Jonah's Gourd Vine

by Zora Neale Hurston

  “Naw, you ain’t goin’ lolly-gaggin’ down tuh no spring wid all dese loose gals. You goin’ git in dis road ’head uh me and g’wan home.”

  Emmeline was most emphatic, but while she said her good byes to her friends, John came up and tipped his hat.

  “How yuh do, Mis’ Potts.”

  “Howdy John,” she glared like noon.

  “Mis’ Potts, kin Ah scorch Mis’ Lucy home?”

  “Lucy ain’t takin’ no comp’ny yit. She ain’t but fourteen and Ah don’t turn mah gals loose tuh take comp’ny ’til dey sixteen, and when Ah does Ah picks de comp’ny mahself. Ah ain’t raisin’ no gals tuh throw ’way on trash.”

  Richard Potts spoke up. “Whut make you got tuh plow so deep, Emmeline? Ack lak ’tain’t nobody got feelings but you. All right, son, Ah reckon it won’t hurt nothin’ if yuh walk ’long wid Lucy jes’ ahead uh us. But she too young tuh court.”

  The world turned to red and gold for Lucy. She had read the jealousy and malice in Mehaley’s face, and John had asked for her company right in front of Mehaley and her crowd! He had faced her hard-to-face mama! She stretched up another inch. There was little to say on the way home, but she had made those big girls stand back. There was one moment when they reached the bend in the road a moment before Richard and Emmeline and John had squeezed her arm. The whole world took on life. Lucy gave no sign that she noticed the touch but in one flash she discovered for herself old truths.

  John noted the prosperous look of the Potts place. It was different from every other Negro’s place that he had ever seen. Flowers in the yard among whitewashed rocks. Tobacco hanging up to dry. Peanuts drying on white cloth in the sun. A smoke-house, a spring-house, a swing under a china-berry tree, bucket flowers on the porch.

  “Stay and have dinner wid us,” Richard Potts invited.

  John stayed but ate little, and in his presence Lucy cut peas in two and split grains of rice, for which she was coarsely teased by her brothers until John left her, shamefaced.

  Another look from his gray eyes that Lucy knew was her look and nobody else’s, and John loped on off to Pearson’s.

  The next morning Lucy found a hair upon her body and exulted.

  “Ahm uh woman now.”

  The following Saturday when she stripped to bathe in the wooden wash tub, she noted that tiny horizontal ridges had lifted her bust a step away from childhood.

  She wrote John a long letter and granted him her special company.

  CHAPTER 9

  You Lucy!” Emmeline scolded as she struggled along behind John and Lucy on the way from church, “Ain’t Ah done tole yuh and tole yuh not tuh let no boys be puttin’ dey hand all over yuh? You John! You stay arm-length from dat gal and talk it out. You got uh tongue.”

  Lucy and John sniggered together slyly and walked an inch or two farther apart.

  “Good Gawd, dey could drive uh double team between us now,” John complained.

  “Talk loud, Ah don’t ’low no whisperin’ tuh no gal uh mine.”

  They talked about the preaching and the new hymn-books and the proposed church organ. Some were for the innovation but the majority of the congregation thought that kind of music in a church would be sinful to the extreme. Emmeline stayed close enough to hear every word.

  At home Lucy’s married sister, Dink, sympathetically inveigled Emmeline into the kitchen where she was dishing up dinner. Lucy and John sat in the parlor with the crayon enlargements on easels and the gilded moustache-cups and saucers on wire props and the religious mottoes on the wall.

  John cleared his throat to speak, but Emmeline popped in at that moment and took her seat beside the center table. John was on one side of the room behind her and Lucy was on the other side facing her.

  “Ah been keepin’ comp’ny wid you uh long time, ain’t Ah, Lucy?”

  “Yeah, mighty nigh uh year now.”

  “And you ain’t never had manners ’nough tuh ast me fuh her comp’ny reg’lar,” Emmeline snapped.

  Conversation died. On the lower shelf of the center table John spied Lucy’s double slate with the slate-pencil suspended from it by a string.

  “Dis de same slate you use in school, ain’t it, Lucy?”

  “Unhunh.”

  John opened the slate and wrote a few words in it as softly as possible. Emmeline seemed neither to see nor hear the scratching of the pencil, but when John leaned forward and tried to hand the slate past Emmeline to Lucy, Emmeline’s hand flew out like a cat’s paw and grabbed the slate. She looked on both sides and saw no writing, then she opened it and looked hard at the message, “I got something to tell you. Less go for a walk.” Emmeline couldn’t read a word and she was afraid that no one would read it correctly for her, but one thing she was sure of, she could erase as well as the world’s greatest professor. She spoiled out the words with a corner of her apron, and put the slate back under the table. Not a word was passed.

  “Mama!” from the kitchen.

  “Whut you want, Dink?”

  “Come turn dis sweet bread out on uh plate. Ahm skeered Ah’ll make it fall uh tear it, tryin’ tuh git it out de pan.”

  Emmeline went grumbling to the rear.

  “Less set on de piazza,” John suggested, “Maybe us kin git uh word in edgeways ’fo’ she git back.”

  “Aw right.”

  They went out on the porch and sat slyly side by side—Lucy in the old red rocker, and John on a cow-hided straight chair.

  “Lucy, Ah loves yuh.”

  Emmeline burst out of the parlor.

  “Lucy! Whut you doin’ settin’ on top uh dat boy?”

  “Ah ain’t settin’ on top of ’im. Uh milk cow could git between us.”

  “Don’t you back talk me. When Ah speak you move. You hear me Lucy?”

  “Yessum.”

  “How come you ain’t movin’? Mah orders is five feet apart. Dink know befo’ she married Ah never ’lowed her tuh set closer dan five feet and you know it and when Ah don’t ’low tuh one, Ah ain’t gwine ’low tuh de other. Heifer! Move dat chear ’way from dat boy!”

  Silence.

  “Lucy!”

  “Yessum.”

  “Is you deef?”

  “No’m.”

  Richard came in from the barn at that moment and called his wife.

  “Aw, Emmeline, don’t plow so deep. You puts de shamery on folks. Come on inside and hep Dink fix de dinner. Ahm hongry.”

  “Naw, Ah see she done got hard-headed, and Ahm gwine pray fuh her. Hard-headed chillun never come tuh no good end. Mind whut Ah say! Ahm gwine tell God about you, madam.”

  She pulled back the curtain in the parlor so that she could see every move on the porch and prayed.

  “O Lawd and our Gawd, You know Ah tries tuh raise mah chillun right and lead ’em in de way dat dey should go, and Lawd You know it ’tain’t right fuh boys and gals tuh be settin’ on top one ’nother; and Lawd You know You said You’d strike disobedient chillun dead in dey tracks, and Lawd make mine humble and obedient, and tuh serve Thee and walk in Thy ways and please tuh make ’em set five feet apart, and when Ah done sung mah last song, done prayed mah last prayer, please suh, Jesus, make up mah dyin’ bed and keep mah chillun’s feet p’inted tuh de starry pole in glory and make ’em set five feet ’part. Dese and all other blessin’s Ah ast in Jesus name, Amen, and thang Gawd.”

  “Aw Emmeline, dat prayer uh yourn ain’t got out de house,” Richard commented, “it’s bumblin’ ’round ’mong de rafters right now and dat’s fur as it’ll ever git.”

  Out on the porch John said softly, “Meet me tuhmorrer ’cross de branch by dat swee’ gum tree ’bout fo’ o’clock.”

  “Aw right. Aincha goin’ tuh stay and have some dinner wid us?”

  “Naw, Ah don’t choose none. Dey got baked chicken at de big house and Ah eats from dere whenever Ah wants tuh. You gointer be sho’ tuh be at our tree?”

  “Unhunh.”

  “Sho now?”

  “Unhunh.”
/>   “S’pos’n yo’ mah uh some of de rest of ’em ketch yuh?”

  Lucy threw herself akimbo. “Humph, dey can’t do nothin’ but beat me, and if dey beat me, it sho won’t kill me, and if dey kill me dey sho can’t eat me. Ah’ll be dere jus’ as sho as gun’s iron.”

  “’Bye den, Lucy. Sho wisht Ah could smack yo’ lips.”

  “Whut’s dat you say, John?”

  “Oh nothin’. ’Bye. Doan let de booger man ketch yuh.”

  “Don’t let ole Raw-Head-and-Bloody-Bones waylay yuh neither.”

  John was at the tree long before Lucy. He was sitting on the knurly-roots tying his handkerchief into a frogknot when he saw her coming diffidently down the hill on the Potts side of the branch. Presently she was standing before him.

  “’Lo, Lucy.”

  “Hello, John. Ah see you fixin’ tuh make soap.”

  “Whut make you say dat, Lucy?”

  “Ah see yuh got yo’ bones piled up.”

  She pointed to his crossed legs and they both laughed immoderately.

  “Miss Lucy, uh Lucy, whyn’t yuh have some set down?”

  “Unrack yo’ bones den and make room.”

  Lucy sat down. John untied his handkerchief and Lucy plaited rope-grass. John attempted another knot but fumbled it nervously. Lucy caught hold of the handkerchief also.

  “Lemme he’p yuh wid dat, John. Ah know how tuh tie dat. Heah, you take dem two corners and roll ’em whilst Ah git dese fixed.”

  They both held the handkerchief taut between them. But before the knot could be tied John pulled hard and made Lucy lean towards him.

  “Lucy, something been goin’ on inside uh me fuh uh long time.”

  Diffidently, “Whut, John?”

  “Ah don’t know, Lucy, but it boils up lak syrup in de summer time.”

  “Maybe you needs some sassafras root tuh thin yo’ blood out.”

  “Naw, Lucy, Ah don’t need no sassafras tea. You know whuss de matter wid me—but ack lak you dumb tuh de fack.”

  Lucy suddenly lost her fluency of speech. She worked furiously at the love-knot.

  “Lucy, you pay much ’tention tuh birds?”

  “Unhunh. De jay bird say ‘Laz’ness will kill you,’ and he go to hell ev’ry Friday and totes uh grain uh sand in his mouf tuh put out de fire, and den de doves say, ‘Where you been so long?’”

  John cut her short. “Ah don’t mean dat way, Lucy. Whut Ah wants tuh know is, which would you ruther be, if you had yo’ ruthers—uh lark uh flyin’, uh uh dove uh settin’?”

  “Ah don’t know whut you talkin’ ’bout, John. It mus’ be uh new riddle.”

  “Naw ’tain’t, Lucy. Po’ me, Lucy. Ahm uh one wingded bird. Don’t leave me lak dat, Lucy.”

  Suddenly Lucy shouted, “Look, John, de knot is tied right, ain’t it pretty?”

  “Yeah, Lucy iss sho pretty. We done took and tied dis knot, Miss Lucy, less tie uh ’nother one.”

  “You got mo’ han’kerchiefs in yo’ pocket?”

  “Naw. Ah ain’t studyin’ ’bout no hankechers neither. De knot Ah wants tuh tie wid you is de kind dat won’t come uh loose ’til us rises in judgment. You knows mah feelings.”

  “How Ah know whut you got inside yo’ mind?”

  “Yeah yuh do too. Y’all lady people sho do make it hard fuh us men folks. Look me in de eye Lucy. Kiss me and loose me so Ah kin talk.”

  There was an awkward bumping of mouths. Lucy had had her first kiss.

  “Lucy, Ah looked up intuh Heben and Ah seen you among de angels right ’round de throne, and when Ah seen you, mah heart swole up and put wings on mah shoulders, and Ah ’gin tuh fly ’round too, but Ah never would uh knowed yo’ name if ole Gab’ull hadn’t uh whispered it tuh me.”

  He extended his hands appealingly.

  “Miss Lucy, how ’bout changin’ frum Potts tuh Pearson?”

  “Yeah, John.”

  “When?”

  “Whenever you ready fuh me. You know mo’ ’bout dat dan Ah do.”

  “How ’bout on yo’ birthday, Lucy? Us kin make merry fuh uh heap uh things den at de same time.”

  “Aw right, John.”

  It was coldish on the December night, as Lucy made ready to meet John at the church. She had only finished her wedding-dress the day before, and only her father had seemed to care whether she had one or not. Now the puffed and laced little dress of light gray cashmere lay across the bed with her new shoes and six starchy petticoats loaded down with lace of her own making.

  “Lucy Ann!” Emmeline bawled from the kitchen.

  “Whut, mama?”

  “Don’t you answer me no ‘whut’! Ah’ll come in dere and stomp yo’ guts out. Whut you got all dis fiah goin’ fuh?”

  “Mama, you know Ah got tuh bath mah self ’fo’ Ah put on dese clothes.”

  “Ah keers nothin’ ’bout no bathin’. ’Nother thing, you done kilt up fo’ uh mah fryin’-size chickens, madam, and got ’em all cooked.”

  “No’m, Ah ain’t kilt none uh yo’ chickens. Dem wuz mah own Ah kilt fuh mah weddin’.”

  “How come dey yourn? You stinkin’ li’l’ heifer you!”

  “’Cause dem is some uh Lay-over’s biddies dat Ah raised. Papa gimme dat hen las’ year, and tole me tuh start raisin’ mahself some chickens, so’s Ah have uh good start when Ah git married, and you know Ah got twenty odd from her now.”

  “Youse uh lie, madam. Eve’y chicken on dis place is mines. Ah woulda give yuh uh few fuh seed if you wuz marryin’ anybody. Here Artie Mimms is wid sixty acres under plow and two mules and done ast me fuh yuh ever since yuh wuz ten years old and Ah done tole ’im he could have yuh and here you is jumpin’ up, goin’ over mah head, and marryin’ uh nigger dat ain’t hardly got changin’ clothes.”

  “He is got changin’ clothes.”

  “Hush up! Maybe he got clothes, but he ain’t got uh chamber pot tuh his name nor uh bed tuh push it under. Still he kin take you outa uh good home and drag yuh off tuh Pearson’s quarters.”

  “Mama, yuh been hell-hackin’ me eve’ since us tole yuh us wuz gointer git married. Whut Ah keer ’bout ole Artie Mimms?”

  “He ain’t ole!”

  “He is so ole, too. Ah looked at ’im good last big meetin’. His knees is sprung and his head is blossomin’ fuh de grave. Ah don’t want no ole springy-leg husband.”

  “You better want one dat kin feed yuh! Artie got dat farm and dem mules is paid fuh. He showed me and yo’ paw de papers las’ week.”

  “Whut Ah keer how many mules he got paid fuh? Ah ain’t speckin’ tuh live wid no mules. You tryin’ tuh kill me wid talk. Don’t keer whut yuh say, Ahm gointer marry John dis night, God bein’ mah helper.”

  Lucy had been fixing her bath all during the talk. She now closed the room door, flung off her clothes with a savage gesture and stepped into the tub.

  Instantly Emmeline’s angry hand pushed against the latched door. “Whose face you slammin’ uh door in, madam? Ah means tuh bring you down offa yo’ high horse! Whar dem peach hick’ries? Somebody done done ’way wid mah switches. Aaron! You go cut me five uh six good peach switches and don’t bring me nothin’ dat ain’t long ez mah arm. Dis gal done provoked me. Ah been tryin’ tuh keep offa her back ’til dat trashy yaller bastard git her outa dis house, but she won’t lemme do it. Go git dem hick’ries so Ah kin roast ’em in dis fiah. Ah birthed her, she didn’t birth me, and Ah’ll show her she can’t run de hawg over me.”

  “Yessum, mama, Ahm gwine.”

  “Make haste, Aaron. Go in uh speedy hurry!”

  Lucy spoke from the wash-tub, “Mama, ’tain’t no use in you sendin’ Aaron out tuh be cuttin’ and ruinin’ papa’s peach trees, ’cause Ahm tellin’ anybody, ole uh young, grizzly or gray, Ah ain’t takin’ no whippin’ tuhnight. All mah switches done growed tuh trees.”

  “Whuss dat you say in dere, madam?”

  Richard drove ’round to the front and hitched the horse and buggy at that moment.

  “Whu
t’s all dis racket gwine on in heah?” he demanded.

  “Dat youngest gal uh your’n done sassed me out, and dared me tuh hit uh. Ah birthed uh but now she’s older’n me. She kin marry dat yaller wretch, but Ah means fuh her tuh tote uh sore back when he gits uh.”

  “Aw dry up, Emmeline, dry up! She done done her pickin’, now leave her be. If she make her bed hard, she de one got tuh lay on it. ’Tain’t you. Git yo’ clothes on fuh de weddin’. Us Potts can’t leave our baby gal go off tuh git married by herself.”

  “Me! Ah ain’t gointer put mah foot in de place. Ahm gointer let folks see whar Ah stand. Ah sho ain’t gwine squench mah feelin’s fuh Lucy and dat John and you and nobody else—do Ah’ll purge when Ah die.”

  Richard tucked Lucy into the buckboard and drove the silent little bundle to the church huddled against him. His arm about her gave his blessing but he knew that she would have gone anyway. He but made the way easier for her little feet.

  To Lucy, Macedony, so used to sound and fervor, seemed cold and vacant. Her family, her world that had been like a shell about her all her life was torn away and she felt cold and naked. The aisle seemed long, long! But it was like climbing up the stairs to glory. Her trembling fear she left on the climb. When she rode off beside John at last she said, “John Buddy, look lak de moon is givin’ sunshine.”

  He toted her inside the house and held her in his arms infant-wise for a long time. “Lucy, don’t you worry ’bout yo’ folks, hear? Ahm gointer be uh father and uh mother tuh you. You jes’ look tuh me, girl chile. Jes’ you put yo’ ’pendence in me. Ah means tuh prop you up on eve’y leanin’ side.”

  CHAPTER 10

  A month after he was married John had moved up into the house-servants’ quarters just back of the big house. John had achieved a raise in his wages. Alf Pearson had given them among other things a walnut bed with twisted posts, as a wedding present, and Lucy loved it above all else. She made it a spread and bolster of homemade lace.

  After a few months Mehaley began to waylay John at the pig pens and in devious ways to offer herself. John gradually relaxed and began to laugh with her. She grew bolder. The morning after Lucy’s first son was born, when he found her at the chicken house before him, he said, “Mehaley, Ah ain’t gonna say Ah ain’t laked you ’cause youse soft and nice, but Ah got Lucy, and Ah don’t keer how she feel uh nothin’, Ah’ll want her right on. Ah tastes her wid mah soul, but if Ah didn’t take holt uh you Ah’d might soon fuhgit all ’bout yuh. Pomp love you—you go marry Pomp. He’ll do fuh yuh lak uh man. You better take and marry ’im.”