Jonah's Gourd Vine (16 page)

Armistice. Demobilized. Home in khaki. “Yeah man, parlez vous, man, don't come bookooin' 'round heah, yuh liable tuh git hurt. Ah could uh married one uh dem French
women but shucks, gimme uh brown skin eve'y time. Blacker de berry sweeter de juice. Come tuh mah pick, gimme uh good black gal. De wine wuz sour, and Ah says parlez vous, hell! You gimme mah right change! Comme telly vous. Nar, Ah ain't goin' back tuh no farm no mo'. Ah don't mean tuh say, ‘Git up' tuh nary 'nother mule lessen he's setting down in mah lap. God made de world but he never made no hog outa me tuh go 'round rootin' it up. Done done too much bookoo plowing already! Woman quick gimme mah sumpin t' eat. Toot sweet.”

World gone money mad. The pinch of war gone, people must spend. Buy and forget. Spend and solace. Silks for sorrows. Jewels to bring back joy. The factories roared and cried, “Hands!” and in the haste and press white hands became scarce. Scarce and dear. Hands? Who cares about the color of hands? We need hands and muscle. The South—land of muscled hands.

“George, haven't you got some relatives and friends down South who'd like a job?”

“Yes, suh.”

“Write 'em to come.”

Some had railroad fare and quickly answered the call of the North and sent back for others, but this was too slow. The wheels and marts were hungry. So the great industries sent out recruiting agents throughout the South to provide transportation to the willing but poor.

“Lawd, Sanford gettin' dis Nawth bound fever lak eve'ywhere else,” Hambo complained one Sunday in church. “Elder, you know we done lost two hund'ed members in three months?”

“Co'se Ah knows it, Hambo. Mah pocketbook kin tell it, if nothing else. Iss rainin' in mah meal barrel right uh long.”

“Dat's awright. De celery farms is making good. All dese folks gone Nawth makes high wages 'round heah. Less raise de church dues,” and it was done.

But a week later Hambo was back. “Looka heah, John, dis thing is gittin' serious sho 'nuff. De white folks is gittin' wor
ried too. Houses empty eve'ywhere. Not half 'nough people tuh work de farms—crops rotting in de ground. Folks plantin' and ain't eben takin' time tuh reap. Mules lef' standin' in de furrers. Some de folks gone 'thout lettin' de families know, and dey say iss de same way, only wurser, all over de South. Dey talkin' 'bout passin' laws tuh keep black folks from buying railroad tickets. Dey tell me dey stopped uh train in Georgy and made all de colored folks git off. Up dere iss awful, de pullman porters tell me. Ride half uh day and see nothin' but farms wid nobody on 'em.”

“Yeah,” Pearson answered, “had uh letter from mah son in Tennessee. Same way. In some parts de white folks jails all them recruitin' agents so dey hafta git de word uhround in secret. Folks hafta slip off. Drive off in cars and ketch trains further up de line.”

“Tell yuh whut Ah seen down tuh Orlando. De man wuz skeered tuh git offa de train, but he seen uh colored man standin' 'round de deepo', so he took and called 'im and he says, ‘Ahm uh labor agent, wanta work?' He tole him, ‘Yes suh.' ‘Well git some mo' men and have 'em down heah tuh meet de Nawth bound train at 2:40 o'clock. Ah'll stick mah hand out de winder and show wid mah fingers how many Ah got transportation for. Y'all watch good and count mah fingers right,' and he done it. Wanted sixteen. He beckoned one of 'em onto de train and fixed up wid him fuh de rest and dey all went wid 'im. Dat's all yuh kin heah. On de streets—in de pool-room—pickin' beans on de farm—in de cook kitchen—over de wash board—before dey go in church and soon ez dey come out, tellin' who done already went and who fixin' tuh go.”

“Yeah,” agreed Rev. Pearson, “we preachers is in uh tight fix. Us don't know whether tuh g'wan Nawth wid de biggest part of our churches or stay home wid de rest.”

“Some of 'em done went. Know one man from Palatka done opened up uh church in Philadelphy and most of 'em is his ole congregation. Zion Hope sho done lost uh many one. Most of 'em young folks too.”

“Well maybe they won't stay Nawth. Most of 'em ain't useter col' weather fuh one thing.”

“Yeah, but dey'll git used tuh it. Dey up dere now makin' big money and livin' in brick houses. Iss powerful hard tuh git uh countryman outa town. He's jus' ez crazy 'bout it ez uh hog is 'bout town swill. Dey won't be back soon.”

Do what they would, the State, County and City all over the South could do little to halt the stampede. The cry of “Goin' Nawth” hung over the land like the wail over Egypt at the death of the first-born. The railroad stations might be watched, but there could be no effective censorship over the mails. No one could keep track of the movements of cars and wagons and mules and men walking. Railroads, hardroads, dirt roads, side roads, roads were in the minds of the black South and all roads led North.

Whereas in Egypt the coming of the locust made desolation, in the farming South the departure of the Negro laid waste the agricultural industry—crops rotted, houses careened crazily in their utter desertion, and grass grew up in streets. On to the North! The land of promise.

H
attie was rubbing in the first water and dropping the white things into the wash-pot when Deacon Harris hurried up to her back gate.

“Mawnin', Sister Pearson,” opening the gate.

“Howdy do, Deacon?”

“Ain't got no right tuh grumble. How you?”

“Not so many, dis mawnin'. You look lak you in uh kinda slow hurry.”

“Nope, jes' anxious tuh tell yuh uh thing uh two.”

“If is sumpin tuh better mah condition, hurry up and tell it. God knows Ah sho needs somebody tuh give aid and assistance. Reverend and his gang sho is gripin' me. Ah feels lak uh cat in hell wid no claws.”

“First thing, Ah got uh man Ah b'lieve, if de crowd ever git tuh hear 'im, dey'd lak 'im better'n de Rev'und.”

“Where he come from?”

“Wes' Floriduh. Man he kin cold preach! Preached over in Goldsborough las' night and strowed fire all over de place. Younger man dan Pearson too.”

“Can't you fix it fuh 'im tuh speak at Zion Hope?”

“Sho. Done 'bout got it fixed fuh de fourth Sunday night. Dat ain't Pastoral Sunday, but its de nex' bes'. De crowd'll be almos' ez big.”

“Dat's fine! Some uh dem niggers don't b'lieve nobody kin preach but John Pearson. Let 'em see. Den maybe dey'll set 'im down. Ah don't keer whut dey do wid 'im. Ah do know one thing, Ah sho got mah belly full. Whus de other things you wuz goin' tuh tell me 'bout?”

“Well, in looking over de books, I saw where mos' of the folks whut would stand up for Rev'und so hard, is gone. If we wuz tuh bring de thing tuh uh vote Ah b'lieve we kin dig up de hidden wedge. Ah been sorta feelin' 'round 'mong some de members and b'lieve de time done come when we kin chop down dis Jonah's gourd vine.”

“Dat sho would be all de heben Ah ever want to see. How kin we bring it uhbout? You got tuh have plenty tuh show do some uh dat crowd won't hear it.”

“You git uh divorce from 'im. You kin git plenty witnesses tuh bear yuh out in dat. Ah'll be one mahself.”

“Chile, he wouldn't keer nothin' 'bout dat. He'd be glad, Ah speck, so he kin run loose wid dat Gertie Burden. Dat's de one he sho 'nuff crazy 'bout.”

“Who you tellin'? Ever since she wuz knee high. Us knowed it all de time, but thought yuh didn't.”

“He don't try tuh keep it out mah sight. He washes mah face wid her night and day.”

“You jokin'!”

“Know whut he told me las' time Ah got 'im 'bout her? Says, ‘Don't be callin' dat girl all out her name, Miss Lucy didn't call
you
nothin'.' Deacon Harris, Ah wuz so mad Ah could uh lammed 'im wid lightnin', but how de divorce goin' set 'im down?”

“Yuh see de church punishes fuh things de law don't chastize fuh, and if iss so bad 'til de law'll handle it, de church is bound tuh. Don't need no mo' trial.”

“But Ah can't eben start uh divorce trial jus' dry long so.”

“You kin pick uh fight outa Sister Beery uh Gertie Burden, can't yuh? Dat'll th'ow de fat in de fiah, and bring eve'ything out in de day light, and when iss all over wid, he'll be uh lost ball in de high grass. Ah sick and tiahed uh all dese so-called
no-harm sins. Dis ain't no harm, and dat ain't no harm, and all dese li'l' no-harm sins is whut leads folks straight to hell.”

“De one Ah wants tuh beat de worse is dat ole Beery Buzzard. Right on de church ground she ast me one Sunday, if Miss Lucy's bed wudden still hot when Ah got in it.”

“Jump on her, den.”

“She's rawbony, but she look real strong tuh me. Ole long, tall, black huzzy! Wisht Ah could hurt 'er.”

“She don't eat iron biscuits and she don't sop cement gravy. She kin be hurt, and den agin, you kin git help—not open, yuh know, but on de sly. Somebody tuh hand yuh sumpin jes' when you need it bad.”

“When mus' Ah tackle de slut?”

“De very nex' time Rev'und goes off somewhere tuh preach. If he's dere he'd git it stopped too quick. Befo' it make uhnough disturbment.”

Two incidents nerved Hattie's hand. The first, that same evening Rev. Pearson came in from some carpentry work he had been doing out around Geneva, obviously crestfallen, but nothing she did succeeded in making him tell her the reason.

If she could have seen her husband at noon time of that very same day she would have seen him seated beside the luscious Gertie on a cypress log with her left hand in his and his right arm about her waist.

“John, Ah b'lieve Ahm goin' ter marry.”

“Please, Gertie, don't say dat.”

“You married, ain'tcha? Ahm twenty-two. Papa and mama spectin' me tuh marry some time uh other and dey think Ah oughter take dis chance. You know he got uh big orange grove wid uh house on it and seben hund'ed dollars in de bank.”

“Dat's right, Gertie. Take yo' chance when it comes. Don't think—don't look at me. Ahm all spoilt now. Kiss me one mo' time. Den Ah got tuh go back tuh work. Lawd, Ah hope you be happy. Iss wonderful tuh marry somebody when you wants tuh. You don't keer whut you do tuh please 'em. Some women you wouldn't mind tearin' up de pavements uh hell tuh built
'em uh house, but some you don't give 'em nothin'. You jes' consolate 'em by word uh mouf and fill 'em full uh melody.”

Therefore the next morning at breakfast when John grumbled about the scorched grits and Hattie threatened to dash hot coffee in John's face, he beat her soundly. The muscular exercise burnt up a portion of his grief, but it urged Hattie on. A few days later, when she learned of Gertie's engagement, she was exultant. “Now maybe, it'll hurt 'im, if Ah quit 'im. Gittin' loose from me might gripe 'im now—anyhow it sho ain't gwine he'p 'im none wid Gertie.”

Hattie knew, as do other mortals, that half the joy of quitting any place is the loneliness we leave behind.

T
he fourth Sunday came shining with the dangerous beauty of flame. Between Sunday School and the 11:00 o'clock service, Andrew Berry called Rev. Pearson aside.

“Is de deacon board tole yuh?”

“'Bout whut?”

“De new preacher dey got here tuh try out tuhnight?”

“Naw, but Hambo did tell me tuh strow fire dis mawnin'. Reckon he wuz throwin' me uh hint right den.”

“Ahm sho he wuz. De Black Herald got it dat dey got
you
on de let-loose and de onliest thing dat keeps some of 'em hangin' on is dey don't b'lieve nobody kin preach lak you, but if dis man dey got here tuhday kin surpass yuh, den dere'll be some changes made. Harris and de Black Dispatch say he kin drive all over yuh.”

“Maybe he kin, Andrew. Ain't dat him over dere, talkin' tuh Sister Williams?”

“Yeah. He'll be tuh de service tuh hear
you
so he kin know how tuh do tuhnight when he gits up tuh preach.”

John Pearson shook hands politely when he was introduced to Rev. Felton Cozy when he entered the church. Rev. Cozy was cordially invited to sit in the pulpit, which he did very pompously. All during the prayer service that led up to the
sermon he was putting on his Oxford glasses, glaring about the church and taking them off again.

Rev. Pearson preached his far-famed, “Dry Bones” sermon, and in the midst of it the congregation forgot all else. The church was alive from the pulpit to the door. When the horse in the valley of Jehoshaphat cried out, “Ha, ha! There never was a horse like me!” He brought his hearers to such a frenzy that it never subsided until two Deacons seized the preacher by the arms and reverently set him down. Others rushed up into the pulpit to fan him and wipe his face with their own kerchiefs.

“Dat's uh preachin' piece uh plunder, you hear me?” Sister Hall gloated. “Dat other man got tuh go some if he specks tuh top dat.”

“Can't do it,” Brother Jeff avowed, “can't be done.”

“Aw, you don't know,” contended Sister Scale. “Wait 'til you hear de tother one.”

“Elder Pearson ain't preached lak dat in uh long time. Reckon he know?”

“Aw naw. Dey kep' it from 'im. When he know anything, de church'll be done done whut dey going tuh do.”

When Rev. Cozy arose that night the congregation slid forward to the edge of its seat.

“Well, y'all done heard one sermon tuhday, and now Ah stand before you, handlin' de Alphabets.” He looked all about him to get the effect of his statement. “Furthermo', Ah got uhnother serus job on mah hands. Ahm a race man! Ah solves the race problem. One great problem befo' us tuhday is whut is de blacks gointer do wid de whites?”

After five minutes or more Sister Boger whispered to Sister Pindar, “Ah ain't heard whut de tex' wuz.”

“Me neither.”

Cozy had put on and removed his glasses with the wide black ribbon eight times.

“And Ah say unto you, de Negro has got plenty tuh feel proud over. Ez fur back ez man kin go in his-to-ree, de black man wuz always in de lead. When Caesar stood on de Roman
forum, uccordin' tuh de best authority, uh black man stood beside him. Y'all say ‘Amen.' Don't let uh man preach hisself tuh death and y'll set dere lak uh bump on uh log and won't he'p 'im out. Say ‘Amen'!!

“And fiftly, Je-sus, Christ, wuz uh colored man hisself and Ah kin prove it! When he lived it wuz hot lak summer time, all de time, wid de sun beamin' down and scorchin' hot—how could he be uh white man in all dat hot sun? Say ‘Amen'! Say it lak you mean it, and if yuh do mean it, tell me so! Don't set dere and say nothin'!

“Furthermo' Adam musta been uh colored man 'cause de Bible says God made 'im out de dust uh de earth, and where is anybody ever seen any white dust? Amen! Come on, church, say ‘Amen'!

“And twelfth and lastly, all de smartest folks in de world got colored blood in 'em. Wese de smartest people God ever made and de prettiest. Take our race—wese uh mingled people. Jes' lak uh great bouquet uh flowers. Eve'y color and eve'y kind. Nobody don't need tuh go hankerin' after no white womens. We got womens in our own race jes' ez white ez anybody. We got 'em so black 'til lightnin' bugs would follow 'em at twelve o'clock in de day—thinkin' iss midnight and us got 'em in between.

“And nothin' can't go on nowhere but whut dere's uh nigger in it! Say ‘Amen'!”

“Amen! He sho is tellin' de truth now!”

At the close of the service, many came forward and shook Cozy's hand and Harris glowed with triumph. He was dry and thirsty for praise in connection with his find so he tackled Sisters Watson and Boger on the way home.

“How y'all lak de sermon tuhnight?”

“Sermon?” Sister Boger made an indecent sound with her lips, “dat wan't no sermon. Dat wuz uh lecture.”

“Dat's all whut it wuz,” Sister Watson agreed and switched on off.

Harris knew that he must find some other weapon to move the man who had taken his best side-girl from him.