CHANGING THE ETHIOPIAN
Billy and Jimmy were sitting in the swing.
“What makes your hair curl just like a girl's?” asked the latter. “It's
'bout the curliest hair they is.”
“Yes, it do,” was Billy's mournful response. “It done worry me 'mos'
to death. Ever sence me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln's born we done try
ev'ything fer to get the curl out. They was a Yankee man came 'long las'
fall a-sellin' some stuff in a bottle what he call 'No-To-Kink' what he
say would take the kink outer any nigger's head. An' Aunt Cindy bought
a bottle fer to take the kink outer her hair an' me an' Wilkes Booth
Lincoln put some on us heads an' it jes' make mine curlier 'n what it
was already. I's 'shame' to go roun' folks with my cap off, a-lookin'
like a frizzly chicken. Miss Cecilia say she like it though, an' we's
engaged. We's goin' to git married soon's I puts on long pants.”
“How long you been here, Billy?” asked the other boy.
“Well, I don't know perxactly, but I been to Sunday-School four times.
I got engaged to Miss Cecilia that very firs' Sunday, but she didn' know
it tell I went over to her house the nex' day an' tol' her 'bout it. She
say she think my hair is so pretty.”
“Pretty nothin',” sneered his rival. “She jus' stuffin' you fuller 'n a
tick with hot air. It just makes you look like a girl. There's a young
lady come to spend a week with my mama not long ago and she put somepin'
on her head to make it right yeller. She left the bottle to our house
and I know where 't is. Maybe if you'd put some o' that on your head 't
would take the curl out.”
“'Tain't nothin' a-goin' to do it no good,” gloomily replied Billy.
“'Twould jest make it yeller 'n what 'tis now. Won't I be a pretty sight
when I puts on long pants with these here yaller curls stuck on topper
my head? I'd 'nuther sight ruther be bal'headed.”
“Bennie Dick's got 'bout the kinkiest head they is.”
Bennie Dick was the two-year-old baby of Mrs. Garner's cook, Sarah Jane.
“It sho' is,” replied Billy. “Wouldn't he look funny if he had yaller
hair, 'cause his face is so black?”
“I know where the bottle is,” cried Jimmy, snatching eagerly at the
suggestion. “Let's go get it and put some on Bennie Dick's head and see
if it'll turn it yeller.”
“Aunt Minerva don' want me to go over to yo' house,” objected Billy.
“You all time talking 'bout Miss Minerva won't let you go nowheres; she
sure is imperdunt to you. You 'bout the 'fraidest boy they is.... Come
on, Billy,” pleaded Jimmy.
The little boy hesitated.
“I don't want to git Aunt Minerva's dander der up any more 'n I jest
natchelly boun' to,” he said, following Jimmy reluctantly to the fence;
“but I'll jes' take a look at that bottle an' see ef it looks anything
't all like 'No-To-Kink'.”
Giggling mightily, they jumped the dividing fence and slipped with
stealthy tread around the house to Sarah Jane's cabin in the back-yard.
Bennie Dick was sitting on the floor before the open door, the entrance
of which was, securely barricaded to keep him inside. Sarah Jane was in
the kitchen cooking supper; they could hear her happy voice raised in
religious melody; Mrs. Garner had not yet returned from a card party;
the coast was clear, and the time propitious.
Jimmy tiptoed to the house and soon returned with a big bottle of a
powerful “blondine” in one hand and a stick of candy in the other.
“Bennie Dick,” he said, “here's a nice stick of candy for you if you'll
let us wash your head.”
The negro baby's thick, red lips curved in a grin of delight, his shiny
ebony face beamed happily, his round black eyes sparkled as he held out
his fat, rusty little hands. He sucked greedily at the candy as the
two mischievous little boys uncorked the bottle and, poured a generous
supply of the liquid on his head. They rubbed it in well, grinning with
delight. They made a second and a third application before the bottle
was exhausted; then they stood off to view the result of their efforts.
The effect was ludicrous. The combination of coal black skin and
red gold hair presented by the little negro exceeded the wildest
expectations of Jimmy and Billy. They shrieked with laughter and rolled
over and over on the floor in their unbounded delight.
“Hush!” warned Jimmy suddenly, “I believe Sarah Jane's coming out here
to see 'bout Benny Dick. Let's get behind the door and see what she's
going to do.”
“'Hit were good fer Paul an' Silas,
Hit were good fer Paul an' Silas,
Hit were good fer Paul an' Silas,
An' hit's good ernough fer me.'”
floated Sarah Jane's song nearer and nearer.
“'Hit's de ole time erligion,
Hit's de ole time'”
She caught sight of her baby with his glistening black face and golden
hair. She threw up her hands, closed her eyes, and uttered a terrified
shriek. Presently she slowly opened her eyes and took a second peep at
her curious-looking offspring. Sarah Jane screamed aloud:
“Hit's de handiwork er de great Jehoshaphat! Hit's de Marster's
sign. Who turnt yo' hair, Benny Dick?” she asked of the sticky little
pickaninny sitting happily on the floor. “Is a angel been here?”
Benny Dick nodded his head with a delighted grin of comprehension.
“Hit's de doing er de Lord,” cried his mother. “He gwine turn my chile
white an' he done begunt on his head!”
There was an ecstatic giggle from behind the door.
Sarah Jane rushed inside as fast as her mammoth proportions would admit
and caught a culprit in each huge black paw.
“What yer up ter now, Jimmy Garner?” she asked. “What yer been
er-doing?”
Sudden suspicion entered her mind as she caught sight of the empty
bottle lying on a chair. “You been er-putting' suthin' on my chile's
head! I knows yer, I's er-gwine ter make yo' mammy gi' ye de worses'
whippin' yer eber got an' I's gwine ter take dis here William right ober
ter Miss Minerva. Ain't y' all 'shame' er yerselves? Er tamperin' wid de
ha'r what de good Lord put on er colored pusson's head an' ertryin' fer
ter scarify my feelin's like yer done. An' yer hear me, I's gwine see
dat somebody got ter scarify yer hides.”
“If that ain't just like you, Billy,” said Jimmy, “you all time got to
perpose to make nigger heads yeller and you all time getting little boys
in trouble. You 'bout the smart Alexist jack-rabbit they is.”
“You perposed this here hair business yo'self, Jimmy,” retorted his
fellow-conspirator. “You's always blamin' yo' meanness on somebody else
ever sence you's born.”
“Hit don't matter who perposed hit,” said Sarah Jane firmly; “meanness
has been did, an' y' all gotter be structified on de place pervided by
natur fer ter lem my chile erlone.”