Some Sing, Some Cry

by Ntozake Shange

  “Why, brothah, I’m glad you asked me that,” Singleton replied in his happy-go-lucky voice. “I’ve got some things I’d like to talk to you and your friends about—”

  Deke interrupted, “You come on with me to my office. I need to know what you’re fixin’ to get my friends into before there’s trouble. Shoot, white man down here is trouble enough awready.” As an afterthought, Deke commanded Lou, the trombone player, “Tell Billie to bring us a bit of whiskey.”

  Deke’s “office” was the gamblin’ room behind the kitchen. When Singleton was finally settled in, Deke said very frankly, “You must be that recruiter folks been talkin’ ’bout?”

  Singleton was taken aback. “Well, brothah, what makes you say that?”

  “Word gets to me about everythin’ unusual ’round here. You a unusual white man, always chasin’ after the colored to go north, leave they families on your word and your word alone. Must make ya feel powerful to get folks to give up everything they know.”

  Now Singleton was seized with a passion. “But what is it they know? Bein’ dirt poor? Spit poor, really. Havin’ to live in fear of every white soul they see? You think I didn’t feel the atmosphere down there change when I came in your place? That’s no way to live, brother, poor and scared.”

  Deke took out one of his Cuban cigars and stared at Singleton. “Do I look afraid of somethin’ to you?”

  Singleton backed off his soapbox a bit. He didn’t want to irritate. Clearly, this fellow was a powerful black man in Lil Mexico. “Listen, you know men—and women, for that matter—who are losin’ their farms, businesses, everythin’ right from under them, and banks are foreclosing and auctioning off all their possessions. Those are the folks I’m here to help, not folks who are doin’ just fine down here in Dixie. And you look like the man who can help me.”

  Deke rolled his eyes at that remark. “And why should I do that?” he asked.

  “Opportunity, my friend, opportunity.” Singleton took off his bowler hat and drew a money clip from within the same secret pocket where he kept his pistol. “I’m recruiting men for some valuable labor up north. I love for ’em to see the light of day on their own. In case they don’t, I sometimes have to procure their talents by other means. I give two bits for every ni . . . colored man we get. That’s all.”

  Deke thought for a minute. Then he said very seriously, “Two dollahs a head.”

  Singleton wavered, taken aback by this darkey’s audacity. “Brother, you drive a hard bargain.”

  “Two dollahs a head or it ain’t worth my time.” Deke got tired of the game and held out his hand to Singleton. “Two dollahs, it’s a deal. You can get to work right now if you like. There’s a fella goes by the name of Tom Winrow, comes in Pilar’s most every night, ’bout to lose his farm.” Singleton’s impulse was to claim Tom Winrow off-limits to Deke’s cut, but he decided to let it go. Deke knew too many men livin’ on the edge of a dime or a one-cent piece. Best not to rile him at the very start.

  Lizzie waltzed down the streets towards the vines that grew as wild as she, red berries hidden in dark leaves caressing the grand houses like your grandma’s hand is apt to do. Everywhere Lizzie looked was white and forbidden, white and precious. Even though she danced with the wind like a cloud, she was not white and precious. Never would be. Yet she knew where to go in the midst of all this. She ran into the back door of a Georgian mansion, rushing through the roses and camellias as she hollered, “I’s Lizzie May Winrow.” A bulbous, brown-skinned woman, a cook, opened the door. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, onion and cumin, and Lizzie recognized the aroma, tantalizing it was to her, just like the cook would recognize that red hair anywhere.

  “Lizzie, must you make such a fuss every time you come ’round this way? You gointa get me fired. Folks’ll think I cain’t even handle a chile.”

  “Miss Mary, you not ’sposed to handle chirren. You ’sposed to cook.”

  “Well, Miss Smartmouth, cook I do, but right now I’m gointa see to you. You look like you been runnin’ through the swamps. Where you been?”

  “On my way here. I had such a good time runnin’! Thought I was racin’ the very sun itself.”

  “Well, that’s how you look, too. Come on in and let me get that paint off yo’ face and tidy you up a bit ’fore your mama sees ya. I swear I nevah in my life seen two chirren as different as you and Elma. She nevah even sweat far as I could tell. I oughta hang these clothes on you back in the air ’fore I let you in the house.”

  “No, Miss Mary, I don’t stink that bad.”

  “Oh, yes you do. Now come over here.”

  Lizzie did as she was told, but even this reception didn’t quell her rambunctiousness. Miss Mary was beside herself trying to clean up Lizzie before Mrs. Calhoun came in asking about dinner. She braced Lizzie under one arm, scrubbed her face, ears, and neck clean with the dishwater soap. Still holding her shoulders, she shook Lizzie so hard that her recently braided hair came loose.

  Just then Eudora entered the kitchen followed by Mrs. Calhoun carrying a bundle of clothes. “Lizzie, Mrs. Calhoun has some dresses she wants to give you. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

  “Mama, I don’t wan no used, hand-me-down clothes,” Lizzie replied, as Mrs. Calhoun turned red and left the kitchen, embarrassed.

  “Lizzie, don’t you evah insult white folks like that again. I could lose my position. You could get us all killed, if your pa had to defend us from some white folks lookin’ to maintain their ‘honor.’ I just don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Lizzie.”

  Mr. Calhoun’s voice in the vestibule interrupted Lizzie’s chastisement. Eudora stilled suddenly, let go of Lizzie, and strained to hear the conversation. Mrs. Calhoun was telling her husband how she’d spent the whole day with the wonderful colored seamstress Eudora Winrow, Tom Winrow’s wife. Hearing the Winrow name caused Mr. Calhoun to pause a moment, but when he entered the kitchen, he greeted Eudora as if she were an old and close family servant. “It certainly is good to see you again, Eudora. You keep my wife looking so very lovely in the dresses you make for her.”

  Keeping her distance from Lizzie, Mrs. Calhoun chimed in, “And Eudora’s got a daughter finishing college.”

  “That’s excellent. The Negro people need their women to have education and their men to learn a little more about agriculture. Although every man in the South should know more about how to turn this land around. Why even my younger brother, Joel, is studying agronomy at the University of Virginia. We all need our good sons, like my brother and your husband, Tom. By the way, how is Tom these days? I know it’s been a rough year for small farmers in these parts. It’ll be tough for Tom, too. I’m certain of that.”

  Eudora saw a chance to make up for her child’s insolence. In these hard times, Mrs. Calhoun was a steady customer, and her husband sat on the board of the bank. “I expect Mr. Winrow’ll be able to pay off our note in a couple more years.” Lizzie couldn’t believe her mother’s humiliating herself to the Calhouns like that. She didn’t understand what hold these people had over her family, or the other colored people. They were just white, not gods. Why couldn’t her mother see that?

  Eudora and Lizzie walked toward the center of town with a terrible rift between them. Eudora’s head was now held high and Lizzie’s lowered, as her mother solemnly and firmly said, “If you ever act up like that again, I swear I’ll beat you to death.”

  Tom had been ’round to Deke’s, but nobody mentioned Lizzie’s earlier escapade, which was good because Tom’d had a rough day. He couldn’t even get any day labor by the wharf. He wanted to have something in his pockets when Elma came home, make his wife happy, and have a nice supper, maybe even a new dress or something. Although he had a hard time accepting what she was doing with her life, he still wanted to show Elma that he was proud of her, too. So, with his pockets empty and with a desperate hollow ’round his heart, praying he could gather up some things for his family on credit, Tom entered Haggerty’s General Dry Goods. Old man Ha
ggerty took one look at the yearning in Tom’s eyes and just shook his head no. Tom had only managed to get a “But, sir . . .” out of his mouth when Haggerty’s response was to call the clerk, Jody, a red-faced piece of a man, to get out the books.

  “Look up Tom Winrow’s account. Show it to him and see him out the door.”

  Jody fumbled with the book, a thick leather-bound ledger that measured people’s lives. Tom was hoping against hope that he wasn’t in arrears so much that his trip had not only been in vain, but embarrassing as well. Jody called Tom over to the counter. “Look here, boy. You owe us so much, we gonna put a lien on those fields of yours if you don’t start producing some crops to sell.”

  But Mrs. Haggerty, a sweet cherub of an Irish woman, recognized Tom as Eudora’s husband. “Oh, Jody, let the man have whatever he wants. Mrs. Winrow always makes good on her debts.”

  Hearing that, Tom’s heart was not only desperately hollow, but seared with anger. “Never mind. I’ll get me some money and pay cash.” He turned and walked back to his buckboard.

  Hat in his hands, Tom sat in the empty wagon, waiting for Eudora and Lizzie. No groceries. No money. Nothin’ for Elma’s homecomin’. He could hear Eudora’s complaints before she and the girl appeared and right he was. “All I asked you to do was pick up a few little things so that we could celebrate Elma’s return, and you’re sitting here in an empty buckboard right in front of the store. I’ve been on my knees all day, sewing, fitting, smiling at the Calhouns till my cheeks hurt. What in the hell have you been doin’? Sittin’ here waitin’ for money to fall from the sky?”

  Tom wanted to tell her how he’d been all over town tryin’ to do anythin’ a man could do to come up with some money. He’d failed, but not from not trying, not caring. But he couldn’t say these things. His tongue went violently silent. Eudora knew that look. She knew her husband hadn’t been sittin’ around all day. Sometimes she just said things that she wished she hadn’t. She leaned over to Tom and caressed his cheek.

  “Was it an awful day for you, too? Must’ve been, or else you’d have those groceries. I know that, darlin’.” Then she slipped the money she earned at the Calhouns’ into his pocket, telling him all the fine things Mr. Calhoun had to say about him, callin’ him a son of the South and a great farmer. How he worked the land better than anyone else. Exasperated, Tom mumbled, “It’d be easier if he took his foot off of my back.”

  Eudora felt her husband’s frustration and said nothing. Lizzie only remembered how just a while ago, her mother had been making up to the very people who were wearing her father down. She slid away from Eudora so that when her father came back she could sit next to him, not her mother, who had no pride to Lizzie’s mind.

  Before Tom could get back through Haggerty’s doorway, Singleton the Northerner appeared from out of nowhere. “Hello again, Mr. Winrow.” Tom nodded his head. He’d warned the fellow already about being too familiar. Tom came back to the buckboard to act as if he was leaving, so that Singleton would go on by.

  Eudora asked, “Who’s that white man bein’ so friendly?”

  “None of your concern, that’s who,” Tom snapped.

  Eudora, incensed, retorted, “Must be one of your gamblin’ buddies to be so happy to see you. Is he the one with all your money? Did he wipe you out today?”

  “Listen, you get on home. I’ll come in later, ya hear me?”

  “Why? What are you gointa do?”

  “Right now I’ve got some business to take care of.”

  “What business?”

  “My own goddam business! Get on, now.”

  Eudora, furious, shouted, “Did you even ask about the fabric order?” She watched her husband walk on without responding. “A fine homecoming this is!” she blurted, and drove the buckboard away with a very sad Lizzie next to her.

  In Nashville the day was bright as Elma was about to board the train for Charleston. The Colored car was hardly posh, but Elma looked as grand as any of the white women at the station. She felt so good about herself she even posed for a picture with her sorors who’d come to see her off. They were hugging and kissing her good-bye when Raymond sauntered up. The other girls cleared a path for him, almost like a parting of the waters. Elma blushed as Raymond kissed her hand.

  “Oh, ever the gentleman!” she laughed.

  “I came to tell you that I refuse to let you go.”

  “How can you ‘refuse’ to let me go home to my family, Mr. Minor?”

  “Because I’ll have no idea what to do with all the hours and minutes of every day you’re away from me, that’s how.”

  Elma smiled coyly. “You do go on so.”

  “No, seriously, Elma, I only came to visit my uncle for a couple of days and you’ve dazzled me so that I stayed two weeks. I think about you constantly. I even dream about you, and I hadn’t planned to tell you that, but you have a wondrous effect on me. I don’t want to do anything more than think about you, be near you if possible. Nothing else but Elma Diggs has been on my mind.”

  “Maybe you’ll have a chance to think about other things, like getting meaningful employment, since I am leaving on this train today to go home. If you let your mind wander away from visions of me, you might be able to put some of your fine education to use instead of wasting it.”

  “But I really do want to see you again.”

  “But I’m leaving for Charleston any moment.”

  “Then I’ll come to Charleston and court you like a proper lady should be courted.”

  Elma persisted, “Mr. Minor, Raymond, the first thing my mother will ask is where is your place of employment.”

  “Well, Elma, I thought I’d go to work for your cousin, Mr. Diggs. I don’t know much about undertaking, and I’m not terribly fond of corpses, but I’m excellent with sympathy and decorum.”

  Elma was tickled by Raymond’s wit and had an impulse to stay right there with him, but the train whistle blew. The conductor was shouting, “All aboard!”

  “Elma, I do have career plans, honestly. I’m going to work in New York. That’s where the market is for my skills. They’re building skyscrapers faster than you can imagine, and they need good architects and engineers. I’d love to take you with me.”

  The train was starting to pull off, but Elma managed to say demurely, “I’ve never even thought of leaving the South,” over the roar of the train’s engine. She looked carefully at this dapper Raymond, whose lips were repeating, “I love you, I love you, Elma.”

  She blurted, “Will you write? Your uncle knows how to reach me.” She waved to him and boldly blew him a kiss and she watched him watch her till he disappeared from her view.

  Once on board, Elma was startled that she’d gotten onto the wrong section of the train, the White section. As she tried to gather her things and go where she belonged, she was spotted by the porter. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize I was in the wrong car. I’m moving right now.”

  “I don’t think anyone will notice any more than a pretty young woman riding along. And if somebody says something, you just let me handle it.”

  “Oh, sir, that’s so very kind of you. I just had so many things on my mind I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “No need to worry. Enjoy your trip to Charleston, miss.”

  Elma’s head was filled with Raymond’s voice; his eyes and laugh whirled about her as the Southern countryside slipped past. She thought she heard Raymond’s “I love you,” but then realized that a sweet harmonica was being played in the Colored car just ahead. While the music delighted her, the cackle of chickens and black voices gave her pause. She laughed at the contradictions and said out loud to herself as if she were still talking to the debonair Mr. Raymond Minor, “I’ve never thought of leaving the South, never.”

  Pilar’s place was jumping that night. The music was going. Jocelyn and the band had everybody up dancing who wasn’t in the card game in the back room. Tom was losing badly, but talking big about how his luck was about to change. Deke w
as annoyed with Tom’s attitude and his request for more credit. Deke had always backed him before. What was the problem tonight? Deke was thinking about the business of taking over Pilar’s. He needed to make money and keep making money. Losers like Tom weren’t good for his image. “I’m tired of carryin’ folks. You can’t pay, then don’t play. Simple as that.” Tom’s anger stirred. Folks all day telling him no to every simple request he made. He was a man. He didn’t need to beg for groceries. He needed to stay in this game to turn his luck around. “Look heah, Deke, I got me some money.” He took the money Eudora’d given him from the Calhouns and handed it to Deke, who laughed at him and threw the meager sum on the floor.

  “You owe me a lot more than that, man, and I want it soon. Or somethin’ pretty terrible might happen to your black pitiful ass or that wild little girl of yours. Don’t know which, but I do know that.” Then Deke pulled one of Lizzie’s pigtail ribbons from his pocket and dangled it in front of Tom’s face. Tom was on the floor trying to gather up his money, since Deke didn’t want it, but the sight of Lizzie’s ribbon alarmed him. How’d Deke get hold of that? Tom went to grab the ribbon from Deke, but Deke put the ribbon back in his pocket. “Get outta heah before I put you out. You don’t want me to have to do that.”

  Osceola’d been watching this scene from the bar. Deke’s mention of harm coming to Lizzie stunned him and made him wonder what kind of man his brother really was. It made him even more determined to watch over Lizzie, since it was obvious her father couldn’t.

  Tom could hardly walk, but he stumbled his way home just singin’. “It takes a tall brown gal to make a preacher put his Bible dow-own/ You in the wrong town pal if you think you gonna mess around. . . .”

  Lizzie heard her father singin’ and knew there would be terrible words between her parents. She curled up in her bed, listening to Eudora scream, “All I do is work, try to keep a decent house, raise your children, and try to keep a good name, and you do your best to destroy it. Do you want to be the laughingstock of Charleston? Is that what you want the girls to think of you? A drunken, gamblin’, no-account niggah.” Then with all the might he could muster, Tom slapped Eudora so hard she fell against the wall. Lizzie hummed loudly, blocking out the rest.