I
Go t sleep, baby
Papas gone t town
Go t sleep, baby
The suns goin down
Go t sleep, baby
Yo candys in the sack
Go t sleep, baby
Papas comin back…
OVER AND OVER she crooned, and at each lull of her voice she rocked the wooden cradle with a bare black foot. But the baby squalled louder, its wail drowning out the song. She stopped and stood over the cradle, wondering what was bothering it, if its stomach hurt. She felt the diaper; it was dry. She lifted it up and patted its back. Still it cried, longer and louder. She put it back into the cradle and dangled a string of red beads before its eyes. The little black fingers clawed them away. She bent over, frowning, murmuring: “Whut’s the mattah, chile? Yuh wan some watah?” She held a dripping gourd to the black lips, but the baby turned its head and kicked its legs. She stood a moment, perplexed. Whuts wrong wid tha chile? She ain never carried on like this this tima day. She picked it up and went to the open door. “See the sun, baby?” she asked, pointing to a big ball of red dying between the branches of trees. The baby pulled back and strained its round black arms and legs against her stomach and shoulders. She knew it was tired; she could tell by the halting way it opened its mouth to draw in air. She sat on a wooden stool, unbuttoned the front of her dress, brought the baby closer and offered it a black teat. “Don baby wan suppah?” It pulled away and went limp, crying softly, piteously, as though it would never stop. Then it pushed its fingers against her breasts and wailed. Lawd, chile, whut yuh wan? Yo ma cant hep yuh less she knows whut yuh wan. Tears gushed; four white teeth flashed in red gums; the little chest heaved up and down and round black fingers stretched floorward. Lawd, chile, whuts wrong wid yuh? She stooped slowly, allowing her body to be guided by the downward tug. As soon as the little fingers touched the floor the wail quieted into a broken sniffle. She turned the baby loose and watched it crawl toward a corner. She followed and saw the little fingers reach for the tail-end of an old eight-day clock. “Yuh wan tha ol clock?” She dragged the clock into the center of the floor. The baby crawled after it, calling, “Ahh!” Then it raised its hands and beat on top of the clock Bink! Bink! Bink! “Naw, yuhll hurt yo hans!” She held the baby and looked around. It cried and struggled. “Wait, baby!” She fetched a small stick from the top of a rickety dresser. “Here,” she said, closing the little fingers about it. “Beat wid this, see?” She heard each blow landing squarely on top of the clock Bang! Bang! Bang! And with each bang the baby smiled and said, “Ahh!” Mabbe thall keep yuh quiet erwhile. Mabbe Ah kin git some res now. She stood in the doorway. Lawd, tha chiles a pain! She mus be teethin. Er something…
She wiped sweat from her forehead with the bottom of her dress and looked out over the green fields rolling up the hillsides. She sighed, fighting a feeling of loneliness. Lawd, its sho hard t pass the days wid Silas gone. Been mos a week now since he took the wagon outta here. Hope ain nothin wrong. He mus be buyin a heapa stuff there in Colwatah t be stayin all this time. Yes; maybe Silas would remember and bring that five-yard piece of red calico she wanted. Oh, Lawd! Ah hope he don fergit it!
She saw green fields wrapped in the thickening gloam. It was as if they had left the earth, those fields, and were floating slowly skyward. The afterglow lingered, red, dying, somehow tenderly sad. And far away, in front of her, earth and sky met in a soft swoon of shadow. A cricket chirped, sharp and lonely; and it seemed she could hear it chirping long after it had stopped. Silas oughta c mon soon. Ahm tireda staying here by mahsef.
Loneliness ached in her. She swallowed, hearing Bang! Bang! Bang! Tom been gone t war mos a year now. N tha ol wars over n we ain heard nothin yit. Lawd, don let Tom be dead! She frowned into the gloam and wondered about that awful war so far away. They said it was over now. Yeah, Gawd had t stop em fo they killed everbody. She felt that merely to go so far away from home was a kind of death in itself. Just to go that far away was to be killed. Nothing good could come from men going miles across the seas to fight. N how come they wanna kill each other? How come they wanna make blood? Killing was not what men ought to do. Shucks! she thought.
She sighed, thinking of Tom, hearing Bang! Bang! Bang! She saw Tom, saw his big black smiling face; her eyes went dreamily blank, drinking in the red afterglow. Yes, God; it could have been Tom instead of Silas who was having her now. Yes; it could have been Tom she was loving. She smiled and asked herself, Lawd, Ah wondah how would it been wid Tom? Against the plush sky she saw a white bright day and a green cornfield and she saw Tom walking in his overalls and she was with Tom and he had his arm about her waist. She remembered how weak she had felt feeling his fingers sinking into the flesh of her hips. Her knees had trembled and she had had a hard time trying to stand up and not just sink right there to the ground. Yes; that was what Tom had wanted her to do. But she had held Tom up and he had held her up; they had held each other up to keep from slipping to the ground there in the green cornfield. Lawd! Her breath went and she passed her tongue over her lips. But that was not as exciting as that winter evening when the grey skies were sleeping and she and Tom were coming home from church down dark Lover’s Lane. She felt the tips of her teats tingling and touching the front of her dress as she remembered how he had crushed her against him and hurt her. She had closed her eyes and was smelling the acrid scent of dry October leaves and had gone weak in his arms and had felt she could not breathe any more and had torn away and run, run home. And that sweet ache which had frightened her then was stealing back to her loins now with the silence and the cricket calls and the red afterglow and Bang! Bang! Bang! Lawd, Ah wondah how would it been wid Tom?
She stepped out on the porch and leaned against the wall of the house. Sky sang a red song. Fields whispered a green prayer. And song and prayer were dying in silence and shadow. Never in all her life had she been so much alone as she was now. Days were never so long as these days; and nights were never so empty as these nights. She jerked her head impatiently, hearing Bang! Bang! Bang! Shucks! she thought. When Silas had gone something had ebbed so slowly that at first she had not noticed it. Now she felt all of it as though the feeling had no bottom. She tried to think just how it had happened. Yes; there had been all her life the long hope of white bright days and the deep desire of dark black nights and then Silas had gone. Bang! Bang! Bang! There had been laughter and eating and singing and the long gladness of green cornfields in summer. There had been cooking and sewing and sweeping and the deep dream of sleeping grey skies in winter. Always it had been like that and she had been happy. But no more. The happiness of those days and nights, of those green cornfields and grey skies had started to go from her when Tom had gone to war. His leaving had left an empty black hole in her heart, a black hole that Silas had come in and filled. But not quite. Silas had not quite filled that hole. No; days and nights were not as they were before.
She lifted her chin, listening. She had heard something, a dull throb like she had heard that day Silas had called her outdoors to look at the airplane. Her eyes swept the sky. But there was no plane. Mabbe its behin the house? She stepped into the yard and looked upward through paling light. There were only a few big wet stars trembling in the east. Then she heard the throb again. She turned, looking up and down the road. The throb grew louder, droning; and she heard Bang! Bang! Bang! There! A car! Wondah whuts a car doin comin out here? A black car was winding over a dusty road, coming toward her. Mabbe some white mans bringing Silas home wida loada goods? But, Lawd, Ah hope its no trouble! The car stopped in front of the house and a white man got out. Wondah whut he wans? She looked at the car, but could not see Silas. The white man was young; he wore a straw hat and had no coat. He walked toward her with a huge black package under his arm.
“Well, howre yuh today, Aunty?”
“Ahm well. How yuh?”
“Oh, so-so. Its sure hot today, hunh?”
She brushed her hand across her forehead and sighed.
“Yeah; it is kinda warm.”
“You busy?”
“Naw, Ah ain doin nothin.”
“Ive got something to show you. Can I sit here, on your porch?”
“Ah reckon so. But, Mistah, Ah ain got no money.”
“Havent you sold your cotton yet?”
“Silas gone t town wid it now.”
“Whens he coming back?”
“Ah don know. Ahm waitin fer im.”
She saw the white man take out a handkerchief and mop his face. Bang! Bang! Bang! He turned his head and looked through the open doorway, into the front room.
“Whats all that going on in there?”
She laughed.
“Aw, thas jus Ruth.”
“Whats she doing?”
“She beatin tha ol clock.”
“Beating a clock?”
She laughed again.
“She wouldnt go t sleep so Ah give her tha ol clock t play wid.”
The white man got up and went to the front door; he stood a moment looking at the black baby hammering on the clock. Bang! Bang! Bang!
“But why let her tear your clock up?”
“It ain no good.”
“You could have it fixed.”
“We ain got no money t be fixin no clocks.”
“Havent you got a clock?”
“Naw.”
“But how do you keep time?”
“We git erlong widout time.”
“But how do you know when to get up in the morning?”
“We jus git up, thas all.”
“But how do you know what time it is when you get up?”
“We git up wid the sun.”
“And at night, how do you tell when its night?”
“It gits dark when the sun goes down.”
“Havent you ever had a clock?”
She laughed and turned her face toward the silent fields.
“Mistah, we don need no clock.”
“Well, this beats everything! I dont see how in the world anybody can live without time.”
“We jus don need no time, Mistah.”
The white man laughed and shook his head; she laughed and looked at him. The white man was funny. Jus lika lil boy. Astin how do Ah know when t git up in the mawnin! She laughed again and mused on the baby, hearing Bang! Bang! Bang! She could hear the white man breathing at her side; she felt his eyes on her face. She looked at him; she saw he was looking at her breasts. Hes jus lika lil boy. Acks like he cant understan nothin!
“But you need a clock,” the white man insisted. “Thats what Im out here for. Im selling clocks and graphophones. The clocks are made right into the graphophones, a nice sort of combination, hunh? You can have music and time all at once. Ill show you…”
“Mistah, we don need no clock!”
“You dont have to buy it. It wont cost you anything just to look.”
He unpacked the big black box. She saw the strands of his auburn hair glinting in the afterglow. His back bulged against his white shirt as he stooped. He pulled out a square brown graphophone. She bent forward, looking. Lawd, but its pretty! She saw the face of a clock under the horn of the graphophone. The gilt on the corners sparkled. The color in the wood glowed softly. It reminded her of the light she saw sometimes in the baby’s eyes. Slowly she slid a finger over a beveled edge; she wanted to take the box into her arms and kiss it.
“Its eight o’clock,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“It only costs fifty dollars. And you dont have to pay for it all at once. Just five dollars down and five dollars a month.”
She smiled. The white man was just like a little boy. Jus lika chile. She saw him grinding the handle of the box.
“Just listen to this,” he said.
There was a sharp, scratching noise; then she moved nervously, her body caught in the ringing coils of music.
When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound…
She rose on circling waves of white bright days and dark black nights.
…and time shall be no more…
Higher and higher she mounted.
And the morning breaks…
Earth fell far behind, forgotten.
…eternal, bright and fair…
Echo after echo sounded.
When the saved of the earth shall gather…
Her blood surged like the long gladness of summer.
…over on the other shore…
Her blood ebbed like the deep dream of sleep in winter.
And when the roll is called up yonder…
She gave up, holding her breath.
I’ll be there…
A lump filled her throat. She leaned her back against a post, trembling, feeling the rise and fall of days and nights, of summer and winter; surging, ebbing, leaping about her, beyond her, far out over the fields to where earth and sky lay folded in darkness. She wanted to lie down and sleep, or else leap up and shout. When the music stopped she felt herself coming back, being let down slowly. She sighed. It was dark now. She looked into the doorway. The baby was sleeping on the floor. Ah gotta git up n put tha chile t bed, she thought.
“Wasnt that pretty?”
“It wuz pretty, awright.”
“When do you think your husbands coming back?”
“Ah don know, Mistah.”
She went into the room and put the baby into the cradle. She stood again in the doorway and looked at the shadowy box that had lifted her up and carried her away. Crickets called. The dark sky had swallowed up the earth, and more stars were hanging, clustered, burning. She heard the white man sigh. His face was lost in shadow. She saw him rub his palms over his forehead. Hes jus lika lil boy.
“Id like to see your husband tonight,” he said. “Ive got to be in Lilydale at six o’clock in the morning and I wont be back through here soon. I got to pick up my buddy over there and we’re heading North.”
She smiled into the darkness. He was just like a little boy. A little boy selling clocks.
“Yuh sell them things alla time?” she asked.
“Just for the summer,” he said. “I go to school in winter. If I can make enough money out of this Ill go to Chicago to school this fall…”
“Whut yuh gonna be?”
“Be? What do you mean?”
“Whut yuh goin t school fer?”
“Im studying science.”
“Whuts tha?”
“Oh, er…” He looked at her. “Its about why things are as they are.”
“Why things is as they is?”
“Well, its something like that.”
“How come yuh wanna study tha?”
“Oh, you wouldnt understand.”
She sighed.
“Naw, Ah guess Ah wouldnt.”
“Well, I reckon Ill be getting along,” said the white man. “Can I have a drink of water?”
“Sho. But we ain got nothin but well-watah, n yuhll have t come n git.”
“Thats all right.”
She slid off the porch and walked over the ground with bare feet. She heard the shoes of the white man behind her, falling to the earth in soft whispers. It was black dark now. She led him to the well, groped her way, caught the bucket and let it down with a rope; she heard a splash and the bucket grew heavy. She drew it up, pulling against its weight, throwing one hand over the other, feeling the cool wet of the rope on her palms.
“Ah don git watah outta here much,” she said, a little out of breath. “Silas gits the watah mos of the time. This buckets too heavy fer me.”
“Oh, wait! Ill help!”
His shoulder touched hers. In the darkness she felt his warm hands fumbling for the rope.
“Where is it?”
“Here.”
She extended the rope through the darkness. His fingers touched her breasts.
“Oh!”
She said it in spite of herself. He would think she was thinking about that. And he was a white man. She was sorry she had said that.
“Wheres the gourd?” he asked. “Gee, its dark!”
She stepped back and tried to see him.
“Here.”
“I cant see!” he said, laughing.
Again she felt his fingers on the tips of her breasts. She backed away, saying nothing this time. She thrust the gourd out from her. Warm fingers met her cold hands. He had the gourd. She heard him drink; it was the faint, soft music of water going down a dry throat, the music of water in a silent night. He sighed and drank again.
“I was thirsty,” he said. “I hadnt had any water since noon.”
She knew he was standing in front of her; she could not see him, but she felt him. She heard the gourd rest against the wall of the well. She turned, then felt his hands full on her breasts. She struggled back.
“Naw, Mistah!”
“Im not going to hurt you!”
White arms were about her, tightly. She was still. But hes a white man. A white man. She felt his breath coming hot on her neck and where his hands held her breasts the flesh seemed to knot. She was rigid, poised; she swayed backward, then forward. She caught his shoulders and pushed.
“Naw, naw… Mistah, Ah cant do that!”
She jerked away. He caught her hand.
“Please…”
“Lemme go!”
She tried to pull her hand out of his and felt his fingers tighten. She pulled harder, and for a moment they were balanced, one against the other. Then he was at her side again, his arms about her.
“I wont hurt you! I wont hurt you…”
She leaned backward and tried to dodge his face. Her breasts were full against him; she gasped, feeling the full length of his body. She held her head far to one side; she knew he was seeking her mouth. His hands were on her breasts again. A wave of warm blood swept into her stomach and loins. She felt his lips touching her throat and where he kissed it burned.
“Naw, naw…”
Her eyes were full of the wet stars and they blurred, silver and blue. Her knees were loose and she heard her own breathing; she was trying to keep from falling. But hes a white man! A white man! Naw! Naw! And still she would not let him have her lips; she kept her face away. Her breasts hurt where they were crushed against him and each time she caught her breath she held it and while she held it it seemed that if she would let it go it would kill her. Her knees were pressed hard against his and she clutched the upper parts of his arms, trying to hold on. Her loins ached. She felt her body sliding.
“Gawd…”
He helped her up. She could not see the stars now; her eyes were full of the feeling that surged over her body each time she caught her breath. He held her close, breathing into her ear; she straightened, rigidly, feeling that she had to straighten or die. And then her lips felt his and she held her breath and dreaded ever to breathe again for fear of the feeling that would sweep down over her limbs. She held tightly, hearing a mounting tide of blood beating against her throat and temples. Then she gripped him, tore her face away, emptied her lungs in one long despairing gasp and went limp. She felt his hand; she was still, taut, feeling his hand, then his fingers. The muscles in her legs flexed and she bit her lips and pushed her toes deep into the wet dust by the side of the well and tried to wait and tried to wait until she could wait no longer. She whirled away from him and a streak of silver and blue swept across her blood. The wet ground cooled her palms and knee-caps. She stumbled up and ran, blindly, her toes flicking warm, dry dust. Her numbed fingers grabbed at a rusty nail in the post at the porch and she pushed ahead of hands that held her breasts. Her fingers found the door-facing; she moved into the darkened room, her hands before her. She touched the cradle and turned till her knees hit the bed. She went over, face down, her fingers trembling in the crumpled folds of his shirt. She moved and moved again and again, trying to keep ahead of the warm flood of blood that sought to catch her. A liquid metal covered her and she rode on the curve of white bright days and dark black nights and the surge of the long gladness of summer and the ebb of the deep dream of sleep in winter till a high red wave of hotness drowned her in a deluge of silver and blue that boiled her blood and blistered her flesh bangbangbang…
II
“Yuh bettah go,” she said.
She felt him standing by the side of the bed, in the dark. She heard him clear his throat. His belt-buckle tinkled.
“Im leaving that clock and graphophone,” he said.
She said nothing. In her mind she saw the box glowing softly, like the light in the baby’s eyes. She stretched out her legs and relaxed.
“You can have it for forty instead of fifty. Ill be by early in the morning to see if your husbands in.”
She said nothing. She felt the hot skin of her body growing steadily cooler.
“Do you think hell pay ten on it? Hell only owe thirty then.”
She pushed her toes deep into the quilt, feeling a night wind blowing through the door. Her palms rested lightly on top of her breasts.
“Do you think hell pay ten on it?”
“Hunh?”
“Hell pay ten, wont he?”
“Ah don know,” she whispered.
She heard his shoe hit against a wall; footsteps echoed on the wooden porch. She started nervously when she heard the roar of his car; she followed the throb of the motor till she heard it when she could hear it no more, followed it till she heard it roaring faintly in her ears in the dark and silent room. Her hands moved on her breasts and she was conscious of herself, all over; she felt the weight of her body resting heavily on shucks. She felt the presence of fields lying out there covered with night. She turned over slowly and lay on her stomach, her hands tucked under her. From somewhere came a creaking noise. She sat upright, feeling fear. The wind sighed. Crickets called. She lay down again, hearing shucks rustle. Her eyes looked straight up in the darkness and her blood sogged. She had lain a long time, full of a vast peace, when a far away tinkle made her feel the bed again. The tinkle came through the night; she listened, knowing that soon she would hear the rattle of Silas’ wagon. Even then she tried to fight off the sound of Silas’ coming, even then she wanted to feel the peace of night filling her again; but the tinkle grew louder and she heard the jangle of a wagon and the quick trot of horses. Thas Silas! She gave up and waited. She heard horses neighing. Out of the window bare feet whispered in the dust, then crossed the porch, echoing in soft booms. She closed her eyes and saw Silas come into the room in his dirty overalls as she had seen him come in a thousand times before.
“Yuh sleep, Sarah?”
She did not answer. Feet walked across the floor and a match scratched. She opened her eyes and saw Silas standing over her with a lighted lamp. His hat was pushed far back on his head and he was laughing.
“Ah reckon yuh thought Ah wuznt never comin back, hunh? Cant yuh wake up? See, Ah got that red cloth yuh wanted…” He laughed again and threw the red cloth on the mantel.
“Yuh hongry?” she asked.
“Naw, Ah kin make out till mawnin.” Shucks rustled as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Ah got two hundred n fifty fer mah cotton.”
“Two hundred n fifty?”
“Nothin different! N guess whut Ah done?”
“Whut?”
“Ah bought ten mo acres o lan. Got em from ol man Burgess. Paid im a hundred n fifty dollahs down. Ahll pay the res next year ef things go erlong awright. Ahma have t git a man t hep me nex spring…”
“Yuh mean hire somebody?”
“Sho, hire somebody! Whut yuh think? Ain tha the way the white folks do? Ef yuhs gonna git anywheres yuhs gotta do just like they do.” He paused. “Whut yuh been doin since Ah been gone?”
“Nothin. Cookin, cleanin, n…”
“How Ruth?”
“She awright.” She lifted her head. “Silas, yuh git any lettahs?”
“Naw. But Ah heard Tom wuz in town.”
“In town?”
She sat straight up.
“Yeah, thas whut the folks wuz sayin at the sto.”
“Back from the war?”
“Ah ast erroun t see ef Ah could fin im. But Ah couldnt.”
“Lawd, Ah wish hed c mon home.”
“Them white folks sho’s glad the wars over. But things wuz kinda bad there in town. Everwhere Ah looked wuznt nothin but black n white soljers. N them white folks beat up a black soljer yistiddy. He wuz jus in from France. Wuz still wearin his soljers suit. They claimed he sassed a white woman…”
“Who wuz he?”
“Ah don know. Never saw im befo.”
“Yuh see An Peel?”
“Naw.”
“Silas!” she said reprovingly.
“Aw, Sarah, Ah jus couldnt git out there.”
“Whut else yuh bring sides the cloth?”
“Ah got yuh some high-top shoes.” He turned and looked at her in the dim light of the lamp. “Woman, ain yuh glad Ah bought yuh some shoes n cloth?” He laughed and lifted his feet to the bed. “Lawd, Sarah, yuhs sho sleepy, ain yuh?”
“Bettah put tha lamp out, Silas…”
“Aw…” He swung out of the bed and stood still for a moment. She watched him, then turned her face to the wall.
“Whuts that by the windah?” he asked.
She saw him bending over and touching the graphophone with his fingers.
“Thasa graphophone.”
“Where yuh git it from?”
“A man lef it here.”
“When he bring it?”
“Today.”
“But how come he t leave it?”
“He says hell be out here in the mawnin t see ef yuh wans t buy it.”
He was on his knees, feeling the wood and looking at the gilt on the edges of the box. He stood up and looked at her.
“Yuh ain never said yuh wanted one of these things.”
She said nothing.
“Where wuz the man from?”
“Ah don know.”
“He white?”
“Yeah.”
He put the lamp back on the mantel. As he lifted the globe to blow out the flame, his hand paused.
“Whos hats this?”
She raised herself and looked. A straw hat lay bottom upwards on the edge of the mantel. Silas picked it up and looked back to the bed, to Sarah.
“Ah guess its the white mans. He must a left it…”
“Whut he doin in our room?”
“He wuz talkin t me bout tha graphophone.”
She watched him go to the window and stoop again to the box. He picked it up, fumbled with the price-tag and took the box to the light.
“Whut this thing cos?”
“Forty dollahs.”
“But its marked fifty here.”
“Oh, Ah means he said fifty…”
He took a step toward the bed.
“Yuh lyin t me!”
“Silas!”
He heaved the box out of the front door; there was a smashing, tinkling noise as it bounded off the front porch and hit the ground.
“Whut in hell yuh lie t me fer?”
“Yuh broke the box!”
“Ahma break yo Gawddam neck ef yuh don stop lyin t me!”
“Silas, Ah ain lied t yuh!”
“Shut up, Gawddammit! Yuh did!”
He was standing by the bed with the lamp trembling in his hand. She stood on the other side, between the bed and the wall.
“How come yuh tell me tha thing cos forty dollahs when it cos fifty?”
“Thas whut he tol me.”
“How come he take ten dollahs off fer yuh?”
“He ain took nothin off fer me, Silas!”
“Yuh lyin t me! N yuh lied t me bout Tom, too!”
She stood with her back to the wall, her lips parted, looking at him silently, steadily. Their eyes held for a moment. Silas looked down, as though he were about to believe her. Then he stiffened.
“Whos this?” he asked, picking up a short yellow pencil from the crumpled quilt.
She said nothing. He started toward her.
“Yuh wan me t take mah raw-hide whip n make yuh talk?”
“Naw, naw, Silas! Yuh wrong! He wuz figgerin wid tha pencil!”
He was silent a moment, his eyes searching her face.
“Gawddam yo black soul t hell, don yuh try lyin t me! Ef yuh start layin wid white men Ahll hoss-whip yuh t a incha yo life. Shos theres a Gawd in Heaven Ah will! From sunup t sundown Ah works mah guts out t pay them white trash bastards whut Ah owe em, n then Ah comes n fins they been in mah house! Ah cant go into their houses, n yuh know Gawddam well Ah cant! They don have no mercy on no black folks; wes just like dirt under their feet! Fer ten years Ah slaves lika dog t git mah farm free, givin ever penny Ah kin t em, n then Ah comes n fins they been in mah house…” He was speechless with outrage. “Ef yuh wans t eat at mah table yuhs gonna keep them white trash bastards out, yuh hear? Tha white ape kin come n git tha damn box n Ah ain gonna pay im a cent! He had no bisness leavin it here, n yuh had no bisness lettin im! Ahma tell tha sonofabitch something when he comes out here in the mawnin, so hep me Gawd! Now git back in tha bed!”
She slipped beneath the quilt and lay still, her face turned to the wall. Her heart thumped slowly and heavily. She heard him walk across the floor in his bare feet. She heard the bottom of the lamp as it rested on the mantel. She stiffened when the room darkened. Feet whispered across the floor again. The shucks rustled from Silas’ weight as he sat on the edge of the bed. She was still, breathing softly. Silas was mumbling. She felt sorry for him. In the darkness it seemed that she could see the hurt look on his black face. The crow of a rooster came from far away, came so faintly that it seemed she had not heard it. The bed sank and the shucks cried out in dry whispers; she knew Silas had stretched out. She heard him sigh. Then she jumped because he jumped. She could feel the tenseness of his body; she knew he was sitting bolt upright. She felt his hands fumbling jerkily under the quilt. Then the bed heaved amid a wild shout of shucks and Silas’ feet hit the floor with a loud boom. She snatched herself to her elbows, straining her eyes in the dark, wondering what was wrong now. Silas was moving about, cursing under his breath.
“Don wake Ruth up!” she whispered.
“Ef yuh say one mo word t me Ahma slap yuh inter a black spasm!”
She grabbed her dress, got up and stood by the bed, the tips of her fingers touching the wall behind her. A match flared in yellow flame; Silas’ face was caught in a circle of light. He was looking downward, staring intently at a white wad of cloth balled in his hand. His black cheeks were hard, set; his lips were tightly pursed. She looked closer; she saw that the white cloth was a man’s handkerchief. Silas’ fingers loosened; she heard the handkerchief hit the floor softly, damply. The match went out.
“Yuh little bitch!”
Her knees gave. Fear oozed from her throat to her stomach. She moved in the dark toward the door, struggling with the dress, jamming it over her head. She heard the thick skin of Silas’ feet swish across the wooden planks.
“Ah got mah raw-hide whip n Ahm takin yuh t the barn!”
She ran on tiptoe to the porch and paused, thinking of the baby. She shrank as something whined through air. A red streak of pain cut across the small of her back and burned its way into her body, deeply.
“Silas!” she screamed.
She grabbed for the post and fell in dust. She screamed again and crawled out of reach.
“Git t the barn, Gawddammit!”
She scrambled up and ran through the dark, hearing the baby cry. Behind her leather thongs hummed and feet whispered swiftly over the dusty ground.
“Cmere, yuh bitch! Cmere, Ah say!”
She ran to the road and stopped. She wanted to go back and get the baby, but she dared not. Not as long as Silas had that whip. She stiffened, feeling that he was near.
“Yuh jus as well c mon back n git yo beatin!”
She ran again, slowing now and then to listen. If she only knew where he was she would slip back into the house and get the baby and walk all the way to Aunt Peel’s.
“Yuh ain comin back in mah house till Ah beat yuh!”
She was sorry for the anger she knew he had out there in the field. She had a bewildering impulse to go to him and ask him not to be angry; she wanted to tell him that there was nothing to be angry about; that what she had done did not matter; that she was sorry; that after all she was his wife and still loved him. But there was no way she could do that now; if she went to him he would whip her as she had seen him whip a horse.
“Sarah! Sarah!”
His voice came from far away. Ahm goin git Ruth. Back through dust she sped, going on her toes, holding her breath.
“Saaaarah!”
From far off his voice floated over the fields. She ran into the house and caught the baby in her arms. Again she sped through dust on her toes. She did not stop till she was so far away that his voice sounded like a faint echo falling from the sky. She looked up; the stars were paling a little. Mus be gittin near mawnin. She walked now, letting her feet sink softly into the cool dust. The baby was sleeping; she could feel the little chest swelling against her arm. She looked up again; the sky was solid black. Its gittin near mawnin. Ahma take Ruth t An Peels. N mabbe Ahll fin Tom… But she could not walk all that distance in the dark. Not now. Her legs were tired. For a moment a memory of surge and ebb rose in her blood; she felt her legs straining, upward. She sighed. Yes, she would go to the sloping hillside back of the garden and wait until morning. Then she would slip away. She stopped, listening. She heard a faint, rattling noise. She imagined Silas’ kicking or throwing the smashed graphophone. Hes mad! Hes sho mad! Aw, Lawd!… She stopped stock still, squeezing the baby till it whimpered. What would happen when that white man came out in the morning? She had forgotten him. She would have to head him off and tell him. Yeah, cause Silas jus mad ernuff t kill! Lawd, hes mad ernuff t kill!
III
She circled the house widely, climbing a slope, groping her way, holding the baby high in her arms. After awhile she stopped and wondered where on the slope she was. She remembered there was an elm tree near the edge; if she could find it she would know. She groped farther, feeling with her feet. Ahm gittin los! And she did not want to fall with the baby. Ahma stop here, she thought. When morning came she would see the car of the white man from this hill and she would run down the road and tell him to go back; and then there would be no killing. Dimly she saw in her mind a picture of men killing and being killed. White men killed the black and black men killed the white. White men killed the black men because they could, and the black men killed the white men to keep from being killed. And killing was blood. Lawd, Ah wish Tom wuz here. She shuddered, sat on the ground and watched the sky for signs of morning. Mabbe Ah oughta walk on down the road? Naw… Her legs were tired. Again she felt her body straining. Then she saw Silas holding the white man’s handkerchief. She heard it hit the floor, softly, damply. She was sorry for what she had done. Silas was as good to her as any black man could be to a black woman. Most of the black women worked in the fields as croppers. But Silas had given her her own home, and that was more than many others had done for their women. Yes, she knew how Silas felt. Always he had said he was as good as any white man. He had worked hard and saved his money and bought a farm so he could grow his own crops like white men. Silas hates white folks! Lawd, he sho hates em!
The baby whimpered. She unbuttoned her dress and nursed her in the dark. She looked toward the east. There! A tinge of grey hovered. It wont be long now. She could see ghostly outlines of trees. Soon she would see the elm, and by the elm she would sit till it was light enough to see the road.
The baby slept. Far off a rooster crowed. Sky deepened. She rose and walked slowly down a narrow, curving path and came to the elm tree. Standing on the edge of a slope, she saw a dark smudge in a sea of shifting shadows. That was her home. Wondah how come Silas didnt light the lamp? She shifted the baby from her right hip to her left, sighed, struggled against sleep. She sat on the ground again, caught the baby close and leaned against the trunk of a tree. Her eye-lids drooped and it seemed that a hard cold hand caught hold of her right leg—or was it her left leg? she did not know which—and began to drag her over a rough litter of shucks and when she strained to see who it was that was pulling her no one was in sight but far ahead was darkness and it seemed that out of the darkness some force came and pulled her like a magnet and she went sliding along over a rough bed of screeching shucks and it seemed that a wild fear made her want to scream but when she opened her mouth to scream she could not scream and she felt she was coming to a wide black hole and again she made ready to scream and then it was too late for she was already over the wide black hole falling falling falling…
She awakened with a start and blinked her eyes in the sunshine. She found she was clutching the baby so hard that it had begun to cry. She got to her feet, trembling from fright of the dream, remembering Silas and the white man and Silas’ running her out of the house and the white man’s coming. Silas was standing in the front yard; she caught her breath. Yes, she had to go and head that white man off! Naw! She could not do that, not with Silas standing there with that whip in his hand. If she tried to climb any of those slopes he would see her surely. And Silas would never forgive her for something like that. If it were anybody but a white man it would be different.
Then, while standing there on the edge of the slope looking wonderingly at Silas striking the whip against his overall-leg—and then, while standing there looking—she froze. There came from the hills a distant throb. Lawd! The baby whimpered. She loosened her arms. The throb grew louder, droning. Hes comin fas! She wanted to run to Silas and beg him not to bother the white man. But he had that whip in his hand. She should not have done what she had done last night. This was all her fault. Lawd, ef anything happens t im its mah blame… Her eyes watched a black car speed over the crest of a hill. She should have been out there on the road instead of sleeping here by the tree. But it was too late now. Silas was standing in the yard; she saw him turn with a nervous jerk and sit on the edge of the porch. He was holding the whip stiffly. The car came to a stop. A door swung open. A white man got out. Thas im! She saw another white man in the front seat of the car. N thats his buddy… The white man who had gotten out walked over the ground, going to Silas. They faced each other, the white man standing up and Silas sitting down; like two toy men they faced each other. She saw Silas point the whip to the smashed graphophone. The white man looked down and took a quick step backward. The white man’s shoulders were bent and he shook his head from left to right. Then Silas got up and they faced each other again; like two dolls, a white doll and a black doll, they faced each other in the valley below. The white man pointed his finger into Silas’ face. Then Silas’ right arm went up; the whip flashed. The white man turned, bending, flinging his hands to shield his head. Silas’ arm rose and fell, rose and fell. She saw the white man crawling in dust, trying to get out of reach. She screamed when she saw the other white man get out of the car and run to Silas. Then all three were on the ground, rolling in dust, grappling for the whip. She clutched the baby and ran. Lawd! Then she stopped, her mouth hanging open. Silas had broken loose and was running toward the house. She knew he was going for his gun.
“Silas!”
Running, she stumbled and fell. The baby rolled in the dust and bawled. She grabbed it up and ran again. The white men were scrambling for their car. She reached level ground, running. Hell be killed! Then again she stopped. Silas was on the front porch, aiming a rifle. One of the white men was climbing into the car. The other was standing, waving his arms, shouting at Silas. She tried to scream, but choked; and she could not scream till she heard a shot ring out.
“Silas!”
One of the white men was on the ground. The other was in the car. Silas was aiming again. The car started, running in a cloud of dust. She fell to her knees and hugged the baby close. She heard another shot, but the car was roaring over the top of the southern hill. Fear was gone now. Down the slope she ran. Silas was standing on the porch, holding his gun and looking at the fleeing car. Then she saw him go to the white man lying in dust and stoop over him. He caught one of the man’s legs and dragged the body into the middle of the road. Then he turned and came slowly back to the house. She ran, holding the baby, and fell at his feet.
“Siiilas!”
IV
“Git up, Sarah!”
His voice was hard and cold. She lifted her eyes and saw blurred black feet. She wiped tears away with dusty fingers and pulled up. Something took speech from her and she stood with bowed shoulders. Silas was standing still, mute; the look on his face condemned her. It was as though he had gone far off and had stayed a long time and had come back changed even while she was standing there in the sunshine before him. She wanted to say something, to give herself. She cried.
“Git the chile up, Sarah!”
She lifted the baby and stood waiting for him to speak, to tell her something to change all this. But he said nothing. He walked toward the house. She followed. As she attempted to go in, he blocked the way. She jumped to one side as he threw the red cloth outdoors to the ground. The new shoes came next. Then Silas heaved the baby’s cradle. It hit the porch and a rocker splintered; the cradle swayed for a second, then fell to the ground, lifting a cloud of brown dust against the sun. All of her clothes and the baby’s clothes were thrown out.
“Silas!”
She cried, seeing blurred objects sailing through the air and hearing them hit softly in the dust.
“Git yo things n go!”
“Silas.”
“Ain no use yuh sayin nothing now!”
“But theyll kill yuh!”
“There ain nothin Ah kin do. N there ain nothin yuh kin do. Yuh done done too Gawddam much awready. Git yo things n go!”
“Theyll kill yuh, Silas!”
He pushed her off the porch.
“GIT YO THINGS N GO T AN PEELS!”
“Les both go, Silas!”
“Ahm stayin here till they come back!”
She grabbed his arm and he slapped her hand away. She dropped to the edge of the porch and sat looking at the ground.
“Go way,” she said quietly. “Go way fo they comes. Ah didnt mean no harm…”
“Go way fer whut?”
“Theyll kill yuh…”
“It don make no difference.” He looked out over the sun-filled fields. “Fer ten years Ah slaved mah life out t git mah farm free…” His voice broke off. His lips moved as though a thousand words were spilling silently out of his mouth, as though he did not have breath enough to give them sound. He looked to the sky, and then back to the dust. “Now, its all gone. Gone… Ef Ah run erway, Ah ain got nothin. Ef Ah stay n fight, Ah ain got nothin. It don make no difference which way Ah go. Gawd! Gawd, Ah wish alla them white folks wuz dead! Dead, Ah tell yuh! Ah wish Gawd would kill em all!”
She watched him run a few steps and stop. His throat swelled. He lifted his hands to his face; his fingers trembled. Then he bent to the ground and cried. She touched his shoulders.
“Silas!”
He stood up. She saw he was staring at the white man’s body lying in the dust in the middle of the road. She watched him walk over to it. He began to talk to no one in particular; he simply stood over the dead white man and talked out of his life, out of a deep and final sense that now it was all over and nothing could make any difference.
“The white folks ain never gimme a chance! They ain never give no black man a chance! There ain nothin in yo whole life yuh kin keep from em! They take yo lan! They take yo freedom! They take yo women! N then they take yo life!” He turned to her, screaming. “N then Ah gits stabbed in the back by mah own blood! When mah eyes is on the white folks to keep em from killin me, mah own blood trips me up!” He knelt in the dust again and sobbed; after a bit he looked to the sky, his face wet with tears. “Ahm gonna be hard like they is! So hep me, Gawd, Ah’m gonna be hard! When they come fer me Ah’m gonna be here! N when they git me outta here theys gonna know Ahm gone! Ef Gawd lets me live Ahm gonna make em feel it!” He stopped and tried to get his breath. “But, Lawd, Ah don wanna be this way! It don mean nothin! Yuh die ef yuh fight! Yuh die ef yuh don fight! Either way yuh die n it don mean nothin…”
He was lying flat on the ground, the side of his face deep in dust. Sarah stood nursing the baby with eyes black and stony. Silas pulled up slowly and stood again on the porch.
“Git on t An Peels, Sarah!”
A dull roar came from the south. They both turned. A long streak of brown dust was weaving down the hillside.
“Silas!”
“Go on cross the fiels, Sarah!”
“We kin both go! Git the hosses!”
He pushed her off the porch, grabbed her hand, and led her to the rear of the house, past the well, to where a path led up a slope to the elm tree.
“Silas!”
“Yuh git on fo they ketch yuh too!”
Blind from tears, she went across the swaying fields, stumbling over blurred grass. It ain no use! She knew it was now too late to make him change his mind. The calves of her legs knotted. Suddenly her throat tightened, aching. She stopped, closed her eyes and tried to stem a flood of sorrow that drenched her. Yes, killing of white men by black men and killing of black men by white men went on in spite of the hope of white bright days and the desire of dark black nights and the long gladness of green cornfields in summer and the deep dream of sleeping grey skies in winter. And when killing started it went on, like a red river flowing. Oh, she felt sorry for Silas! Silas… He was following that long river of blood. Lawd, how come he wans t stay there like tha? And he did not want to die; she knew he hated dying by the way he talked of it. Yet he followed the old river of blood, knowing that it meant nothing. He followed it, cursing and whimpering. But he followed it. She stared before her at the dry, dusty grass. Somehow, men, black men and white men, land and houses, green cornfields and grey skies, gladness and dreams, were all a part of that which made life good. Yes, somehow, they were linked, like the spokes in a spinning wagon wheel. She felt they were. She knew they were. She felt it when she breathed and knew it when she looked. But she could not say how; she could not put her finger on it and when she thought hard about it it became all mixed up, like milk spilling suddenly. Or else it knotted in her throat and chest in a hard aching lump, like the one she felt now. She touched her face to the baby’s face and cried again.
There was a loud blare of auto horns. The growing roar made her turn round. Silas was standing, seemingly unafraid, leaning against a post of the porch. The long line of cars came speeding in clouds of dust. Silas moved toward the door and went in. Sarah ran down the slope a piece, coming again to the elm tree. Her breath was slow and hard. The cars stopped in front of the house. There was a steady drone of motors and drifting clouds of dust. For a moment she could not see what was happening. Then on all sides white men with pistols and rifles swarmed over the fields. She dropped to her knees, unable to take her eyes away, unable it seemed to breathe. A shot rang out. A white man fell, rolling over, face downward.
“Hes gotta gun!”
“Git back!”
“Lay down!”
The white men ran back and crouched behind cars. Three more shots came from the house. She looked, her head and eyes aching. She rested the baby in her lap and shut her eyes. Her knees sank into the dust. More shots came, but it was no use looking now. She knew it all by heart. She could feel it happening even before it happened. There were men killing and being killed. Then she jerked up, being compelled to look.
“Burn the bastard out!”
“Set the sonofabitch on fire!”
“Cook the coon!”
“Smoke im out!”
She saw two white men on all fours creeping past the well. One carried a gun and the other a red tin can. When they reached the back steps the one with the tin can crept under the house and crept out again. Then both rose and ran. Shots. One fell. A yell went up. A yellow tongue of fire licked out from under the back steps.
“Burn the nigger!”
“C mon out, nigger, n git yos!”
She watched from the hill-slope; the back steps blazed. The white men fired a steady stream of bullets. Black smoke spiraled upward in the sunshine. Shots came from the house. The white men crouched out of sight, behind their cars.
“Make up yo mind, nigger!”
“C mon out er burn, yuh black bastard!”
“Yuh think yuhre white now, nigger?”
The shack blazed, flanked on all sides by whirling smoke filled with flying sparks. She heard the distant hiss of flames. White men were crawling on their stomachs. Now and then they stopped, aimed, and fired into the bulging smoke. She looked with a tense numbness; she looked, waiting for Silas to scream, or run out. But the house crackled and blazed, spouting yellow plumes to the blue sky. The white men shot again, sending a hail of bullets into the furious pillars of smoke. And still she could not see Silas running out, or hear his voice calling. Then she jumped, standing. There was a loud crash; the roof caved in. A black chimney loomed amid crumbling wood. Flames roared and black smoke billowed, hiding the house. The white men stood up, no longer afraid. Again she waited for Silas, waited to see him fight his way out, waited to hear his call. Then she breathed a long, slow breath, emptying her lungs. She knew now. Silas had killed as many as he could and had stayed on to burn, had stayed without a murmur. She filled her lungs with a quick gasp as the walls fell in; the house was hidden by eager plumes of red. She turned and ran with the baby in her arms, ran blindly across the fields, crying, “Naw, Gawd!”