Jonah's Gourd Vine (14 page)

A
n' Dangie Dewoe's hut squatted low and peered at the road from behind a mass of Palma Christi and elderberry. The little rag-stuffed windows hindered the light and the walls were blackened with ancient smoke.

She had thrown several stalks of dried rabbit tobacco on the fire for power and sat with her wrinkled old face pursed up like a black fist, watching the flames.

Three quick sharp raps on the door.

“Who come?”

“One.”

“Come on in, Hattie.” As the woman entered An' Dangie threw some salt into the flame without so much as a look at her visitor. “Knowed you'd be back. Set down.”

Hattie sat a moment impatiently, then she looked anxiously at An' Dangie and said, “He ain't been.”

“He will. Sich things ez dat takes time. Did yuh feed 'im lak Ah tole yuh?”

“Ain't laid eyes on 'im in seben weeks. How Ahm goin' do it?”

“Hm-m-m.” She struggled her fatness up from the chair and limped over to an old tin safe in the corner. She fumbled with the screw top of a fruit jar and returned with a light handful of wish-beans. “Stan' over de gate whar he sleeps and eat dese
beans and drop de hulls 'round yo' feet. Ah'll do de rest.”

“Lawd, An' Dangie, dere' uh yard full uh houn' dawgs and chillun. Eben if none uh dem chillun see me, de dawgs gwine bark. Ah wuz past dere one day 'thout stoppin'.”

“G'wan do lak Ah tell yuh. Ahm gwine hold de bitter bone in mah mouf so's you kin walk out de sight uh men. You bound tuh come out more'n conquer. Jes' you pay me whut Ah ast and 'tain't nothin' built up dat Ah can't tear down.”

“Ah know you got de power.”

“Humph! Ah reckon Ah is. Y' ever hear 'bout me boilin' uh wash-pot on uh sail needle?”

“Yas ma'am and mo' besides.”

“Well don't come heah doubtin' lak you done jes' now. Aw right, pay me and g'wan do lak Ah tell yuh.”

Hattie took the knotted handkerchief out of her stocking and paid. As she reached the door, the old woman called after her, “'Member now, you done started dis and it's got tuh be kep' up do hit'll turn back on yuh.”

“Yas'm.”

The door slammed and An' Dangie crept to her altar in the back room and began to dress candles with war water. When the altar had been set, she dressed the coffin in red, lit the inverted candles on the altar, saying as she did so, “Now fight! Fight and fuss 'til you part.” When all was done at the altar she rubbed her hands and forehead with war powder, put the catbone in her mouth, and laid herself down in the red coffin facing the altar and went into the spirit.

L
ucy was lying sick. The terrible enemy had so gnawed away her lungs that her frame was hardly distinguishable from the bed things.

“Isie?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Come give mama uh dose uh medicine.”

“Yes'm.”

The skinny-legged child of nine came bringing a cheap glass pitcher of water. “Ah pumped it off so it would be cool and nice fuh yuh.”

“Thankee, Isie. Youse mah chile 'bove all de rest. Yo' pa come yet?”

“Yes'm, he out 'round de barn somewhere.”

“Tell 'im Ah say tuh step heah uh minute.”

John Pearson crossed the back porch slowly and heavily and entered the bedroom with downcast eyes.

“Whut you want wid me, Lucy?”

“Here 'tis Wednesday and you jus' gittin' home from Sanford, and know Ahm at uh mah back too. You know dat Hezekiah and John is uhway in school up tuh Jacksonville, and dese other chillun got tuh make out de bes' dey kin. You ought tuh uh come on home Monday and seen after things.”

He looked sullenly at the floor and said nothing. Lucy used her spit cup and went on.

“Know too Ahm sick and you been home fuh de las' longest and ain't been near me tuh offer me uh cup uh cool water uh ast me how Ah feel.”

“Oh you sick, sick, sick! Ah hates tuh be 'round folks always complainin', and then again you always doggin' me 'bout sumpin'. Ah gits sick and tired uh hearing it!”

“Well, John, you puts de words in mah mouf. If you'd stay home and look after yo' wife and chillun, Ah wouldn't have nothin' tuh talk uhbout.”

“Aw, yes you would! Always jawin' and complainin'.”

Lucy said, “If you keep ole Hattie Tyson's letters out dis house where mah chillun kin git holt of 'em and you kin stop folkses mouf by comin' on home instid uh layin' 'round wid her in Oviedo.”

“Shet up! Ahm sick an' tired uh you' yowin' and jawin'. 'Tain't nothin' Ah hate lak gittin' sin throwed in mah face dat done got cold. Ah do ez Ah please. You jus' uh hold-back tuh me nohow. Always sick and complainin'. Uh man can't utilize hisself.”

He came to the bed and stood glaring down upon her. She seemed not to notice and said calmly after a short pause, “Ahm glad tuh know dat, John. After all dese years and all dat done went on dat Ah ain't been nothin' but uh stumblin'-stone tuh yuh. Go 'head on, Mister, but remember—youse born but you ain't dead. 'Tain't nobody so slick but whut they kin stand uh 'nother greasin'. Ah done told yuh time and time uhgin dat ignorance is de hawse dat wisdom rides. Don't git miss-put on yo' road. God don't eat okra.”

“Oh you always got uh mouf full uh opinions, but Ah don't need you no mo' nor nothing you got tuh say, Ahm uh man grown. Don't need no guardzeen atall. So shet yo' mouf wid me.”

“Ah ain't going' tuh hush nothin' uh de kind. Youse livin' dirty and Ahm goin' tuh tell you 'bout it. Me and mah chillun got some rights. Big talk ain't changin' whut you doin'. You
can't clean yo'self wid yo' tongue lak uh cat.”

There was a resounding smack. Lucy covered her face with her hand, and John drew back in a sort of horror, and instantly strove to remove the brand from his soul by words, “Ah tole yuh tuh hush.” He found himself shaking as he backed towards the door.

“De hidden wedge will come tuh light some day, John. Mark mah words. Youse in de majority now, but God sho don't love ugly.”

John shambled out across the back porch, and stood for an unknowing time among the palmetto bushes in a sweating daze feeling like Nebuchadnezer in his exile.

Lucy turned her face to the wall and refused her supper that her older daughter Emmeline cooked and that Isis brought to her.

“But mama, you said special you wanted some battercakes.”

“You eat 'em, Isie. Mama don't want uh thing. Come on in when you thru wid yo' supper lak you always do and read mama something out yo' reader.”

But Isis didn't read. Lucy lay so still that she was frightened. She turned down the lamp by the head of the bed and started to leave, but Lucy stopped her.

“Thought you was sleep, mama.”

“Naw, Isie, been watchin' dat great big ole spider.”

“Where?”

“Up dere on de wall next tuh de ceilin'. Look lak he done took up uh stand.”

“Want me tuh kill 'im wid de broom?”

“Naw, Isie, let 'im be. You didn't put 'im dere. De one dat put 'im dere will move 'im in his own time.”

Isis could hear the other children playing in the back room.

“Reckon you wanta go play wid de rest, Isie, but mama wants tuh tell yuh somethin'.”

“Whut is it, mama?”

“Isie, Ah ain't goin' tuh be wid yuh much longer, and when Ahm dead Ah wants you tuh have dis bed. Iss mine. Ah sewed
fuh uh white woman over in Maitland and she gimme dis bedstead fuh mah work. Ah wants you tuh have it. Dis mah feather tick on here too.”

“Yes'm mama, Ah—”

“Stop cryin', Isie, you can't hear whut Ahm sayin', 'member tuh git all de education you kin. Dat's de onliest way you kin keep out from under people's feet. You always strain tuh be de bell cow, never be de tail uh nothin'. Do de best you kin, honey, 'cause neither yo' paw nor dese older chillun is goin' tuh be bothered too much wid yuh, but you goin' tuh git 'long. Mark mah words. You got de spunk, but mah po' li'l' sandy-haired chile goin' suffer uh lot 'fo' she git tuh de place she kin 'fend fuh herself. And Isie, honey, stop cryin' and lissen tuh me. Don't you love nobody better'n you do yo'self. Do, you'll be dying befo' yo' time is out. And, Isie, uh person kin be killed 'thout being stuck un blow. Some uh dese things Ahm tellin' yuh, you wont understand 'em fuh years tuh come, but de time will come when you'll know. And Isie, when Ahm dyin' don't you let 'em take de pillow from under mah head, and be covering up de clock and de lookin' glass and all sich ez dat. Ah don't want it done, heah? Ahm tellin' you in preference tuh de rest 'cause Ah know you'll see tuh it. Go wash yuh face and turn tuh de Twenty-Sixth Chapter of de Acts fuh me. Den you go git yo' night rest. If Ah want yuh, Ah'll call yuh.”

Way in the night Lucy heard John stealthily enter the room and stand with the lamp in his hand peering down into her face. When she opened her eyes she saw him start.

“Oh,” he exclaimed sharply with rising inflection. Lucy searched his face with her eyes but said nothing.

“Er, er, Ah jus' thought Ah'd come see if you wanted anything,” John said nervously, “if you want anything, Lucy, all you got tuh do is tuh ast me. De favor is in me.”

Lucy looked at her husband in a way that stepped across the ordinary boundaries of life and said, “Jus' have patience, John, uh few mo' days,” and pulled down her lids over her eyes, and John was glad of that.

John rushed from Lucy's bedside to the road and strode up
and down in the white moonlight. Finally he took his stand beneath the umbrella tree before the house and watched the dim light in Lucy's room. Nothing came to him there and he awoke Emmeline at daybreak, “Go in yo' ma's room Daught' and come back and tell me how she makin' it.”

“She say she ain't no better,” Daught' told him.

The spider was lower on the wall and Lucy entertained herself by watching to see if she could detect it move.

She sent Isis to bed early that Thursday night but she herself lay awake regarding the spider. She thought that she had not slept a moment, but when in the morning Isis brought the wash basin and tooth brush, Lucy noted that the spider was lower and she had not seen it move.

That afternoon Mrs. Mattie Clarke sat with her and sent Isis out to play.

“Lucy, how is it 'tween you and God?”

“You know Ah ain't never been one to whoop and holler in church, Sister Clarke, but Ah done put on de whole armor uh faith. Ah ain't afraid tuh die.”

“Ahm sho glad tuh hear dat, Sister Pearson. Yuh know uh person kin live uh clean life and den dey kin be so fretted on dey dyin' bed 'til dey lose holt of de kingdom.”

“Don't worry 'bout me, Sister Clarke. Ah done been in sorrow's kitchen and Ah done licked out all de pots. Ah done died in grief and been buried in de bitter waters, and Ah done rose agin from de dead lak Lazarus. Nothin' kin touch mah soul no mo'. It wuz hard tuh loose de string-holt on mah li'l' chillun.” Her voice sank to a whisper, “But Ah reckon Ah done dat too.”

“Put whip tuh yo' hawses, honey. Whip 'em up.”

Despite Lucy's all-night vigil she never saw the spider when he moved, but at first light she noted that he was at least a foot from the ceiling but as motionless as a painted spider in a picture.

The evening train brought her second son, John, from Jacksonville. Lucy brightened.

“Where's Hezekiah?” she asked eagerly.

“He's comin'. His girl is gointer sing uh solo at de church on Sunday and he wants to hear her. Then he's coming right on. He told me to wire him how you were.”

“Don't do it, John. Let 'im enjoy de singin'.”

John told her a great deal about the school and the city and she listened brightly but said little.

After that look in the late watches of the night John was afraid to be alone with Lucy. His fear of her kept him from his bed at night. He was afraid lest she should die while he was asleep and he should awake to find her spirit standing over him. He was equally afraid of her reproaches should she live, and he was troubled. More troubled than he had ever been in all his life. In all his struggles of sleep, the large bright eyes looked thru and beyond him and saw too much. He wished those eyes would close and was afraid again because of his wish.

Lucy watched the spider each day as it stood lower. And late Sunday night she cried out, “O Evening Sun, when you git on de other side, tell mah Lawd Ahm here waitin'.”

And God awoke at last and nodded His head.

In the morning she told Emmeline to fry chicken for dinner. She sent Isis out to play. “You been denyin' yo' pleasure fuh me. G'wan out and play wid de rest. Ah'll call yuh if Ah want yuh. Tell everybody tuh leave me alone. Ah don't want no bother. Shet de door tight.”

She never did call Isis. Late in the afternoon she saw people going and coming, coming and going. She was playing ball before the house, but she became alarmed and went in.

The afternoon was bright and a clear light streamed into the room from the bare windows. They had turned Lucy's bed so that her face was to the East. The way from which the sun comes walking in red and white. Great drops of sweat stood out on her forehead and trickled upon the quilt and Isis saw a pool of sweat standing in a hollow at the elbow. She was breathing hard, and Isis saw her set eyes fasten on her as she came into the room. She thought that she tried to say some
thing to her as she stood over her mother's head, weeping with her heart.

“Get her head offa dat pillow!” Mattie Mosely ordered. “Let her head down so she kin die easy.”

Hoyt Thomas moved to do it, but Isis objected. “No, no, don't touch her pillow! Mama don't want de pillow from under her head!”

“Hush Isie!” Emmeline chided, “and let mama die easy. You makin' her suffer.”

“Naw, naw! she said
not
tuh!” As her father pulled her away from her place above Lucy's head, Isis thought her mother's eyes followed her and she strained her ears to catch her words. But none came.

John stood where he could see his wife's face, but where Lucy's fixed eyes might not rest upon him. They drew the pillow from beneath Lucy's head and she gulped hard once, and was dead. “6:40” someone said looking at a watch.

“Po' thing,” John wept. “She don't have tuh hear no mo' hurtin' things.” He hurried out to the wood pile and sat there between two feelings until Sam Mosely led him away.

“She's gone!” rang out thru the crowded room and they heard it on the porch and Mattie Mosely ran shouting down the street, “She's gone, she's gone at last!”

And the work of the shrouding began. Little Lucy, somewhat smaller in death than she had been even in life, lay washed and dressed in white beneath a sheet upon the cooling board when her oldest son arrived that evening to break his heart in grief.

That night a wind arose about the house and blew from the kitchen wall to the clump of oleanders that screened the chicken house, from the oleanders to the fence palings and back again to the house wall, and the pack of dogs followed it, rearing against the wall, leaping and pawing the fence, howling, barking and whining until the break of day, and John huddled beneath his bed-covers shaking and afraid.