“Gawd, don let em kill me! Stop em from killin black folks!”
“Get up and walk, nigger!”
“Ah didnt mean t do it! Ah swear fo Gawd, Ah didnt!”
They jerked him up; he slipped limply to the mud again.
“What we going to do with this black bastard?”
“We will have to carry ’im.”
“Ill be Goddamn if I carry ’im.”
One of them grabbed Mann’s right arm and twisted it up the center of his back.
“Gawd!” he screamed. “Gawd, have mercy!”
“You reckon you can walk now, nigger?”
He pulled up and stumbled off, rigid with pain. They were among trees now, going up a slope. Through tears he saw the hazy tents of the soldiers’ camp. Lawd, have mercy! Once there and he would be dead. There and then the end. Gawd Awmighty…
“Gotta cigarette, Charley?”
“Yeah.”
A tiny flame glowed through spangles of yellow sunshine. A smoking match flicked past his eyes and hit waves of green, wet grass. His fear subsided into a cold numbness. Yes, now! Yes, through the trees! Right thu them trees! Gawd! They were going to kill him. Yes, now, he would die! He would die before he would let them kill him. Ahll die fo they kill me! Ahll die… He ran straight to the right, through the trees, in the direction of the water. He heard a shout.
“You sonofabitch!”
He ran among the trees, over the wet ground, listening as he ran for the crack of rifles. His shoes slipped over waves of green grass. Then came a shot. He heard it hit somewhere. Another sang by his head. He felt he was not running fast enough; he held his breath and ran, ran. He left the hazy trees and ran in the open over waves of green. He veered, hearing rifles cracking. His right knee folded; he fell, rolling over. He scrambled up, limping. His eyes caught a whirling glimpse of brown water and shouting white boats. Then he was hit again, in the shoulder. He was on all fours, crawling to the edge of the slope. Bullets hit his side, his back, his head. He fell, his face buried in the wet, blurred green. He heard the sound of pounding feet growing fainter and felt something hot bubbling in his throat; he coughed and then suddenly he could feel and hear no more.
The soldiers stood above him.
“You shouldntve run, nigger!” said one of the soldiers. “You shouldntve run, Goddammit! You shouldntve run…”
One of the soldiers stooped and pushed the butt of his rifle under the body and lifted it over. It rolled heavily down the wet slope and stopped about a foot from the water’s edge; one black palm sprawled limply outward and upward, trailing in the brown current…
III
Long Black Song
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. S
he 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.”
Uncle Tom's Children Page 13
