The Annotated African American Folktales

by Henry Louis Gates

  SWAPPING DREAMS

  Master Jim Turner, an unusually good-natured master, had a fondness for telling long stories woven out of what he claimed to be his dreams, and especially did he like to “swap” dreams with Ike, a witty slave who was a house servant. Every morning he would set Ike to telling about what he had dreamed the night before. It always seemed, however, that the master could tell the best dream tale, and Ike had to admit that he was beaten most of the time.

  One morning, when Ike entered the master’s room to clean it, he found the master just preparing to get out of bed. “Ike,” he said, “I certainly did have a strange dream last night.”

  “Says you did, Massa, says you did?” answered Ike. “Lemme hear it.”

  “All right,” replied the master, “it was like this: I dreamed I went to Nigger Heaven last night, and saw there a lot of garbage, some old torn-down houses, a few old broken-down, rotten fences, the muddiest, sloppiest streets I ever saw, and a big bunch of ragged, dirty niggers walking around.”

  “Umph, umph, Massa,” said Ike, “you sho musta et de same t’ing I did las’ ight, ’case I dreamed I went up to de white man’s paradise, an’ de streets was all of gol’ an’ silver, and dey was lots o’ milk an’ honey dere, an’ putty pearly gates, but dey wasn’t a soul in de whole place.”

  SOURCE: J. Frank Dobie, ed., Tone the Bell Easy, 18–19.

  This tale sounds full chords and succinctly captures a contrast that no doubt never made it to the ears of the masters on plantations.

  “Swapping Dreams,” from J. Frank Dobie, ed., Tone the Bell Easy. University of Texas Press, Austin, TX. Publications of the Texas Folklore Society 10 (1932): 18–19.

  HOW JOHN STOPPED HIS BOSS-MAN FROM DREAMING

  John had just finished eating his Sunday dinner and was seated on the steps of his cabin whittling with his pocket knife on a piece of the lumber left over from the new barn that had been built on Colonel Clemons’ plantation that week, when he looked up and saw the Colonel walking across the cotton fields toward his cabin. John knew that the Colonel was on his way to make his regular Sunday afternoon call in order to fuss at him about something or to see what Mariah had cooked for dinner. Colonel Clemons was not satisfied at mistreating the hands all week but he even meddled around the cabins and worried them on Sundays.

  While John was wondering what the Colonel was going to fuss about this time, Colonel Clemons walked up, spoke to John and sat down beside him on the steps. “John,” he said, “I’ll tell you what—let’s make a bargain; we both dream a lot, so let’s agree that everything I dream you’ll see to it that I get it and everything you dream I will see to it that you get it.”

  “Awright,” said John. “Dat suits me.”

  Next morning before daybreak John was down at the Colonel’s house knocking on the door.

  “What you want, you fool,” yelled the Colonel, “come waking me up at this time of morning.”

  “Boss,” replied John, “you know what Ah dreamed last night? Ah dreamed yuh gimme forty acres an’ a mule.”

  “All right,” replied the Colonel, cursing John. “Go and take them, and don’t come down here again so early in the morning.”

  When the next day came, however, the Colonel was down at John’s cabin before daybreak. When John heard him knock, he jumped out of bed and ran to the door. The Colonel was standing on the doorsteps.

  “John,” he said, “I dreamed last night that you gave me that mule and that forty acres back.”

  “Awright,” said John. “Go on an’ take ’em.”

  But the next morning John was down at the Colonel’s house again before sunup knocking on his door. The Colonel rushed to the door and said, “Didn’t I tell you not to wake me up this early in the morning?”

  “Sho, Boss, sho,” replied John, “but Ah wanted to tell yuh da dream Ah had before it slipped muh remembrance; Ah dreamed yuh gimme dat mule an’ dat forty acres back an’ forty acres more.”

  “All right,” said the Colonel, slamming the door in John’s face and stamping on the floor, “go on and take them.”

  The next morning before sunrise, however, John heard somebody rapping on his door again. Before he could open it, he heard the Colonel yelling, “John, John, wake up; you know what I dreamed last night? I dreamed that you gave me back all that I gave you yesterday and that we didn’t dream no more.”

  And this is how John stopped Colonel Clemons from dreaming.

  SOURCE: J. Mason Brewer, “John Tales,” in Mexican Border Ballads and Other Lore, ed. Mody C. Boatright, 90–91.

  “Forty acres and a mule” was a concept developed as part of agrarian reform in the United States following the Civil War. As this story makes clear, plantation owners resisted even this most modest form of reparations. Judging from the folkloric record, plantation owners seem obsessed with making bets, wagers, and bargains with their subordinates. John is positioned in the beginning of the tale as a laborer (part of the workforce building Colonel Clemons’s new barn) and as an artisan (whittling something from leftover scraps). The punch line to the tale is charged with deep cynicism, for Colonel Clemons has no need to “dream,” while John’s wish for “forty acres and a mule” will remain forever unfulfilled.

  “How John Stopped His Boss-Man from Dreaming,” from J. Mason Brewer. Mexican Border Ballads and Other Lore, pp. 89–90. Austin: Texas Folklore Society, 1946.

  JOHN AND THE CONSTABLE

  There were not only a large number of rabbits, possums, and squirrels in the stretches of woods on the Southern plantations but also deer.

  There was no law against killing the other wild animals, but at a certain season of the year it was against the law to kill a deer. If anyone killed a deer at this time, he was arrested and taken to jail; then he was tried and fined twenty-five dollars.

  Most of the plantations had woods filled with deer, but Colonel Clemons had cut down most of the trees on his plantation and planted cotton, sugar cane, and corn on the land. Directly across the road from the Colonel’s plantation, however, was a large forest owned by the Colonel’s brother; so John went with McGruder every year during this season of the year to Colonel’s brother’s farm to hunt and kill deer.

  McGruder would kill the deer and John would sell them. Then they would divide the money. John knew exactly how to sell them. He was well acquainted with all the sheriffs and constables in that part of the country. He also knew the men who came out to the plantation every year to buy the deer that McGruder killed. Consequently, he and McGruder had never been caught. They had regular customers.

  This went on for four years.

  One Saturday, John, McGruder, and John’s little boys went to hunt deer. Just as John and McGruder were about to get through the barbed-wire fence and go into the Colonel’s brother’s thickly wooded forest, the little boys looked up and saw a white man driving a pot-bellied horse to an old wobbly buggy coming towards them. John’s first impulse was to move on, but as they had not been able to sell many deer that year, he decided to wait and see whether the man might be one of their customers.

  But as the man came nearer they realized that he was a stranger, so John decided to let him pass without speaking to him. But the man stopped, got out of his buggy and walked over to where John, McGruder, and the little boys were standing.

  Singling John out, he asked, “Do you know where I can buy a deer?”

  John hesitated at first, but finally he said, “Sho, boss, sho. Ah don’ have none now but Ah kin git you one in ’bout a houah.”

  John was all smiles; he saw five dollars apiece in sight now for him and McGruder—their luck was coming back.

  “How do you know you can?” asked the stranger, while John was grinning over the almost certain sale of the deer.

  “ ’Cause,” replied John, “me an’ mah pardner jes’ kilt one yistiddy down in dat stretch o’ woods ’cross de road.”

  “You did?” said the stranger. “And do you know who I am?”

  “Naw
suh, naw suh,” replied John. “Who is yuh?”

  “Well,” answered the stranger pulling back his coat and showing a badge. “I’m the biggest constable in the South.”

  “Says yuh is, Bos, says yuh is,” replied John. “Well, know who Ah is? Ah’s de biggest liar in de South.”

  SOURCE: J. Mason Brewer, “John Tales,” in Mexican Border Ballads and Other Lore, ed. Mody C. Boatright, 102–4.

  If tales about talking skulls warn of the dangers of broadcasting and bragging, stories that end with confessions about lying have the same cautionary edge. To be sure, declaring oneself to be a world-class liar is a fine way of undermining the assertion made.

  “John and the Constable,” from J. Mason Brewer. Mexican Border Ballads and Other Lore, pp. 102–4. Austin: Texas Folklore Society, 1946.

  OLD JOHN AND THE MASTER

  The three tales below were told by Dr. Van Allen Little, a professor of Entomology at what was then Texas A&M College. Little grew up in northeast Texas, and the tales were written down by his son, William. “The Onion Thief” shows John recruiting an animal to trick his Master. “Old John and the Panther” and “Old John and the Bear” exist in many variants. Both take up the conflict between man and beast, with different outcomes, but always with the expectation that the slave’s life can be sacrificed to the beast.

  THE ONION THIEF

  Old John liked onions and had been stealing them from the Master’s garden at night. The Master became aware that somebody had been taking onions and asked John to catch the thief. John caught a skunk which he said was the thief. Old John further said that if Master didn’t believe him, he could smell the skunk’s breath.

  OLD JOHN AND THE PANTHER

  Master’s children went to a one-room country school near home. To reach the schoolhouse, they had to go through a wooded area where a panther was lurking and scaring them. Master told John to take his gun and kill the panther. John flushed the panther, shot and missed. When the panther started after John, he dropped his gun and ran for the schoolhouse nearby. John was running for dear life, but the panther was gaining. John ran up the doorstep just as the panther sprang. John slipped and fell, and the panther, which had overshot its mark, skidded into the schoolhouse. Quick as a flash, John jumped up and slammed the door shut. He had the panther trapped in the schoolhouse. When he went home and proudly told Master that he had caught the panther and put him in the schoolhouse, Master didn’t believe him. John said, “If you go with me, I’ll show you.” And he took Master and showed him. The panther was looking through the windows as they approached the schoolhouse. Master said, “John, since you are a man so mighty as to be able to catch a panther with your bare hands, I want to see if you can take him out.” John replied that that was not the agreement. “Getting him out is your job,” John said.

  OLD JOHN AND THE BEAR

  A bear had been eating up Master’s roasting ears in the cornfield. Master sent John to kill the bear. When John shot and wounded the animal, it attacked him. In the scuffle that followed, John succeeded in grabbing the bear by the tail and jerking him around to keep the bear’s head away from him. By jerking the bear first one way and then another, John was able to prevent the bear from reaching around and biting him. This continued until John’s strength waned. The bear finally got the upper hand and mauled and killed John. That was the end of the faithful old slave.

  SOURCE: John Q. Anderson, Southern Folklore Quarterly 35 (1961), 195–97.

  PART XI

  HOW IN THE WORLD? POURQUOI TALES

  Pourquoi tales, also called etiological stories, tell how things came to be the way they are. At times they do nothing more than explain physical characteristics (spots, a long tail, a cracked shell); at times they reveal the origins of behavioral traits (greed, sloth, fearfulness). Unlike creation myths, which form sacred charter narratives, pourquoi tales tend to be irreverent yet also have a whiff of the didactic, channeling messages about the consequences of certain actions in a comic mode.

  Pourquoi tales gained cultural relevance in African American communities by focusing on differences in status between whites and blacks. They sought to explain asymmetrical power relationships and show why social circumstances were what they were, often through racial binaries that position black characters as shortchanged—sometimes through no fault of their own but sometimes owing to stereotypical shortcomings—as they compete for various favors doled out by a capricious and irrational God. Using the strategy of exaggerating and overdoing in order to undo stereotypes, these narratives are shot through with satire that is both poignant and unsettling.

  WHY WE SEE ANTS CARRYING BUNDLES AS BIG AS THEMSELVES

  Kweku Anansi and Kweku Tsin—his son—were both very clever farmers. Generally, they succeeded in getting fine harvests from each of their farms. One year, however, they were very unfortunate. They had sown their seeds as usual, but no rain had fallen for more than a month after and it looked as if the seeds would be unable to sprout.

  Kweku Tsin was walking sadly through his fields one day looking at the bare, dry ground, and wondering what he and his family would do for food, if they were unable to get any harvests. To his surprise he saw a tiny dwarf seated by the roadside. The little hunchback asked the reason for his sadness, and Kweku Tsin told him. The dwarf promised to help him by bringing rain on the farm. He asked Kweku to fetch two small sticks and to tap him lightly on the hump, while he sang:

  “O water, go up, O water, go up,

  And let rain fall, and let rain fall.”

  To Kweku’s great joy rain immediately began to fall, and continued till the ground was thoroughly well soaked. In the days following, the seeds germinated and the crops began to do well.

  Anansi soon heard how well Kweku’s crops were growing—while his own were still bare and hard. He went straightway to his son and demanded to know the reason. Kweku Tsin, being an honest fellow, at once told him what had happened.

  Anansi quickly made up his mind to get his farm watered in the same way, and accordingly set out toward it. As he went, he cut two big, strong sticks, thinking, “My son made the dwarf work with little sticks. I will make him do twice as much work with my big ones.” He carefully hid the big sticks, however, when he saw the dwarf coming toward him. As before, the hunchback asked what the trouble was, and Anansi told him. “Take two small sticks, and beat me lightly on the hump,” said the dwarf. “I will get rain for you.”

  But Anansi took his big sticks and beat so hard that the dwarf fell down dead. The greedy fellow was now thoroughly frightened, for he knew that the dwarf was jester to the King of the country, and a very great favorite of his. He wondered how he could fix the blame on someone else. He picked up the dwarf’s dead body and carried it to a kola-tree. There he laid it on one of the top branches and sat down under the tree to watch.

  By and by Kweku Tsin came along to see if his father had succeeded in getting rain for his crops. “Did you see the dwarf, father?” he asked, when he saw the old man sitting alone. “Oh, yes!” replied Anansi; “but he has climbed this tree to pick kola. I am now waiting for him.” “I will go up and fetch him,” said the young man—and immediately he began climbing. As soon as his head touched the dwarf’s body, the dwarf fell to the ground. “Oh! What have you done, you wicked fellow!” cried his father. “You have killed the King’s jester!” “That is all right,” the son replied quietly (for he had seen that this was one of Anansi’s tricks). “The King is very angry with him and promised a bag of money to anyone who killed him. I will now go and get the reward.” “No! No! No!” Anansi shouted. “The reward is mine. I killed him with two big sticks. I will take him to the King.” “Very well!” the son replied. “Since you were the one who killed him, you can take him.”

  Anansi set off, quite pleased with the prospect of getting a reward. He reached the King’s court only to find the King very angry at the death of his favorite. The body of the jester was shut up in a great box, and Anansi was condemned—as a pu
nishment—to carry it on his head forever. The King enchanted the box so that it could never be set down on the ground. The only way that Anansi could ever get rid of it was by getting some other man to put it on his head. Of course, no one was willing to do that.

  At last, one day, when Anansi was almost worn out with his heavy burden, he met Ant. “Will you hold this box for me while I go to market and buy some things I need really badly?” Anansi asked Mr. Ant.

  “I know your tricks, Anansi,” Ant replied. “You want to be rid of it.”

  “Oh, no, indeed, Mr. Ant,” protested Anansi. “I will come back for it. I promise.”

  Mr. Ant, who was an honest fellow and always kept his own promises, believed him. He put the box on his head, and Anansi hurried off. Needless to say, the sly fellow did not have any intention of keeping his word. Mr. Ant waited in vain for his return and was obliged to wander all the rest of his life with the box on his head. That is the reason we so often see ants carrying great bundles as they hurry along.

  SOURCE: Adapted from William Henry Barker and Cecilia Sinclair, West African Folk-Tales, 63–67.

  The motivation for this tale (explaining why ants carry heavy burdens) has almost nothing to do with the terms of the plot, which turn on Anansi’s multiple betrayals of his son and the dwarf who helps them both. Anansi’s greed, lack of gratitude, and treachery take a murderous turn, but Anansi himself is off the hook, with an innocent ant shouldering the burden which he had been condemned to carry. The tale may explain why ants carry a burden, but it fails to explain anything at all about the moral calculus at work in Anansi’s machinations. It is almost as if the explanation aims to sweep away the listener’s objections to the amoral antics described in the tale.