Mules and Men

by Zora Neale Hurston

  “Oh, Ah’ll do dat, Brer ’Gator. You just put it in my keer. You don’t have to worry ’bout dat atall.”

  So de dog took Brer ’Gator’s tongue to de ball dat night and they beat it for a drum. De varmints lakted de bass drum so well till they didn’t play nothin’ else hardly. So by daybreak it was wore clean out. Brer Dog didn’t want to go tell Brer ’Gator they had done wore his tongue out so he hid from Brer ’Gator. Course de ’gator don’t like it ’bout his tongue so he’s de sworn enemy of de dog.

  Big Sweet says, “Dat’s de first time Ah ever heard ’bout de dawg wearin’ out de ’gator’s tongue, but Ah do know he useter be a pretty varmint. He was pure white all over wid red and yeller stripes around his neck. He was pretty like dat ’till he met up wid Brer Rabbit. Kah, kah, kah! Ah have to laugh everytime Ah think how sharp dat ole rabbit rascal is.”

  “Yeah,” said Sam Hopkins. “At night time, at de right time; Ah’ve always understood it’s de habit of de rabbit to dance in de wood.”

  “When Ah’m shellin’ my corn; you keep out yo’ nubbins, Sam,” Big Sweet snapped as she spat her snuff.

  Ah’m tellin’ dis lie on de ’gator. Well, de ’gator was a pretty white varmint wid coal black eyes. He useter swim in de water, but he never did bog up in de mud lak he do now. When he come out de water he useter lay up on de clean grass so he wouldn’t dirty hisself all up.

  So one day he was layin’ up on de grass in a marsh sunnin’ hisself and sleepin’ when Brer Rabbit come bustin’ cross de marsh and run right over Brer ’Gator before he stopped. Brer ’Gator woke up and seen who it was trompin’ all over him and trackin’ up his pretty white hide. So he seen Brer Rabbit, so he ast him, “Brer Rabbit, what you mean by runnin’ all cross me and messin’ up my clothes lak dis?”

  Brer Rabbit was up behind a clump of bushes peerin’ out to see what was after him. So he tole de ’gator, says: “Ah ain’t got time to see what Ah’m runnin’ over nor under. Ah got trouble behind me.”

  ‘Gator ast, “Whut is trouble? Ah ain’t never heard tell of dat befo’.”

  Brer Rabbit says, “You ain’t never heard tell of trouble?”

  Brer ’Gator tole him, “No.”

  Rabbit says: “All right, you jus’ stay right where you at and Ah’ll show you whut trouble is.”

  He peered ’round to see if de coast was clear and loped off, and Brer ’Gator washed Brer Rabbit’s foot tracks off his hide and went on back to sleep agin.

  Brer Rabbit went on off and lit him a li’dard knot10 and come on back. He sat dat marsh afire on every side. All around Brer ’Gator de fire was burnin’ in flames of fire. De ’gator woke up and pitched out to run, but every which a way he run de fire met him.

  He seen Brer Rabbit sittin’ up on de high ground jus’ killin’ hisself laughin’. So he hollered and ast him:

  “Brer Rabbit, whut’s all dis goin’ on?”

  “Dat’s trouble, Brer ’Gator, dat’s trouble youse in.”

  De ’gator run from side to side, round and round. Way after while he broke thru and hit de water “ker ploogum!” He got all cooled off but he had done got smoked all up befo’ he got to de water, and his eyes is all red from de smoke. And dat’s how come a ’gator is black today—cause de rabbit took advantage of him lak dat.

  SEVEN

  Joe Wiley said, “’Tain’t nothin’ cute as a rabbit. When they come cuter than him, they got to have ’cute indigestion.” He cleared his throat and continued:

  Dat’s de reason de dog is mad wid de rabbit1 now—’cause he fooled de dog.

  You know they useter call on de same girl. De rabbit useter g’wan up to de house and cross his legs on de porch and court de girl. Brer Dog, he’d come in de gate wid his banjo under his arm.

  “Good evenin’, Miss Saphronie.”

  “My compliments, Brer Dog, come have a chair on de pe-azza.”

  “No thank you ma’am, Miss Saphronie. B’lieve Ah’ll set out here under de Chinaberry tree.”

  So he’d set out dere and pick de banjo and sing all ’bout:

  If Miss Fronie was a gal of mine

  She wouldn’t do nothin’ but starch and iron.

  So de girl wouldn’t pay no mind to Brer Rabbit at all. She’d be listenin’ to Brer Dog sing. Every time he’d stop she’d holler out dere to him, “Wont you favor us wid another piece, Brer Dog? Ah sho do love singin’ especially when they got a good voice and picks de banjo at de same time.”

  Brer Rabbit saw he wasn’t makin’ no time wid Miss Saphronie so he waylaid Brer Dog down in de piney woods one day and says:

  “Brer Dog, you sho is got a mellow voice. You can sing. Wisht Ah could sing like dat, den maybe Miss Fronie would pay me some mind.”

  “Gawan, Brer Rabbit, you makin’ great ’miration at nothin’. Ah can whoop a little, but Ah really do wish Ah could sing enough to suit Miss Fronie.”

  “Well, dat’s de very point Ah’m comin’ out on. Ah know a way to make yo’ voice sweeter.”

  “How? Brer Rabbit, how?”

  “Ah knows a way.”

  “Hurry up and tell me, Brer Rabbit. Don’t keep me waitin’ like dis. Make haste.”

  “Ah got to see inside yo’ throat first. Lemme see dat and Ah can tell you exactly what to do so you can sing more better.”

  Brer Dog stretched his mouth wide open and the rabbit peered way down inside. Brer Dog had his mouth latched back to de last notch and his eyes shut. So Brer Rabbit pulled out his razor and split Brer Dog’s tongue and tore out across de mountain wid de dog right in behind him. Him and him! Brer Rabbit had done ruint Brer Dog’s voice, but he ain’t had time to stop at Miss Fronie’s nor nowhere else ’cause dat dog is so mad he won’t give him time.

  “Yeah,” said Cliff.

  De dog is sho hot after him. Run dem doggone rabbits so that they sent word to de dogs dat they want peace. So they had a convention. De rabbit took de floor and said they was tired of runnin’, and dodgin’ all de time, and they asted de dogs to please leave rabbits alone and run somethin’ else. So de dogs put it to a vote and ’greed to leave off runnin’ rabbits.

  So after de big meetin’ Brer Dog invites de rabbit over to his house to have dinner wid him.

  He started on thru de woods wid Brer Dog but every now and then he’d stop and scratch his ear and listen. He stop right in his tracks. Dog say:

  “Aw, come on Brer Rabbit, you too suscautious. Come on.”

  Kept dat up till they come to de branch just ’fore they got to Brer Dog’s house. Just as Brer Rabbit started to step out on de foot-log, he heard some dogs barkin’ way down de creek. He heard de old hound say, “How o-l-d is he?” and the young dogs answer him: “Twenty-one or two, twenty-one or two!” So Brer Rabbit say, “Excuse me, but Ah don’t reckon Ah better go home wid you today, Brer Dog.”

  “Aw, come on, Brer Rabbit, you always gitten scared for nothin’. Come on.”

  “Ah hear dogs barkin’, Brer Dog.”

  “Naw, you don’t, Brer Rabbit.”

  “Yes, Ah do. Ah know, dat’s dogs barkin’.”

  “S’posin’ it is, it don’t make no difference. Ain’t we done held a convention and passed a law dogs run no mo’ rabbits? Don’t pay no ’tention to every li’l bit of barkin’ you hear.”

  Rabbit scratch his ear and say,

  “Yeah, but all de dogs ain’t been to no convention, and anyhow some of dese fool dogs ain’t got no better sense than to run all over dat law and break it up. De rabbits didn’t go to school much and he didn’t learn but three letter, and that’s trust no mistake. Run every time de bush shake.”

  So he raced on home without breakin’ another breath wid de dog.

  “Dat’s right,” cut in Larkins White. “De Rabbits run from everything. They held a meetin’ and decided. They say, ‘Le’s all go drown ourselves ’cause ain’t nothin’ skeered of us.’ So it was agreed.

  “They all started to de water in a body fast as time could wheel and roll. When they was crossin’
de marsh jus’ befo’ they got to de sea, a frog hollered, ‘Quit it, quit it!’ So they say, ‘Somethin’ is ’fraid of us, so we won’t drown ourselves.’ So they all turnt ’round and went home.”

  “Dat’s as bad as dat goat Ah seen back in South Carolina. We was on de tobacco truck goin’ after plants when we passed a goat long side de road. He was jus’ chewin’ and he looked up and ast, ‘Whose truck is dat?’ Nobody answered him. When we come on back Ah said, ‘Mr. Rush Pinkney’s, why?’ De goat says, ‘Oh nothin’,’ and kept right on chewin’.”

  “Ow, Big Sweet! gimme dat lyin’ goat! You know damn well dat goat ain’t broke a breath wid you and nobody else,” scolded Jim Allen.

  “But a goat’s got plenty sense, ugly as he is,” said Arthur Hopkins.

  Ah know my ole man had a goat and one Sunday mornin’ he got mama to wash his shirt so’t would be clean for him to wear to church. It was a pretty red silk shirt and my ole man was crazy about it.

  So my ole lady washed it and hung it out to dry so she could iron it befo’ church time. Our goat spied pa’s shirt hangin’ on de line and et it up tiddy umpty.

  My ole man was so mad wid dat goat ’bout his shirt till he grabbed him and tied him on de railroad track so de train could run over him and kill him.

  But dat old goat was smart. When he seen dat train bearin’ down on him, he coughed up dat red shirt and waved de train down.

  Dad Boykin said: “No ef and ands about it. A goat is a smart varmint, but my feets sho is tired.”

  “Dat was a long two miles,” Jim Allen added. “Ah see de lake now, and Ah sho am glad.”

  “Doggone it!” said Lonnie Barnes, “here we is almost at de lake and Ah ain’t got myself no game yet. But maybe Ah’ll have mo’ luck on de way back.”

  “Yeah,” Lucy remarked dryly, “dat gun you totin’ ain’t doin’ you much good! Might just as well left it home.”

  “He act just like dat nigger did in slavery time wid Ole Massa’s gun,” laughed Willie Roberts.

  “How as dat?”

  Well, you know John was Ole Massa’s pet nigger. He give John de best of everything and John thought Ole Massa was made outa gold. So one day Massa decided he wanted a piece of deer meat to eat so he called John and some more of his niggers together and told ’em:

  “Now Ah want y’all to go git me a deer today. Ah’m goin’ to give John my new gun and Ah want de rest of y’all go ’round and skeer up de deer and head him towards John, and he will shoot him wid de gun.” When de others got there they said, “Did you git him, John?”

  He said, “Naw, Ah didn’t.”

  They said, “Well how come you didn’t? He come right dead down de hill towards you.”

  “Y’all crazy! You think Ah’m gointer sprain Massa’s brand new gun shootin’ up hill wid it?”

  “Dat’s put me in de mind of a gun my ole man had,” said Gene Oliver. “He shot a man wid it one time and de bullet worked him twice befo’ it kilt him and three times after. If you hold it high, it would sweep de sky; if you hold it level, it’d kill de devil.”

  “Oh Gene, stop yo’ lyin’! You don’t stop lyin’ and gone to flyin’.”

  “Dat ain’t no lie, dat’s a fact. One night I fired it myself,” said Pitts.

  “It’s a wonder you didn’t shoot it off dat time when de quarters boss was hot behind you.”

  “Let dat ride! Ah didn’t want to kill dat ole cracker. But one night Ah heard somethin’ stumblin’ ’round our woodpile, so Ah grabbed de gun, stepped to de back door and fired it at de woodpile, and went on back to bed. All night long Ah heard somethin’ goin’ ’round and ’round de house hummin’ like a nest of hornets. When daybreak come Ah found out what it was. What you reckon? It was dat bullet. De night was so dark it was runnin’ ’round de house waitin’ for daylight so it could find out which was the way to go!”

  “Dat was a mighty gun yo’ pa had,” agreed Larkins, “but Ah had a gun dat would lay dat one in the shade. It could shoot so far till Ah had to put salt down de barrel so de game Ah kilt wid it would keep till Ah got to it.”

  “Larkins—” Jim Allen started to protest.

  “Mr. Allen, dat ain’t no lie. Dat’s a fack. Dat gun was so bad dat all Ah need to do was walk out in de woods wid it to skeer all de varmints. Ah went huntin’ one day and saw three thousand ducks in a pond. Jus’ as Ah levelled dis gun to fire, de weather turned cold and de water in de lake froze solid and them ducks flew off wid de lake froze to their feets.”

  “Larkins, s’posin’ you was to die right now, where would you land?—jus’ as straight to hell as a martin to his gourd. Whew! you sho kin lie. You’d pass slap thru hell proper. Jus’ a bouncin’ and a jumpin’ and go clear to Ginny Gall, and dat’s four miles south of West Hell; you better stop yo’ lyin’, man.”

  “Dat ain’t no lie, man. You jus’ ain’t seen no real guns and no good shootin’.”

  “Ah don’t want to see none. Less fish. Here we is at de lake. You can’t talk and ketch fish too. You’ll skeer all de fish away.”

  “Aw, nobody ain’t even got a hook baited yet. Leave Larkins lie till we git set!” suggested Joe Wiley. “You gittin’ old, Jim, when you can’t stand good lyin’. It’s jus’ like sound doctrine. Everybody can’t stand it.”

  “Who gittin’ old? Not me! Ah laks de lies. All I said is yo’ talkin’ skeers off all de trouts and sheepheads. Ah can’t eat no lies.”

  “Aw, gran’pa, don’t be so astorperious! We all wants to hear Larkins’ tale. I’m goin’ ketch you some fish. We ain’t off lak dis often. Tomorrow we’ll be back in de swamp ’mong de cypress knees, de ’gators, and de moccasins, and strainin’ wid de swamp boss,” pleaded Cliff. “Go head on, and talk, Larkins, God ain’t gonna bother you.”

  “Well,” says Larkins:

  A man had a wife and a whole passle of young ’uns, and they didn’t have nothin’ to eat.

  He told his ole lady, “Well, Ah got a load of ammunition in my gun, so Ah’m gointer go out in de woods and see what Ah kin bring back for us to eat.”

  His wife said: “That’s right, go see can’t you kill us somethin’—if ’tain’t nothin’ but a squirrel.”

  He went on huntin’ wid his gun. It was one of dese muzzle-loads. He knowed he didn’t have but one load of ammunition so he was very careful not to stumble and let his gun go off by accident.

  He had done walked more’n three miles from home and he ain’t saw anything to shoot at. He got worried. Then all of a sudden he spied some wild turkeys settin’ up in a tree on a limb. He started to shoot at ’em, when he looked over in de pond and seen a passle of wild ducks; and down at de edge of de pond he saw a great big deer. He heard some noise behind him and he looked ’round and seen some partiges.

  He wanted all of ’em and he didn’t know how he could get ’em. So he stood and he thought and he thought. Then he decided what to do.

  He took aim, but he didn’t shoot at de turkeys. He shot de limb de turkeys was settin’ on and de ball split dat limb and let all dem turkeys’ feets dropped right down thru de crack and de split limb shet up on ’em and helt ’em right dere. De ball went on over and fell into de pond and kilt all dem ducks. De gun had too heavy a charge in her, so it bust and de barrel flew over and kilt dat deer. De stock kicked de man in de breast and he fell backwards and smothered all dem partiges.

  Well, he drug his deer up under de tree and got his ducks out de pond and piled them up wid de turkeys and so forth. He seen he couldn’t tote all dat game so he went on home to git his mule and wagon.

  Soon as he come in de gate his wife said:

  “Where is de game you was gointer bring back? you musta lost yo’ gun, you ain’t got it.”

  He told his wife, “Ah wears de longest pants in dis house. You leave me tend to my business and you mind yours. Jus’ you put on de pot and be ready. Plenty rations is comin’.”

  He took his team on back in de woods wid him and loaded up de wagon. He wouldn’t git up on de wago
n hisself because he figgered his mule had enough to pull without him.

  Just as he got his game all loaded on de wagon, it commenced to rain but he walked on beside of the mule pattin’ him and tellin’ him to “come up,” till they got home.

  When he got home his wife says: “De pot is boilin’. Where is de game you tole me about?”

  He looked back and seen his wagon wasn’t behind de mule where it ought to have been. Far as he could see—nothin’ but them leather traces, but no wagon.

  Then he knowed de rain had done made dem traces stretch, and de wagon hadn’t moved from where he loaded it.

  So he told his wife, “De game will be here. Don’t you worry.”

  So he just took de mule out and stabled him and wrapped dem traces ’round de gate post and went on in de house.

  De next day it was dry and de sun was hot and it shrunk up dem traces, and about twelve o’clock they brought dat wagon home, “Cluck-cluck, cluck-cluck,” right on up to de gate.

  In spite of the laughter and talk, Cliff had landed two perch already, so Jim Allen laughed with the rest.

  “Now,” he said, beaming upon the fish his grandson had hooked, “I’m goin’ to tell y’all about de hawk and de buzzard.

  You know de hawk and de buzzard was settin’ up in a pine tree one day, so de hawk says: “How you get yo’ livin’, Brer Buzzard?”

  “Oh Ah’m makin’ out pretty good, Brer Hawk. Ah waits on de salvation of de Lawd.”

  Hawk says, “Humph, Ah don’t wait on de mercy of nobody. Ah takes mine.”

  “Ah bet, Ah’ll live to pick yo’ bones, Brer Hawk.”

  “Aw naw, you won’t, Brer Buzzard. Watch me git my livin’.”

  He seen a sparrer sittin’ on a dead limb of a tree and he sailed off and dived down at dat sparrer. De end of de limb was stickin’ out and he run his breast right up on de sharp point and hung dere. De sparrer flew on off.