him things to eat. A chicken, a few eggs tied up in a cloth, a bottle
of molasses, whatever they had that they thought he might enjoy.
Occasionally some friend put a piece of money in his hand. But his
persistent low-spiritedness and down-heartedness did not encourage them
to come back. Soon they stopped only long enough by his window to say,
“How you do to-day, April?” or “How you feelin’?” as they passed by,
with troubled glances.
Uncle Bill was the exception. He came very often and he’d sit and
listen as long as April wanted to talk about his weariness or his
misery.
April never grew tired of telling over and over his experiences at
the hospital. About the nurses and doctors, their kindness to him and
interest in him. How he had fought through the long dark nights with
pain. At first it was a steady fight, then after a while the pain came
in showers. But he had thought out many things. He’d learned that
every man has to bear his suffering alone. He realized that the doctors
could not help him. Neither could his children, nor any friend. He had
to go the whole way through by himself--to the very end.
When April first came home, Joy stayed with him every night, then she
began going to parties and birth-night suppers once in a while, and
finally, every night as soon as the supper was over and the dishes
washed and put away, she’d tip quietly down the steps and go. Without a
word.
April said little about it. Nothing to Joy herself. What was the use?
What was he? Just half a man, that was all. He had no right to expect
Joy to stay always at home with him. Breeze was always there to mind
the flies or give him a drink of water, or tie a collard leaf on his
aching head.
Joy shirked no household duty. She had learned to cook almost as well
as her mother. He had no cause to complain of the food she gave him. It
was well seasoned enough for those who had appetites to eat. Joy was
young. She had to pleasure herself. He hadn’t the heart to forbid it.
And nobody could say she was a gad-about. She kept the house clean, the
clothes washed and patched, and she did her full share of the field
work too.
April talked fairly enough to Maum Hannah and Uncle Bill and Zeda, even
to Big Sue, who came to see him once in a while. But all of them could
see that jealousy was disturbing him, making him fretful and suspicious.
Hour after hour he stared doggedly out of the window, moaning, sighing,
wishing he could go to sleep and never wake up. His gloom filled the
whole cabin. Breeze could hardly bear to stay with him, and Uncle Bill
came in as often as he could spare the time.
One night Uncle Bill begged April to pray. It was the only way to find
peace, to be satisfied. If he would do like Jacob, and give God no rest
day or night until he had some sign his prayers were heard, his whole
heart would be changed and filled with rejoicing.
April answered that he had lost faith in God’s fairness. What had he
ever done to make God deal with him so? Would any decent man on the
plantation treat a dog any worse than God had treated him? Or suffer a
worm as much?
Uncle Bill admitted God had laid a heavy hand on April. Had smitten him
hard, but if April’s suffering would make him pray, and save his soul
from everlasting torment, then all suffering would be gain. Pure gain.
Joy had a Bible and Uncle Bill could read well enough to teach April
to spell out a few verses. At first he learned a few of them by heart,
then he strove to learn how to find the right place in the Bible and
to read them there. “The Lord is my Shepherd” was the first one he
located. It was the easiest of all to find and learn. Next he learned
“In my Father’s house are many mansions.”
Sometimes Uncle Bill read a whole chapter to him, but it was a hard
task for them both, labored work for Uncle Bill to read and for April
to understand.
The one April liked best was “Behold, He that keepeth Israel shall
neither slumber nor sleep.”
Breeze wondered who Israel was and who kept him, but he durst not ask.
One day Uncle Bill stumbled on this verse: “As a man chasteneth his
son, so the Lord thy God chasteneth thee.” The words were scarcely
spoken before April put up a hand.
“Don’ read dat one, Uncle. E’s done me too bad. E ain’ treat me fair.
Looks like E ought to let up on me. E done suffer me so long----”
April turned his face toward the window to hide the tears that poured
out of his eyes, and there was Sherry in full view, riding the sorrel
colt and holding Joy’s baby in his arms!
April’s face went a ghastly gray, his moist features shriveled. Tremors
shook the muscles in his jaws, but he said nothing.
Uncle Bill stroked out the fingers of one long, blue-nailed hand, but
they curled back into the palm as soon as they were released.
“You must be gittin’ a chill, April.” Uncle Bill’s eyes were full of
fear. “How ’bout a mustard plaster on you’ back?”
“Nemmine, Uncle. Nemmine,” April chattered.
As the dusk fell Zeda came to inquire about April, but she found him
shaking as with ague. He said he was cold through and through and his
insides felt wrung and twisted. The very heart in his breast ached
sorely.
Zeda said if April had a chill Joy had better give him some red-pepper
tea. She’d go home and make some tea out of her own red pepper. Her
pepper was strong, hot, she had gathered it at noon on a sunshiny day.
The jangle of a cow bell broke through the still night. On and on it
rang, saying it was meeting night. Uncle Bill had promised to lead, and
when he got up to go, Joy suggested that Breeze go along with him. Not
that Breeze cared especially for the singing and praying, but anything
for a change would do him good.
Maum Hannah’s house was crammed. Half the people had to stand outside,
and heads crowded the windows so not a breath of air could come in or
go out. The night was stifling hot and sweat trickled down Uncle Bill’s
forehead as he read the Bible by the dim smelly flame of the smoky
lamp. He read about a man named Jonah who sinned, and a great whale in
the sea swallowed him whole! God sent the whale to get him!
Uncle Bill closed the book when the chapter was ended and talked
slowly, sorrowfully, about the sin that prevailed on the plantation.
The people bickered with one another instead of living in love and
charity. Instead of praying for each other, they spent good money for
charms to conjure one another. They danced and sang reels instead of
shouting and singing spirituals and hymns. Unless they changed, no
telling what would happen! God is patient. Long-suffering. He gives
men every chance to get saved. But they had overlooked every warning.
They had forgotten that the jaws of Hell were stretched wide that very
minute, craving to swallow every soul in that room just as the whale
swallowed Jonah. Jonah got out of the whale after three days, but no
man ever gets out of Hell. Sinners spend eternity burning in fire and
brimstone.
Why not give up sin? Why not trust in Jesus instead of putting fresh
stripes on His bleeding wounds? Every sin cut Him to the quick! Not
only the sins of grown men and women, but the sins of little children.
Jesus was crucified over and over again by the sins of people right on
Blue Brook Plantation. And yet He had died on the cross to save them
from that awful place where there was nothing but weeping and wailing
and gnashing of teeth!
The members moaned and groaned until Maum Hannah lead the spiritual,
“God sent Jonah to Nineveh Land, Jonah disobeyed his Lord’s command.”
The congregation sang answers in a solemn refrain.
Verse by verse the whole story of Jonah’s awful punishment was told.
Breeze had never heard it before and he shuddered from head to foot
with horror and pity for poor Jonah. God seemed as cruel and awful as
the Devil. Between the two, there was small chance for any safety. Poor
Jonah! Poor April! Poor Breeze!
On the way home through the night he held to Uncle Bill’s hand so
tight that Uncle Bill asked what was the matter. Breeze admitted he
was afraid. Afraid of the dark, of God, of the Devil, of everything,
especially while it was night.
“De spirit is strivin’ in you’ heart, son. Strivin’ to convict you of
sin. You start prayin’ to-night. Soon as you git home. Rassle wid God.
To-morrow, you go off by you’self in de woods. Wallow on de ground
an’ pray. Don’ rest, not till you done found peace, so you won’ never
be ’fraid no mo’. I’ll come stay wid April to-morrow whilst you seek
salvation. Start to-night, son. Pray hard as you kin. Ax Gawd to le’
you be born again. You is a human chile now, subject to sin an’ death
an’ hell. When you’s born again, you’ll be Gawd’s chile. Free! Nobody
can’ touch you or either harm you. Nobody!”
The cabin was dark and silent. Joy opened the door and whispered that
April was asleep. Uncle Bill whispered back he’d come next day and stay
with April. Breeze was going to start seeking.
“Brudge come in just now an’ said he was gwine seek too.”
“Well, I declare! Dat is de best news I heared lately! De sperit is
workin’ fast to-night.”
Joy put the door-bar in place and Breeze went to bed. As soon as he
crawled under the covers he tried to begin his praying for the dread
of Hell racked him as bitterly as the fear of God. A round spot of
moonlight fallen through a hole in the roof made an eye on the floor. A
round, shining eye, that stared at him, winkless.
XX
SEEKING
It was early dawn when Joy woke him. He must get up and fetch plenty of
water, and cut some wood. By that time Uncle Bill would be here to stay
with April and he could go to the woods and seek.
Breeze sat up and rubbed his eyes and tried to listen, but it was all
he could do to keep from sinking back deep under the covers and pulling
them over his head. He didn’t want to seek, he’d a thousand times
rather sleep. But April spoke:
“Git up, Breeze! You don’ hear Joy talkin’ to you!” And Breeze opened
his heavy eyes and sprang to his feet. He dressed, then put his bed in
order, and went at his work. By the time it was done, Uncle Bill had
come, and he was set free to pray.
Cocks were crowing, birds chirping, crows cawing. Uncle Bill said they
were saying their morning prayers. Breeze must listen how earnestly
they did it, and learn how to pray just as hard.
Everything out-of-doors was silvery with dew, and the early sun gave
the earth a mysterious radiance that dazzled Breeze’s drowsy eyes
as he dragged himself slowly along. The woods looked far away. In
the distance their hazy darkness blent into the sky. The path to the
corn-field was shorter, and it led toward the sunshine, whose warm
yellow light drew every flower face toward it.
He reached the corn-field before the morning dew was dry. The black
furrows between the tall green rippling blades felt cool and damp. As a
light breeze blew, the corn rustled and waved and the silks added their
perfume to the fruity blossomy fragrance in the air.
Breeze sat down on the ground and looked up at the sky overhead,
pondering. He couldn’t remember his sins. He hated Brudge, but that
couldn’t be sinful, mean as Brudge was. Anybody who knew Brudge would
hate him.
“Oh, Lawd,” he began, then halted. If he knew how to pray it would be
easier. Where was Jesus? How could he make Jesus hear him? The blue sky
where Heaven was looked high and far and empty.
Getting on his knees Breeze closed his eyes and repeated the words
of Uncle Bill’s prayer as nearly as he could remember. Over and over
he said them, until in spite of all his striving to keep awake, the
stillness overcame him and he fell into a gentle doze. Something
tickled his nose, then crawled across his lips. He jumped, hit at the
pest, a straw. The sun’s midday light was a hard hot glare; the black
shadows short. Emma stood over him, her white teeth shining in a broad
grin that vexed him bitterly, a wisp of dry grass in her fingers.
“How you duh sleep! You ain’ gwine pray?” Emma giggled as she asked it.
Breeze rubbed his eyes and looked all around. He hated being caught,
and Emma had no business tickling his face while he slept. Stung to the
quick with shame and vexation, he snapped out angrily:
“How come you duh grin like a chessy-cat? Who you duh laugh at so
frightenin’?”
His ill humor sobered her and she made haste to explain, “I ain’
laughin’ at you. I’m a-laughin’ at Brudge. Brudge is done found peace
in dem woods back o’ we house. Lawd, e hollered so loud, I thought
sho’ e had got in a yellow-jacket’s nest! Jedus, you ought to heared
em!” Emma’s laugh rippled out and shook her slim shoulders so that
the beads Joy had given her chinked merrily against the hot black
skin of her little black neck. Her three-cornered face glowed with
fun, her slanting eyes sparkled as they met Breeze’s, but he shrugged
disdainfully. “I know dat ain’ so. Brudge didn’ start seekin’, not till
dis mawnin’. E couldn’ find peace, not dat quick. You can’ fool me.
Shucks!”
“I ain’ tryin’ to fool you. Gramma made me go see wha dat was ail
Brudge, made em squall an’ holler so loud.” Emma’s face had got
serious, her teasing eyes grave.
In spite of the too-big, ugly dress she wore and the long awkward
sleeves that hung over her small hands, the child had a half-wild grace
and lightness, and as she knelt down in the soft dusty furrow and one
hand crept out from the folds of her dress toward Breeze, he grabbed it
and held it before it could draw back.
“Breeze----” her husky little voice made his name a new thing. He could
feel a smile twitch at his mouth. “Breeze--if you’d find peace, you
wouldn’ be scared to git baptized?”
Breeze knelt beside her and he glowed, all on fire with courage now.
“Who? Me? Lawd, I ain’ scared o’ nothin’. Not nothin’!”
Emma’s eyes widened with wonder and respect for his boasting. “You ain’
scared o’ nothin’ in de world?”
Breeze turned his head and spat far away like a grown-up man. “Not
nothin’ in de world.”
Breaths of hot air drove the clouds along over their heads. A
grasshopper played shrill faint music, a dove mourned softly, the corn
blades rustled gently.
Breeze dropped her hand and grasped her thin shoulders, but she tore
herself from his hold with a breathless laugh. Then he caught her arm,
but she was stronger than he thought. The muscles in her small arm
tightened under his fingers and, wriggling herself loose, Emma went
flying down the corn row, calling back mockingly, daringly:
“Better go on an’ pray. A witch might git you!”
And Breeze answered boldly, his fear of God and the Devil all forgotten,
“I ain’ gwine pray. No! Wait on me, Emma! Don’ run so fast! You t’ink
you kin outrun me! Good Lawd, you can’ do dat! I’ll show you so right
now!”
* * * * *
At the cabin a crowd of people gathered. Breeze could hear them
babbling together, then keeping silent while one voice rose high.
There was no making out what it said, and Breeze went as fast as he
could, eager to know what was the matter. He found Brudge telling his
experience. The boy had told it over and over until his voice was
hoarse and trembly, yet he kept on, excitedly, as the people, mostly
women, urged him to tell them again what God had done for him. Brudge
said he was away off in the woods praying. Down on his knees with his
eyes wide open, looking up through the trees at the heavens, begging
God to hear him, to give him some sign, to let him know his sins were
forgiven, just as Uncle Bill said he must do. He had been there for an
hour or two, calling on Jesus with every breath, when all of a sudden
the light cut off, just like the lights in the Big House at night when
the white folks go to bed. Everything was pitch black dark. There was
not one sound anywhere. He thought he had died and it scared him so
he raised up and hollered loud as he could; the light came back quick
as a flash, with such a brightness he was mighty nigh blinded. All
the trees over his head began waving their arms and shouting. All the
clouds up the elements broke in half, and in the middle of them he
could see people, crowds of people waving their arms and shouting. He
jumped up and shouted with them! He felt light as any feather! The wind
fair blew him along as he ran home to tell the people what he had seen
this morning!
“Great Gawd, what a vision dat boy did have!”
“Dat’s de first time anybody on dis place ever did see right spang into
Heaven!”
“Son, Gawd is sho’ blessed you to-day!”
“It makes me pure scared to hear de boy talk!”
“It sounds to me like Brudge is called to preach!”
“De Holy Sperit sho’ did knock em on de head. Listen how de boy talks!”
“Now ain’ it so? Brudge must l’arn how to read an’ write.”
“Sho’! A preacher has to read readin’ an’ writin’ too.”
“Don’ you know Leah is happy in Glory to-day!”
The mention of Leah’s name brought pitying groans.
“Po’ Leah. Gawd took em home too soon. Leah ought to be here to-day.”
Brudge’s ranting became louder, more breathless, as he declared God had
made him so strong he could lift up a mule by himself. He would pray
for April’s legs to grow back. God would answer his prayer. The people
would soon see. April would be well.
April lay on the bed by the window, his short body covered over with a
quilt. When Breeze peeped in at him, he threw out his long arms with an
impatient gesture that made the flies rise with a buzz.
“Tell Uncle Bill I say come here!” he ordered, then he groaned and
put his clasped hands under his head. Breeze felt vaguely uneasy.
He whispered to Uncle Bill to hurry, and the old man’s feet stumbled
up the steps, for Brudge’s unexpected conversion had him shaken and
bewildered. But he steadied when April burst out furiously, “Whyn’ you
make Brudge hush dat fool talk? Brudge’s mind ain’ never been solid,
an’ now yunnuh’s gwine run em clean crazy! Tell dem people to go on
home! Brudge went to sleep in dem woods. E ain’ seen nothin’ but a
dream! No!”
Uncle Bill patted his shoulder and tried to cool his heat. “Brudge is
just happy, son. Dat’s all. I know ezactly how de boy feels. I felt de
same way when I found peace. You ain’ never been saved. Dat’s how come
you don’ un’erstand. Brudge is called to preach, April. Sho’ as you’
born. You ought to be so t’ankful!”
“Great Gawd!” April fairly bellowed. “You is fool as Brudge! Whe’s Joy?
Tell Joy to make Brudge hush dat fuss! I can’ stand so much racket! No!”
April’s eyes glowed fever bright and his forehead held drops of sweat.
Nobody but Uncle Bill would have dared to cross him, and even Uncle
Bill was upset.
“You mustn’ fret dis way, April. You’ll git you’ liver all hottened
up. I’ll make Brudge stop talkin’, but you mustn’ holler like a baby.
People’ll t’ink you’ mind ain’ solid. Anybody else but you would be
rejoicin’!”
The yard was soon empty, the cabin still. Only Joy and Uncle Bill sat
outside on the steps, talking in whispers.
That night Joy went out in a blustery wind and rain, and did not come
home until late. The heavy steps that always left stealthily came
inside along with hers. Doors creaked sharply. There were little
hissing sounds like whispers. Maybe it was the wind.
April raised up on an elbow. Listened. Leaned toward Joy’s room and
listened. Crawling out of bed on his long thin arms, he crept across
the floor and strained his ear against the wall between his room and
the room where Joy slept.
He crouched and listened but he made no sound. It was not the wind that
he heard.
Suddenly, something inside him seemed to break. Something in his head
or his breast. With a yell he beat on the door, and tried to break it
down. Then he lost his balance and fell back on the floor where he lay
and raved and cursed himself and Joy and God.
* * * * *
During the days that followed, April’s darkened room was filled with
his wild delirium. Joy sat by him for hours at a time, brushing the
flies away, wiping off his face with a cool wet cloth, trying to hush
him, to lower his fever with the root teas Uncle Isaac brewed for him.
Outside in the heat, the trees slept, the moss on them hung limp, the
tree ferns were brown and lifeless.
Whenever Joy flung herself down on Breeze’s straw mattress in the
corner to rest, Uncle Bill took her place, watching, waiting for some
change to come. His big rough hands, blue at the nails and knuckles,
squeezed each other distressfully, or stroked April’s restless fingers
trying to stop their plucking, plucking, at the cover. Coaxing them to
stand still. His old ears constantly listened at the window for the
marsh birds to tell him if the tide came in or went out and his eyes
were dim with pity and sorrow and love for April, who tossed on the
bed, mumbling, raving.
Sometimes April thought the mules were loose in the fields and
trampling the cotton, and cried out to stop them! Once he thought he
had swallowed Joy’s fine diamond ring and it was cutting his chest to
pieces. He babbled of boll-weevils and poison and ginning the cotton.
Uncle Bill tried to hold the weak nerveless hands, to steady them and
keep them quiet. Over and over he prayed to God to have mercy on April,
to give him back his right senses, not to let him die out of his mind,
and at last his prayer was heard.
The night was sultry, the cabin parching hot. Joy had broken down,
panic-stricken, and she knelt on the floor with her head on Uncle
Bill’s knee. She burst into a storm of weeping that drowned out April’s
raving, but Uncle Bill put his arms around her and took her into
another room and made her go to bed. She must sleep. He’d wake her if
he needed anything. Breeze would sleep with one eye open and jump up
the minute Uncle Bill called him. Zeda and Jake were both coming at
the first turn of the night after midnight. Joy must not fret and wear
herself out. She’d poison her breast-milk and make her baby sick.
Midnight must have passed but dawn had not come when April called Uncle
Bill so distinctly Breeze woke up, leaped to his feet, but Uncle Bill
was at April’s bed.
“Uncle,” April called again weakly, “you’s wake, enty?”
“Yes, son, I’m right ’side you.” Uncle Bill took both April’s hands and
held them close, while he leaned low to hear every word the sick man
spoke.
“My time’s come, Uncle. I ain’ got much longer----” April’s voice
climbed up, then dropped.
Uncle Bill looked up at the rafters. “Do, Jedus, look down. Do have
mercy!”
“Don’ stop to pray! De time’s too short now!” April’s short patience
had come back, but his shortened breath held it in sudden check.
“Uncle--my feets is cold--I feels death up to my knees----”
“Son, you ain’ got no feets; neither knees! Is you forgot?”
“No, I ain’ forgot. But I feels ’em--dey’s cold---- Listen, Uncle----”
April’s sense had come back. He was in his right mind, even if he did
feel the feet and legs that had been gone for months. His low husky
words were earnest.
“I ain’ scared to go. I’d sooner go dan stay. My time’s out. I’m done
for. I know it. I got one t’ing to ask you. Not but one. You’ll do it,
enty? I couldn’ rest in my grave--if you fail me----”
His breath cut off his words and he closed his eyes as it came with a
rattle through his teeth. Uncle Bill called Breeze to open the window.
“Open em easy, son. Don’ wake up Joy, not yet,” he cautioned.
“Not yet,” April’s whisper echoed.
Outside, the black trees sounded restless. An uneasy pattering and
rustling ran through the dry lips of the leaves. Flying insects buzzed
into the room and beat against the walls with noisy humming wings.
Moths flew wildly about the glass lamp on the floor at the foot of the
bed. They were crazed by its smoky yellow bitter-smelling light.
“Uncle----” April’s breath stifled, his eyes widened with the strain,
but he forced his lips to twist out the words he wanted to say.
“Bury me in a man-size box---- You un’erstan’?-- A man--size--box----
I--been--six--feet--fo’--Uncle---- Six feet--fo’!”
The blaze in his eyes fell back, cold, dim. A long shudder swept over
him. The tide had turned.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.