"Lahd 'a' massie...."
"Wha' a mattah, Coggins?"
"Say something, no!"
"Massie, come hay, an' see de gal picknee."
" ... open yo' mout' no, what's a mattah?"
Coggins flew to the rainwater keg. Knocked the swizzle stick--relic of
Sissie's pop manufactures--behind it, tilting over the empty keg.
"Get up, Beryl, get up, wha' a mattah, sick?"
"Lif' she up, pappy."
"Yo' move out o' de way, Mistah Rufus, befo'...."
"Don't, Sissie, don't lick she!"
"Gal playin' sick! Gal only playin' sick, dat what de mattah wit' she.
Gal only playin' sick. Get up, yo' miss!"
"God--don't, Sissie, leave she alone."
"Go back, every dam one o' yo', all yo' gwine get in de way."
Beryl, little naked brown legs apart, was flat upon the hard, bare
earth. The dog, perhaps, or the echo of some fugitive wind had blown up
her little crocus bag dress. It lay like a cocoanut flap-jack on her
stomach....
"Bring she inside, Coggins, wait I gwine fix de bed."
Mahogany bed ... West Indian peasants sporting a mahogany bed; canopied
with a dusty grimy slice of cheesecloth....
Coggins stood up by the lamp on the wall, looking on at Sissie prying
up Beryl's eyelids.
"Open yo' eyes ... open yo' eyes ... betcha the little vagabon' is
playin' sick."
Indolently Coggins stirred. A fist shot up--then down. "Move, Sissie,
befo' Ah hit yo'." The woman dodged.
"Always wantin' fo' hit me fo' nuttin', like I is any picknee."
" ... anybody hear this woman would think...."
"I ain't gwine stand for it, yes, I ain't gwine...."
"Shut up, yo' old hard-hearted wretch! Shut up befo' I tump yo' down!"
... Swept aside, one arm in a parrying attitude ... backing, backing
toward the larder over the lamp....
Coggins peered back at the unbreathing child. A shade of compassion
stole over Sissie. "Put dis to 'er nose, Coggins, and see what'll
happen." Assafetida, bits of red cloth....
Last year Rufus, the sickliest of the lot, had had the measles and the
parish doctor had ordered her to tie a red piece of flannel around his
neck....
She stuffed the red flannel into Coggins' hand. "Try dat," she said,
and stepped back.
Brow wrinkled in cogitation, Coggins--space cleared for action--denuded
the child. "How it ah rise! How 'er belly a go up in de year!"
Bright wood; bright mahogany wood, expertly shellacked and laid out in
the sun to dry, not unlike it. Beryl's stomach, a light brown tint,
grew bit by bit shiny. It rose; round and bright, higher and higher.
They had never seen one so none of them thought of wind filling
balloons. Beryl's stomach resembled a wind-filling balloon.