Some Sing, Some Cry

by Ntozake Shange

  Betty surveyed the white pine instead of the usual cypress used for the woodwork of the salon. Blanche’s eyes never left her mother. Betty was unsettled by the pure lack of imagination and color in her daughter’s home. Muted greens. Muted maroons. Muted and plain. “Those missionaries in the Freedmen’s School taught you all everything but good taste, Blanche. You and this one here with me are still all muslin and gabardine, stiff white collars.”

  Francina ran in next to Maggie with a tray of scones and cucumber sandwiches. Blanche was tiring of this visit, of all she must remember not to say. Francina placed herself majestically at the gleaming piano. “And, now, Nana, I am going to play—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Francina, isn’t there enough commotion going on already?” Blanche growled out of nowhere.

  “I just wanted Nana—”

  “Stop it. Stop it right now. You have no nana. You outgrew your nana. Nana is a woman who works for you, not your grandmother.”

  “But that’s what the old lady asked me to call her.”

  “Young lady, I’d appreciate your referring to me with some respect in your voice,” was Betty’s stern counterpoint.

  “Stay out of this, Mother.”

  “Now, who are you to tell me what to get into and what to stay out of? I birthed you and I’ll be gall darned if you speak to me like I was what you think of as hired help.”

  Francina began to play Liszt as loudly as she could. Benny moved behind Roswell Jr. as if that might help him when the storm really riled itself. Eudora tried her best to keep her eyes on all the textures and fabrics of the room. Her grandmother was wrong about Blanche. There was a great deal of thought, delicacy, reflected in the décor Blanche created. Eudora also kept her eyes anywhere she could to avoid Roswell Jr., who was seeking any connection with her that he could make in polite society.

  “I tell you, I won’t have this, Mother. I will not stand for this under my own roof.”

  Perhaps auspiciously, Roswell Diggs Sr. entered the room he usually considered his refuge, now asunder with voices raised, cutting glances, suitors with nowhere to go, an angry Francina banging out something on the piano, Blanche on the verge of apoplexy, and two strangely dressed island women, as best he could make out.

  “Is there anything I can do to calm this tumult?” Roswell Sr. jauntily interrupted. The piano quieted. Blanche breathed. Betty smiled. Eudora’s eyes searched Roswell Sr.’s face for solace. Benny stepped to the side of his father. Betty extended her hand to her son-in-law. “Maybe you can make some sense of all of this, Roswell, bein’ you the man of the house and all.” She sweetly awaited her son-in-law’s greeting.

  “I know who’s come calling now. And I know why the house is just about to come undone, as well.” Walking toward his in-laws, Roswell Sr. leaned over to peck Betty on the cheek, caress her wizened hand, while raising Eudora’s chin gently toward his that he might see what sort of young woman she’d become.

  “Oh, Mother Betty, the two of you look splendid. There’s something to be said for what the island air does for a woman’s complexion, no matter what her age,” he smiled.

  Blanche groped for a sitting chair. The divan was filled with her mother, her niece, and peculiar woven baskets of all shapes and sizes. But at least her husband brought some peace to what had been verging on the Battle of Bull Run with bustles. What was she to do now? Surely her mother and that, that Eudora didn’t plan to stay with her, in her house, with her beloved, cultured children, and her husband, surely the most prominent of Negro gentlemen in Charleston, an undertaker of high repute. Maybe she could put them in the country house. That was it. Her mother could cook for the workmen while Eudora would tidy up behind them. The country house was the answer. Then nothing and no one in Charleston would associate Blanche Diggs with these hellified Geechees. Nobody.

  “Why, Roswell dear, I’ve an idea you simply won’t believe.”

  “I doubt that, Blanche, but go ahead on.”

  “Since Mother and Eudora have come to Charleston to stay . . . I think that’s right. Isn’t it, Mother?”

  Betty sucked her teeth, slowly moved her eyes from Blanche to Roswell. She knew where the power lay in this house, and it wasn’t on her daughter’s lap.

  “Well, Eudora, you are planning to visit here in Charleston, aren’t you?”

  “Not to visit, Aunty Blanche, I’ve come to stay, to make Charleston my home.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, Blanche?” Roswell Sr. gently prodded.

  “It’s the country house.”

  Finally, Roswell Jr. was able to hold Eudora’s attention long enough for her to know that the country house was not a feasible notion. Between the two was some intense connection sealed only by the glance of an eye that Eudora startled herself by grasping. Roswell Jr. suavely moved closer to Eudora as Blanche virtually shrieked, “Yes, the right wing is finished. Truly it is, my dear.”

  “But, Blanche honey, there’s nobody out there but a rough enough work crew, if I do say so myself. The country house isn’t fit for living yet. If it were, we’d be lingering on the veranda this very moment.”

  Unswerved, even more determined, Blanche paced the parlor in a regal manner, lacking only a crown. “Well, I know Mother isn’t prepared in any way for this coming social season. At the country house, she and Eudora can accustom themselves to our ways of doing things. This is a different experience for them, is it not? Roswell, do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “But, Blanche, we’ve plenty of room right here—”

  “Yes, darling, I know, but Mother has always been so independent, and Eudora is herself a grown woman.”

  “For sake of the Lord Almighty, would you please stop talking bout me like I was somewhere else, Blanche!” Betty said crossly. “We’re comin’ from the country. We don’t want to go to some other part of the country. How would that make any sense?”

  Eudora tried with everything she could muster to address her aunt Blanche, so forlorn and lifeless, but her eyes darted immediately to young Roswell Jr., whose eyes were waiting to meet hers.

  “Yes, I’m plannin’ to open a dress shop that will cater to all the best families in the whole of Charleston, in all South Carolina one day, maybe!” Eudora was captured by her own vision. She saw tens upon tens of the best of society in fashions by Eudora.

  Her brief version of her own success was cut short, but sweetly, by Roswell Jr.’s remark, “That’s very enterprising of you, Eudora.”

  Francina, who was doing her best to comfort her mother as if to protect her from some unknown malady, innocently queried, “Mama, did you know people from the islands, those Geechee people, even knew the best families in Charleston?”

  Blanche vaguely nodded her head.

  “Eudora, do you know the best white ones or the best colored ones? Wouldn’t it be a scandal if a white lady and a colored lady of distinction both showed up somewhere in the same fashion by Eudora?”

  The younger Mayfields and Diggses enjoyed Francina’s naivety, but Betty was not so charmed.

  “First of all, missie, you can’t always tell the colored women of distinction from high-class white ladies.”

  Blanche came to life to protect her child. “That’s enough, Mother.”

  “I tend to agree with my wife, Mother Betty. Let’s reserve this conversation for the adults in the family.”

  With focused indignation Betty retorted, “That’s exactly who and what I’m talkin’ bout. Family. There’s nary a soul in the Low Country isn’t familiar with Julius Mayfield, his property and his kinfolk. Now, a Mayfield, a chile, you can tell by lookin’. Any of em. A body just know a Mayfield, colored or white, when they walk through the door. From here to northern Georgia Julius Mayfield’s influence, his seed, is sown—”

  “Mother, please . . .” Blanche pleaded.

  “The chile got a right to know who she is, daughter!”

  “Oh, Nana, oops, Grandmother. Ma Dear, how is that, Mama?”

 
Blanche didn’t respond.

  “I know very well who I am. Francina Juliet Mayfield Diggs. Oh my, that means folks can tell who I am when I walk in the door! Right, Grandma?”

  Blanche was furious, the Diggses a mite contrite to say the least, but none dared actually break the bond between Betty and her granddaughter, especially since she’d spoken nothing but the truth.

  Then came the inevitable confoundment Blanche had been seeking all her life to avoid. Francina turned to Betty, Eudora, Roswell Sr., Roswell Jr., and Benny, surveying them closely. “Why don’t we ever visit the white Mayfields then, Mama?”

  When the question was met with silence and peculiar looks, Francina wondered why Mother Betty didn’t go to the white Mayfields first, since she knew them so well. Then she shook her auburn hair about her shoulders as if acknowledging the inescapable Black Codes her family went out of the way to ignore, so much so she actually forgot. Blanche was exceedingly protective, to a point of danger to Roswell Jr.’s mind. He saw his half-sister’s self-recrimination as evidence of his opinion, which held no sway with Blanche, and sauntered out of the room.

  “Maggie, bring me a strong cognac that will go down smoothly, dear heart,” said Roswell Jr. “Francina, Benny, why don’t you come with me and help Maggie?”

  A momentarily grateful Blanche chimed in, “Yes, children, it’s past your naptime. Go help Maggie, then off to bed.”

  The young dandy exited with the children, their banter the last words anyone could hear. Blanche’s face was so scarlet with anger or shame, or both, that Roswell Sr. took to conversing again.

  “Although I’m only a Mayfield by marriage,” Roswell Sr. went on, meaning to bring some jocularity back into his home, “I’ve a mind to extend myself as a Diggs and suggest that we might find the industrious Eudora and her Nana—if I may, Miss Betty—a set of very nice rooms where we could look out for you without being troublesome to you. How much were you planning on spending on lodging? There are a number of fine boardinghouses with impeccable reputations very near my businesses.”

  Eudora didn’t have the gall to say she was planning on staying with the Diggses, not near them. Blanche was only a mite less beside herself, sensing her relative’s disappointment.

  “I hadn’t a notion in my mind to pay for my lodgings or this child’s at all.” Betty rose and spoke with the volatility only Geechee women can muster in a hundredth of a second, least that’s what folks said. Roswell Sr. cleared his throat, rang for Maggie, and walked closer to Betty, all at the same time. His eyes did not glance at Blanche. He could at last give himself credit. He knew his wife. This had to be stopped. “I could certainly advance you both some funds, no interest or other encumberments, to facilitate your stay. Please don’t misread me. I am truly offering to be of service to you both. We’ve seen so little of you since Elma and Juliet . . . Well, you understand, Miss Betty?”

  Before Betty could get a word out of her mouth, Blanche rose as if possessed by the spirit of an experienced auctioneer. “Oh, Mother would never take money from a soul, Roswell, you know that. And the idea that two independent Mayfields would need looking after is absolutely absurd. I do believe that modest flat we own near Shinnecock will suit the two of them just fine. Room for sewing.”

  “For designing, Aunt Blanche,” Eudora jumped in.

  “Yes, designing, sewing, and living. A full enough day for two well-brought-up Mayfields, if I do say so myself.”

  Roswell Sr. scratched the back of his neck, which was getting quite hot under the collar.

  “To my best recollection, ’twas I brought you up, missie.”

  “Mother, please! You know very well what I meant, mean . . .”

  “Yes, Blanche, I’m afraid I do.”

  “You certainly could do worse here in Charleston, Miss Betty. I’m very familiar with many of the families down that way.” Roswell Sr. attempted to quell the storm looming in his well-appointed parlor.

  “I don’t mean to disappoint you, either of you, Roswell, but we came here to live, not to be buried. You know folks down Mexico way. I know what you call that neighborhood you’re trying to push us toward, Mexico. Well, you may make a living burying them for a song and a hog’s head, but Eudora and I have set our sights high. Higher maybe than you could imagine. Seeing all Blanche can conjure up for a future is her own Low Country plantation.”

  “Mother, stop it. Right this minute. We are trying our best to help you both.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing, then. First lesson I learned is that family don’t mean nothin’ to you, Blanche, less we come with a silver spoon attached to our tongues like those Ubangis white folks always gaping at round Carnival. That’s all right, Blanche. I ain’t one to beg, and I won’t allow Eudora to grovel at the feet of her own mama’s sister—”

  “Why, I never . . .” Eudora protested.

  “Stop engagin’ with these folks, people, relatives, whatever Blanche calls herself these days. Let’s get a move on. C’mon. I know you can hear me talkin’ to you. Let’s get goin’ to our quarters. Slavery ain’t killt me, for sho some colored high yellars won’t.”

  “I’ll get one of the hearses to carry along your luggage. Send a boy right this second to a Miss Aurelia, keeps a fine establishment down Mexico way,” Roswell Sr. added, ignoring the rancor his wife had precipitated. If only she weren’t so beautiful, so much like spun glass, he’d have been done with her long ago. But such was not the case. Blanche’s whimsical as well as her diabolical notions were made real with a simple nod of her husband’s regal head. She’d succeeded again, even though it was against every instinct in his bones to turn away family. Roswell could not bring himself to defy Blanche about her own.

  Nursing the last of his cognac, Roswell Jr. re-entered the parlor, assaying the various states of shame, anger, embarrassment, and shock that had overtaken his relatives and his relatives once removed. If he were the patriarch, how different the welcome for the comely and imaginative Eudora would have been, how both the town home and the country estate would have warmed with her presence, her knowledge of the way of the common folks, and the magic his stepmother clumsily took to be below her station. One day all this would be his, God willing. Then maybe he might make amends for this crude and insulting reception. For now, there was little he could do but be of service in a quiet fashion, assisting the pair who’d need a man, even if a man like him or perhaps especially a man like him, down Shinnecock way, Mexico they liked to call it, bringing attention to the throngs of miscegenated abandoned population that was truly the essence of Charleston, the rough underside that supported the likes of the Diggses and many more of their ilk.

  Settling his tongue round a fresh swig of warmed cognac, Roswell Jr. gently moved toward Eudora, offered his hand to Miss Betty: “I’ll have my carriage ready for you two lovely ladies in the front momentarily. Maggie, call Tobias to fetch my carriage. We’ve a short journey ahead, Mother Blanche. Did you realize how truly near Mexico is? Why, there’s no doubt that Miss Betty and Eudora will rarely be out of my sight. Certainly not out of my mind. Your well-being is my primary concern.”

  “Well, I never . . .” Blanche began, but then turned to her mother. “Mother, Eudora, I’m not feeling terribly well, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to check on the children and be off to my bed.”

  “She’s not even going to let me say good-bye to my own grandchirren?”

  “I’ll see to it that you see so much of them, Mother Betty, you’ll be beggin’ for Maggie to relieve you,” Roswell Sr. assured his mother-in-law. “Rooted in graciousness were many,” as his own mother, Euialla, was accustomed to saying, Roswell mused. There were ways around his wife’s obsessions. Roswell Diggs would keep his promise. Betty Mayfield would see her grandchildren as often as lovingly possible.

  With great kissing and hugging of the two gentlemen of the house, Eudora and Betty were on their way with Roswell Jr.

  “Young man, I want to thank you. I’d have walked to Mexico with these o
ld feet rather than travel in the last riding place of the dead.”

  “I understand completely, Mother Betty. Besides, I couldn’t see anything auspicious for Eudora’s new enterprise ridin’ in the car with the dead.”

  “Bless you, boy. I didn’t know there was any colored left in your house.”

  “Well, Mother Betty, it’s not so much left in the house as it is in me and the children, if we tend to them carefully.”

  Eudora’s eyes scurried from her Sunday best shoes to Roswell’s face, back and forth, back and forth, till she was almost dizzy. What kind of a Negro man was this?

  “Tobias, what kind of scenic route are you taking us on? I want these ladies settled in before dusk. Get a move on, boy! Or you’ll be sorrier than a she-bitch left in the rain.”

  Now Eudora was truly confused. Betty, on the other hand, was relieved. Folks who didn’t reveal their shadow side early on could be dangerous. Now all the danger’d been smote down from the Diggs side. Now their new life was free, free of the malice that had been thrown in their path, attempts to shame them, to tear asunder that which was deigned by God. All that was gone.

  Betty relaxed in the velvet corner of the Diggs carriage. Regal as it was, there was a stench they’d soon be rid of. Betty wasn’t even studying young Roswell’s interest in her Eudora. Nothin’ gon come of that. She-bitches left in the rain, huh? Betty had a plenty of concoction to put a pounding on thoughts like that. Pound evil into the ground she would, whatever deal the Devil offered.

  “Eudora, would you mind if I checked in on you tomorrow? To make sure all your needs are being met?”

  “Why, certainly, cousin Roswell.”

  “You know we’re not really kin, Eudora, not really.”

  “You know better than to be sweet-talkin’ this chile after a day like today, young Mr. Diggs. I take it the tumult’s gone to your head.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Mother Betty. I’ll give you both—”