A Gathering of Old Men

by Ernest J. Gaines

  Gil was still looking at old Mathu. He showed no sign that he had even heard Mapes.

  “Gil,” Mapes said, shaking him a little. “Gil.”

  Gil looked at him. “What is going on here, Mapes?” he asked. He said it as if he had just come into the yard and didn’t know a thing. “What is going on here?”

  “What is going on?” Mapes asked himself.

  He looked around at the old men with the guns. Maybe he knew the answers, maybe he didn’t. But if he did, he didn’t know how to explain it to Gil. Or maybe he didn’t know how to put it so Gil could understand it. “Go home, Gil,” he said.

  Gil knocked Mapes’s arm from his shoulders. Now he turned to Candy, who stood beside old Mathu. Up to now she hadn’t shown any interest in our being there.

  “What is going on here, Candy?” Gil asked her.

  She raised her head slowly to look at him. She looked tired. But she showed no sympathy for him at all. She told him how Beau and somebody called Charlie had gotten into a fight back there in the fields. This Charlie fellow had run up to the front, and Beau had come after him with a gun. She was here talking to old Mathu. She told Beau not to come into the yard. She said she told him more than once not to come into the yard. He came in with the gun ready to shoot, and she stopped him. These other people heard about it and thought there would be trouble, and had come here to stand with her. She said she had already said all of that to Mapes.

  “You’re lying, Candy,” Gil said. “Beau never would have come after Charlie with a gun. A stick, a stalk of cane, but never with a gun. Why are you saying all this? Why are you here in the first place? Why are all these old people here, Candy? To do what?”

  She didn’t answer him. She looked past him. She had made her point. She wasn’t talking anymore.

  Gil turned to Lou Dimes, who stood beside Candy.

  “What’s going on here, Lou?” Gil asked. “I know I can trust you. What’s going on here?”

  Lou was standing there beside Candy looking very uncomfortable. You could see he didn’t like being here; he didn’t like what was going on. He shook his head.

  “I don’t know, Gil,” he said.

  “Sure, you do,” Gil said. I thought Gil was about to cry. “What’s going on, Lou? Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Gil, believe me,” Lou said. “I don’t know any more than what you see before you right now. Please believe me.” He looked at me. “Why don’t you take him home?”

  “Come on, Gil,” I said, and took him by the arm. But that was like pulling on a tree.

  Gil turned back on Candy. “You never did like Beau,” he said. “You never liked any of us. Looking at us as if we’re a breed below you. But we’re not, Candy. We’re all made of the same bone, the same blood, the same skin. Your folks had a break, mine didn’t, that’s all.”

  She looked past him, like he wasn’t even there. She looked tired, but other than that she showed no other expression.

  “My God,” Gil said. “My God, my God. Candy, if you only knew how sad, how pathetic you look.”

  She pretended not to even hear him. And maybe she didn’t.

  “Come on, Gil,” I said, pulling on his arm again.

  “Won’t it ever stop?” he asked. He looked around at all of them. “Won’t it ever stop? I do all I can to stop it. Every day of my life, I do all I can to stop it. Won’t it ever stop?”

  The people did not look at him. They were not looking down; they were just looking away.

  “Come on,” I told him. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  He looked around at all of them; then he turned quickly and walked away. And I followed him out of the yard.

  Lou Dimes

  I had noticed for the past hour that the people were leaving the front yard one at a time to go to the back. The only time they didn’t move around was when Gil and that other fellow were here, but as soon as they left, the people started moving one at a time toward the back again. Each one would stay four or five minutes, return and nod, then another one would go. Mapes didn’t pay them any attention, and neither did Candy.

  Candy leaned back against the porch near the steps where Mathu was sitting, and I leaned back against the porch beside her. I asked her to go with me for a walk so we could talk. She said no. I asked her wouldn’t it be better if she were at home. She said she would not leave. I told her that I would keep her posted on anything that went on around here. She said she was not leaving. I asked her why did she need me then. She said she just needed me. Mapes was on the other side of the steps. He showed no interest in what we were talking about. Just like all the rest of them around there, he seemed to be waiting for something. But what were they waiting for? For Fix to show up, or not show up? I didn’t know what was going on. I was just there.

  I went around the house to the back. I met one of the old fellows coming from the toilet. He had his gun as all the others did, but still he moved off the little path for me. We nodded to each other as we passed by.

  The old fellow had been careful. They had all been careful. There were no water marks on the seat. Only some corncobs, the two backs of an old catalogue, some newspaper, a couple of paper bags. I didn’t have any use for any of this, and after spitting into the hole, I went back out into the fresh air. Halfway up the path, I met Candy.

  “Any spiders in there?” she asked me.

  “I didn’t see any. Some cobwebs. Why don’t you go on home, Candy,” I told her.

  “Thanks,” she said, and went by me.

  “You want me to wait for you?” I asked her.

  “No,” she said. “Go on back to the front before he does anything stupid.”

  “Candy, you can’t do anything good here,” I said. “Why don’t you go on home?”

  She didn’t answer. She had already gone inside the toilet. I went back to the front, and a few minutes later she returned and took her post next to Mathu. The people had left that same little space open for her. She and Mathu looked at each other, and she asked him how he felt. He told her he was all right. I caught Mapes looking at them, but he didn’t say anything.

  Then we saw the dust, but even before Mapes could nod to Griffin, Griffin was already leaving the yard with the pistol dangling in his hand. Mapes watched him carrying the pistol against his leg, and you could see that Mapes was going to get rid of Griffin first chance he got.

  Everyone watched the dust rising over the weeds, but no one moved from his place. I supposed they figured that it was still too much light for Fix to show up, and even if he did, they would have time to scatter before he took aim. Mapes did not move either, just leaning kind of leisurely back against the end of the porch. He still had his gun, of course, and I did notice that his thumb was near the safety catch.

  Griffin was in the ditch behind a clump of weeds, the pistol in the right hand, while the left hand separated several stalks of bloodweeds so that he could get a better look up the quarters. Then after a while he looked back at Mapes and nodded his head to let Mapes know that it was all right. Mapes’s thumb touched at the safety catch of the gun, but from the way he was looking at Griffin, you knew he was going to get rid of Griffin as soon as all of this was over with, if not before.

  I saw now why Griffin had nodded his head; it was Miss Merle. After stopping just a little past where the gate used to be, she sat in the car awhile watching us. She did it just the way everyone else had done it, even though this was her second time seeing it. Then she got out with a basket covered with a dish towel, and she was already fussing. The first person she came up to was Griffin, and she told him something, and Griffin went back to the car and got another basket covered with a dish towel, and came into the yard with the basket in one hand and the gun in the other, and you could see Mapes looking at him as if he were wondering if he actually needed Griffin the rest of the day. Miss Merle didn’t come up to Mapes, or Candy, or me first, she started dishing out sandwiches to the first one she came to. I supposed she felt that since we w
ere all conspirators together, one was no better than the others, so she just started dishing out the sandwiches to the first person she got to, and fussing all the time.

  “Just look at this, I mean just look at this—just look at it.” Dishing out sandwiches and fussing. “I hope you like ham and cheese, because there isn’t anything else. Just look at that. I mean just look at that. Hurry up with that other basket,” she said, over her shoulder to Griffin. Griffin brought her the full basket, and she handed him the empty one. So Griffin was standing there with an empty basket in one hand and a loaded revolver in the other. “Can’t you put that thing away for a second?” Miss Merle asked him. “Who are you going to shoot, the hog?”

  “No, Ma’am,” Griffin said.

  “Just look at that,” Miss Merle said, looking at Griffin. Then she looked at the rest of us. “Just look at that.”

  She was dishing out sandwiches again. The sandwiches were neatly wrapped in wax paper. There were lettuce and tomatoes on the ham and cheese.

  “And you,” she said to Candy. “Just look at you. Just look at you.”

  Candy took the sandwich without looking Miss Merle in the face. Miss Merle shook her head disgustedly, and turned to Mapes.

  “Here. You better have two. But there ain’t no beer.”

  Mapes spat out a piece of white candy that was about as thick as a contact lens.

  “Water is good,” he said. “You don’t mind, do you, Mathu?”

  “Snookum, go get me that jug of ice water out the icebox,” Mathu said. “And bring couple them jelly glasses out the safe.”

  Snookum left the porch eating. All the rest of us were eating. Not one there was not eating. Mapes, Candy, Mathu, Griffin, the old men, the old women, the children—everybody was eating. We were all hungry.

  “You ever seen anything like it?” Miss Merle asked herself. “Have you? Lord, have mercy. Well?” she said to Mapes.

  “They’re good,” Mapes said. “Who made them?”

  “Janey and—” But she stopped. Now she just looked at him. Southern women, black or white, can look at you like that. Like they’re thinking that you or they, one of you, should not be standing on the same planet at the same time.

  “Do you see that sun?” she asked Mapes.

  The house shadow had crossed the road where the tractor and trailers were.

  “About another hour,” Mapes said.

  Snookum came back with the jug and glasses, and poured Mapes some water. Then he stood before Miss Merle, but she was paying too much attention to Mapes to notice him. She could not see how Mapes could stand there drinking water while all this was going on. She could not see how she and Mapes ended up being on the same planet at the same time.

  “Have another one?” Snookum said to her.

  She jerked around. “What?” she said angrily.

  “Sammich,” he said. “Candy didn’t pay me nothing for going—” He glanced at Mapes and stopped.

  Miss Merle did not try to figure out what he was talking about. She just looked at him like they did not belong on the same planet at the same time. Snookum held out his hand, waiting. His little black face dusty, his twisted little curls dusty, the little hand grimy. Miss Merle looked him up and down. She didn’t want to feel pity. There were too many others deserving pity. Where would she stop?

  “Here,” she said, pushing a sandwich into his hand. “Now, get away from me.”

  “Lou can stand another one, too,” Mapes said.

  “What?” Miss Merle said, turning on Mapes.

  Mapes went on chewing. The left corner of Miss Merle’s mouth quivered from tension. She was sure God had made a mistake putting her here at the same time He did Mapes. Mapes was not thinking about it. He went on eating.

  “Here,” Miss Merle said to me. “Pass them out.”

  I put one of the sandwiches on the porch next to where I was standing; then I went around with the basket. Most of the people refused to take a second one. They were still hungry, but there were not enough sandwiches for everyone to have two, so most of the people declined a second one until the basket had made the round. Then Miss Merle took it from me and went to the different people who looked hungriest to her. She was still fussing.

  “Just look at this. Jesus, will you just look at this. Here. Here. Lord, just look at this. Here, Clabber, Here, Clatoo. Dirty Red, take this. Jesus, will you just look at this.”

  She came back to the steps where Mapes was leaning leisurely back against the porch. His pump gun was propped against the steps.

  “There is no dessert,” she said. “There’s not enough of that pie for all of you and—” She stopped. Why did she have to explain anything to anybody? Why did she even waste her time bringing us sandwiches? “Jesus, you ever seen anything like this in all your born days?” she asked herself. “You satisfied now, you and your army?” she suddenly turned on Candy.

  Candy ate her sandwich while gazing down at the ground. She did not answer.

  “How long is this charade going on?” Miss Merle snapped back at Mapes.

  “They all claim they did it,” Mapes said. “Who should I take in? Her?”

  Miss Merle’s little birdlike red mouth tightened and untightened two or three times. From her eyes, you could see that she was questioning God’s reason for putting her here at the same time He did the rest of us. God did not answer her, so she turned on me.

  “And you’re supposed to be a man? What kind of husband will you make if you let her kick—” She stopped again. I would not look at her, but I could feel her staring at me. She probably wanted to hit me, she wanted to hit somebody, but she was too much of a lady. She turned on Mathu.

  “Tell her to get her butt up the quarters,” she said.

  “Up to her,” he said, chewing.

  “Since when?” Miss Merle asked him.

  Mathu never stopped chewing. He never looked at her either. But she continued looking at him. Not the way a white woman is supposed to look at a black man when giving him orders or advice. She looked at him the way any woman would look at any man when they have shared more than a few moments together.

  Those shared moments were over the upbringing and training of Candy. After Candy’s mother and father died in the car wreck, Miss Merle and Mathu realized that the other two at the house, her aunt and uncle, were not capable of bringing her up properly, and so took it as their duty to raise her themselves. One to raise her as a lady, the other to make her understand the people who lived on her place. And she had been as close to those two, Miss Merle and Mathu, as she had been to anyone in her life.

  When Mathu refused to look back at Miss Merle, her little birdlike mouth tightened and untightened two or three times. Then she jerked around and looked at the rest of us.

  “Let me get away from here,” she said. “Where is my other basket?” She found Griffin, and jerked the basket out of his hand. “You all can do what you want,” she said. “But don’t come up to that house bleeding, because I’m not patching up anybody. Janey can’t do it because she’s hysterical. Bea can’t because she’s stone drunk.”

  “I’ll walk with you out to the car,” Mapes said.

  “What for?” Miss Merle snapped at him. She drew back one of the baskets.

  “Hold it,” Mapes said, raising two fingers in the peace sign. “Just want to say thanks for the sandwiches.”

  Miss Merle stood there with the basket half cocked. Mapes would not dare grunt or grin. No one else did, either. I had the feeling that if she had made one sweep of that basket, everybody was going to scatter.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not going to hit anybody. I’m going home. If I stay down here any longer, I know I’ll go mad.”

  She left the yard. Mapes caught up with her just as she crossed the ditch. They stood by the car talking. After a while she got into the car and went farther down the quarters to turn around. When she had passed by the house again, I went out into the road where Mapes was. He was leaning back against his own c
ar, looking at the people in the yard. I leaned back against the car next to him. It had gotten a little cool now that the shadows had covered everything. Mapes offered me a Life Saver. I shook my head. I knew there were only one or two left, and he would probably need them later.

  “What’s going to happen, Mapes?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m waiting for Russell to call me.”

  “Call you about what?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You don’t seem to be in any great hurry.”

  “Nope,” he said. He looked at Mathu sitting on the steps; then he looked up in the sky where the sun was an hour or so ago. “Too late to go fishing now anyhow,” he said.

  Sully

  From Marshall to the Bayou Michel is about ten miles, five miles along the St. Charles River, and then you turn off the highway onto a blacktop road for another five miles. The Bayou Michel is then on your right, and houses on the left are facing the bayou. The road and bayou twist and turn like a snake. There’s never more than a couple hundred yards of straight road before you have to go around another curve.

  This was Cajun country. You had a few other whites, a few blacks, but mostly Cajuns, with names like Jarreau, Bonaventura, Mouton, Montemare, Boutan, Broussard, Guerin, Hebert, Boudreaux, Landreaux—all Cajun names. There were people back here with names like Smith and Kelly, and they claimed to be Cajuns, too, their fathers’ having married Cajun women. The blacks on the bayou also spoke the Cajun French as well as English.

  This was Gil’s country. I had come back here with him a half-dozen times before, and it had always been pleasant. We would go hunting or fishing or just visit some of the people. Gil loved all the people back here, and they all loved him, white and black. He would shake a black man’s hand as soon as he would a white man’s, and the blacks would beam with pride when he did. But today I had not seen one black man, woman, or child since we left Marshall.

  Gil, with his arm in the window, was looking out at the trees along the Bayou Michel. Most of the trees were weeping willows; their long, limp branches brushed against the ground and the surface of the water. Every now and then you would see a cypress, a sycamore, or some other kind of tree, but mostly willows, and lots of bushes. When there was a little space between the trees and bushes, you would see the dirty brown shallow water. No form of life was on the water itself. No animals, no birds, nothing green. Only twigs and dry leaves that had fallen from the trees along the bank. Gil was looking out of the window at the bayou, but never saying anything. He had not said a single word to me since we left Marshall.