Of Love and Dust

by Ernest J. Gaines

  Louise came back inside and out on the gallery where Aunt Margaret and Tite were sitting.

  “You can leave, Margaret,” she said.

  “Yes’m,” Aunt Margaret said, looking up at her, but not moving.

  Louise’s yellow hair stood frizzly on her head. Her blouse was half buttoned and her skirt wasn’t straight. Aunt Margaret said Louise was standing so close to her she could smell the sweat on her body—“the remanents of they tussling.”

  “And when must I come back?” she asked.

  “Come, Judy,” Louise said.

  “How long, Miss Louise, ’fore you holler rape? How long?”

  “Come, Judy.”

  Tite slid away from Aunt Margaret.

  “Bon-swa, Mar-greet.”

  “Give Margaret a kiss, baby,” Aunt Margaret said.

  Tite kissed her. Aunt Margaret held her a moment against her bosom. While she was holding Tite she looked up at Louise.

  “Think of your child,” she said. “Trouble can only hurt her.”

  “Come, Judy,” Louise said.

  36

  Aunt Margaret came down the quarter and told me about it that night. I was sitting on the gallery strumming my guitar. Marcus had gone into his room only a minute or two before Aunt Margaret came down there. After she left, I sat there gazing out at the darkness. All around me was black—black and quiet. Crickets were chirruping in the grass but they just made things quieter. I could hear my heart thumping in my chest. I squeezed my fist tight and I could hear my knuckles cracking. I looked at the door to Marcus’s room and I slammed my fist in the palm of my hand. My fist sounded like a rifle shot. I sat out on the gallery by myself until way past midnight. The quarter was even quieter than it was at first, because now I was the only person still sitting up.

  Friday evening when I was getting ready to go back in the field, I saw Aunt Margaret coming down the quarter. She wore a white dress and a big yellow straw hat. That dust in the road was nearly white as her dress. Before Aunt Margaret got to me, I knew what she had to say was going to be about Marcus and Louise. I was about to crank up the tractor, but I thought I ought to wait. She came up to me sweating and breathing hard. She hadn’t been walking more than a couple minutes, but that sun was so hot it had taken away her breath. She told me she had to go back up the quarter that evening. A little boy had brought her word from Louise. Louise had paid the boy a nickel.

  “Do you know what’s going to happen when he catch him up there and you up there, too?” I asked her.

  “I know,” she said.

  “Then why go up there, Aunt Margaret?”

  “How ’bout that child?”

  “Let her look after herself.”

  Aunt Margaret looked at me a long time (only old people can look at you like that when they think you’ve said something wrong), then she started shaking her head.

  “That ain’t you speaking, James,” she said.

  “It’s me,” I said.

  “No, it ain’t you,” she said.

  She still looked at me a long time: only old people can look at you like that.

  “I see,” I said. “You want me to stop him. How? Kill him? Kill him and serve his time, is that it?”

  “I didn’t ask you to kill nobody, James,” she said, looking at me from under that big yellow straw hat.

  “You want me to stop him, though,” I said. “You want me to stop him before Bonbon catch him up there. How if not kill him—pray and stop him?”

  “You don’t have to blaspheme the Lord, either, James,” she said, looking at me from under that big yellow straw hat.

  “All right,” I said, “I won’t blaspheme Him any more. I won’t even think about Him—either Marcus.”

  I cranked up the tractor. A minute later I saw John and Freddie coming down the quarter. Marcus slid off the gallery and came out of the yard, too. He wore a pink shirt and blue pants. Since we had stopped talking to each other, he had stopped wearing my khakis. He had on a thin beige cap. The cap had a pair of dark shades connected to the bill, and Marcus had the shades over his eyes.

  Marcus got in the trailer and leaned back against the side with his arms folded. He looked like somebody going to a picnic instead of a person going out in the field. John and Freddie got in the other trailer. They looked at Marcus and said something to each other, but not loud enough for anybody else to hear. I doubt if Marcus had exchanged a half dozen words with them all the time he had been working out there.

  “Well, I’m taking off,” I said to Aunt Margaret. The tractor was making so much noise she could hardly hear me. “My advice to you is stay from up there.”

  “That’s not you talking, James,” she said, looking at me from under that big yellow straw hat.

  “Do like you want,” I said.

  I swung up on the tractor and started in the field.

  Five minutes after Bonbon left that night, the dog started growling. Aunt Margaret was sitting out on the gallery with Tite in her lap. She didn’t bother to look to the side; she knew what she would find there, anyhow. The dog growled one minute, two minutes, maybe three—and Louise still hadn’t gone outside to pull him from the fence.

  “Why?” Aunt Margaret thought. “She got enough already—or is Bonbon coming back.”

  The dog growled.

  “Wait,” Aunt Margaret thought. “Now I know what she doing. She watching him from that window. She probably laughing her head off at him right now. She want him—yes, she want him, but she go’n tease him a while. She go’n show him he can’t get a thing both of them want him to get till she get ready for him to get it.”

  The dog growled.

  “Possum?” Tite said.

  “A rat,” Aunt Margaret said, holding Tite close.

  When Louise had laughed at Marcus all she wanted to (at least this is what Aunt Margaret thought she was doing), she went out in the yard and pulled the dog from the fence. Aunt Margaret heard the fence sagging as Marcus climbed over in the yard. But soon as he hit the ground, the dog got away from Louise and started after him again. Then Aunt Margaret heard the loud, booming noise as Marcus jumped through the window into the room. From the sound of things he hadn’t beat the dog by more than an inch.

  Louise came back inside and the noise started all over again. Only this time it was much worse than it was last Wednesday or last Saturday. Looked like the whole place was coming apart, Aunt Margaret said. Looked like they overturned both the dresser and the armoire at the same time. Looked like Louise crawled under the bed and Marcus crawled under there after her; then halfway under he decided to stand up with the bed on his back and slam it against the wall.

  “I wonder if that fool beating that woman for letting that dog get his shoe heel,” Aunt Margaret thought.

  “Ma-ma kill rat?” Tite said.

  “Not yet,” Aunt Margaret said, holding her close.

  Then Louise broke out of the room and ran out in the back yard. Marcus was right behind her; then Aunt Margaret heard him throwing on brakes. Because, Aunt Margaret said, much as he wanted what Louise was running with, he didn’t want it bad enough to run out in that yard where nobody was holding that dog. Tite wanted to go inside to see the big rat, but Aunt Margaret held her close.

  “He might bite you,” she said. “And Margaret won’t like that.”

  Louise stood out in the small yard a while, then Aunt Margaret heard the back gate slamming. “She’s in the big yard now,” Aunt Margaret thought; “he’s still in the house, and that dog is between them. Now if Bonbon come, all he got to do is set fire to the house and stand out there with that gun just in case this one try to jump through the window again.”

  Aunt Margaret heard the dog barking. Not barking at an enemy, barking at a friend. The barking was coming from the right, so Louise had to be standing in that direction. Marcus stood on the back gallery a while, then he moved back into the room. Aunt Margaret didn’t hear him moving, but she figured (from what happened next) that’s what he ha
d done. She didn’t hear him jump out of the window, either; what she heard was the dog barking viciously and moving fast to the left side of the yard. Then she heard the fence sagging as Marcus jumped on it and swung over all in one motion. Again he had beat the dog by only a fraction of an inch.

  So both him and Louise were in the big yard now. For a minute Aunt Margaret didn’t see or hear anything. Then she saw something that looked like a little ghost running way across the yard; a second later she saw a bigger one running after it. Louise broke around an oak tree and Aunt Margaret couldn’t see her any more. But she could see Marcus. He was on one side of the tree, Louise was on the other side. The dog had broke to the front, too, but he was in the small yard and couldn’t get near them. So Marcus and Louise played like squirrels around the tree—Marcus darting one way, Louise the other; then Marcus, then Louise. Tite hadn’t seen them because Aunt Margaret kept Tite’s head pressed to her bosom. More than once Tite tried to get out of Aunt Margaret’s lap to see what was making the dog bark, but Aunt Margaret held her closer. Soon Tite started to fret, and Aunt Margaret took her inside to give her a piece of cake.

  The window was opened, so Aunt Margaret could still see Marcus and Louise in the yard. While Tite sat at the table eating cake and drinking clabber, Aunt Margaret stood at the window watching Louise and the convict. They played out there like two children who didn’t have a thing in the world to hide. Aunt Margaret said Marcus ran around the oak tree, and Louise broke for the pecan tree a few feet away. Marcus ran there, and Louise ran to the oak tree again. Marcus ran there, and Louise broke across the yard. Marcus caught up with her and tripped her down, but she kicked and wiggled until she was free and running again. He jumped up, caught up with her, and tripped her again. She kicked herself free. All this time the dog was barking—running from one end of the small yard to the other end, barking. Marcus jumped up and caught up with Louise and tripped her down again. This time he kept her there. Aunt Margaret watched them tussling and rolling over and over. Then they stopped. They laid quietly, side by side, holding each other, kissing each other …

  Aunt Margaret had put Tite to bed and was sitting on the gallery when Louise came in the small yard and led the dog to the front. Marcus came in the house through the back and went straight to the bedroom. Louise turned the dog loose and came inside, and Aunt Margaret could hear them talking quietly while they put things back in order. A half hour later, Louise came out to hold the dog, and Marcus went out through the back. He didn’t run, he didn’t climb the fence, he walked out through the back like he was leaving his own house. After he had gone, Louise came back through the house and out on the gallery where Aunt Margaret was sitting.

  Aunt Margaret went inside to get her straw hat. She had hung it in the kitchen against the wall. So by the time she had put it on and come back in the living room, Louise was standing in the room waiting for her.

  “Margaret, do you think a white girl could love a nigger?” Louise said. “I mean a nig-gro.”

  Aunt Margaret said she fixed her hat more squarely on her head and got out of there. She didn’t bother to answer Louise.

  The next day (Saturday), when we came in with the two loads of corn, Bonbon was waiting for us by the crib.

  “Make it, huh?” he said to me.

  “Yeah.”

  He looked at Marcus now. Marcus was standing ’side the trailer. He had on that beige cap with the dark shades over his eyes. He had on a blue shirt and a pair of old brown striped pants. He had on black and white pointed-toed shoes. Bonbon looked at Marcus like he was trying to figure him out. He didn’t hate Marcus, he didn’t have anything personal against Marcus, he just wondered what made him act the way he did.

  “The old man say you done a good job for me last week,” Bonbon said to Marcus. “Now he want you do a good job for him. Rake, broom—everything in the tool shop.”

  Marcus looked over the yard and looked at Bonbon again. He didn’t mind the work at all. Or if he did, he wasn’t going to let Bonbon know it.

  “That’s if you don’t want do it, Geam?” Bonbon said to me.

  I shook my head.

  “You sure now?” he said, squinting at me.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I’m making it on down.”

  “See you, Geam.”

  “See you later.”

  I walked away, he walked away; Marcus was still there.

  37

  After a while Marcus went to the store. The store was full of people, Negroes and Cajuns. The Cajuns were drinking at the little bar in back; the Negroes were making grocery at the front counter and drinking in the little side-room. Everybody looked at Marcus when he came in. Some of the Cajuns even turned around to look at him. Marcus bought his food and went back outside. His dinner was a loaf of bread, a half pound of baloney sausage, and two big bottles of cold drinks. He sat under the pecan tree to eat his dinner. The Negroes who went by the tree nodded to him, but hardly opened their mouths, and not one of them stopped to talk. The Cajuns who came out of the store or went in the store just looked at him.

  When Marcus got through eating, it was about one o’clock and he went back to the yard. He looked over the yard before he went to the tool shop to get his rake and broom. He said it was a joke to even think he could rake that yard in a day, to even think he could rake all those leaves in a week. No, it wasn’t the leaves they wanted done—Bonbon and his crowd wanted him to try to escape. Since it was too hot to hunt rabbits and possums now, they wanted to hunt niggers. But he wasn’t running. At least, he wasn’t running now. He was going to pull corn, he was going to rake leaves, he was going to do everything else they wanted him to do. Then when they had forgotten all about him he was going to make his move.

  Marcus got a rake and broom out of the tool shop and started working. The whole yard was covered with leaves. There were as many leaves by the tool shop as there were anywhere else, so Marcus started raking them up soon as he came out the door.

  Marcus had been working about an hour when Marshall Hebert came out on the back gallery and looked down at him. Marshall wore his seersucker suit, his panama hat, and he had a drink in his hand. He watched Marcus ten or fifteen minutes before he came down in the yard. He didn’t come directly to Marcus at first, he stood back a ways looking at him. Marcus knew he was there without looking around. He had seen him on the back gallery and he had seen him coming down the stairs.

  “If you one of them fat old punks, you better go mess with somebody else,” Marcus thought. “I’ll pull corn, I’ll rake leaves, but I ain’t messing with no punk—I don’t care who he is.”

  He went on with his work. He had started to sweat. Raking leaves here was much harder than raking them in Bonbon’s yard. There was too much grass here, especially the bullhead grass. Every now and then the rake got hooked in the grass and Marcus had to lean over and pull it loose.

  Marshall came closer. He was standing only a few feet away from Marcus now. Still, he hadn’t said anything. And Marcus hadn’t looked at him since he came in the yard.

  “See Mr. Sidney got you working,” Marshall said.

  “Yes sir,” Marcus said, not looking around.

  Marshall grunted. Marcus raked the leaves without looking at him. Everything was quiet for a while.

  “What’s your name?” Marshall asked.

  “Marcus,” Marcus said, without looking at him.

  “Marcus what?” Marshall asked.

  “Payne,” Marcus said.

  Then it was quiet again. Marshall could have been drinking, but Marcus wasn’t sure. He went on working.

  “When do you think you’ll run, Marcus?” Marshall asked.

  Marcus looked around now, he jerked around. Marshall was raising the glass to his mouth. When he lowered his hand, his cold blue eyes looked straight at Marcus.

  “So you not a punk,” Marcus thought. “So you know it, too.”

  “Run?” he said. “Run where?”

  Marshall didn’t answer him; he did
n’t think it was necessary to answer Marcus.

  “I ain’t going nowhere,” Marcus said.

  “Next week?” Marshall said. “Next month?”

  “No time,” Marcus said.

  “No?” Marshall said, looking at the dark shades over Marcus’s eyes.

  Marcus raised his hand and moved the shades back against the bill of the cap.

  “The day you want to go, you let me know,” Marshall said. “I can have a car there for you. There could be money, too.”

  “I’m satisfied right where I’m at,” Marcus said.

  “Are you?” Marshall said.

  He looked at Marcus from his blue shirt to his brown striped pants to his black and white, pointed-toed shoes. He knew that anybody who wore clothes like these didn’t have any idea of staying in one place too long, and especially on a plantation. He looked up at Marcus’s face and grunted.

  “You’re going to run, boy, and you know it,” he said. “But you won’t live to get out of this parish.”

  He looked at Marcus as he raised the glass to his mouth. He looked at him while he drank, and he was still looking at him when he lowered his hand.

  “Ten years for killing a nigger, and you didn’t even get near that pussy,” he said.

  “Five years,” Marcus said. “And that’s if I’m guilty.”

  “You’re guilty,” Marshall said. “And it’s ten. Time for killing niggers just went up.”

  He looked away. His coat was unbuttoned and Marcus could see how his big stomach hung over the belt. Marcus thought: “One hard lick in the belly with this rake and I could have guts all over the yard.”

  Marshall looked at him again. He knew what Marcus was thinking.

  “Not me,” he said. His cold blue eyes looked straight in Marcus’s face. “The man killing you in the field out there.”

  A blaze shot up in Marcus’s body and his head and he thought he was going to fall. He started trembling so much, he had to grip the rake tighter to steady himself.