North with him. What for? He wonders what Kabnis could do for her. What
she could do for him. Mother him. Carrie gathers the lunch things,
silently, and in her pinched manner, curtsies, and departs. Kabnis
lights his after-lunch cigarette. Lewis, who has sensed a change,
becomes aware that he is not included in it. He starts to ask again
about the old man. Decides not to. Rises to go.
Lewis: Think I’ll run along, Halsey.
Halsey: Sure. Glad t see y any time.
Kabnis: Dont forget tnight.
Lewis: Dont worry. I wont. So long.
Kabnis: So long. We’ll be expectin y.
Lewis passes Halsey at the door. Halsey’s cheeks form a vacant smile.
His eyes are wide awake, watching for the wagon to turn from Broad
Street into his road.
Halsey: So long.
His words reach Lewis halfway to the corner.
5
Night, soft belly of a pregnant Negress, throbs evenly against the
torso of the South. Night throbs a womb-song to the South. Cane- and
cotton-fields, pine forests, cypress swamps, sawmills, and factories
are fecund at her touch. Night’s womb-song sets them singing. Night
winds are the breathing of the unborn child whose calm throbbing in the
belly of a Negress sets them somnolently singing. Hear their song.
White-man’s land.
Niggers, sing.
Burn, bear black children
Till poor rivers bring
Rest, and sweet glory
In Camp Ground.
Sempter’s streets are vacant and still. White paint on the wealthier
houses has the chill blue glitter of distant stars. Negro cabins
are a purple blur. Broad Street is deserted. Winds stir beneath the
corrugated iron canopies and dangle odd bits of rope tied to horse-
and mule-gnawed hitching-posts. One store window has a light in it.
Chesterfield cigarette and Chero-Cola cardboard advertisements are
stacked in it. From a side door two men come out. Pause, for a last
word and then say good night. Soon they melt in shadows thicker than
they. Way off down the street four figures sway beneath iron awnings
which form a sort of corridor that imperfectly echoes and jumbles what
they say. A fifth form joins them. They turn into the road that leads
to Halsey’s workshop. The old building is phosphorescent above deep
shade. The figures pass through the double door. Night winds whisper in
the eaves. Sing weirdly in the ceiling cracks. Stir curls of shavings
on the floor. Halsey lights a candle. A good-sized lumber wagon, wheels
off, rests upon the blocks. Kabnis makes a face at it. An unearthly
hush is upon the place. No one seems to want to talk. To move, lest the
scraping of their feet..
Halsey: Come on down this way, folks.
He leads the way. Stella follows. And close after her, Cora, Lewis, and
Kabnis. They descend into the Hole. It seems huge, limitless in the
candle light. The walls are of stone, wonderfully fitted. They have no
openings save a small iron-barred window toward the top of each. They
are dry and warm. The ground slopes away to the rear of the building
and thus leaves the south wall exposed to the sun. The blacksmith’s
shop is plumb against the right wall. The floor is clay. Shavings have
at odd times been matted into it. In the right-hand corner, under the
stairs, two good-sized pine mattresses, resting on cardboard, are on
either side of a wooden table. On this are several half-burned candles
and an oil lamp. Behind the table, an irregular piece of mirror hangs
on the wall. A loose something that looks to be a gaudy ball costume
dangles from a near-by hook. To the front, a second table holds a lamp
and several whiskey glasses. Six rickety chairs are near this table.
Two old wagon wheels rest on the floor. To the left, sitting in a
high-backed chair which stands upon a low platform, the old man. He
is like a bust in black walnut. Gray-bearded. Gray-haired. Prophetic.
Immobile. Lewis’ eyes are sunk in him. The others, unconcerned, are
about to pass on to the front table when Lewis grips Halsey and so
turns him that the candle flame shines obliquely on the old man’s
features.
Lewis: And he rules over—
Kabnis: Th smoke an fire of th forge.
Lewis: Black Vulcan? I wouldnt say so. That forehead. Great woolly
beard. Those eyes. A mute John the Baptist of a new religion—or a
tongue-tied shadow of an old.
Kabnis: His tongue is tied all right, an I can vouch f that.
Lewis: Has he never talked to you?
Halsey: Kabnis wont give him a chance.
He laughs. The girls laugh. Kabnis winces.
Lewis: What do you call him?
Halsey: Father.
Lewis: Good. Father what?
Kabnis: Father of hell.
Halsey: Father’s th only name we have fer him. Come on. Lets sit down
an get t th pleasure of the evenin.
Lewis: Father John it is from now on...
Slave boy whom some Christian mistress taught to read the Bible. Black
man who saw Jesus in the ricefields, and began preaching to his people.
Moses- and Christ-words used for songs. Dead blind father of a muted
folk who feel their way upward to a life that crushes or absorbs them.
(Speak, Father!) Suppose your eyes could see, old man. (The years hold
hands. O Sing!) Suppose your lips...
Halsey, does he never talk?
Halsey: Na. But sometimes. Only seldom. Mumbles. Sis says he talks—
Kabnis: I’ve heard him talk.
Halsey: First I’ve ever heard of it. You dont give him a chance. Sis
says she’s made out several words, mostly one—an like as not cause it
was “sin.”
Kabnis: All those old fogies stutter about sin.
Cora laughs in a loose sort of way. She is a tall, thin, mulatto woman.
Her eyes are deep-set behind a pointed nose. Her hair is coarse and
bushy. Seeing that Stella also is restless, she takes her arm and the
two women move towards the table. They slip into chairs. Halsey follows
and lights the lamp. He lays out a pack of cards. Stella sorts them as
if telling fortunes. She is a beautifully proportioned, large-eyed,
brown-skin girl. Except for the twisted line of her mouth when she
smiles or laughs, there is about her no suggestion of the life she’s
been through. Kabnis, with great mock-solemnity, goes to the corner,
takes down the robe, and dons it. He is a curious spectacle, acting a
part, yet very real. He joins the others at the table. They are used
to him. Lewis is surprised. He laughs. Kabnis shrinks and then glares
at him with a furtive hatred. Halsey, bringing out a bottle of corn
licker, pours drinks.
Halsey: Come on, Lewis. Come on, you fellers. Heres lookin at y.
Then, as if suddenly recalling something, he jerks away from the table
and starts towards the steps.
Kabnis: Where y goin, Halsey?
Halsey: Where? Where y think? That oak beam in th wagon—
Kabnis: Come ere. Come ere. Sit down. What in hell’s wrong with you
fellers? You with your wagon. Lewis with his Father John. This aint
th time fer foolin with wagons. Daytime’s bad enough f that. Ere, sit
down. Ere, Lewis, you too sit down. Have a drink. Thats right. Drink
corn licker, love th girls, an listen t th old man mumblin sin.
There seems to be no good-time spirit to the party. Something in the
air is too tense and deep for that. Lewis, seated now so that his eyes
rest upon the old man, merges with his source and lets the pain and
beauty of the South meet him there. White faces, pain-pollen, settle
downward through a cane-sweet mist and touch the ovaries of yellow
flowers. Cotton-bolls bloom, droop. Black roots twist in a parched
red soil beneath a blazing sky. Magnolias, fragrant, a trifle futile,
lovely, far off... His eyelids close. A force begins to heave and
rise... Stella is serious, reminiscent.
Stella: Usall is brought up t hate sin worse than death—
Kabnis: An then before you have y eyes half open, youre made t love it
if y want t live.
Stella: Us never—
Kabnis: Oh, I know your story: that old prim bastard over yonder, an
then old Calvert’s office—
Stella: It wasnt them—
Kabnis: I know. They put y out of church, an then I guess th preacher
came around an asked f some. But thats your body. Now me—
Halsey (passing him the bottle): All right, kid, we believe y. Here,
take another. Wheres Clover, Stel?
Stella: You know how Jim is when he’s just out th swamp. Done up in
shine an wouldnt let her come. Said he’d bust her head open if she went
out.
Kabnis: Dont see why he doesnt stay over with Laura, where he belongs.
Stella: Ask him, an I reckon he’ll tell y. More than you want.
Halsey: Th nigger hates th sight of a black woman worse than death.
Sorry t mix y up this way, Lewis. But y see how tis.
Lewis’ skin is tight and glowing over the fine bones of his face. His
lips tremble. His nostrils quiver. The others notice this and smile
knowingly at each other. Drinks and smokes are passed around. They pay
no neverminds to him. A real party is being worked up. Then Lewis opens
his eyes and looks at them. Their smiles disperse in hot-cold tremors.
Kabnis chokes his laugh. It sputters, gurgles. His eyes flicker and
turn away. He tries to pass the thing off by taking a long drink which
he makes considerable fuss over. He is drawn back to Lewis. Seeing
Lewis’ gaze still upon him, he scowls.
Kabnis: Whatsha lookin at me for? Y want t know who I am? Well, I’m
Ralph Kabnis—lot of good its goin t do y. Well? Whatsha keep lookin
for? I’m Ralph Kabnis. Aint that enough f y? Want th whole family
history? Its none of your godam business, anyway. Keep off me. Do y
hear? Keep off me. Look at Cora. Aint she pretty enough t look at? Look
at Halsey, or Stella. Clover ought t be here an you could look at her.
An love her. Thats what you need. I know—
Lewis: Ralph Kabnis gets satisfied that way?
Kabnis: Satisfied? Say, quit your kiddin. Here, look at that old man
there. See him? He’s satisfied. Do I look like him? When I’m dead I
dont expect t be satisfied. Is that enough f y, with your godam nosin,
or do you want more? Well, y wont get it, understand?
Lewis: The old man as symbol, flesh, and spirit of the past, what do
think he would say if he could see you? You look at him, Kabnis.
Kabnis: Just like any done-up preacher is what he looks t me. Jam some
false teeth in his mouth and crank him, an youd have God Almighty spit
in torrents all around th floor. Oh, hell, an he reminds me of that
black cockroach over yonder. An besides, he aint my past. My ancestors
were Southern blue-bloods—
Lewis: And black.
Kabnis: Aint much difference between blue an black.
Lewis: Enough to draw a denial from you. Cant hold them, can you?
Master; slave. Soil; and the overarching heavens. Dusk; dawn. They
fight and bastardize you. The sun tint of your cheeks, flame of
the great season’s multi-colored leaves, tarnished, burned. Split,
shredded: easily burned. No use...
His gaze shifts to Stella. Stella’s face draws back, her breasts come
towards him.
Stella: I aint got nothin f y, mister. Taint no use t look at me.
Halsey: Youre a queer feller, Lewis, I swear y are. Told y so, didnt I,
girls? Just take him easy though, an he’ll be ridin just th same as any
Georgia mule, eh, Lewis? (Laughs.)
Stella: I’m goin t tell y somethin, mister. It aint t you, t th Mister
Lewis what noses about. Its t somethin different, I dunno what. That
old man there—maybe its him—is like m father used t look. He used t
sing. An when he could sing no mo, they’d allus come f him an carry
him t church an there he’d sit, befo th pulpit, aswayin an aleadin
every song. A white man took m mother an it broke th old man’s heart.
He died; an then I didnt care what become of me, an I dont now. I dont
care now. Dont get it in y head I’m some sentimental Susie askin for yo
sop. Nassur. But theres somethin t yo th others aint got. Boars an kids
an fools—thats all I’ve known. Boars when their fever’s up. When their
fever’s up they come t me. Halsey asks me over when he’s off th job.
Kabnis—it ud be a sin t play with him. He takes it out in talk.
Halsey knows that he has trifled with her. At odd things he has been
inwardly penitent before her tasking him. But now he wants to hurt her.
He turns to Lewis.
Halsey: Lewis, I got a little licker in me, an thats true. True’s what
I said. True. But th stuff just seems t wake me up an make my mind a
man of me. Listen. You know a lot, queer as hell as y are, an I want
t ask y some questions. Theyre too high fer them, Stella an Cora an
Kabnis, so we’ll just excuse em. A chat between ourselves. (Turns to
the others.) Youall cant listen in on this. Twont interest y. So just
leave th table t this gen’lemun an myself. Go long now.
Kabnis gets up, pompous in his robe, grotesquely so, and makes as if to
go through a grand march with Stella. She shoves him off, roughly, and
in a mood swings her body to the steps. Kabnis grabs Cora and parades
around, passing the old man, to whom he bows in mock-curtsy. He sweeps
by the table, snatches the licker bottle, and then he and Cora sprawl
on the mattresses. She meets his weak approaches after the manner she
thinks Stella would use.
Halsey contemptuously watches them until he is sure that they are
settled.
Halsey: This aint th sort o thing f me, Lewis, when I got work
upstairs. Nassur. You an me has got things t do. Wastin time on
common low-down women—say, Lewis, look at her now—Stella—aint she
a picture? Common wench—na she aint, Lewis. You know she aint. I’m
only tryin t fool y. I used t love that girl. Yassur. An sometimes
when th moon is thick an I hear dogs up th valley barkin an some old
woman fetches out her song, an th winds seem like th Lord made them
fer t fetch an carry th smell o pine an cane, an there aint no big
job on foot, I sometimes get t thinkin that I still do. But I want t
talk t y, Lewis, queer as y are. Y know, Lewis, I went t school once.
Ya. In Augusta. But it wasnt a regular school. Na. It was a pussy
Sunday-school masqueradin under a regular name. Some goody-goody
teachers from th North had come down t teach th niggers. If you was
nearly white, they liked y. If you was black, they didnt. But it wasnt
that—I was all right, y see. I couldnt stand em messin an pawin over m
business like I was a child. So I cussed em out an left. Kabnis there
ought t have cussed out th old duck over yonder an left. He’d a been a
better man tday. But as I was sayin, I couldnt stand their ways. So I
left an came here an worked with my father. An been here ever since.
He died. I set in f myself. An its always been; give me a good job an
sure pay an I aint far from being satisfied, so far as satisfaction
goes. Prejudice is everywheres about this country. An a nigger aint
in much standin anywheres. But when it comes t pottin round an doin
nothing, with nothin bigger’n an ax-handle t hold a feller down, like
it was a while back befo I got this job—that beam ought t be—but
tmorrow mornin early’s time enough f that. As I was sayin, I gets t
thinkin. Play dumb naturally t white folks. I gets t thinkin. I used
to subscribe t th _Literary Digest_ an that helped along a bit. But
there werent nothing I could sink m teeth int. Theres lots I want t ask
y, Lewis. Been askin y t come around. Couldnt get y. Cant get in much
tnight. (He glances at the others. His mind fastens on Kabnis.) Say,
tell me this, whats on your mind t say on that feller there? Kabnis’
name. One queer bird ought t know another, seems like t me.
Licker has released conflicts in Kabnis and set them flowing. He pricks
his ears, intuitively feels that the talk is about him, leaves Cora,
and approaches the table. His eyes are watery, heavy with passion. He
stoops. He is a ridiculous pathetic figure in his showy robe.
Kabnis: Talkin bout me. I know. I’m th topic of conversation everywhere
theres talk about this town. Girls an fellers. White folks as well. An
if its me youre talkin bout, guess I got a right t listen in. Whats
sayin? Whats sayin bout his royal guts, the Duke? Whats sayin, eh?
Halsey (to Lewis): We’ll take it up another time.
Kabnis: No nother time bout it. Now. I’m here now an talkin’s just
begun. I was born an bred in a family of orators, thats what I was.
Halsey: Preachers.
Kabnis: Na. Preachers hell. I didnt say wind-busters. Y misapprehended
me. Y understand what that means, dont y? All right then, y
misapprehended me. I didnt say preachers. I said orators. O R A T O R S.
Born one an I’ll die one. You understand me, Lewis. (He turns to
Halsey and begins shaking his finger in his face.) An as f you, youre
all right f choppin things from blocks of wood. I was good at that th
day I ducked th cradle. An since then, I’ve been shapin words after a
design that branded here. Know whats here? M soul. Ever heard o that?
Th hell y have. Been shapin words t fit m soul. Never told y that
before, did I? Thought I couldnt talk. I’ll tell y. I’ve been shapin
words; ah, but sometimes theyre beautiful an golden an have a taste
that makes them fine t roll over with y tongue. Your tongue aint fit f
nothin but t roll an lick hog-meat.
Stella and Cora come up to the table.
Halsey: Give him a shove there, will y, Stel?
Stella jams Kabnis in a chair. Kabnis springs up.
Kabnis: Cant keep a good man down. Those words I was tellin y about,
they wont fit int th mold thats branded on m soul. Rhyme, y see? Poet,
too. Bad rhyme. Bad poet. Somethin else youve learned tnight. Lewis
dont know it all, an I’m atellin y. Ugh. Th form thats burned int my
soul is some twisted awful thing that crept in from a dream, a godam
nightmare, an wont stay still unless I feed it. An it lives on words.
Not beautiful words. God Almighty no. Misshapen, split-gut, tortured,
twisted words. Layman was feedin it back there that day you thought I
ran out fearin things. White folks feed it cause their looks are words.
Niggers, black niggers feed it cause theyre evil an their looks are
words. Yallar niggers feed it. This whole damn bloated purple country
feeds it cause its goin down t hell in a holy avalanche of words. I
want t feed th soul—I know what that is; th preachers dont—but I’ve
got t feed it. I wish t God some lynchin white man ud stick his knife
through it an pin it to a tree. An pin it to a tree. You hear me? Thats
a wish f y, you little snot-nosed pups who’ve been makin fun of me, an
fakin that I’m weak. Me, Ralph Kabnis weak. Ha.
Halsey: Thats right, old man. There, there. Here, so much exertion
merits a fittin reward. Help him t be seated, Cora.
Halsey gives him a swig of shine. Cora glides up, seats him, and then
plumps herself down on his lap, squeezing his head into her breasts.
Kabnis mutters. Tries to break loose. Curses. Cora almost stifles
him. He goes limp and gives up. Cora toys with him. Ruffles his hair.
Braids it. Parts it in the middle. Stella smiles contemptuously. And
then a sudden anger sweeps her. She would like to lash Cora from the
place. She’d like to take Kabnis to some distant pine grove and nurse
and mother him. Her eyes flash. A quick tensioning throws her breasts
and neck into a poised strain. She starts towards them. Halsey grabs
her arm and pulls her to him. She struggles. Halsey pins her arms and
kisses her. She settles, spurting like a pine-knot afire.
Lewis finds himself completely cut out. The glowing within him
subsides. It is followed by a dead chill. Kabnis, Carrie, Stella,
Halsey, Cora, the old man, the cellar, and the work-shop, the southern
town descend upon him. Their pain is too intense. He cannot stand it.
He bolts from the table. Leaps up the stairs. Plunges through the
work-shop and out into the night.
6
The cellar swims in a pale phosphorescence. The table, the chairs,
the figure of the old man are amœba-like shadows which move about and
float in it. In the corner under the steps, close to the floor, a
solid blackness. A sound comes from it. A forcible yawn. Part of the
blackness detaches itself so that it may be seen against the grayness
of the wall. It moves forward and then seems to be clothing itself in
odd dangling bits of shadow. The voice of Halsey, vibrant and deepened,
calls.
Halsey: Kabnis. Cora. Stella.
He gets no response. He wants to get them up, to get on the job. He is
intolerant of their sleepiness.
Halsey: Kabnis! Stella! Cora!
Gutturals, jerky and impeded, tell that he is shaking them.
Halsey: Come now, up with you.
Kabnis (sleepily and still more or less intoxicated): Whats th big
idea? What in hell—
Halsey: Work. But never you mind about that. Up with you.
Cora: Oooooo! Look here, mister, I aint used t bein thrown int th
street befo day.
Stella: Any bunk whats worked is worth in wages moren this. But come
on. Taint no use t arger.
Kabnis: I’ll arger. Its preposterous—
The girls interrupt him with none too pleasant laughs.
Kabnis: Thats what I said. Know what it means, dont y? All right, then.
I said its preposterous t root an artist out o bed at this ungodly
hour, when there aint no use t it. You can start your damned old work.
Nobody’s stoppin y. But what we got t get up for? Fraid somebody’ll
see th girls leavin? Some sport, you are. I hand it t y.
Halsey: Up you get, all th same.
Kabnis: Oh, th hell you say.
Halsey: Well, son, seeing that I’m th kind-hearted father, I’ll give y
chance t open your eyes. But up y get when I come down.
He mounts the steps to the work-shop and starts a fire in the hearth.
In the yard he finds some chunks of coal which he brings in and throws
on the fire. He puts a kettle on to boil. The wagon draws him. He lifts
an oak-beam, fingers it, and becomes abstracted. Then comes to himself
and places the beam upon the work-bench. He looks over some newly
cut wooden spokes. He goes to the fire and pokes it. The coals are
red-hot. With a pair of long prongs he picks them up and places them
in a thick iron bucket. This he carries downstairs. Outside, darkness
has given way to the impalpable grayness of dawn. This early morning
light, seeping through the four barred cellar windows, is the color of
the stony walls. It seems to be an emanation from them. Halsey’s coals
throw out a rich warm glow. He sets them on the floor, a safe distance
from the beds.
Halsey: No foolin now. Come. Up with you.
Other than a soft rustling, there is no sound as the girls slip into
their clothes. Kabnis still lies in bed.
Stella (to Halsey): Reckon y could spare us a light?
Halsey strikes a match, lights a cigarette, and then bends over and
touches flame to the two candles on the table between the beds. Kabnis
asks for a cigarette. Halsey hands him his and takes a fresh one for
himself. The girls, before the mirror, are doing up their hair. It is
bushy hair that has gone through some straightening process. Character,
however, has not all been ironed out. As they kneel there, heavy-eyed
and dusky, and throwing grotesque moving shadows on the wall, they are
two princesses in Africa going through the early-morning ablutions of
their pagan prayers. Finished, they come forward to stretch their hands
and warm them over the glowing coals. Red dusk of a Georgia sunset,
their heavy, coal-lit faces... Kabnis suddenly recalls something.
Kabnis: Th old man talked last night.
Stella: An so did you.
Halsey: In your dreams.
Kabnis: I tell y, he did. I know what I’m talkin about. I’ll tell y
what he said. Wait now, lemme see.
Halsey: Look out, brother, th old man’ll be getting int you by way o
dreams. Come, Stel, ready? Cora? Coffee an eggs f both of you.
Halsey goes upstairs.
Stella: Gettin generous, aint he?
She blows the candles out. Says nothing to Kabnis. Then she and Cora
follow after Halsey. Kabnis, left to himself, tries to rise. He has
slept in his robe. His robe trips him. Finally, he manages to stand
up. He starts across the floor. Half-way to the old man, he falls and
lies quite still. Perhaps an hour passes. Light of a new sun is about
to filter through the windows. Kabnis slowly rises to support upon his
elbows. He looks hard, and internally gathers himself together. The
side face of Father John is in the direct line of his eyes. He scowls
at him. No one is around. Words gush from Kabnis.