Until recently, I didn’t realize I was worried bout Miemay’s soul. I mean, with all this talk of ‘a dying.
She don’t seem to have the same relationship with God other folks do. When something bad happen, or they worried, people always say I will pray for you, or they ask each other for prayer. Miemay just say she hope things work out. Sometimes she tell them how to work it out, or how to bare it.
“Don’t know nothin bout no hebin. Jus know it’s a God. Been baptized. Know Jesus real. Know bout light an dawknis. Done led plenty lost souls ta light. I know the way ta light, and the light feel peaceful. Hard ta stay way from it waitin on dis house ta git fix. Some folk full of light, others full of dawknis. You got lotsa light, Linny.” She smile, and I smile back at ‘a, as I press the crust down in the tins for the pie.
I think about ‘a waiting to go til ‘a house get fixed. After while, I press for certainty, “So, you ain’t scared of hell?”
“Iain scurda hell, already been there.” Miemay twist ‘a mouth solemnly, and she get lost in ‘a own thoughts while turning them apples in one pan, and peaches in another.
“Yall ain’t ready yet?” Eileen ask, opening the front door, her and Anita carrying big pots of chitlins. I can tell by the smell. Cain’t nobody cook chitlins better than Anita and Eileen. I don’t eat ’em myself, but if I did this would be a good day for ’em.
I look up to acknowledge them, Miemay in ‘a own world now don’t even seem to see them. Maybe Miemay worried bout ‘a own soul and hell, too.
Eileen go kiss Miemay on the forehead, run ‘a hands over ‘a hair. Take a real good look at ‘a. We all worried bout Miemay.
Anita go hug ‘a, put ‘a hip next to Miemay’s and sway a little for a minute til Miemay smile a bit. We should be in good spirits.
Then Miemay look over at me, and I know our conversation ain’t over, and they know they done interrupted something.
“Good afternoon! Good afternoon!” Matilda and Ondrea cheer, stepping in the front door. They bring red beans, white beans, corn bread, rice and oxtails.
Everybody hug and laugh like they don’t see each other every Sunday. The house get louder and louder as the men bring they wives and daughters on wagons with food, and chairs and they materials.
After Miemay fill the pies, I go on the steps and watch as Uncle Jethro pull off, sadly smelling all the good food gathering in Miemay house.
“Miemay, you already got all this stuff a few times over,” cousin Yolanda accuses playfully, but is seriously trying to divvy out the work among us. Miemay moving round the kitchen looking under foil and examining things while Yolanda waiting for some clarity, I guess.
“New house, new thangs! A new woman gone be moving in dat house!” Miemay smile stepping round the table lively like she dancing a bit. We all laugh at this and are much obliged.
Chapter Six
THE PAST
“Cain’t right nah!” Miemay growl low, arguing with somebody. The kerosene lamp burning low on ‘a night stand next to me, and for a moment I think I see a man at the foot of ‘a bed. Then I look at ‘a, she wide awake.
“Who you talkin to, Miemay?” I ask, standing up from my corner seat, where I fall asleep sometimes reading. We both looking in the same direction but I don’t see nothing now and she look like she still do.
Her fists balled up and she holding ‘a arm to ‘a body like she been snatching it away from somebody.
I’m scared some, but I don’t let on. Miemay told me when people bout to die they talk to dead people. I figure she been visited by spirits all ‘a life, so I don’t know if they here cause she bout to die.
Ever since I was old enough to understand, white folks been coming to ‘a to hear bout they future and to find the meaning of they dreams. She speak to people kinfolk that already crossed over. That’s another reason, I think she don’t go to church.
Everybody pretty much done said she ain’t right. I don’t know bout that, but she spooking me right now. Still, I’m more use to it than I use to be when I first started staying here. Miemay always know things bout things, it’s her way.
“Linay, come ‘ere, lay down witcho Miemay.”
I see the tears in ‘a eyes welling and I try to remember to breathe, and be strong. I ain’t the one dying soon. I think, I wouldn’t want to go alone. And I think, who will be there for me?
I’m worried that in the morning, only one of us will open our eyes. I want to light that candle in the corner where I saw the man, or turn up the light on the lamp, but I don’t.
“Was just a gull when Massa Belanga buy me. Use ta be a curse ta be a pretty gull like you is. He say, I gone wuck in ‘is house fah ‘is wife. I was eleben the first time.
“He kep comin most nights fah bout thurdy years. Got thirteen chirun by ’im, well, what survive. Anyhow, the Missus beat me, bun me, cut mah hair and everthang she can thank of. I pray she make me ugly, make ’im stop. No matter what, he kep comin.
“Den war break out, dis two diffrent countries, Norf an Souf. Massa pay poe white mens ta tek ‘is turn in the war. The rich massas talk about suppotin the soljuhs, cause dey ain’t neva wont ta fight. Den all the poe mens kilt an maimed so, ain eben no man no moe what come home. All the massas go den, ain nobuddy else ta send foe ’em.
“Last time he come ta me, was the night foe he went ta war. I pray the Union kill ’im.
“Massa gone. Word was, the Union comin, an our days as slaves was numbered. Ain nobody here ta make us stay neitha. Ever nigga wit two good legs an eyes see ta runnin. Folks say niggas fightin in the Union ginst the Souf. Den, all the white men at home gone put a stop ta dat.
“Git a posse togetha of mad white mens missin dey arms, an legs, an wounded. Dey hunt niggas. Niggas gittin hung lef an righ, starvin ta def in the woods.
“Thought about runnin, Iain neva been scurd ta die, just cain’t git mahself hung wit small bebbies. Else dey do ta mah gulls wut dey done ta me, an hang mah sons.
“Den I wont Massa ta live, ta protect our chirun. Ain neva had no man I wont. Afta slavery ain wont nan nother one neitha. But chu need a man in the world, women’s ain safe.
Thank I gone wuck fah Massa Belanga, when ee come back, thank wrong. He treat me lak any otha nigga.
“Ain’t give ‘is own chirun nothin. Let the confedrets hang our son, his own son Woodrow. Look just lak ’im. Afta dat, I thank, I slit my own throat foe I ever let ’im touch me gin.
“Den, Papa Jim, been savin ta buy ‘is freedom foe slavery end, when it look lak we gone be free, he kep dat money, kep on wuckin. Him an some moe skill wuckers what been savin git tagetha, buy the first pieces of Zion.
“Den, white folk done loss ever thang in the war, ain got nothin ta pay niggas ta wuck. Dey sellin land ta niggas, thangs what chu need ta farm, tryna scrape tagetha enough ta make it dey self. Land was dut cheap.
“Jim say, if I marry ’im, he’ll tek care me and my chirun. So use ta Massa Belanga, when Jim come reachin foe me at night, it all the same by den. ‘Cep I got ta act lak I lak it,” she cries, and cover ‘a face like she shame.
I pull ‘a close to me, and wipe ‘a tears. Ain never got this close to nobody since I was a child. Now I feel like Miemay a child who belongs to me.
Her tears make me hate folks. Make me angry enough to kill. I hate ain’t nothin I could of done to spare ‘a this. When my hands full of ‘a tears, I smear them on my face like paint the way I hear Indians do fore they go to war.
We just lay there for a while, then she whisper, “Had three moe bebbies wit Jim.”
When I think she sleep, she move ‘a face way from me, breathing deep. I know she got something else to say. She move around in my arms til she laying a way she comfortable. The lamp burning so low, it’s completely dark now. I’m laying here waiting til she start again.
“Felt bad, but Iain shed no tears when dat fever got Jim an kilt ’im. Mah boys men den, I feel safe. Ain got ta be touched no more, ain got ta be bothered no moe. Ain nothing like goin
ta bed in ya own house knowin ain nobody gone be reachin fa yah, breafin on yah.
“Mah chirun done built houses and got family round me den, Zion a town. Ain feel by mahsef. People thank I got money, cause of the store, Jim’s bidness and all us wuckin the fields.
Ever man from here ta Luseana come ta prune mah garden. I tell ’em, ‘mah boss dead an mah massa done set me free.’ Ain wont nobody else, do what I wont in mah house. Ain got ta worry bout Massa whupin me, Missus burnin me, an ain no Jim full of dat oil beatin me fa ever lil thang. I’s really free an Iain wont ta be no man’s slave.
“Folks ain undastand why ain wont no nother man. Iain neva undastand why young gulls so ready ta be ‘a man’s slave. Dey wont ta be held down by chirun. So what, folk ain undastand me, folk still don’t undastand Jesus, ain gone undastand you. Everthan ain’t fa ta be undastood.
“Jus know dis, ya daddy loves ya, and you was always ‘is favorite. No matter what folk say, you a good gull. Smart, head strong, stubbun lak ya ol Miemay. Gotcho own mind an ya betta folla it, won’t neva lead cha wrong. Got a good heart an a strong will. Don’t be fraid of who ya is, what chu is.
“Live yo life, gull, cause cain’t nobody live it foe ya. Just like you cry yo own tears, laugh yo laugh, enjoy yo famly, but don’t let dem change ya. If ya cry, dig a hole an bury dem tears, an dat hurt so ya won’t carry it whichu. And make sho what you cryin fa worf cryin bout. Dis don’t mean nothin ta ya now, but one day you gone know what I mean. Long as Zion here, it be home.
“You ain got ta worry neitha. I tell ya all dis cause, if you don’t wont no man, ain’t got ta git one. You got famly, an ya safe hur.
“I prayed fa ya, Linny, but you ain like otha womens. Ain gone git married. Gone be a hard life fo ya when ya fus git goin. Den it git better. You gone have a good life, a good life,” she say, sounding relieved.
“Jus rememba dis what I’m tellin ya when it git hard. I seent it maself. Um hmm. I seen you in pants. Thank on dis, I seent you in pants dancin wit a lady, like you was a man.”
Chapter Seven
HAVE YOU READ THE WORD
“Cain’t let you do this.” Reverend Patrick pleads with ‘a, taking his hat off. I get up and start out the door so he can sit down.
“Linay?” Miemay stop me in my tracks.
Apprehensive, I answer, “Ma’am?”
She look over at my reading chair, to let me know to go sit back down.
Reverend Patrick look at me annoyed. He want me to leave like what he saying private, and Iain seen ’im beg ‘a to get right with the Lord.
Honestly, I want to leave so I don’t have to hear this, again. Miemay told me don’t leave ‘a with folks less she say she wont to be left alone. I feel like her knight in shining armor. I git to tell folks things I couldn’t never say myself, and when they getting ready to jump sharp, I say, “Miemay said.”
Today is what I would say a bad day, too. Usually I don’t agree with people, but I see Miemay getting weary. She say most folks know when it’s they time. She promise to tell me when it’s her’s.
Miemay say I’ll be able to tell, too, cause when she ain’t got to go no more and stop eating it won’t be long. She ate a big breakfast this morning: bacon, eggs, biscuits and oatmeal. So cain’t be today, shoot, or tomorrow.
Reverend Patrick disappear out the bedroom, then come back with a kitchen chair and sit next to ‘a bed. Put his hat in his lap and really look at Miemay, for what look like the first time I done seen.
“Ever red the Bible, Patrick?” Miemay stir, her breathing ain’t easy. I rise to help, but she fan me away. Push ‘aself up in the bed, when the cover fall, her pale skin look thin. She look more fragile. Wonder how she put so much fear in folks.
“Kinda question is that? Read it all the time. I'm a man of-”
“The whole thang, turn ever page?” Miemay cut ’im off.
“Not straight through, but I spose I done turned bout every page. I mean, I reads it all the time,” he finally say looking at ‘a seriously. I realize he what’n never mad, but scared she going to hell.
“When I was a slave, all slaves go ta chuch wit dey massas. We set in the gallry fa niggas. The white preacha red in dat Bible how we ’pose ta be good slaves. Now niggas can read, yall say it say we pose ta be free. I cain’t read, but I know the word in dat book ain’t change, and what you say at dat chuch ain’t what it say in dat Bible.”
“Miemay, Jesus died for everybody.”
“Who dey lynch niggas fa? Jesus ain’t the only one got crucified.”
“Miemay?” Reverend Patrick shake his head in disbelief, moving round in his chair. Like God might hear this and get them both right now, then he say, “You got to stop this kinda talk fore you die. I ain’t never read bout no slavery in the Bible.”
“You ain’t red it all neither. Dat’s what dat is.”
“President Lincoln said the Civil War bloodshed was God’s punishment for slavery.”
“Dey shot Lincoln in the head on Good Friday.”
“Oh, Miemay! Come on now!”
“It’s true. Massas red scripture to missus make ‘a turn ‘a head, or blame us fa bein rape. ‘Be glad o barren woman, who bear no chirun. Cry loud, you who ain’t got no labor pains, cause moe is the chirun a the desolate woman than huh who got a husban.’ Ever red that in Galatians?” Miemay quote, speaking kinda proper like and I smile cause Iain never heard ‘a speak proper.
Reverend Patrick look at ‘a blank, like he don’t want to be disrespectful, but he cain’t believe them no scriptures in the Bible.
Miemay look over at me, to show ’im. These some of her favorite ones, I know where they at easy. I find the scriptures, grip the Bible so I don’t lose either page, then I put the book in his hands and point them out.
He read ’em carefully. Look like somebody done turned a light on in a dark room. Then he slam the book close, like he turning it back out. “Thank ya,” he say leaning away from the Bible, then passing it back to me.
I wonder what it mean for him to accept slavery is The Bible God’s way.
“You ain gone neva red the Bible den?” Miemay stare at him; he just look at the ground. Then she say, “Ever hearda Hagar?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reverend Patrick say, stirring in his seat like he wish she would get to the point or get off of this one.
I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, my spirit leaning in to hear better, cause Iain neva heard nobody talk bout the Bible like Miemay.
“She a slave, that ran away. God told ‘a ta go back an submit ta the missus that gave ‘a ta ‘a husband Abraham ta be raped. And ya know she a slave, cause Sarah give ‘a ta Abraham. Cain’t give nobody but slaves away. You know she been rape cause she mad at ‘a missus when she wit chile.
“So Hagar go back, but den Sarah have ‘a own son. Sarah don’t wont ‘a son ta share ‘is inheritance wit ‘is own slave brotha. Sarah make Abraham git ridda his own son, Ishmael, what ‘is name is. Abraham give Hagar one bottle a water an a loaf a bread, den sent ’em out in the wild. Some place call Buhsheeba.”
“Cain’t say I recall the story going like that.” Reverend Patrick frown in disbelief.
“Miemay eleben when ‘a own daddy, and massa, sell huh way from ‘a ma and home, cause his wife don’t like lookin at ‘is nigga chirun. I so white, look just like dem otha Jefford’s chirun. New massa, say I be ‘is house nigga. I eleben first time massa come at night. Eleben. Where dat Bible God at den? Cussin us fa bein niggas.
“Ever seen a man whup’d in front of ‘is own chirun, cause ‘ee wuckin slow, cause ‘ee tied? Ever seent a young gull stripped in front of the whole plantation, beat cuz she wont give ‘aself ta the overseer? Ever see a man waiting outside ‘is cabin, cause massa in there wit ‘is wife? Cain’t protect ‘a, cain’t save ‘a.
“Know whut it like ta see folk ya love lynched, while white folk an dey white chirun you done wet nursed cheer? Ever seent a man burned alive? Hear ’im beg fo ‘is life? How ‘ee scream in the fir
e? That’s what white Christians do ta us on Satday night, den be in chuch Sunday monin. Fa years, got ta sit in dat chuch gallry fa niggas and lissen ta how bein good slaves what God want.”
“But Miemay, the Bible talks about freedom. Ain’t that why yall name this town Zion, cause it’s the land God promised his people?”
“Boy, Iain neva heard this no promise land. And ain’t no woman had no hand in naming no town.
I feels like Hagar, got cast out wit thurteen chirun. Massa Belanga wife ain’t got but three, an he say ain’t enough ta pay us and take care his famly. My chirun his famly too.”
She laugh, then say, “Iain wont money, wont food foe our chirun. Folks dyin lef an righ from starvin. Lef me ta die, like any other nigga. Treat his chirun like regla niggas, afta he been comin ta me thurdy years. Least Hagar got water and bread.
“Dem white confederets was mad at us fa being niggas. Mad at the world cause they lost the war. Dey lynchin us lef and righ. Nobody stand up fo us, not even Massa Belanga fa ‘is own son. If I named dis town, woulda named it Buhsheeba cause we was wanderin round the wild when slavery end.
“God told Hagar, man hand gone be ginst huh son. White man hand ginst all my chirun, ginst the nigga. Ain neva heard bout no freedom in dat Bible. Hear bout being a good slave.
“Watch dem Bible readers hang my boy. Dey hung lots a young boys an gulls. Even pregnant gulls. We couldn’t do nothing ta save ’em. Nobody hep us. We begged dem, call Jesus and everbody else. Even prayin ain hep. Iain sayin ain no god, just sayin we on’ know god plans, how he wuck.
“Sometime I ax mahself, who Paul? Who Daniel? I wonder bout Lot, offerin ‘is virgin daughters ta all the town’s men, to save strangers. I wonder bout a world where women don’t have no say and women ain’t protected. I wonder bout what we teachin our gulls, our womens.
“Den you gone come here, tell me repent foe I go ta hell.” She laugh a little fore she go on. “Well, way I see it, I already been there.”
Chapter Eight
Descendants of Hagar Page 4
