Three Days Before the Shooting . . .

by Ralph Ellison

  That’s right, she didn’t take the chile but she busted up the meeting. She still got no regard for other folks, but this time she went too far. She’s strong willed even for a high-tone white woman, girl. Let me tell you something! One day I was out there to see Irene and just as I got around in the back I heard all this shooting and yelling and what do I see? Over there down where the grass runs down to the lake she’s got a half dozen or so little black boys and has them pitching up those round things rich white folks shoot at all the time when they ain’t shooting partridges or doves and girl, I tell you, it was something to see. Girl, she’s got them standing in a big half circle and she’s yelling at first one and then the other to sail those things up in the air and bang! She’s shooting them down just…

  WHO? NOT THOSE CHILDREN?

  No, noo, girl, those clay birds.

  Thank goodness, that’s what I thought, but with her you can’t be too sure.

  I know, Body’s mother said. But girl, you never saw such a sight. She’s yelling and those little boys are raring back and flinging those round black things into the air with all their might, and her dancing from side to side with that shotgun and busting them to dust, and as fast as she empties one gun here comes another little boy running up with a fresh one all loaded and bang! bang! bang!she’s busting ‘em again. I stood there with my mouth open trying to take it all in and looking to see if Body was amongst those boys—thank God he wasn’t, because the way she looked, with her red hair all wild and wearing pants and some kind of coat with leather patches on the shoulder she’s liable to …

  Girl, Mrs. Proctor said, that was a shooting jacket.

  A shooting jacket?

  Mrs. Proctor laughed a high falsetto ripple. Why sho, girl. You know these rich folks have a different set of clothes for everything they do. They have tea gowns for drinking tea, cocktail dresses for drinking their gin and whiskey, ball gowns for doing what they call dancing, Yes! And riding habits when they got their riding habits on—that’s what she was wearing when she almost run me down. Then they even have dressing gowns for wearing when they’re putting on their other clothes.

  Oh yes? Body’s mother said. Well, I guess they have to have something to do to take up all the time they have on they hands. But tell me something—

  What’s that?

  What was that red thing she was wearing when she tried to take our little preacher?

  Well, Mrs. Proctor said, without making a joke about something religious I’d say maybe it was a maternity dress….

  If it was, Body’s mother said, she was dressed for the wrong occasion. She surely was. Anyway, girl, she was really shooting that day. Jesse James couldn’t have done no better. She ain’t hardly missed a one. And if one of those children didn’t pitch in time to suit her she’d cuss him for a little gin-gersnap bastard and the rest of them would just laugh. Oh, but it made me mad, hearing her abuse those children like that. Not that it seemed to bother those little boys, though. In fact, when she cussed one of ‘em he just laughed and sassed her right back. Said, Miss Lor, don’t come blaming me ‘cause you caint shoot a shotgun. You missed that bird a country mile….

  And what happened then? Mrs. Proctor said.

  Something crazy just like always with her. She started to laughing like a panther and gave out one of those rebel yells. Said, Enloe, you are a sassy little blue-gummed bastard, but if I miss the next twenty birds I’ll have Alberta freeze you a gallon of ice cream!

  Now you see what I mean: That woman is dangerous! You take that boy Enloe, she oughtn’t to treat him that way, because he’s liable to pull that with some other white woman and git hisself kilt.

  You’re right, and somebody had better speak to his mama about him. And that’s the truth. Only when children reach the size of those boys they usually know when they dealing with a fool. But it’s her I’m worried about, anybody who plays around with the Lord’s work that way is heading for trouble. In fact, that po’ woman is already in trouble and I been thinking a heap about what she did. But did it occur to you that she might really be Revern’ Bliss’ mother?

  Who, a child like that girl? No!

  She said he was hers, didn’t she?

  She surely did, wasn’t I listening like everybody else? But how is a woman like that going to be his mama? It would’ve made more sense if she’d a-claimed Jack Johnson and all those white wives of his and his uncles and cousins too. How she going to be that child’s mama even in a dream I simply can’t see.

  How! Are you asking me? Man is born of woman, and skinny as she is she still appears to have all the equipment. Besides, does anybody know who his mama is?

  No, they don’t; less’n it’s Revern’ and he ain’t said. But remember now, Revern’ brought that child here with him, so he can’t be from around here anywhere….

  And how do you know that? Half the devilment in this country caint be located on account of it’s somewhere in between black and white and covered up with bed clothes in the dark.

  That’s the truth—but, girl, Revern’ ain’t no fool! He wouldn’t bring that baby back here if that was the case. Not even if he’d found him in a grocery basket with a note saying the child was a present from Pharoah’s favorite daughter. Besides, that woman would have to either be drunk or out of her mind to claim him anyway. And you know that while a white man might recognize his black bastards once in a while, if they turn out white enough, and if he’s stuck tight enough to the mother, might even send them up north to go to school—but who in this lowdown South ever heard of a white woman claiming anything a black man had something to do with?

  Yes, that’s true, Mrs. Proctor said, ‘cept he don’t show no sign in his skin or hair or features, only in his talking. But this here ain’t no ordinary chile and everything has its first time to happen. Besides, there’s quite a few of them who have turned their heads and made their sweet-talking motions as if to say, “Come on, Mister Nigger, here’s my peaches you can shake my tree if you man enough or crazy enough to take the consequences.” And as you well know, some of ours is both man enough and crazy enough and prideless enough to take hold to the branch and swing the dickens out of it—even knowing that if they git caught she gon’ scream and swear he stole her.

  Yes, I know all that. And as mama told me long ago, all those who cries denied in darkness ain’t black, and a woman’s lot is a woman’s lot from the commencing of her flow on. It sure does make you wonder. Still, a woman like that is apt to do what she did just for the notoriety and the scandal for the rest of her own folks. But what can you expect from somebody who got started out wrong like she done?

  What you mean? Mrs. Proctor said. Who?

  Their voices fell and I strained to hear, finally rolling over softly and over again, until I was directly beneath them, hearing:

  … And Irene told me her ownself that whenever Miss Lorelli comes around, which ain’t too regular, she screams like a cat in heat. Says she has such pain they almost have to tie her to the bedposts and keep the ice packs on her belly all the time. Irene said it’s worse than somebody birthing triplets.

  Talking about the curse, she’s got a real curse, Mrs. Proctor said. That woman is damned!

  Ain’t it the truth; Irene said it’s really something to witness. Said that the first time it come down on her the poor chile was tomboying around up on top of the grape arbor….

  Well, I hope she was prepared, Mrs. Proctor said.

  Prepared my foot! Is a sow prepared? Is a blue tick bitch? Irene said that it was at a time when her mama was entertaining some ladies on the lawn too, but instead of being there learning how to entertain like any other young girl would’ve been, this Miss Lorelli is so uncontrollable she’s up there on that grape arbor climbing around! Well suh, Irene said it was like a dam bursting or something. The po’ thing come tumbling off of that tree like a scalded cat and come running across the lawn, straight to where Irene was serving those ladies. She almost knocked over the tea cart and with it all over
her hands and all. Irene said when she realized what was happening she got so mad at the child’s mama that she dropped a whole tray of fine china. Said she’d wanted to prepare the chile for what all the signs—her birthday, the calendar, and the sign of the moon—all of them, said she was fixing to happen soon, but no, the mama was so jealous and so vain about her age that she wouldn’t let Irene tell the chile a thing. She was going to do it herself when she got ready.

  As though nature was going to wait on her, Mrs. Proctor said.

  Well, girl, it didn’t. Irene said it come right on schedule, right up on that grape arbor.

  Girl, that’s enough to make anybody act peculiar.

  Are you telling me? So there it was, Irene has to stop serving and teach the chile right then and there, and she said she didn’t bite her tongue in telling her, either. Told her in plain language right there in front of all those fine ladies.

  Oh wow, girl! You must be yeasting this mess!

  She sho did, told her all about her womanhood and about boys while she snatched off her apron and wrapped it around the chile and carried her upstairs and went to work on her. Poor thing, she thought she was bleeding to death and giving birth, all at the same time. She had it all mixed up, poor thing. Irene said she asked her where her baby was and everything and Irene had some time calming her. Can you imagine that, having to fall out of a tree in order to pick up your woman’s burden?

  That woman shoulda been whupped for doing that to that chile, Mrs. Proctor said. One woman acts a fool out of her vanity and pride and ignorance. So now everybody has to suffer for it. That woman was just plain ignorant! Yes, that’s what it is. Whenever I think about it I remember what the monkey said when the man cut off his tail with the lawn mower. Poor monkey just looked at his tail laying there in the grass and tears came to his eyes and he shook his head and said: My people, my people.

  The voice had ceased. Then the Senator heard, “Bliss, are you there?” “Still here,” the Senator said from far away. “Don’t stop, I hear.” Then through his blurring eyes he saw the dark shape come closer and now the voice sounded small and distant, as though Hickman stood on a hill somewhere inside his head.

  “Bliss, I say that all the time I should have been praying for you, back there all torn up inside by those women’s hands. Because, after all, a lot of prayer and sweat and dedication had gone into that buggy, not simply the money-greed and show-off pride. It held together through all that rough ride, even though the wheels were humming like guitar strings. Yes, and it took me and Sister Beaumasher to jail and a pretty rough time before they let us go. So there between a baby, a buggy, and a burning barn I prayed the wrong prayer. I left you out, Bliss, and I guess right then and there you started to wander….”

  Aaaaaaaayeeeeee … ! it ripped his ears in a rising curve, choked and bubbling like the shout of a convert who had started screaming while Daddy Hickman was still raising his head from beneath the baptismal waters … Aaaaaaaaayeeeeee! and he could feel it coming in sharp, shrill bursts, but the redheaded woman was holding him so fiercely that he could not tell if they came from her heaving body or his own. Arms and hands were flying and he was plunging toward the coffin, catching sight of Teddy sprawled in the sawdust—only to be snatched up again, feeling a pain burning its way straight up his back as she screamed He’s mine! He’s—her head snapping back and the scream becoming the sound of Daddy Hickman’s trombone and saw the white sleeve of a tall sister’s arm flash red, hearing, “Y’all leave her to me now,” and thinking Blood as they whirled him around and her arms tightening and thinking that’s flying bloody blare of horn she’s bleeding—feeling himself being ripped completely away from her now, the sisters with faces hard and mask-like coming on and twisting him from her arms like a lamb bone popped out of its socket, holding him kicking high and passing him between them as he looked wildly for the flowing blood….

  Catch him, someone shouted, and he then felt himself hanging by his heels and they were grabbing and slapping him across his burning back, lifting, and his head came up into a confusion of voices, hearing, Here, let me take him. Let’s get the poor child out of here, seeing Sister Wilhite and another sister was saying, Better give him to Sister Mary, holding her broad hand against his stomach, Sister Mary’s home, she’s got kids of her own, and another voice saying, No, she’s too crowded and lives too close to here…. and Then who? Sister Wilhite was saying and long smooth fingers were reaching for him saying, Me, Sister Wilhite, let me have him, and Sister Wilhite looking intensely at the young woman, her eyes sparkling, You? And the smooth Elberta peach brown face with curly hair covering her ears saying, Let me, Sister Wilhite, I live far and I got no husband and I know my way through these woods like a rabbit…. And Sister Wilhite turning her head, saying, What you all think? and he tried to open his mouth but she shook him, Hush, Revern’ Bliss, and someone said, She’s right. Give him to Sister Georgia, only get him out of here. And he was leaning forward, hearing Sister Wilhite’s Here, sister, take him, and he began again, I want Daddy Hickman and Sister Wilhite saying, And you hurry. He was being handed over once more and he said, I want Daddy Hickman, hearing, Hush Revern’ Bliss, honey, in the hot blast of Sister Georgia’s breath against his cheek. You’re going with me ‘cause this ain’t no place for you to be—not right now it ain’t. Then she turned and he caught sight of Daddy Hickman climbing down from the platform. Then he recognized the little slant-shouldered sister’s deep voice, Will y’all sisters get out of the woman’s way? she said, and the others were pushing and shoving and Sister Georgia was pushing him against them and the little sister said with her head on Sister Georgia’s shoulder, Go with the speed of angels, love. Madame Herod done come, Mister Herod be coming soon; the snake! So take that child and let ‘em diga my grave….

  And already Sister Georgia was rushing him along with her quick, swing-ing-from-side-to-side walk, away from the screaming white woman and the angry deaconesses in their ruffled baby caps, going straight through the strangely silent members, stepping over fallen folding chairs, lunch baskets, and scattered hymnbooks, past the slanting tent ropes and a smoking flare, into the open. Beginning to run now as though someone was chasing them, on out across the sawdust-covered earth of the clearing, through the big trees into the bushes in the dark. She was saying baby words to him as she ran and he twisted around to see behind them, hearing, “Hold still now, honey,” as he looked back to the moiling within the yellow light of the tent. The woman was screaming again and a team of mules was pitching in their harness rising up and breaking toward the light, then plunging off into the shadow. Then Deacon Wilhite’s voice was leading some of the members to singing and the sound rose up strong, causing the woman’s screams to sound like red sparks shooting through a cloud of thick black smoke. Sister Georgia stumbled, sending them jolting forward and he could hear her grunt and her breath coming hard and fast as she balanced herself, causing him to sway back and forth in her arms and his back to burn like fire.

  “It’s all right now, Revern’ Bliss,” she said as he began to cry.

  “I want Daddy Hickman,” he cried. “I want to go back.”

  “Not now, Revern’ Bliss, darling. Right now he’s got his hands full with that awful woman.”

  “But I hurt,” he cried. “I hurt bad.”

  “Hurt? What’s hurting you, Revern’ Bliss?”

  “I hurt all over. They scratched me. Please take me back.”

  “But the meeting’s all over for tonight,” she said. “That woman broke it up. Lord help us, but she really wrecked it. I hope the Lord makes her suffer for it too. Doing such an awful thing, and we supposed to act Christian toward them. Knocking over your coffin and everything….”

  He thought, I want Teddy and my Bible. Then, remembering the look on the woman’s face when she picked him up, he was silent. It was like a dream. He had been in the coffin, ready to rise up and all of a sudden there she was, screaming. Now it was like a picture he was looking at in a book or in
a dream—even as he watched the tear-sparkling tent falling rapidly away. And in the up and down swaying of the sister’s movement he could no longer tell one member from another; he couldn’t even see Daddy Hickman. She was really one of them, passed through his mind, then the road was dipping swiftly down a hill in the dark and he was being taken where he could no longer see the peak shape of the tent rising white above the yellow light. Only the sound of singing came to him now and fading.

  They were moving through low-branched trees where he could smell the sticky little blossoms which the honey bees and fireflies loved so well, then the branches grew higher up on the trunks of the trees and the trees were taller and they were dropping down a slope. “Hold tight, Revern’ Bliss,” she said. “We have to cross over somewhere along here.”

  “Over water?” he said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Deep water?”

  “Not very. You don’t have to be afraid. Hush now, we be there in a minute.”

  “I’m not afraid of any water,” he said.

  She was moving carefully and he looked down, hearing the quiet swirl of the stream somewhere ahead before he could see its smoothly glinting flow. And she said, “Hold tight, honey, hold real tight, we got to cross this log,” and was balancing and carrying him rapidly along a narrow tree trunk that lay across the stream, then breathing hard up the steep slope of a hill into the bushes. He could hear twigs snapping and plucking at her dress and raised his arm to keep the limbs from his face as she climbed. She was breathing hard and he could feel her softness sweating through the cloth of his full dress jacket and the heat of her body rising to him. And he could hear himself thinking just as Body would have said, She’s starting to smell kinda funky, and was ashamed. Body said that ladies could smell a good funky and a bad funky but men just smelled like funky bears. But this was a good smell although it wasn’t supposed to be and the sister was good to be carrying him so gently and she was nice and soft. Her pace slowed again now and suddenly they were out of the dusty bushes and he sneezed. They were moving along a sandy road.