told herself. And that person was Gussie. Nobody else had been in the
kitchen since the cake was put on the table to cool.... To think he would
do a mean, deceitful trick like that, after she was kind enough to let
him come in out of the rain and sit by her stove to get dry.... And not
a single piece left to offer her friends, after she just got through
telling them about her good, rich duck-egg cake!... What would they think
of her?
With a sudden resolve, she hurried over to Gussie and grabbed him by the
shoulders with both hands.
“Wake up hyuh! You nasty, low-down rogue.... Befo’ I pound you ’bout de
head wid a billet o’ wood!” She muttered with restrained passion, shaking
him roughly. “W’at you mean, prowlin’ ’round my kitchen an’ puttin’ yo’
filt’y han’s on things w’at ain’ b’lonks to you?... Wake up an’ git out
o’ hyuh, I tell you!”
Gussie opened his eyes and looked at her half dazed; wondering who she
was, and what the rough treatment meant. His mind was not clear and he
seemed uncertain of his whereabouts.
“Don’t you hyeah w’at I say?” Carmelite shouted, trying to pull him off
the chair.
“Don’ play so rough,” Gussie pleaded, struggling to free himself. “I ain’
goin’ bother nobody, settin’ hyuh by de stove till I git dry.”
“You mus’ be a drunken fool!” Carmelite answered hotly. “After you
done et up all my good cake,—thinkin’ I’m goin’ leave you stay hyuh
comfatubble; an’ I gotta go younder befo’ all dem people in de room, wid
a empty plate?... No’n deed, Lawd!” She vociferated, hearing the sound of
footsteps approaching. “So you better come on an’ git off dis chair befo’
I make dem mens drag yo’ nasty body thoo dis house an’ th’ow you in de
street unmerciful!... You hyeah?”
Soongy and Pinkey stood in the door looking on in blank amazement,
wondering what the difficulty was, and asking how Gussie happened to come
in without anybody seeing him.
Carmelite gave a dramatic recital of Gussie’s early arrival, his wretched
condition, and her willingness to give him shelter on account of her pity
for Aunt Fisky. She told how he promised to stay out of the room until
after the raffle was over; how she came out to tell him that his number
had won the quilt; how she went to cut the cake and made the startling
discovery that Gussie had eaten all of it, leaving her nothing to offer
her friends except “a pot full o’ black coffee an’ plain cistun water to
drink widout nothin’ to eat.”
There was only one thing to do, Soongy declared emphatically. Carmelite
was too foolish, wasting time multiplying words over ole no-count
Gussie.... Nobody could do her a dirty trick like that and sit to his
ease in front of her stove.... Who?... Talkin’ about it wouldn’t do no
good.... “_Hands_ was de inst’uments to start things movin’.” ... If one
woman’s pair of hands couldn’t manage ole drunken Gussie, she bet three
“wimmin’s six black hands wouldn’ miss takin’ charge of him to land him
out-doors in de high road whah he could scuffle wid his cawnshunce aft’
he done come thoo.”
Gussie looked from one to the other, uneasily; as though he were trying
to assure himself what the commotion was about.
“Ain’t no need to look so pityful, an’ try an’ say you ain’ did nothin,”
Pinkey told him, going over to his chair and seeming to adjust herself
for the coming exertion. “Yo’ time done come to vacate dis kitchen,” she
went on with assumed authority. “An’ Pinkey Clay right hyuh to tussle
wid you.... Come on, Soongy,” she commanded. “You grab hold ’is laigs
to keep ’im from kickin’.... An’ you git to de middle, Carm’lite, to
keep ’im from bendin’-in.... An’ I know w’en Pinkey Clay two han’s git
fasten ’round ’is th’oat, he sho goin’ keep still.... An’ I _dare_ ’im to
w’imper!... Come on, ole slow niggers,—git yo position!” She called with
impatience, determined to carry out her strategy without further delay.
After a few seconds of strenuous tugging and lifting, the unresisting,
half-bewildered Gussie was being hurried towards the front door in
haughty triumph. As they passed through the front room, the surprised
members, thinking the unique spectacle was a feature of amusement
provided for their entertainment, greeted the procession with peals of
laughter and great excitement.
Who could it be?... The thing looked too heavy to be a stuffed man,
because all the women were bending.... Maybe it was a robber, Carmelite
found in her house.... What made them want to carry the man out-doors?...
Suppose somebody dropped dead in Carmelite’s kitchen?...
So the riot of question and comment continued until the three women came
back, after having abruptly deposited their obnoxious burden on the muddy
road, a short distance from the house, “to go hunt sattafaction whah-ever
he wan’ look for it.”
“W’at you goin’ do if Gussie come back?” Bennee inquired, when Carmelite
had finished giving a graphic account of the mysterious proceeding; every
minor detail stressed with elocutionary fervor for their sympathetic
understanding.
Gussie knew better than to come back, she informed them. ’Specially after
the way all their three pair of hands had worked on him.... Gussie wasn’t
goin’ consider comin’ back, now that the rain done stopped, and he was
out-doors where he could realize that he wasn’t cripple complete, to
hinder him from keepin’ on goin’.
“But leave ole Gussie in Gawd han’s,” Carmelite concluded with willing
resignation. “An’ all y’all members come wid me to de kitchen an’ drink
some coffee; so we kin hurry ’way from hyuh an’ go yonder to Tempe wake.”
Eager to dispense with any mention of Gussie for the time being, and
wanting her friends to enjoy what remained of the hospitality planned for
them, Carmelite hurried them to the kitchen and began serving coffee;
laughing good-naturedly as she made amusing apologies for the “skimpy
li’l refreshnin’ foods;” thanking them for “helpin’ her out so nice”; and
drinking with everyone to the “big success” of the raffle.
When Gussie recovered from his dull bewilderment and found himself out on
the street, alone in the mud and darkness; he tried to collect his wits
and see if he could explain what everything was about. He remembered his
long walk in the storm down to the old man Hooblitz’s place at the edge
of the woods; recalling more vividly than anything else, the unfriendly
greeting of the old man, his cross ugly humor, and the mean way that old
Hooblitz hurried him out into the driving rain.
He also had a faint remembrance of a welcome drink with Chicken-Volsin,
somewhere along the road. But it was somewhat hazy. Not near as clear as
the recollection of himself hurrying on through the rain to see about
winning the quilt at Carmelite’s raffle, so he could take it home to Aunt
Fisky and make the old lady feel pleased.
Then he remembered Carmelite’s kitchen, and the nice warm fire in the
stove; and how good he felt when his clothes began to get dry; and the
good cup of hot coffee Carmelite gave him just before he fell asleep. But
after that, he could recall nothing more until the time he woke up and
found Carmelite shaking him and calling him names, and talking so loud
that Pinkey and Soongy came out and pitched into him, before he could get
his right presence of mind and keep them from over-coming him, the same
as if he was chillun.
Why they carried him out-doors and dumped him in the street, he couldn’t
understand to save his soul. Carmelite must have some grudge against
him, and was mad because he came to the raffle. She didn’t want him to
win the quilt; and that’s the way she fixed it up to git rid of him. But
didn’t he have as much right to be there as anybody else? Wasn’t his dime
just as good as anybody else’s money?... But maybe it was a good thing.
He had no business going. It served him right,—running with niggers all
the time and expecting them to treat him like their own kind.... But old
man Hooblitz was _white_. Look how _he_ treated him?... What difference
did it make after all? White or colored,—nobody gave a damn for him.
All Gritny knew who Gussie Fisky was; but that didn’t make them act no
kinder, and try to show him how to better his poor condition....
Suddenly realizing that his troubled meditation was growing into a
feeling of stupid self-pity and morbid resentment, he looked up nervously
at the few faint glimmering stars in the murky sky, wondering where
he would go to rid himself of his unhappy mood and forget his utter
loneliness.
Remembering Tempe’s wake, he started off down the quiet street to the
New Hope church. He went stumbling along aimlessly over the muddy
street-crossings and puddles of water on the low uneven banquettes, not
caring whether the road was wet or dry, or how splashed and bedraggled
his clothes became.
When he reached the church corner he was greeted by the blinking lights
from the church windows and the wistful singing of the members inside;
and the thought of human contact, however casual or momentary it might
be, caused him to smile and hurry on; knowing how glad he would be to
hear the sound of some friendly voice and feel the warm touch of a
sympathetic hand.
As he started up the rickety steps of the church, he stopped half way
to listen to the wave of melancholy song that came flowing out into the
darkness. It made him shiver with a strange feeling of sadness as he
caught a few words of the mournful wail and thought of their portentous
meaning....
“Death’s goin’-a lay his cold, icy han’ on me....”
He heard their full rich voices repeat the somber message over and over.
The slow, majestic movement of the chant rising and surging over them
like a flood of melody, lifting their emotional souls to heights of
poignant ecstasy.
But what made them keep on telling Tempe about what Death was going to
do? Gussie asked himself; deliberating whether he would go in or wait
until the song was finished.
Tempe didn’t need to know anything more about Death.... Tempe was sitting
up in the house of death now. And she could tell a heap more about what
was going on yonder than anybody sitting up in the church, singing about
it.... But maybe they were trying to tell their own self something about
Death.... The way Death was going to come up on them when their time came
for crossing over....
“Hell! I don’ feel like goin’ up in yonder an’ lissen at dat kind o’
thing,” he suddenly concluded. “I’m goin’ set hyuh on de step till dey
raise some yuther ballet mo’ sattafyin’ to de feelin’s,” he went on,
looking about for a dry spot to sit down. “Dey oughta try an’ sing somh’n
mo’ pleasin’ over Tempe. ’Stead o’ keep tellin’ ’uh w’at Death goin’ do;
after Gawd done seen fit to snatch ’uh away from hyuh so haphazzud.”
After a while the melodious flowing wave began to recede; growing fainter
and fainter, until the subdued lament faded away into a low murmuring
hum. It was soothing and pleasant, Gussie thought; and he sat listening
indolently.
Very soon he heard the velvety sound of a woman’s vibrant contralto voice
intone a line of another ballet. One by one the members took up the
somber burden, proclaiming the simple words with full-voiced exultation.
Getting up to go in, Gussie stopped suddenly, as the last lines came to
him....
“Sinner, don’t let this harves’ pass,
An’ die an’ go to Hell at las’....”
The singing irritated him. It made him uncomfortable to think of the
unwelcome message. Why did it disturb him, he asked himself. Was it the
slow, sad minor tune? Or the cold, direct words of the song?
“Great Gawd A’mighty!” He said to himself, starting to go down the steps.
“If da’s de onles’ kind o’ singin’ dey goin’ do hyuh tonight; ’tain no
pleasure for me to linger hyuh.... Shucks! I’m goin’ yonder ’cross de
Green an’ lay down an’ sleep.”
Trying to forget his disappointment, he began to whistle a cheerful tune
and started down the street in the direction of the East Green. The rain
was over, but the air was damp and chilly; and long fringes of clouds
were passing across the moon in slow-moving rifts. The houses along the
road were all closed, and everything was dark and still.
What would he tell Aunt Fisky about the quilt, he asked himself. Poor old
soul;—he sho counted on bringing it home to her for a nice surprise....
Look like out of five chances, one number sho oughta made him win the
thing.... Maybe Carmelite didn’t pick him five numbers for the four-bits
he gave her.... And Aunt Fisky needed a good warm quilt, too.... And
needed it more than anybody they had sittin’ up in Carmelite’s house....
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a bell floating
across the Green, not very far away. Looking up, he saw the reflection of
a head-light on the switch engine coming towards him.
“Mus’ be close on to twelve o’clock,” he remarked casually. “Da’s ’bout
de time dat switchin’ engine come up hyuh evvy night to pull freight off
Morgan W’arf.... Lemme hurry up; an’ I kin see my way thoo de mud, clean
home, w’ile dat light shinin’ ’cross de Green. ’Cause dat ole crawfish
pon’ sho is a nasty place for mud an’ slush, aft’ a hard rain like we bin
had tonight.... Ole switch engine, you sho struck it right for Gussie dis
time....” He went on talking aloud; quickening his pace in order to get
over the track before the engine reached him.
Hurrying on, he looked again to see how far away the engine was.... He
could make it across the track easy enough.... The engine wasn’t moving
very fast.... A few steps more, and he would be over the switch before
the engine reached the corner.
The reflection from the head-light showed nearly half-way across the
Green. He could see the water from the duck pond all over the road, clean
up to the front gate of his house. He recognized the old house by the
thin little piece of light he saw blinking through the leaves of the
castor oil bushes growing by the window.... Aunt Fisky must be up yet....
She didn’t leave no candle burning when she went to bed.... She couldn’t
be sick?... Maybe she was waiting to see if he had the quilt.... Poor ole
soul,—she sho would be sorry to know he didn’t win the thing....
Seeing the engine still a few feet away, he started to run; impatient to
get over the track before the long line of box cars blocked the way and
kept him waiting in the mud and dark. He felt confident that he would be
able to clear the track with perfect safety, just as he had done it many
a night.
But a sinister, opposing fate decreed that Gussie’s final hour had come.
A secret snare lay in his path, half-buried in the hard, unyielding mud.
There it lay hidden in the dark, sticking up like a waiting noose to
catch his hurrying foot: a treacherous loop of rusty wire discarded from
a bale of hay, dropped on the road by a passing wagon; or thrown there by
some careless hand,—how long ago, no one could tell.
A running jump, and he’d clear the track!... But tripping on the wire,
he was thrown headlong across the rail; his unloved, unregarded body
falling an instant victim to the murderous wheels of the heedless engine.
The morning after the raffle at Carmelite’s house, the East Green was in
a veritable fever of excitement. Such a number of things had happened, it
seemed that all the neighbors of the Green were out-of-doors discussing
the strange events. Some amused, others genuinely distressed; all amazed
and amazingly voluble.
Nobody appeared to be concerned about work. Women on their way to market
stopped at front gates to laugh about the “upsetment” Gussie caused
at the raffle. Some stood on street corners rehearsing the account of
Tempe’s mysterious drowning in the well, and the new pleasure that
awaited them at her approaching funeral. While others spoke in awed
tones of the disorderly conduct of Gussie at Carmelite’s house, and the
disastrous fate that followed him on his way home.
Where did he go after the women carried him out of Carmelite’s kitchen
and left him on the street? They asked one another. Nobody remembered
seeing him at Tempe’s wake.... Maybe Gussie was drunk when the engine
knocked him down?...
And what made them leave him out there on the track alone? Didn’t nobody
on the engine know they had runned over a man?... Who found the body
first, and went and carried Aunt Fisky the bad news?
So the comment and questioning continued. But no one seemed to have any
definite knowledge of the sad tragedy. All Carmelite knew was what Aunt
Fisky had told her when she went to bring her the quilt, early that
morning. The old woman said she got up about six o’clock; and when she
opened the gate to let the ducks out to the crawfish pond, she saw a
crowd of people standing by the switch, across the Green. She went over
to see what had happened, and they told her that Gussie had been run over
by the switch engine sometime during the night. That just a short while
before, the man in charge of the switch lights found the body when he was
going his rounds; and they were waiting for the coroner to come before
the body could be moved.
Carmelite told how she remained with Aunt Fisky, helping her to get the
house in readiness, “makin’ evvything look nice for Gussie w’en dey
fetched de body home.”
“Po’ ole soul, she mus’ bin bowed down heavy!” Mozella commented
feelingly.
“No she ain’t,” Carmelite answered. “Aun’ Fisky sho is got de right
un’stannin’ ’bout de way Gussie runned up on Death, an’ went ’way from
hyuh wid nobody ’round ’im.... She say Gawd was jus’ natchally watchin’
ove’ ’im careful. Right hyuh in dis Green.... An’ knowed all ’bout de
danger comin’ up on Gussie in de darkness.... Knowed it good.... ’Cause
Gawd bin watchin’ Gussie for a long time. An’ tol’ ’uh He was hol’in
Gussie right in ’Is han’s.... Waitin’ till de sperret command ’Im to cut
Gussie down....”
“Dey ain’ goin’ hol’ de wake in de church, is dey?” one of the women
asked, incredulously.
“W’at business dey got bringin’ Gussie up in inny church?” Carmelite
asked abruptly; surprised at her friend’s display of ignorance. “Evvybody
know old sinful Gussie ain’ never bin no Chrishtun.... Preachin’ ove’ ’im
now ain’ goin’ do no good; yonder whah he walkin’ munks all dem heavy
swingein’ flames, tawmentin’ his po’ soul an’ body.”
“An’ I bet ole no-count Gussie ain’ left a dry nickel to pay de un’taker
for ridin’ ’im down to de graveyard, either,” commented Soongy, shaking
her head reflectively.
Yes he did. Carmelite assured her. The secret society was going to
take charge of the funeral. Gussie belonged to the “Nights o’ Peefus.”
And word had been sent to all the members to come to the wake at Aunt
Fisky’s house that night. Gussie would be sure to have a fine funeral;
she declared with authority. Because the Peefus Lodge always had a fine
band of music. “An’ de secaterry already done give out de news dat Gussie
died finanshul.”
Feeling satisfied with having acquainted her friends with all these
important details, Carmelite left them; saying that she was going to
Lethe’s house to deliver a message from Aunt Fisky.
Eager to bestow upon Gussie any small honor that would lend added dignity
to the farewell ceremony, the old woman asked Carmelite to go and see
some of the friends who had played with Gussie in early childhood,
and ask them to come and serve as pall-bearers at the funeral. Having
notified all but one, Carmelite asked Lethe to send word to Felo and get
his promise to be present the next day. This duty accomplished, she told
Lethe that she was going home “to git down on her knees an’ wipe up all
dem mud tracks on her flo’. An’ try an’ chastise her cawnshunce for de
mean way she set to po’ Gussie. Not knowin’ de po’ soul was jus’ ’bout
ready to stumble into Hell-fire.”
“Ain’ it true?” Lethe corroborated with thorough understanding. “Dis
whole life ain’ resemble nothin’ mo’n a fatal mat’en-nee.” (Matinee.)
Flattered with having the honor of being the first one to acquaint
Felo with the startling account of Gussie’s death, Lethe lost no time
in hurrying to Miss Barbara’s grocery store to communicate with him
by telephone. She knew that Felo would just be giving Mr. Amos his
breakfast; that it would be the best time to catch him at home, before
he went out to market. She was sure that he had not heard from anyone
about Tempe’s drowning; so she would tell him all the particulars, and
all about the funeral which was to take place that day; and maybe Felo
would come over to Gretna early, and they would have a little visit at
her house before they went to the graveyard.
Such astounding news from home so early in the morning, served to arouse
Felo’s excitable temperament to unrestrained emotional flights. Mr. Amos
sat drinking his coffee, listening to Felo’s exclamations of surprise,
waiting patiently for the conversation to end.
When Lethe finished her long harangue, Felo hung up the receiver
nervously and came into the dining-room, his eyes staring with a startled
expression.
“Dah bless Gawd!” he exclaimed; taking a seat across the room, near the
kitchen door. “I ain’ _never_ knowed it to fail; long as I kin remember,”
he went on, with a sweeping gesture of the right arm. “Evvy time you
see me dream ’bout fresh meat, you sho find out it ain’ goin’ be mo’n a
day pass by, befo’ I hyeah tell ’bout somebody done died.... An’ now I
bin had a dream ’bout fresh meat, dis make _three_ nights successful,
han’-runnin’.... An’ hyuh come de news from Lethe dis mawnin’, ’bout two
mo’ people done passed out, yonder in Gritny....”
“Never mind your dreams,” Mr. Amos interrupted with an amused smile.
“Tell me who’s dead. And you can think about your fresh meat afterwards.”
“Go ’head, an’ laugh much as you please,” Felo answered, a trifle
provoked. “Y’all w’ite folks jus’ alike.... All time ready to laugh at
somh’n you don’ un’stan....”
“Well, let us hear what Lethe had to say, and maybe I will be better able
to interpret your dream,” Mr. Amos encouraged him.
“Da’s de very thing I wan’t tell you. If you only keep still, an’ stop
ty’in’ up my pro-gress wid so many on-nec’sary queshtun,” he remonstrated
playfully; eager to recount Lethe’s sensational chronicle of disaster.
Three deaths in less than a week’s time! He began solemnly.... Ole
Aunt Milly from down the bayou.... Pulled up in a skiff, all the way
from Peach Orchard.... Comin’ all that long distance, rolled up in a
blanket.... And buried in a grave half-full of rain water! He went on
enumerating the lugubrious incidents; falling into a sort of chant,
wavering between two monotonous tones.
Then Tempe, fallin’ in a well and gettin’ drownded so curuss.... And
nobody able to get the straight understandin’ about it.... And smack
on top of dat: Gussie Fisky, cut down by a switch engine haphazzud....
Right in front of his own house, in the black night.... And nobody
close by to carry the news.... Umph-umph! Went the vigorous grunt of
contemplation.... What was the world comin’ to?... These Gritny people
better make haste and pray. Before Gawd reached down and snatched at ’um;
and they come to open their eyes in Tawment.... Beggin’ for mercy when it
wasn’t no use.... “Yas Lawd!” he concluded with a deep sigh. “It sho look
like sudden deaths is gittin’ pop’lar.”
Knowing Felo’s eager readiness to have a part in every “popular”
demonstration of this kind; Mr. Amos asked him how he was going to manage
to be present at all the ceremonies.
No. He wasn’t going to take part in Tempe’s burying, Felo explained.
They didn’t need him to speed Tempe over.... Tempe was a Chrishtun;
and they would have a whole multitude of wimmins there to raise big
excitement over her.... He was going to stay home and try to “sun the
house,” and wipe up the floors.... Try and see if he couldn’t kill that
strong miljew scent Mr. Amos said he found about the house the last
couple of days.... Complainin’ and worryin’ about the dinin’room smellin’
mouldy.... And the rain bin fallin’ so steady lately; nobody ain’ goin’
study ’bout openin’ any window to leave in fresh air, damp as ever’thing
is out-doors.... Anybody ought to know how that ole grass rug on the
floor holds the miljew when the weather be’s rainy.... He was going to
stay home and give all his ’tenshun to the house.... If the sun just
comed out strong and ’lowed him a chance to work good all day....
But his mind told him that he had to go see Gussie that night.... Gussie
was a brother-member of his Lodge. And it was compulsionary for him to
be at the wake and go to the funeral.... Aunt Fisky sont him word that
she wanted all Gussie’s ole-time playmates to walk ’long-side him for
pall-bearers.... So after he got through fixin’ supper, he was goin’
to Gritny, and stay all night; and come back in the evenin’ after the
funeral was over.