The old man came back with a shotgun and leaned it in a corner. Fascinatedly, Big Boy looked at it.
There was a knock at the front door.
“Liza, see whos there.”
She went. They were silent, listening. They could hear her talking.
“Whos there?”
“Me.”
“Who?”
“Me, Brother Sanders.”
“C mon in. Sauls waitin fer yuh.”
Sanders paused in the doorway, smiling.
“Yuh sent fer me, Brother Morrison?”
“Brother Sanders, wes in deep trouble here.”
Sanders came all the way into the kitchen.
“Yeah?”
“Big Boy done gone n killed a white man.”
Sanders stopped short, then came forward, his face thrust out, his mouth open. His lips moved several times before he could speak.
“A white man?”
“They gonna kill me; they gonna kill me!” Big Boy cried, running to the old man.
“Saul, cant we git im erway somewhere?”
“Here now, take it easy; take it easy,” said Sanders, holding Big Boy’s wrists.
“They gonna kill me; they gonna lynch me!”
Big Boy slipped to the floor. They lifted him to a stool. His mother held him closely, pressing his head to her bosom.
“Whut we gonna do?” asked Sanders.
“Ah done sent fer Brother Jenkins n Elder Peters.”
Sanders leaned his shoulders against the wall. Then, as the full meaning of it all came to him, he exclaimed:
“Theys gonna git a mob!…” His voice broke off and his eyes fell on the shotgun.
Feet came pounding on the steps. They turned toward the door. Lucy ran in crying. Jenkins followed. The old man met him in the middle of the room, taking his hand.
“Wes in bad trouble here, Brother Jenkins. Big Boy’s done gone n killed a white man. Yuh-alls gotta hep me…”
Jenkins looked hard at Big Boy.
“Elder Peters says hes comin,” said Lucy.
“When all this happen?” asked Jenkins.
“Near bout a hour ergo, now,” said the old man.
“Whut we gonna do?” asked Jenkins.
“Ah wanna wait till Elder Peters come,” said the old man helplessly.
“But we gotta work fas ef we gonna do anythin,” said Sanders. “Well git in trouble jus standin here like this.”
Big Boy pulled away from his mother.
“Pa, lemme go now! Lemme go now!”
“Be still, Big Boy!”
“Where kin yuh go?”
“Ah could ketch a freight!”
“Thas sho death!” said Jenkins. “Theyll be watchin em all!”
“Kin yuh-all hep me wid some money?” the old man asked.
They shook their heads.
“Saul, whut kin we do? Big Boy cant stay here.”
There was another knock at the door.
The old man backed stealthily to the shotgun.
“Lucy go!”
Lucy looked at him, hesitating.
“Ah better go,” said Jenkins.
It was Elder Peters. He came in hurriedly.
“Good evenin, everbody!”
“How yuh, Elder?”
“Good evenin.”
“How yuh today?”
Peters looked around the crowded kitchen.
“Whuts the matter?”
“Elder, wes in deep trouble,” began the old man. “Big Boy n some mo boys…”
“…Lester n Buck n Bobo…”
“…wuz over on ol man Harveys place swimmin…”
“N he don like us niggers none,” said Peters emphatically. He widened his legs and put his thumbs in the armholes of his vest.
“…n some white woman…”
“Yeah?” said Peters, coming closer.
“…comes erlong n the boys tries t git their cloes where they done lef em under a tree. Waal, she started screamin n all, see? Reckon she thought the boys wuz after her. Then a white man in a soljers suit shoots two of em…”
“…Lester n Buck…”
“Huummm,” said Peters. “Tha wuz ol man Harveys son.”
“Harveys son?”
“Yuh mean the one tha wuz in the Army?”
“Yuh mean Jim?”
“Yeah,” said Peters. “The papers said he wuz here fer a vacation from his regiment. N tha woman the boys saw wuz jus erbout his wife…”
They stared at Peters. Now that they knew what white person had been killed, their fears became definite.
“N whut else happened?”
“Big Boy shot the man…”
“Harveys son?”
“He had t, Elder. He wuz gonna shoot im ef he didnt…”
“Lawd!” said Peters. He looked around and put his hat back on.
“How long ergo wuz this?”
“Mighty near an hour, now, Ah reckon.”
“Do the white folks know yit?”
“Don know, Elder.”
“Yuh-all better git this boy outta here right now,” said Peters. “Cause ef yuh don theres gonna be a lynchin…”
“Where kin Ah go, Elder?” Big Boy ran up to him.
They crowded around Peters. He stood with his legs wide apart, looking up at the ceiling.
“Mabbe we kin hide im in the church till he kin git erway,” said Jenkins.
Peters’ lips flexed.
“Naw, Brother, thall never do! Theyll git im there sho. N anyhow, ef they ketch im there itll ruin us all. We gotta git the boy outta town…”
Sanders went up to the old man.
“Lissen,” he said in a whisper. “Mah son, Will, the one whut drives fer the Magnolia Express Comny, is taking a truck o goods t Chicawgo in the mawnin. If we kin hide Big Boy somewhere till then, we kin put im on the truck…”
“Pa, please, lemme go wid Will when he goes in the mawnin,” Big Boy begged.
The old man stared at Sanders.
“Yuh reckon thas safe?”
“Its the only thing yuh kin do,” said Peters.
“But where we gonna hide im till then?”
“Whut time yo boy leavin out in the mawnin?”
“At six.”
They were quiet, thinking. The water kettle on the stove sang.
“Pa, Ah knows where Will passes erlong wid the truck out on Bullards Road. Ah kin hide in one of them ol kilns…”
“Where?”
“In one of them kilns we built…”
“But theyll git yuh there,” wailed the mother.
“But there ain no place else fer im t go.”
“Theres some holes big ernough fer me t git in n stay till Will comes erlong,” said Big Boy. “Please, Pa, lemme go fo they ketches me…”
“Let im go!”
“Please, Pa…”
The old man breathed heavily.
“Lucy, git his things!”
“Saul, theyll git im out there!” wailed the mother, grabbing Big Boy.
Peters pulled her away.
“Sister Morrison, ef yuh don let im go n git erway from here hes gonna be caught shos theres a Gawd in Heaven!”
Lucy came running with Big Boy’s shoes and pulled them on his feet. The old man thrust a battered hat on his head. The mother went to the stove and dumped the skillet of corn pone into her apron. She wrapped it, and unbuttoning Big Boy’s overalls, pushed it into his bosom.
“Heres somethin fer yuh t eat; n pray, Big Boy, cause thas all anybody kin do now…”
Big Boy pulled to the door, his mother clinging to him.
“Let im go, Sister Morrison!”
“Run fas, Big Boy!”
Big Boy raced across the yard, scattering the chickens. He paused at the fence and hollered back:
“Tell Bobo where Ahm hidin n tell im t c mon!”
IV
He made for the railroad, running straight toward the sunset. He held his left hand tightly over his heart, holding the h
ot pone of corn bread there. At times he stumbled over the ties, for his shoes were tight and hurt his feet. His throat burned from thirst; he had had no water since noon.
He veered off the track and trotted over the crest of a hill, following Bullard’s Road. His feet slipped and slid in the dust. He kept his eyes straight ahead, fearing every clump of shrubbery, every tree. He wished it were night. If he could only get to the kilns without meeting anyone. Suddenly a thought came to him like a blow. He recalled hearing the old folks tell tales of bloodhounds, and fear made him run slower. None of them had thought of that. Spose blood-houns wuz put on his trail? Lawd! Spose a whole pack of em, foamin n howlin, tore im t pieces? He went limp and his feet dragged. Yeah, thas whut they wuz gonna send after im, bloodhouns! N then thered be no way fer im t dodge! Why hadnt Pa let im take tha shotgun? He stopped. He oughta go back n git tha shotgun. And then when the mob came he would take some with him.
In the distance he heard the approach of a train. It jarred him back to a sharp sense of danger. He ran again, his big shoes sopping up and down in the dust. He was tired and his lungs were bursting from running. He wet his lips, wanting water. As he turned from the road across a plowed field he heard the train roaring at his heels. He ran faster, gripped in terror.
He was nearly there now. He could see the black clay on the sloping hillside. Once inside a kiln he would be safe. For a little while, at least. He thought of the shotgun again. If he only had something! Someone to talk to… Thas right! Bobo! Bobod be wid im. Hed almost fergot Bobo. Bobod bringa gun; he knowed he would. N tergether they could kill the whole mob. Then in the mawning theyd git inter Will’s truck n go far erway, t Chicawgo…
He slowed to a walk, looking back and ahead. A light wind skipped over the grass. A beetle lit on his cheek and he brushed it off. Behind the dark pines hung a red sun. Two bats flapped against that sun. He shivered, for he was growing cold; the sweat on his body was drying.
He stopped at the foot of the hill, trying to choose between two patches of black kilns high above him. He went to the left, for there lay the ones he, Bobo, Lester, and Buck had dug only last week. He looked around again; the landscape was bare. He climbed the embankment and stood before a row of black pits sinking four and five feet deep into the earth. He went to the largest and peered in. He stiffened when his ears caught the sound of a whir. He ran back a few steps and poised on his toes. Six foot of snake slid out of the pit and went into coil. Big Boy looked around wildly for a stick. He ran down the slope, peering into the grass. He stumbled over a tree limb. He picked it up and tested it by striking it against the ground.
Warily, he crept back up the slope, his stick poised. When about seven feet from the snake he stopped and waved the stick. The coil grew tighter, the whir sounded louder, and a flat head reared to strike. He went to the right, and the flat head followed him, the blue-black tongue darting forth; he went to the left, and the flat head followed him there too.
He stopped, teeth clenched. He had to kill this snake. Jus had t kill im! This wuz the safest pit on the hillside. He waved the stick again, looking at the snake before, thinking of a mob behind. The flat head reared higher. With stick over shoulder, he jumped in, swinging. The stick sang through the air, catching the snake on the side of the head, sweeping him out of coil. There was a brown writhing mass. Then Big Boy was upon him, pounding blows home, one on top of the other. He fought viciously, his eyes red, his teeth bared in a snarl. He beat till the snake lay still; then he stomped it with his heel, grinding its head into the dirt.
He stopped, limp, wet. The corners of his lips were white with spittle. He spat and shuddered.
Cautiously, he went to the hole and peered. He longed for a match. He imagined whole nests of them in there waiting. He put the stick into the hole and waved it around. Stooping, he peered again. It mus be awright. He looked over the hillside, his eyes coming back to the dead snake. Then he got to his knees and backed slowly into the hole.
When inside he felt there must be snakes all about him, ready to strike. It seemed he could see and feel them there, waiting tensely in coil. In the dark he imagined long white fangs ready to sink into his neck, his side, his legs. He wanted to come out, but kept still. Shucks, he told himself, ef there wuz any snakes in here they sho woulda done bit me by now. Some of his fear left, and he relaxed.
With elbows on ground and chin on palms, he settled. The clay was cold to his knees and thighs, but his bosom was kept warm by the hot pone of corn bread. His thirst returned and he longed for a drink. He was hungry, too. But he did not want to eat the corn pone. Naw, not now. Mabbe after erwhile, after Bobod came. Then theyd both eat the corn pone.
The view from his hole was fringed by the long tufts of grass. He could see all the way to Bullard’s Road, and even beyond. The wind was blowing, and in the east the first touch of dusk was rising. Every now and then a bird floated past, a spot of wheeling black printed against the sky. Big Boy sighed, shifted his weight, and chewed at a blade of grass. A wasp droned. He heard number nine, far away and mournful.
The train made him remember how they had dug these kilns on long hot summer days, how they had made boilers out of big tin cans, filled them with water, fixed stoppers for steam, cemented them in holes with wet clay, and built fires under them. He recalled how they had danced and yelled when a stopper blew out of a boiler, letting out a big spout of steam and a shrill whistle. There were times when they had the whole hillside blazing and smoking. Yeah, yuh see, Big Boy wuz Casey Jones n wuz speedin it down the gleamin rails of the Southern Pacific. Bobo had number two on the Santa Fe. Buck wuz on the Illinoy Central. Lester the Nickel Plate. Lawd, how they shelved the wood in! The boiling water would almost jar the cans loose from the clay. More and more pine-knots and dry leaves would be piled under the cans. Flames would grow so tall they would have to shield their eyes. Sweat would pour off their faces. Then, suddenly, a peg would shoot high into the air, and
Pssseeeezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
Big Boy sighed and stretched out his arm, quenching the flames and scattering the smoke. Why didnt Bobo c mon? He looked over the fields; there was nothing but dying sunlight. His mind drifted back to the kilns. He remembered the day when Buck, jealous of his winning, had tried to smash his kiln. Yeah, that ol sonofabitch! Naw, Lawd! He didnt go t say tha! Whut wuz he thinkin erbout? Cussin the dead! Yeah, po ol Buck wuz dead now. N Lester too. Yeah, it wuz awright fer Buck t smash his kiln. Sho. N he wished he hadnt socked ol Buck so hard tha day. He wuz sorry fer Buck now. N he sho wished he hadnt cussed po ol Bucks ma, neither. Tha wuz sinful! Mabbe Gawd would git im fer tha? But he didnt go t do it! Po Buck! Po Lester! Hed never treat anybody like tha ergin, never…
Dusk was slowly deepening. Somewhere, he could not tell exactly where, a cricket took up a fitful song. The air was growing soft and heavy. He looked over the fields, longing for Bobo…
He shifted his body to ease the cold damp of the ground, and thought back over the day. Yeah, hed been dam right erbout not wantin t go swimmin. N ef hed followed his right min hed neverve gone n got inter all this trouble. At first hed said naw. But shucks, somehow hed just went on wid the res. Yeah, he shoulda went on t school tha mawnin, like Ma told im t do. But, hell, who wouldnt git tireda awways drivin a guy t school! Tha wuz the big trouble, awways drivin a guy t school. He wouldnt be in all this trouble now ef it wuznt fer that Gawddam school! Impatiently, he took the grass out of his mouth and threw it away, demolishing the little red school house…
Yeah, ef they had all kept still n quiet when tha ol white woman showed-up, mabbe shedve went on off. But yuh never kin tell erbout these white folks. Mabbe she wouldntve went. Mabbe tha white man woulda killed all of em! All fo of em! Yeah, yuh never kin tell erbout white folks. Then, ergin, mabbe tha white woman woulda went on off n laffed. Yeah, mabbe tha white man woulda said: Yuh nigger bastards git t hell outta here! Yuh know Gawddam well yuh don berlong here! N then they woulda grabbed their cloes n run like all hell… He blinked the
white man away. Where wuz Bobo? Why didn’t he hurry up n c mon?
He jerked another blade and chewed. Yeah, ef pa had only let im have tha shotgun! He could stan off a whole mob wid a shotgun. He looked at the ground as he turned a shotgun over in his hands. Then he leveled it at an advancing white man. Boooom! The man curled up. Another came. He reloaded quickly, and let him have what the other had got. He too curled up. Then another came. He got the same medicine. Then the whole mob swirled around him, and he blazed away, getting as many as he could. They closed in; but, by Gawd, he had done his part, hadnt he? N the newspapersd say: NIGGER KILLS DOZEN OF MOB BEFO LYNCHED! Er mabbe theyd say: TRAPPED NIGGER SLAYS TWENTY BEFO KILLED! He smiled a little. Tha wouldnt be so bad, would it? Blinking the newspaper away, he looked over the fields. Where wuz Bobo? Why didnt he hurry up n c mon?
He shifted, trying to get a crick out of his legs. Shucks, he wuz gittin tireda this. N it wuz almos dark now. Yeah, there wuz a little bittie star way over yonder in the eas. Mabbe tha white man wuznt dead? Mabbe they wuznt even lookin fer im? Mabbe he could go back home now? Naw, better wait erwhile. Thad be bes. But, Lawd, ef he only had some water! He could hardly swallow, his throat was so dry. Gawddam them white folks! Thas all they wuz good fer, t run a nigger down lika rabbit! Yeah, they git yuh in a corner n then they let yuh have it. A thousan of em! He shivered, for the cold of the clay was chilling his bones. Lawd, spose they foun im here in this hole? N wid nobody t hep im?… But ain no use in thinkin erbout tha; wait till trouble come fo yuh start fightin it. But ef tha mob came one by one hed wipe em all out. Clean up the whole bunch. He caught one by the neck and choked him long and hard, choked him till his tongue and eyes popped out. Then he jumped upon his chest and stomped him like he had stomped that snake. When he had finished with one, another came. He choked him too. Choked till he sank slowly to the ground, gasping…
“Hoalo!”
Big Boy snatched his fingers from the white man’s neck and looked over the fields. He saw nobody. Had someone spied him? He was sure that somebody had hollered. His heart pounded. But, shucks, nobody couldnt see im here in this hole… But mabbe theyd seen im when he wuz comin n had laid low n wuz now closin in on im! Praps they wuz signalin fer the others? Yeah, they wuz creepin up on im! Mabbe he oughta git up n run… Oh! Mabbe tha wuz Bobo! Yeah, Bobo! He oughta clim out n see ef Bobo wuz lookin fer im… He stiffened.
Uncle Tom's Children Page 6
