Jonah's Gourd Vine

by Zora Neale Hurston

  For two hours his voice beat about the ears of the people and the “Amen’s” rocked and rolled back to the pulpit.

  John heard little of it. He studied the back of Lucy’s head and shoulders and the way the white rice buttons ran down her back and found plenty to entertain him the whole while.

  When the cotton had been picked and ginned, Alf had John to pick out the hogs for the barbecue. The same elaborate preparations as usual. Same high laughter, but John sat passively in a doorway with Zeke who was getting tall and emitting ram odors.

  “Less we dance, John Buddy. Ah wants tuh swing one dem gals.”

  John laughed scornfully, “Whut you know ’bout swingin’ gals? You don’t eben know how tuh dance.”

  “Dat’s much ez you know. Ah done been tuh four, five frolics ’cross de Creek since you been gone.”

  Phrony came dashing up, hair wrapped with blue rag strings and reeking of lemon extract used as a perfume.

  “John how come you ain’t dancin’?”

  “Ah got uh bone in mah leg,” John bantered.

  “Aw come on, John.”

  “Go head on, Phrony. You got plenty boys ’sides me. Ah tell yuh Ah got uh bone in mah leg.”

  “Sho ’nuff, John? When did you git it in dere? You wuz walkin’ all righ’ jes’ fo’ dark.”

  “He jes’ funnin’ wid yuh,” Zeke cut in, “’Course he got uh bone in his leg. How he goin’ tuh walk if he ain’t? Come on and lemme switch yo’ coat.”

  Zeke grabbed Phrony by the point of her elbow and they plunged into the cauldron of sound.

  John sat on, thinking of the words on the chimney back, but soon Exie found him.

  “John, how come you ain’t in de play party? M’haley dancin’ wid Bully.”

  “She’s uh much-right gal. Much right for Bully ez it is for me.”

  Exie laughed happily, “Big ’Oman huntin’ you too and plenty mo’.”

  “Whut for?”

  “Dey say de dance don’t go so good ’thout you. Dey say de boys neither de gals don’t do ’round when you ain’t dere lak dey do when yo’ is.”

  “Dey done ’thout me ’fo’ dey seen me. Ah jes’ don’t feel lak no dancin’ and whoopin’ and hollerin’ t’night.”

  “Me neither. Less we all jes’ set and talk, John.”

  “Naw, Gawd! Ah don’t want Duke pickin’ no fight wid me over you. You his’n.”

  “Us ain’t got no courthouse papers. Dat’s commissary license us got. Ah kin quit anytime, and then agin effen Ah had courthouse license Ah got divorce in mah heels.” She picked up John’s hand and pulled it into her lap. Just then M’haley walked up to them.

  “Oh ’scuse me,” she turned away scornfully, “Ah didn’t reckon you wuz so busy, John,” she whirled and ran back to the dance.

  “You better g’wan back tuh de play party, Exie. M’haley’s goin’ tuh tell Duke on you.”

  “Let her tell ’im, tell ’im, turn ’im up and smell ’im.”

  John rose. “Ah got tuh step off a li’l’ piece. Ah’ll be right back.” He walked off and Exie started on back to the fire. Half way she met Duke, and John could hear the struggle of battle. He turned about and hurried to them.

  “Whut you beatin’ Exie ’bout? She ain’t done nothin’.”

  “If she wan’t doin’ nothin’, whut y’all doin’ up heah in de dark?” He struck her violently in the face again. John stepped between them.

  “Don’t lam dis ’oman no mo’, Duke. She ain’t did a thing wrong. You wanta beat on somebody, hop me. Mah shoulders is broad.”

  Besides the ones who had heard M’haley say out loud that John and Exie were up the hill in the dark too busy to dance, there were others who had heard what Duke said when he left the fire-lit circle. So the crowd had surrounded the three. Exie, bruised but exultant, John and Duke standing face to face.

  “Fight, fight, you no kin. Kill on ’nother ’twon’t be no sin,” Nunkie shouted.

  Old Pheemy stepped between and scattered the crowd.

  “Neb mind,” Duke threatened as he was led away, “Ah ain’t through wid you, John Pearson. Ahm goin’ git yuh! Ahm goin’ tuh git yuh if Ah have tuh steal yuh! Youse bigger’n me, but mah Barlow knife’ll even us up.”

  The dance went on. John danced a little with Big ’Oman and Bootsie but he wasn’t flamboyant.

  In the bed with Zeke later he said, “Zeke, Ahm goin’ ’way from here.”

  “You ain’t skeered uh Duke, is yuh?”

  “Naw, Duke cuts and shoots too, but all de shootin’ he do is shoot fuh home if somebody git behind ’im, and cut fuh de nearest way. He don’t fight no men-folks. He’s uh woman-jessie. Beat up women and run from mens. Ah ain’t got him tuh study ’bout, but Ah feel lak Ah weighs uh thousand pounds and it’s mah heart make me feel that away.”

  “How come?”

  “Y’know dat li’l’ gal dat trebles in de choir at Macedony—de one whut don’t wrop her hair, de onliest one up dere dat don’t wrop her hair no time wid all dat cord-string lake de rest? Well, Ah loves her, and she say she love me too, and Ah betcha old moufy M’haley uh some uh dese other niggers goin’ make out Ahm goin’ wid Exie, and dat’s whut me and Duke lak tuh fought over, and then agin Mist’ Alf done tole me not tuh fool wid Exie and Duke goin’ up tuh de big house and tell uh lie on me.”

  “If yuh go off somewhere, John Buddy, lemme go wid yuh, heah, Please?”

  “You too little. Ain’t but fourteen, and if Ah go ’way from heah atall, Ahm goin’ tuh de tie-camp and cut cross ties. Man asted me tuh go yistiddy in Notasulga. Yuh makes good money too.”

  “John Buddy, please. Heah?”

  “Naw, you stay ’round heah and watch out for Lucy. Git word tuh me iffen any ole mullet-head tries tuh cut me out. Ahm gointer write tuh you and you way-lay her and git her tuh read it fuh yuh.”

  “Aw, Ah kin read too. Ah kin read some.”

  “Whut kin you read?”

  “In de fust reader it say, ‘This is Ned. He has a dog,’ Ah kin read dat lak anything. Dat’s uh heap, ain’t it?”

  “Dat’ll do, but Ah ain’t goin tuh write ’bout no Ned in de fust reader, and neither no dawg. You do lak Ah tell yuh, and if she say she don’t pay dese niggers’ talk no mind, you git de word tuh me quick ez yuh kin, heah, Zeke?”

  “Unhunh.”

  “Yuh see, she got de advantage uh me ’cause she knows Ah love her, but Ah don’t know whether she love me or not. Lots uh folks makes ’miration at her. You stay ’round heah and back mah fallin’, and then nex’ time Ah’ll take you ’long.”

  “Aw right, John Buddy.”

  The next morning John was gone—walked to Opelika and on to the tie-woods on the Alabama River.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was dusk-dark when John walked into the tie-camp. At some distance away he could see a group of men bunched on the ground beside a small fire. Gaming. They were so intent that John was right on them before they knew. When somebody saw him, there was a breathy cry, “De buckra!” Somebody grabbed up the dice and everyone made to run. John laughed and stepped up among them.

  “Ha, ha! Y’all thought Ah wuz white, didn’t yuh?”

  Everyone laughed except Coon Tyler. He was every bit as large as John and several years older. He looked up at John out of red, angry eyes and growled, “You oughter quit goin’ ’round skeering folks. You better hail fo’ you tuh walk up on me agin.”

  John kept on laughing. “Lawd, y’all sho wuz snatchin’ and grabbin’. Ah ought not tuh uh said nothin’ and some uh y’all would uh been to Selma in five minutes.”

  Coon would not be amused, “You scoundrel-beast, you git from over de game!”

  John stepped back a little, not in fear but in surprise.

  “You ain’t mad, is yuh?” he asked.

  One of the men said, “Don’t pay Coon no mind, he jes’ funnin’ wid yuh.”

  Seeing the passive attitude in John, Coon blazed, “Funnin’? Y’all know Ah don’t joke and Ah don
’t stand no jokin’. ’Tain’t nothin’ in de drug store’ll kill yuh quick ez me.”

  “Mah name is Ezeriah Hill, but de lady people calls me Uncle Dump,” the oldest man in the group said to John, “Whuss yo’ name, boy?”

  “John. Where de boss at?”

  “He gone intuh town. Be back tuhreckly. He goin’ hiah yuh ’cause us needs help. Come on lemme show yuh uh place tuh sleep.”

  John followed him into the bunk house. “Heah whar you sleep at. Eve’ybody scorch up dey own grub. Be ready tuh hit de grit by daylight.”

  “Yes suh.”

  “Chaw tuhbacker uh smoke?”

  “Naw suh.”

  “Wall you gwine learn ’cause you can’t keep dis camp grub on yo’ stomach lessen yuh do. Got tuh learn how tuh cuss too. Ah kin see you ain’t nothin’ but uh lad of uh boy. Mens on dese camps is full uh bulldocia ’til dey smell uh good size fist. Den dey dwindles down tuh nelly nothin’.”

  All next day John wielded a broad axe, a maul and pestle with the rest. He found that he liked the rhythmic swing, the chant “Cuttin’ timber!” with the up stroke of the axe. Then the swift, sure descent, “Hanh!” Up again, “Cuttin’ ties! Hanh.” All day long, “Cuttin’ timber! Hanh! Cuttin’ ties, hanh!”

  A boy called Do-dirty because of his supposed popularity with and his double-crossing of women, took John to town with him Saturday night. John was eager to go so he could buy writing paper and a pencil. He got it and then Do-dirty proudly showed him the town, and the town’s women. It was late Sunday evening when they returned to camp and from one thing to another it was two weeks before John wrote to Ezekiel.

  And when a month passed and he got no answer he began to feel that there would never be a word from Lucy. He went to town often. On the nights that he stayed in camp he was the center of camp life. He could chin the bar more times than anyone there. He soon was the best shot, the fastest runner and in wrestling no man could put his shoulders to the ground. The boss began to invite his friends out to watch the fun. John won his first match by pinning Nelse Watson from another camp to the ground, but his greatest stunt was picking up an axe by the very tip end of the helve and keeping the head on a level with his shoulders in his out-stretched arm. Coon could muscle out one axe, but John could balance two. He could stand like a cross, immobile for several seconds with an axe muscled out in each hand. Next to showing muscle-power, John loved to tell stories. Sometimes the men sat about the fire and talked and John loved that. One night Do-dirty began, “Y’all wanta heah some lies?”

  “Yeah,” said Too-Sweet, “Ah evermore loves lies but you can’t tell none. Leave John tell ’em ’cause he kin act ’em out. He take de part uh Brer Rabbit and Brer B’ar and Brer Fox jes’ ez natche’l.”

  “Aw, ’tain’t nothin’ tuh ’im,” Coon grumbled, “y’all make me sick.”

  Saturday afternoon Do-dirty looked off towards the West and cried, “Looka yonder! Who dat comin’ runnin’?”

  Everybody looked but John. He was inside getting ready to go to town.

  “Do John Buddy work at dis heah camp?” he heard and recognized Zeke’s voice.

  “Come inside, Zeke!” he called out quickly.

  Zeke came in and sat down on the bunk beside John. No words. Happiness radiated from one to the other.

  “You seen Lucy?”

  “Yeah, two times.”

  “Whut she say?”

  Zeke tugged at a letter inside his clothes.

  “She writ dis tuh yuh and tole me tuh mail it, but Ah run off and bring it tuh yuh. Yuh see Ah ain’t got yo’ letter till day befo’ yestiddy. ’Cause pappy wouldn’t leave me go tuh town tuh de Post Office. John Buddy, you goin’ tuh leave me stay wid yuh? Hunh?”

  John spelled slowly thru his letter and smiled, “Yeah, you kin stay whut li’l’ time Ahm goin’ tuh be heah. Two mo’ pay days and Ahm gone. Got tuh take uh birthday gif’ tuh Lucy. Wisht Ah could give her Georgy under fence.”

  “John Buddy, Ahm hongry. Feel lak Ah ain’t dirtied uh plate dis week.”

  “Wait uh minute. Ah’ll stir yuh up uh Ash-cake and you kin sop it in some syrup. Maybe Ah ain’t goin’ tuh town nohow now.”

  John went outside and fixed the fire and put the bread in the hot ashes and covered it up.

  “Reckon Ah better git uh bucket uh water, Zeke. You watch de bread. It’s uh good li’l’ piece tuh de spring.”

  Zeke watched the bread and took it out of the ashes when it was thoroughly brown. John had not returned. Most of the men lounged about outside. Finally Coon said to Zeke, “You better run down de hill dere and see whut’s de matter wid yo’ big buddy. Pant’er got ’im, maybe.”

  All alarm, Ezekiel leaped up and flew down the path he had seen John take. In a few minutes he saw John coming.

  “Where you goin’, Zeke?”

  “Huntin’ yuh. Skeered uh brute-beast had done kotched yuh.”

  When they got back to the bunk house, John gave Zeke his tin plate and set the gallon jug of syrup before him.

  “He’p yo’self, Zeke and grow hair on yo’ chest.”

  Zeke poured a plate full of syrup and looked for the Ash-cake. “Whar at de bread is?” he asked John.

  “You seen it since me.” John answered. He looked about and seeing the suppressed laughter on the men’s faces he asked, “Where de bread Ah took and cooked fuh mah li’l’ bubber?”

  General laughter. John got angry. “Ah say, who took and done ’way wid mah bread? Whoever done it mus’ be skeered tuh own it.”

  Coon first, laughing instantly, “Ah et yo’ damn bread. Don’t you lak it, don’t yuh take it, heah mah collar, come and shake it.”

  “Yeah and Ahm gointer shake it too dis day and year of our Lawd, and if Ah don’t, Gawd knows, Ahm gointer give it uh common trial. My gal don’t ’speck me tuh run.”

  They flew at each other and the others scrambled out of the way. Coon was too wise to clinch. He stayed his distance and slugged, but his wariness wore him out. Trying to hit and duck at the same time, he struck out ten or twelve times and landed one high on the enemy’s head. John ran in and landed one smack in his enemy’s mouth, and while Coon was spitting out his teeth, he ripped a mule-kicking right to the pit of Coon’s stomach and the fight was over and done.

  John felt good. His first real fight. Something burned inside him. He tasted blood in his mouth, but there was none actually. He wished somebody else would hit him. He wanted to feel himself taking and giving blows.

  “You be keerful how you hit folks, Jawn,” Uncle Dump cautioned, “you don’t know yo’ own strength. Dat man (indicating Coon) is hurt bad.”

  “He been pickin’ on me ever since Ah been heah, and Ah been takin’ and takin’ ’til mah guts is full.”

  An hour before Lucy’s letter had arrived Coon might have eaten John’s Ash-cake and offered other insults safely. Now John was different. There was something about Lucy that stuck another and stiffer bone down his back.

  He walked over and looked upon the fallen Coon. His surly black face was relaxed in a vacuous manner—blowing bloody foam out thru his swollen lips at every breath.

  “Nex’ time he fool wid me, Ah bet Ah’ll try mah bes’ tuh salivate ’im. He try tuh be uh tush hawg—puttin’ out his brags everywhere.”

  He cooked Zeke more bread and soon the camp had settled down to normal. Somebody put Coon in his bunk, and he never spoke a word until after John had taken Zeke to town.

  “Know whut,” he lisped to the others, “dat boy slipped up on me, but Ahm gwine git even wid him. ’Tain’t too late. Seben years ain’t too long fuh uh coudar tuh wear uh ruffled bosom shirt. Ahm gwine gently chain-gang fuh dat same nigger.”

  “Aw,” Dump disparaged, “you got uh belly full uh John. You ain’t wantin’ no mo’ uh him.”

  “Yeah Ah wants tuh fight ’im, but not wid no fist. Ah flies hot quick but Ahm very easy cooled when de man Ahm mad wid is bigger’n me.”

  CHAPTER 7

  John and Zeke got b
ack to Notasulga in time for the Christmas tree at Macedony, and John put a huge China doll on the tree for Lucy. She didn’t know he had returned until he walked in during the singing and sat across the aisle from her.

  At home, Emmeline Potts pounced upon the large package. “Dis is uh stray bundle dat didn’t come from de Sunday School and it didn’t come from dis house.” She opened it. “Lucy Ann, read dis piece uh paper and tell me who give you dis great big play-pritty.”

  Lucy faltered. She turned the paper around two or three times.

  “John Pearson.”

  “Dat big yaller boy from cross de Creek?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Whut he doin’ givin’ you uh present?”

  “Ah don’t know’m.”

  “Yes you do, madam. Dere’s uh bug under dat chip. Mind yuh now, mah young lady; Ah ketch you foolin’ wid boys, ’specially uh yaller bastard, Ahm uh goin’ tuh put hick’ries tuh yo’ back tuh set, Miss Potts. Ah done tole Artie Mimms he kin have yuh when yuh git sixteen.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Alf Pearson welcomed John back with a bluff cursing out.

  “I told you to leave Duke’s woman alone. I didn’t tell you to leave the place. Don’t gimme excuses nor back talk. G’wan to work. I’ll be glad when some good girl grabs you and makes something out of you. Stop running away. Face things out.”

  That Sunday Mehaley got two of her friends to go to Macedony with her, though they all belonged to Shiloh.

  “Less go slur dat li’l’ narrer-contracted Potts gal,” she urged. “Somebody say John put uh great big doll-baby on de tree fuh her and den agin he bought her gold hoop ear-rings fuh her birthday. Course Ah don’t believe he done no sich uh hot-do, but she fool wid me tuhday Ah means tuh beat her ’til she rope lak okra, and den agin Ah’ll stomp her ’til she slack lak lime.”

  They crowded near Lucy after preaching, but old Emmeline was ever at Lucy’s elbow. John had written Lucy to meet him at the spring, but Lucy was not permitted the liberty.