive.
Somebody must have conjured her. Those long half-drowsy spells were not
natural, and sometimes she sobbed in the night, hag-ridden with evil
dreams. Jeems must be killed for Joy to eat.
Big Sue waked Breeze early. She gave him no chance to dawdle, for much
had to be done in preparation. Joy offered to help, but Big Sue made
her stay in bed and rest. Breeze washed the sleep out of his eyes, then
tipped to Joy’s bedside for a word from her, but the dawn showed her
eyes closed, and her quiet regular breathing told him she was sleeping.
He turned his eyes away quickly to keep them from waking her.
Before the sun was up he had the big washpot in the yard, brimming full
of water and a fire built under it. Uncle Bill brought a sound barrel
and laid it slantwise and steady in a dug out place in the ground. He’d
scald Jeems in that.
He took out his great pocket knife and opening its longest blade
told Breeze to look how its sharp point was flashing! That knife was
trained. It had sense like people. It was pure itching to stick in
Jeems’ throat and slice his neck in two. When he had to kill a hog, he
just pointed that knife blade toward the beast and gave it a push. It
would fairly leap to the right spot. It never missed the big vein. His
eyes twinkled with affection for his faithful tool as he ran a thick
thumb lightly over its keen edge and felt its shining point.
“You hold em, Breeze, till I get de ax. De ax has to do a li’l’ work
ahead o’ de knife.”
As he walked toward the wood-pile, Big Sue hurried out. “Do don’ knock
Jeems, Uncle Bill!” She panted anxiously.
“I’m ’bliged to stun em, honey!”
“You’ll ruin all de brains.”
“I can’ help dat, Miss Big Sue. I couldn’ stick Jeems whilst he was in
his right mind. No, ma’am.”
“Knockin’ a hog on de head makes de head cheese all bloody. Please
don’ do dat! Go on an’ stick em. Don’ knock em!”
Uncle Bill stopped and scratched his head.
“I’d do mighty nigh anything to please you, Miss Big Sue, but I can’
suffer a hog any more’n I have to. I got to knock Jeems senseless, or I
couldn’ kill em at all. Me an’ Jeems is been friends too long.”
“For Gawd’s sake don’ be so chicken-hearted.”
“I ain’ chicken-hearted, but I couldn’ stan’ to suffer Jeems whilst he
was a-dyin’. No. Come on, Breeze. Le’s get dis killin’ over wid!”
Jeems’ black snout showed through a crack, and his short impatient
grunts meant he was hungry, for Breeze had not fed him since yesterday
noon. Breeze’s heart ached for his friend. How could Uncle Bill bear to
knock Jeems in the head with that ax, while the poor beast’s eyes gazed
up with such trustful friendliness!
“Jeems, old man! You’ time is out, son. Git ready to meet you’ Gawd!”
Uncle Bill’s voice was sad.
Jeems held his fat face up, straining to see them better, for his eyes,
almost closed with fat, were hampered by ears flapping over them. Poor
Jeems!
Uncle Bill had his coat off, and his rolled-up shirt-sleeves showed the
play of his powerful sinews under the skin. The ax rose high in the
air, then leaped out and tightened, as Uncle Bill brought it down with
a thud on Jeems’ forehead. The squeal in the hog’s throat changed to a
strangled gurgle. The short forelegs staggered and gave way. The great
heavy body fell sidewise to the ground. But Uncle Bill was already
astride it with his knife’s bare blade ready.
A quick sharp stick in the neck brought a spurt of blood which a deeper
thrust turned to a stream. Red, warm with life, its steam rising like
smoke in the cool sunshiny air, Jeems’ blood poured out and wasted in
the filth of his pen, until Big Sue’s cries brought Breeze to his
senses.
“Great Gawd, Breeze! Ketch dat blood! You standin’ like a fool lettin’
em waste! I good mind to kill you! Blood puddin’ is de best o’ de
hog-killin’!”
Breeze scrambled over the boards of the pen, and slipped a pan under
Jeems’ unconscious head, and held it in place in spite of the kicking
death-struggling legs, saving the bubbling red stream for a pudding.
The smell of it made him sick, and he couldn’t meet the look of those
half-closed staring eyes.
Poor Jeems! His time was out. His kicks were getting weaker. His
eyelids were wilting down over his dull sightless eyes. His soul would
soon be gone home to God. Breeze looked up at the sky, but Big Sue
called out to give her the pan before he turned it over. It had caught
enough for a small pudding.
The hog was hurried into the barrel and scalded before the life cooled
out of him, and his skin scraped clean of hair. As Uncle Bill worked
he told Breeze he must always be careful to see that the moon is right
before he killed a hog. A wrong moon will set the hair in a hog’s
skin so no knife on earth could move it. Meat killed on a waning moon
will dry up to nothing, no matter how you cook it. A certain quarter
of the moon will make the meat tough and strong, another will rot it,
no matter how much salt you pack around it. If Breeze would learn all
the moon signs he’d be spared a lot of trouble long as he lived. White
people leave money to their children, but black people teach theirs
signs, which is far better. Money can be taken from you, but knowledge
can’t.
When Jeems was scalded and scraped and washed and cleaned, he was hung
up by a hickory stick run through the white sinews in his hind legs.
The carcass must cool before it was cut up, for meat, like bread, is
spoiled if cut while it’s warm.
Bina had come to help Big Sue, and the two women bent over a wooden
washtub, sorting out the liver and lights and chitterlings, putting the
small entrails aside for sausage casings. The hog’s fine condition made
Big Sue cheerful. She declared she’d make a lot more lard than she’d
expected, for all of Jeems’ insides were coated with fat.
The higher the sun rose the faster they worked, even when the neighbors
dropped by for a little neighborly talk and to see how the hog-killing
went on.
At noon they stopped for a breathing spell and bite to eat. Hot brown
corn-bread and bits of fried liver were washed down with sweetened
water. The grown people smoked one pipeful apiece, then set to work
again, for Jeems had cooled enough to be quartered.
The back door slipped off its hinges made a table large enough to hold
him. Uncle Bill’s big knife cut off the huge head, and separated the
hams and shoulders and sides from the long backbone. He trimmed them
neatly, throwing the scraps of lean meat into one tub for sausage meat,
and bits of firm white fat into another for to-morrow’s lard making.
He wanted to give Breeze the pig-tail to roast on the coals right then,
but Big Sue said Breeze had no time to be playing with pig-tails now.
If he’d work hard Uncle Bill might find the hog’s bladder for him, and
to-night he and Brudge could pleasure themselves blowing it up like a
balloon.
A number of the plantation dogs had gathered, and they had to be
watched, specially the hounds and cur-dogs. The bird dogs were
better-mannered. Big Sue wanted to scald the lot of them for the pesky
way they nosed around, but Uncle Bill wouldn’t let her. God made dogs
so they hankered after hog-meat. It was sinful to be short-patienced
with them.
One pot simmered and stewed with liver and lights and haslets and rice
liver pudding. Another pot slowly, carefully sputtered and spat as the
blood, mixed with seasonings, thickened into pudding. The brains were
taken out of the skull, which was put on for head cheese.
Breeze felt neither sadness nor squeamishness now. His mouth watered as
his nose sniffed at all the appetizing smells.
The sun began throwing long shadows and Big Sue kept him hurrying.
Every single hog hair had to be picked up and saved to plant in the
potato patch next spring. Every hair would make a potato.
The waste had to be thrown in the creek. Breeze cast it in, a bucketful
at a time. Horrid filthy stuff. It made him shiver, but the water
swallowed it down with scarcely a splash, then flowed on smooth and
clear, reflecting the bright clouds in the sky, shimmering in the last
sunbeams, rising with the incoming tide to water its banks, which were
yellow with marsh daisies. The willows were almost bare of leaves, and
the slim naked trunks and branches bent over, looking away down into
the Blue Brook’s quiet depths.
Sunset gilded the earth and cabins and trees, and streaked the white
sandy yard with golden light. Uncle Bill hoped that such stillness
would not bring rain soon, for the hay was in shocks in the field
yet, and the corn not all broken in. He looked up at the sky as he
spoke, and at once a light breeze sprang up to tell him to-morrow
would be fair. He laughed with relief, and the big trees bowed gently,
saying that they knew the little breeze had told the truth. Even the
frost-faded grasses nodded and waved!
To stay fair the weather must turn cooler, and that would be good for
Big Sue’s fresh killed meat. It would have a good chance to take the
salt well. Such big hams needed careful curing.
Breeze must clean up the pen to-morrow and scatter ashes all over it,
so Uncle Bill could bring Big Sue one of Melia’s red pigs to grow and
fatten into a fine shoat by late spring.
Each piece of pork was rubbed well with salt and stored in Uncle Bill’s
small log barn. There, they’d be safe until the morning, when they’d be
rubbed again with salt mixed with sugar, and packed into a barrel to
cure.
Old Louder sat on his thin haunches, patient and polite. He knew better
than to beg, but his long ears failed to hide the pleading, wistful
look in his eyes. Breeze tossed him a morsel of meat now and then and
before one could touch the ground Louder caught and swallowed it with a
deft snap of his jaws. Big Sue fairly screamed out:
“Feedin’ a dog wid my good meat, enty? I seen you. I’ll learn you
better’n dat to-morrow mawnin’.”
As a rule Breeze said nothing, but the falling dusk looked so mournful,
his body felt tired, his legs sore, his back and arms achy with so much
work. This was the time of day he gave Jeems his supper, after the
chickens and guineas were gone to bed. Now the pen was empty. Jeems was
dead.
Pity for Jeems and himself made a sob heave up into his throat. Big Sue
must have heard it, for her big moist salty hand closed over his mouth,
“Shut up dat cryin’. You ain’ nuttin’ but a gal-baby! A-cryin’ here an’
me fretted half to death ’bout Joy! Drop you’ pants. I’s gwine lick
you.”
* * * * *
Next morning, not a streak of daylight was showing through the house
cracks when Breeze heard Big Sue up, stumbling around, dressing. She
fumbled with the door-bar, taking it down, then went outside. She
wanted to see how her meat was. Breeze turned over, but his dozing
was broken up by a long terrible shriek. Without putting on even his
breeches, he hopped out of bed and ran out to see what was wrong.
Somebody’s house must be afire. Joy followed him, her teeth chattering,
although she had a quilt wrapped around her.
Never in his whole life had Breeze heard such screams as Big Sue was
making. Everybody in the Quarter came hurrying, nobody fully dressed.
At first all stood dumb, panic-stricken with amazement, while Big Sue
wailed out, between body-wrenching sobs, Jeems was gone! Stolen! Not a
hair nor hide was left! The iron hasps holding the chain and lock in
the door were pulled clear out of the door-frame. Outraged shouts broke
from the crowd. Who here was mean enough to do such a thing? They eyed
one another suspiciously. Even fists were clenched, for no such thing
was ever heard of. If a ham or a side or a shoulder had been taken,
that would have been bad enough, but a whole hog! It was too terrible
to think about.
They tried to find some trace, maybe some tracks on the ground around
the barn, but nothing was there plainer than Big Sue’s own flat
barefooted ones.
She shrieked and beat her breast by fits and starts, weeping bitterly
all in between.
Jeems was the finest hog ever butchered! She had never seen one lined
thicker with fat! His meat would have lasted until next summer! And now
it was gone! Stolen!
She jerked off the white cloth that bound her head and threw it down.
Howling with rage she beat her head against the side of the barn until
the blows of her skull had it fairly quivering. The neighbors’ efforts
to console her failed. Not even Joy could make any impression on her
raving. Breeze was at his wits’ end. The sunny day itself got somber.
The birds chirped low and sorrowfully.
Leah was the last person to come. Fat, wabbly, she strolled up, smoking
her pipe, one arm akimbo, and beneath her red headkerchief, her eyes
gleamed strangely.
“Wha’ dat ail Big Sue? E’s gwine on like e got in a hornet’s nest!”
They told her the news, but instead of grieving Leah sucked her teeth.
Big Sue was just trying to make fools of them. Who’d take a whole hog?
How could anybody do such a thing? Just as likely as not Big Sue had
the hog right yonder in her shed-room.
They all looked in that direction, then back at Big Sue, who had paused
in her wailing.
“Wha’ dat you say, Leah?” She was panting with rage, and only a narrow
piece of ground lay between them, but Leah gave a taunting wicked
laugh. “You hear me good enough. It ain’ no use to say all dat over.”
“You low liar! You varmint!” Big Sue’s voice was heavy. Her reddened
eyelids, puffed with fat and tears, squeezed as tight as her clenched
fist.
“Yunnuh hear Big Sue cuss me, enty?” Leah cried.
“Hush, Leah! You come on home wid me!” April stepped up and would have
led her away by the arm, but with the fury of a cyclone, she shook him
off and with a savage yell rushed up to Big Sue and spat in her face.
Like a flash they closed. Arms, fists, heads, bodies, whirled,
staggered, fell, rose. All efforts to pull them apart were useless.
Leah was the first to waver. After an awful blow in the face her arms
dropped. She stood still, then tilted back on her heels trying not
to fall. As she struggled for breath her mouth stretched wide open,
gasping as fish gasp out of water.
April ran up and caught her and eased her gently down on the ground.
Horrible fear rose in Breeze’s heart, for the glazed look in Leah’s
eyes was the same that filled Jeems’ yesterday, when death struck him.
People crowded around her. Somebody ran for a bucket of water and
poured it all over her head and face.
Breeze could hardly see for the mist in his eyes, but he knew Leah was
dying for one of her girls gave a long piercing death-cry.
“You is sho’ ruint now, Big Sue!” Bina said distinctly.
“You spit in my face an’ I’ll kill you de same way!”
“Hush, Ma. Fo’ Gawd’s sake, hush!” Joy plead.
“Leah’s de one stole my hog,” Big Sue bawled, “Leah’s de very one!”
“Hush, Ma! Fo’ Gawd’s sake, hush! Uncle Bill, do come make Ma go home.”
* * * * *
Next morning Big Sue was too ill to get out of bed. Joy kept cool green
collard leaves tied on her forehead, and rubbed the palms of her hands
and the soles of her feet with tallow, but she groaned and complained
with every breath.
Joy sent Breeze with some sweetened bread for Leah’s children to eat
with their dinner, but he took a long time to get there. Dread made his
feet lag. He slunk along the path, scared by every moving shadow. Ready
to jump out of his skin at the crackle of a twig.
He felt relieved when he saw Uncle Bill in April’s yard helping make
Leah’s coffin out of clean pine boards lately sawed at the saw-mill.
As the sharp plane smoothed the wood, yellow curls fell on the ground.
One string exactly Leah’s length and another her breadth, showed how to
fit the box to her size.
Breeze finally had to go inside the house to deliver the bread and
Joy’s message that Big Sue would not be well enough to attend Leah’s
burying. He gave both to Bina, who had a wilted mock-orange bough in
her hand, fanning flies away from the bed where Leah lay covered over
with a sheet.
“Big Sue’s right to stay sick. You tell em I say so, too,” Bina said
tartly. But in a more kindly tone she asked Breeze if he wanted to see
Leah. When he shook his head, Bina said Leah looked mighty nice. Just
as peaceful as if she was sleep.
That day was as long as a week. The sun hung still for hours at a time.
There was scarcely a breath of wind. Breeze was afraid to stay alone,
and both Joy and Big Sue kept to their beds. Once he whispered, “Joy,
is you sleepin’?” and she answered gently:
“No, son, I’m wake. Come lay down on de bed ’side me. I know you is
lonesome. I is myself.”
Reaching her hand out to meet him, she drew his burning face down
against her own soft cheek which was cold and wet with tears. He raised
up and met her eyes, and the look in them was so sad, so sorrowful, it
cut him clean through to the heart.
At last the sun dropped westward, setting in Leah’s grave. Curiosity
made Breeze want to see what went on, but fear of death kept him in
calling distance of Joy. He went up the road far enough to see the dust
raised by the funeral procession, but the wailing death-cries ran him
home.
Joy stood by the open window listening. When one lone cry rose high
above all the rest, her full lips twitched, her sad eyes stared more
gloomily and farther away, big bitter tears rolled down her cheeks.
Big Sue stayed in bed in the darkened shed-room, drinking root teas
that smelled strong and rank.