THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER IN A BLACK HEART.
Yes, the two household-servants at Arnold’s farm breakfasted lovingly
together, there is no doubt of that. But when the green-eyed monster
once gets possession of a man, it is not to be drawn out with a few soft
words and a comfortable breakfast. These things may hold the fiend at
abeyance, but he is sure to be found couchant somewhere in the soul,
ready for a spring on the first provocation.
So it was with Dan. No sooner had he accepted Hagar’s submission than
thoughts of Peter’s letter came back with bitter force. What right had
that city-negro to correspond with the betrothed of his own sable bosom?
What did that letter contain? If Hagar had allowed the city exquisite to
commit himself in writing, what tender words, what perfidious
encouragement must have preceded it? Oh, if he had not burned the
letter, but carried it in his trowsers-pocket till some kind white man
might have been found to read it for him!
Thus reflected poor Othello, and the thought burned darkly within him
while he wandered around the farm, or sat on a broken cart whittling an
eyelet-pin for Hagar, which he in the end threw away. Dismounting from
the cart he wandered moodily across the yard, picking up corn-cobs and
jerking them right and left as he moved along. For once jealousy made
the lazy negro almost energetic. A fence was broken back of the house,
and in his desperation he resolved to mend it. With his ponderous step a
little quickened, he moved across the garden through a side-gate into a
pasture-lot blooming thickly with white clover. His great feet crushed
down the fragrant blossoms, leaving clouds of perfume behind them. He
heeded nothing of this, but lumbered on, swinging his long arms and
frowning gloomily.
All at once Dan paused, for in a corner of the lot, sheltered by an
angle of the stone wall, something whiter than the clover attracted his
attention,—something that looked like little patches and handfuls of
snow, left to melt in the grass.
Dan was a curious negro, and at any time would have paused to satisfy
himself about this unusual appearance. He wheeled about, took a
cross-cut, wading ankle-deep through the tangled grass and blossoms,
till he came out close by the white mystery. Here he paused, his great
eyes rolling fearfully, and his thick lips parted. He took off his hat
by the torn brim, and after bending his head in deep reflection a
moment, grasped one hand into his wool, and gave it a fierce tug that
brought the water into his eyes.
Dan’s emotions were beyond his strength to bear. He looked wildly around
for some place of rest, made a fierce dive at the stone wall, and
scrambled up it. Once on the top, he sat down, with both great feet
swinging loose and both long arms folded despondingly on his breast. The
little garments which Hagar had spread out to whiten among the pure
clover tops lay an accusing evidence at his feet.
What he saw was enough. The whole force of human desolation fell upon
him. Here lay the hideous secret. This was why he had been driven from
the kitchen so persistently on one particular washing-day. Here, in this
snug corner, thinking that the masses of white clover would conceal the
iniquitous secret, Hagar had spread the evidence of her faithlessness.
No doubt she was married to that infamous Peter. His Hagar—the fair hand
which had worked corn-bread for him and broken it, too, that very
morning—was given to another.
Dan’s head reeled and his heart ached. In the desperation of his
anguish, he flung up both arms, lost his balance, and rolled down into
the clover, grinding his teeth as he went. He made no effort to gather
himself up, but lay prone upon the earth, grasping out with his hands.
In their writhing his long fingers clutched what seemed to be a cobweb.
He lifted the object up between his eyes and the sun. A mite of a cap,
frosted with fairy-like work, trembled like foam in his black clutch.
Dan clenched the bit of lace in his fist and shook the fist fiercely at
the sky in general: then in a paroxysm of jealous rage he dashed at the
filmy morsel like a hungry cur, and began to tear it with his white
teeth. In the midst of this savage onset he flung the fragments away,
and turning upon his face began to cry.
“Oh, Hagar, Hagar, how could you serbe a poor feller so! Did not yer
know how I lubed yer? Oh, golly, golly, I only wish I could die right
off, I’se so miserable, I is. Lord a massy, what has I done, what has I
done dat de gal I lubed should sarve me so?”
After this tender outburst Dan spread himself dolefully on the grass and
subsided into a tropical gust of tears.
As he lay with his face downwards and his broad shoulders heaving with
sobs, Hagar came across the field, with a wooden pail in one hand and a
square of hard soap in the other. Dan lay within the shadow of the wall,
and she did not see him at first, but set her pail down, dropped the
piece of soap into the water it contained, and began at once to splash
up a foam of suds that soon creamed over its sides.
As the commotion of the water reached Dan’s ears, he held his breath and
glanced cautiously up. How innocent Hagar looked at her genial work! A
smile stirred her thick lips, her sharp black eyes danced pleasantly as
she watched the foaming suds. Then a fragment of song broke forth:
“Can’t yer heel that, can’t yer toe that,
The deck a dora can’t you step that?”
Stirred to the depths of his soul, Dan sat upright. Hagar saw him;
flashed her hands out of the suds and shook a rain of drops into the
sunshine.
“Why, Dan! Dan, am dat you, or am it yer ghost? I ’care to man, yer
scares me a’most ter death. What am de matter? what ’stresses yer now?
Den, agin, how comes yer here in de crook of dis farm, where you hasn’t
no business to be no how? Dan, I say what am de meanin’ ob dis ourdacous
freaking, I wants ter know now right off?”
Dan’s face still bore evidence of his grief; tears rolled down his
cheeks like drops of water on a seal’s back; his wool stood out torn and
fleecy as his frenzied fingers had left it. His eyes were turned upon
Hagar, full of reproachful misery.
“Oh, Hagar, Hagar, how could yer? How could yer?”
Hagar gave him a long glance, gathered up a handful of the little
garments and thrust them into the pail with warning emphasis. Then
dripping the suds from her arms, first with one hand then with the
other, she stood upright confronting him.
“Now look a-here, Dan, these ere tantrums is beginnin’ to rile me up,
and I won’t stand ’em. What on yearth are yer doin’? How comed yer here?
What has yer been boo-hooing ’bout thar in the grass?—found a hen’s nest
with the eggs spiled, or what?”
“Hagar,” answered Dan, shaking his head and wiping the tears from his
face with a sweep of his shirt sleeve, but shrinking within himself all
the time. “Oh, Hagar!”
“Well, what am it?”
“Oh, Hagar, how can yer look in dis face wid dem perfiderous eyes,—how
can yer?”
Hagar put a hand on each side her trim waist and made one step forward.
Dan commenced shrinking into himself like a turtle drawing itself into
its shell.
“What am it yer drivin’ at? Why shouldn’t I look at yer face jist as
much as I likes? dat am de question for us two at dis time, so speak up.
What’s der trouble,—am yer under convection, Dan? Hab der ’vival catched
yer black heart at last? Yer looks like it, kinder skeered and kinder I
don’t know what.”
Dan gathered himself up from the ground and supported his heavy body by
the wall, looking as if he would have drawn back through the stones had
that been possible.
“No, Hagar,” he said, “I isn’t under ’viction. Der ’vival hasn’t catched
dis chile, but yit I’se on der anxious-seat; and it’s yerself, Hagar, as
has put me thar.”
“What, I, I! Dan, didn’t we make up dis berry mornin’? Didn’t yer leave
yer Hagar as happy as a bumble-bee on a thistle? Now du tell me what am
it as sets heavy on dat heart.”
“I will,” said Dan, pointing to the grass with tragic dignity. “Hagar,
it am them.”
Hagar made a sweep at the little garments and huddled them into the
pail. Her cheeks grew blacker, her teeth gleamed. What did Dan mean? How
dared he?
“Dan,” she said, “yer am der audaceousest nigger dat ever did live.”
“No wonder yer scrouge ’em inter dat pail—no wonder yer eyes doesn’t
look straight inter mine. Oh, Hagar! Hagar! own up to once, and let dis
heart bust.”
“It ed sarve it right if it war busted now,” answered Hagar,
indignantly. “Jest say what I’m ter own up to, dat’s all.”
“Jest say out, fair an square, ‘I lub Peter.’”
“Pete,” exclaimed Hagar, “I’d jest a leave say it as not, if it was only
to torment yer. But it aint true, and so I won’t.”
“Say dat yer married to him,” cried Dan, wringing his hands at the
thought.
“I won’t, Dan, ’cause I isn’t. Thar.”
“You ain’t?”
“No, I isn’t.”
“Oh, Hagar!”
“Oh, Dan, how could yer tink sech a ting ’bout me?”
“Say it agin, Hagar. Say as you isn’t married to him, and neber was, and
ain’t a-goin’ to be, foreber and eber.”
“Wal, Dan, I says dat.”
“Yer duz?”
“Yes, I duz, ober and ober again.”
“Come ter my bussum,—no, no, I darsn’t mean it,—dat is jest now, fore
dat ’spicious minute arrives. I jest want ter know de meaning ob dis
camp-meeting ob tings. Am dey yours?”
“What! dese, Dan? Duz yer mean ter ’sult me?”
“’Sult yer? No; but if de tings ain’t yours, whose am dey?”
“Daniel,” cried Hagar, going close to the wall and touching the jealous
negro with her hand, “Daniel, am yer a gemman?”
“Wal, I reckon I is.”
“Den don’t ax me any more questions.”
“I won’t, Hagar. Only tell me one ting.”
“Well, say ’em quick.”
“If yer ain’t goin’ ter marry nobody else, and if yer lub dis chil’ as
yer ought ter, jest set de happy day, Hagar You and I is bound ter set a
sample ob lovable ferlicity ter dis household.”
“No,” said Hagar, gathering herself up with dignity, “not so long as you
can ’spect de ’tegrity ob dis indiwidual.”
“Hagar, I doesn’t ’spect yer.”
“But yer will.”
“Neber, neber, lubly one.”
“But you’ll ask questions.”
“Jest try me, dat’s all.”
“Well, Dan, take up dat pail and bring it inter de kitchen.”
Dan took up the pail with touching humility, and Hagar walked
triumphantly by his side, with her head uplifted, and her active feet
scarcely bending the clover tops in her path. This time the
reconciliation was complete.