Mules and Men

by Zora Neale Hurston

“Yeah, Ah gits it such as it is, but Ah ain’t never pastored no big church. Ah don’t git called to nothin’ but sawmill camps and turpentine stills.”

  De big preacher reared back and thought a while, then he ast de other one, “Is you sure you was called to preach? Maybe you ain’t cut out for no preacher.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he told him. “Ah know Ah been called to de ministry. A voice spoke and tol’ me so.”

  “Well, seem lak if God called you He is mighty slow in puttin’ yo’ foot on de ladder. If Ah was you Ah’d go back and ast ’im agin.”

  So de po’ man went on back to de prayin’ ground agin and got down on his knees. But there wasn’t no big woods like it used to be. It has been all cleared off. He prayed and said, “Oh, Lawd, right here on dis spot ten years ago Ah ast you if Ah was called to preach and a voice tole me to go preach. Since dat time Ah been strugglin’ in Yo’ moral vineyard, but Ah ain’t gathered no grapes. Now, if you really called me to preach Christ and Him crucified, please gimme another sign.”

  Sho nuff, jus’ as soon as he said dat, de voice said “Wanh-uh! Go preach! Go preach! Go preach!”

  De man jumped up and says, “Ah knowed Ah been called. Dat’s de same voice. Dis time Ah’m goin ter ast Him where must Ah go preach.”

  By dat time de voice come agin and he looked ’way off and seen a mule in de plantation lot wid his head all stuck out to bray agin, and he said, “Unh hunh, youse de very son of a gun dat called me to preach befo’.”

  So he went on off and got a job plowin’. Dat’s whut he was called to do in de first place.

  Armetta said, “A many one been called to de plough and they run off and got up in de pulpit. Ah wish dese mules knowed how to take a pair of plow-lines and go to de church and ketch some of ’em like they go to de lot with a bridle and ketch mules.”

  Ellis: Ah knowed one preacher dat was called to preach at one of dese split-off churches. De members had done split off from a big church because they was all mean and couldn’t git along wid nobody.

  Dis preacher was a good man, but de congregation was so tough he couldn’t make a convert in a whole year. So he sent and invited another preacher to come and conduct a revival meeting for him. De man he ast to come was a powerful hard preacher wid a good strainin’ voice. He was known to get converts.

  Well, he come and preached at dis split-off for two whole weeks. De people would all turn out to church and jus’ set dere and look at de man up dere strainin’ his lungs out and nobody would give de man no encouragement by sayin’ “Amen,” and not a soul bowed down.

  It was a narrer church wid one winder and dat was in de pulpit and de door was in de front end. Dey had a mean ole sexton wid a wooden leg. So de last night of de protracted meetin’ de preacher come to church wid his gripsack in his hand and went on up in de pulpit. When he got up to preach he says, “Brother Sexton, dis bein’ de last night of de meetin’ Ah wants you to lock de do’ and bring me de key. Ah want everybody to stay and hear whut Ah got to say.”

  De sexton brought him de key and he took his tex and went to preachin’. He preached and he reared and pitched, but nobody said “Amen” and nobody bowed down. So ’way after while he stooped down and opened his suit-satchel and out wid his .44 Special. “Now,” he said, “you rounders and brick-bats—yeah, you women, Ah’m talkin’ to you. If you ain’t a whole brick, den you must be a bat—and gamblers and ’leven-card layers. Ah done preached to you for two whole weeks and not one of you has said ‘Amen,’ and nobody has bowed down.”

  He thowed de gun on ’em. “And now Ah say bow down!” And they beginned to bow all over dat church.

  De sexton looked at his wooden leg and figgered he couldn’t bow because his leg was cut off above de knee. So he ast, “Me too, Elder?”

  “Yeah, you too, you peg-leg son of a gun. You bow down too.”

  Therefo’ dat sexton bent dat wooden leg and bowed down. De preacher fired a couple of shots over they heads and stepped out de window and went on ’bout his business. But he skeered dem people so bad till they all rushed to one side of de church tryin’ to git out and carried dat church buildin’ twenty-eight miles befo’ they thought to turn it loose.

  “Now Ellis,” chided Gold when she was thru her laughter, “You know dat’s a lie. Folks over there in St. Lawrence holdin’ class meetin’ and you over here lyin’ like de crossties from Jacksonville to Key West.”

  “Naw, dat ain’t no lie!” Ellis contended, still laughing himself.

  “Aw, yes it ’tis,” Gold said. “Dat’s all you men is good for—settin’ ’round and lyin’. Some of you done quit lyin’ and gone to flyin’.”

  Gene Brazzle said, “Get off of us mens now. We is some good. Plenty good too if you git de right one. De trouble is you women ain’t good for nothin’ exceptin’ readin’ Sears and Roebuck’s bible and hollerin’ ’bout, ‘gimme dis and gimme dat’ as soon as we draw our pay.”

  Shug5 said, “Well, we don’t git it by astin’ you mens for it. If we work for it we kin git it. You mens don’t draw no pay. You don’t do nothin’ but stand around and draw lightnin’.”

  “Ah don’t say Ah’m detrimental,” Gene said dryly, “but if Gold and Shug don’t stop crackin’ us, Ah’m gointer get ’em to go.”

  Gold: “Man, if you want me any, some or none, do whut you gointer do and stop cryin’.”

  Gene: “You ain’t seen me cryin’. See me cryin’, it’s sign of a funeral. If Ah even look cross somebody gointer bleed.”

  Gold: “Aw, shut up, Gene, you ain’t no big hen’s biddy if you do lay gobbler eggs. You tryin’ to talk like big wood when you ain’t nothin’ but brush.”

  Armetta sensed a hard anger creepin’ into the teasing so she laughed to make Gene and Gold laugh and asked, “Did y’all have any words before you fell out?”

  “We ain’t mad wid one ’nother,” Gene defended. “We jus’ jokin’.”

  “Well, stop blowin’ it and let de lyin’ go on,” said Charlie Jones. “Zora’s gittin’ restless. She think she ain’t gointer hear no more.”

  “Oh, no Ah ain’t,” I lied. After a short spell of quiet, good humor was restored to the porch. In the pause we could hear Pa Henry over in the church house sending up a prayer:

  …You have been with me from the earliest rocking of my cradle up until this present moment.

  You know our hearts, our Father,

  And all de range of our deceitful minds,

  And if you find anything like sin lurking

  In and around our hearts,

  Ah ast you, My Father, and my Wonder-workin’ God

  To pluck it out

  And cast it into de sea of Fuhgitfulness

  Where it will never rise to harm us in dis world

  Nor condemn us in de judgment.

  You heard me when Ah laid at hell’s dark door

  With no weapon in my hand

  And no God in my heart,

  And cried for three long days and nights.

  You heard me, Lawd,

  And stooped so low

  And snatched me from the hell

  Of eternal death and damnation.

  You cut loose my stammerin’ tongue;

  You established my feet on de rock of Salvation

  And yo’ voice was heard in rumblin’ judgment.

  I thank Thee that my last night’s sleepin’ couch

  Was not my coolin’ board

  And my cover

  Was not my windin’ sheet.

  Speak to de sinner-man and bless ’im.

  Touch all those

  Who have been down to de doors of degradation.

  Ketch de man dat’s layin’ in danger of consumin’ fire;

  And Lawd,

  When Ah kin pray no mo’;

  When Ah done drunk down de last cup of sorrow

  Look on me, yo’ weak servant who feels de least of all;

  ’Point my soul a restin’ place

  Where Ah kin set down and praise yo’ name forever


  Is my prayer for Jesus sake

  Amen and thank God.

  As the prayer ended the bell of Macedonia, the Baptist church, began to ring.

  “Prayer meetin’ night at Macedony,” George Thomas said.

  “It’s too bad that it must be two churches in Eatonville,” I commented. “De town’s too little. Everybody ought to go to one.”

  “Dey wouldn’t do dat, Zora, and you know better. Fack is, de Christian churches nowhere don’t stick together,” this from Charlie.

  Everybody agreed that this was true. So Charlie went on. “Look at all de kind of denominations we got. But de people can’t help dat ’cause de church wasn’t built on no solid foundation to start wid.”

  “Oh yes, it ’twas!” Johnnie Mae disputed him. “It was built on solid rock. Didn’t Jesus say ‘On dis rock Ah build my church?’”

  “Yeah,” chimed in Antie Hoyt. “And de songs says, ‘On Christ de solid rock I stand’ and ‘Rock of Ages.’”

  Charlie was calm and patient. “Yeah, he built it on a rock, but it wasn’t solid. It was a pieced-up rock and that’s how come de church split up now. Here’s de very way it was:

  Christ was walkin’ long one day wid all his disciples and he said, “We’re goin’ for a walk today. Everybody pick up a rock and come along.” So everybody got their selves a nice big rock ’ceptin’ Peter. He was lazy so he picked up a li’l bit of a pebble and dropped it in his side pocket and come along.

  Well, they walked all day long and de other ’leven disciples changed them rocks from one arm to de other but they kept on totin’ ’em. Long towards sundown they come ’long by de Sea of Galilee and Jesus tole ’em, “Well, le’s fish awhile. Cast in yo’ nets right here.” They done like he tole ’em and caught a great big mess of fish. Then they cooked ’em and Christ said, “Now, all y’all bring up yo’ rocks.” So they all brought they rocks and Christ turned ’em into bread and they all had a plenty to eat wid they fish exceptin’ Peter. He couldn’t hardly make a moufful offa de li’l bread he had and he didn’t like dat a bit.

  Two or three days after dat Christ went out doors and looked up at de sky and says, “Well, we’re goin’ for another walk today. Everybody git yo’self a rock and come along.”

  They all picked up a rock apiece and was ready to go. All but Peter. He went and tore down half a mountain. It was so big he couldn’t move it wid his hands. He had to take a pinch-bar to move it. All day long Christ walked and talked to his disciples and Peter sweated and strained wid dat rock of his’n.

  Way long in de evenin’ Christ went up under a great big ole tree and set down and called all of his disciples around ’im and said, “Now everybody bring up yo’ rocks.”

  So everybody brought theirs but Peter. Peter was about a mile down de road punchin’ dat half a mountain he was bringin’. So Christ waited till he got dere. He looked at de rocks dat de other ’leven disciples had, den he seen dis great big mountain dat Peter had and so he got up and walked over to it and put one foot up on it and said, “Why Peter, dis is a fine rock you got here! It’s a noble rock! And Peter, on dis rock Ah’m gointer build my church.”

  Peter says, “Naw you ain’t neither. You won’t build no church house on dis rock. You gointer turn dis rock into bread.”

  Christ knowed dat Peter meant dat thing so he turnt de hillside into bread and dat mountain is de bread he fed de 5,000 wid. Den he took dem ’leven other rocks and glued ’em together and built his church on it.

  And that’s how come de Christian churches is split up into so many different kinds—cause it’s built on pieced-up rock.

  There was a storm of laughter following Charlie’s tale. “Zora, you come talkin’ bout puttin’ de two churches together and not havin’ but one in dis town,” Armetta said chidingly. “You know better’n dat. Baptis’ and Methdis’ always got a pick out at one ’nother. One time two preachers—one Methdis’ an de other one Baptis’ wuz on uh train and de engine blowed up and bein’ in de colored coach right back of de engine they got blowed up too. When they saw theyself startin’ up in de air de Baptis’ preacher hollered, ‘Ah bet Ah go higher than you!’”

  Then Gold spoke up and said, “Now, lemme tell one. Ah know one about a man as black as Gene.”

  “Whut you always crackin’ me for?” Gene wanted to know. “Ah ain’t a bit blacker than you.”

  “Oh, yes you is, Gene. Youse a whole heap blacker than Ah is.”

  “Aw, go head on, Gold. Youse blacker than me. You jus’ look my color cause youse fat. If you wasn’t no fatter than me you’d be so black till lightnin’ bugs would follow you at twelve o’clock in de day, thinkin’ it’s midnight.”

  “Dat’s a lie, youse blacker than Ah ever dared to be. Youse lam’ black. Youse so black till they have to throw a sheet over yo’ head so de sun kin rise every mornin’. Ah know yo’ ma cried when she seen you.”

  “Well, anyhow, Gold, youse blacker than me. If Ah was as fat as you Ah’d be a yaller man.”

  “Youse a liar. Youse as yaller as you ever gointer git. When a person is poor he look bright and de fatter you git de darker you look.”

  “Is dat yo’ excuse for being so black, Gold?”

  Armetta soothed Gold’s feelings and stopped the war. When the air cleared Gold asked, “Do y’all know how come we are black?”

  “Yeah,” said Ellis. “It’s because two black niggers got together.”

  “Aw, naw,” Gold disputed petulantly. “Well, since you so smart, tell me where dem two black niggers come from in de first beginnin’.”

  “They musta come from Zar, and dat’s on de other side of far.”

  “Uh, hunh!” Gold gloated. “Ah knowed you didn’t know whut you was talkin’ about. Now Ah’m goin’ ter tell you how come we so black:

  Long before they got thru makin’ de Atlantic Ocean and haulin’ de rocks for de mountains, God was makin’ up de people.6 But He didn’t finish ’em all at one time. Ah’m compelled to say dat some folks is walkin’ ’round dis town right now ain’t finished yet and never will be.

  Well, He give out eyes one day. All de nations come up and got they eyes. Then He give out teeth and so on. Then He set a day to give out color. So seven o’clock dat mornin’ everybody was due to git they color except de niggers. So God give everybody they color and they went on off. Then He set there for three hours and one-half and no niggers. It was gettin’ hot and God wanted to git His work done and go set in de cool. So He sent de angels. Rayfield and Gab’ull7 to go git ’em so He could ’tend some mo’ business.

  They hunted all over Heben till dey found de colored folks. All stretched out sleep on de grass under de tree of life. So Rayfield woke ’em up and tole ’em God wanted ’em.

  They all jumped up and run on up to de th’one and they was so skeered they might miss sumpin’ they begin to push and shove one ’nother, bumpin’ against all de angels and turnin’ over foot-stools. They even had de th’one all pushed one-sided.

  So God hollered “Git back! Git back!” And they misunderstood Him and thought He said, “Git black,” and they been black ever since.

  Gene rolled his eyeballs into one corner of his head.

  “Now Gold call herself gettin’ even wid me—tellin’ dat lie. ’Tain’t no such a story nowhere. She jus’ made dat one up herself.”

  “Naw, she didn’t,” Armetta defended. “Ah been knowin’ dat ole tale.”

  “Me too,” said Shoo-pie.

  “Don’t you know you can’t git de best of no woman in de talkin’ game? Her tongue is all de weapon a woman got,” George Thomas chided Gene. “She could have had mo’ sense, but she told God no, she’d ruther take it out in hips. So God give her her ruthers. She got plenty hips, plenty mouf and no brains.”

  “Oh, yes, womens is got sense too,” Mathilda Moseley jumped in. “But they got too much sense to go ’round braggin’ about it like y’all do. De lady people always got de advantage of mens because God fixed it dat way.”

&nb
sp; “Whut ole black advantage is y’all got?” B. Moseley asked indignantly. “We got all de strength and all de law and all de money and you can’t git a thing but whut we jes’ take pity on you and give you.”

  “And dat’s jus’ de point,” said Mathilda triumphantly. “You do give it to us, but how come you do it?” And without waiting for an answer Mathilda began to tell why women always take advantage of men.

  You see in de very first days, God made a man and a woman and put ’em in a house together to live. ’Way back in them days de woman was just as strong as de man and both of ’em did de same things. They useter get to fussin’ ’bout who gointer do this and that and sometime they’d fight, but they was even balanced and neither one could whip de other one.

  One day de man said to hisself, “B’lieve Ah’m gointer go see God and ast Him for a li’l mo’ strength so Ah kin whip dis ’oman and make her mind. Ah’m tired of de way things is.” So he went on up to God.

  “Good mawnin’, Ole Father.”

  “Howdy man. Whut you doin’ ’round my throne so soon dis mawnin’?”

  “Ah’m troubled in mind, and nobody can’t ease mah spirit ’ceptin’ you.”

  God said: “Put yo’ plea in de right form and Ah’ll hear and answer.”

  “Ole Maker, wid de mawnin’ stars glitterin’ in yo’ shinin’ crown, wid de dust from yo’ footsteps makin’ worlds upon worlds, wid de blazin’ bird we call de sun flyin’ out of yo’ right hand in de mawnin’ and consumin’ all day de flesh and blood of stump-black darkness, and comes flyin’ home every evenin’ to rest on yo’ left hand, and never once in all yo’ eternal years, mistood de left hand for de right, Ah ast you please to give me mo’ strength than dat woman you give me, so Ah kin make her mind. Ah know you don’t want to be always comin’ down way past de moon and stars to be straightenin’ her out and its got to be done. So give me a li’l mo’ strength, Ole Maker and Ah’ll do it.”

  “All right, Man, you got mo’ strength than woman.”

  So de man run all de way down de stairs from Heben till he got home. He was so anxious to try his strength on de woman dat he couldn’t take his time. Soon’s he got in de house he hollered “Woman! Here’s yo’ boss. God done tole me to handle you in which ever way Ah please. Ah’m yo’ boss.”