He tole her, “Only God and dis cow knows.”
“Wonder what de swamp boss is studyin’ ’bout whilst we out here fishin’?” Oliver wondered.
“Nobody don’t know and here’s one dat don’t keer,” Cliff Ulmer volunteered. “Ah done caught me a nice mess of fish and Ah’m gointer bust dat jook wide open tonight.
“Ah was over there last night and maybe de boys didn’t get off lyin’! Somebody tole one on de snail.
“You know de snail’s wife took sick and sent him for de doctor.
“She was real low ill-sick and rolled from one side of de bed to de other. She was groanin’, ‘Lawd knows Ah got so much misery Ah hope de Doctor’ll soon git here to me.’
“After seben years she heard a scufflin’ at de door. She was real happy so she ast, ‘Is dat you baby, done come back wid de doctor? Ah’m so glad!’
“He says, ‘Don’t try to rush me—Ah ain’t gone yet.’ He had been seben years gettin’ to de door.”
“Yeah, Ah was over there too,” said Larkins White, “and somebody else tole a lie on de snail. A snail was crossin’ de road for seben years. Just as he got across a tree fell and barely missed him ’bout a inch or two. If he had a been where he was six months before it would er kilt him. De snail looked back at de tree and tole de people, ‘See, it pays to be fast.’”
“Look at de wind risin’!” Willard exclaimed.
“We ain’t no hogs, Joe, we can’t see no wind.”
“You kin see it, if you squirt some sow milk in yo’ eyes. Ah seen it one time,” Jim Allen announced.
“How did it look, gran’pa? Dat’s a sight Ah sho would love to see,” cried Cliff.
“Naw, you wouldn’t, son. De wind is blood red and when you see it comin’ it look lak a bloody ocean rushin’ down on you from every side. It ain’t got no sides and no top. Youse jus’ drownin’ in blood and can’t help yo’self. When Ah was a li’l chap dey tole me if Ah put hawg milk in mah eyes Ah could see de wind, and—”
“Why they say ‘hawg milk’? Can’t you try some cow milk?” Cliffert asked.
“De hawg is de onliest thing God ever made whut kin see de wind. Ain’t you never seen uh sow take a good look in one direction and go tuh makin’ up a good warm nest? She see great winds a comin’ a whole day off.”
“Well, how didja quit seein’ de wind, gran’pa?”
“De sow milk wore outa mah eyes gradual lak, but Ah seen dat wind fo’ more’n a week. Dey had to blindfold me tuh keep me from runnin’ wild.”
Cliff Ulmer said:
De wind is a woman, and de water is a woman too. They useter talk together a whole heap. Mrs. Wind useter go set down by de ocean and talk and patch and crochet.
They was jus’ like all lady people. They loved to talk about their chillun, and brag on ’em.
Mrs. Water useter say, “Look at my chillun! Ah got de biggest and de littlest in de world. All kinds of chillun. Every color in de world, and every shape!”
De wind lady bragged louder than de water woman: “Oh, but Ah got mo’ different chilluns than anybody in de world. They flies, they walks, they swims, they sings, they talks, they cries. They got all de colors from de sun. Lawd, my chillun sho is a pleasure. ’Tain’t nobody got no babies like mine.”
Mrs. Water got tired of hearin’ ’bout Mrs. Wind’s chillun so she got so she hated ’em.
One day a whole passle of her chillun come to Mrs. Wind and says: “Mama, wese thirsty. Kin we go git us a cool drink of water?”
She says, “Yeah chillun. Run on over to Mrs. Water and hurry right back soon.”
When them chillun went to squinch they thirst Mrs. Water grabbed ’em all and drowned ’em.
When her chillun didn’t come home, de wind woman got worried. So she went on down to de water and ast for her babies.
“Good evenin’ Mis’ Water, you see my chillun today?”
De water woman tole her, “No-oo-oo.”
Mrs. Wind knew her chillun had come down to Mrs. Water’s house, so she passed over de ocean callin’ her chillun, and every time she call de white feathers would come up on top of de water. And dat’s how come we got white caps on waves. It’s de feathers comin’ up when de wind woman calls her lost babies.
When you see a storm on de water, it’s de wind and de water fightin’ over dem chillun.
“’Bout dat time a flea wanted to get a hair cut, so Ah left.”
EIGHT
Y’all been tellin’ and lyin’ ’bout all dese varmints but you ain’t yet spoke about de high chief boss of all de world which is de lion,” Sack Daddy commented.
“He’s de King of de Beasts, but he ain’t no King of de World, now Sack,” Dad Boykin spoke up. “He thought he was de King till John give him a straightenin’.”
“Don’t put dat lie out!” Sack Daddy contended. “De lion won’t stand no straightenin’.”
“Course I ’gree wid you dat everybody can’t show de lion no deep point, but John showed it to him. Oh, yeah, John not only straightened him out, he showed dat ole lion where in.”
“When did he do all of dis, Dad? Ah ain’t never heard tell of it.” Dad spoke up:
Oh, dis was way befo’ yo’ time. Ah don’t recolleck myself. De old folks told me about John and de lion. Well, John was ridin’ long one day straddle of his horse when de grizzly bear come pranchin’ out in de middle of de road and hollered: “Hold on a minute! They tell me you goin’ ’round strowin’ it dat youse de King of de World.”
John stopped his horse: “Whoa! Yeah, Ah’m de King of de World, don’t you b’lieve it?” John told him.
“Naw, you ain’t no King. Ah’m de King of de World. You can’t be no King till you whip me. Git down and fight.”
John hit de ground and de fight started. First, John grabbed him a rough-dried brick and started to work de fat offa de bear’s head. De bear just fumbled ’round till he got a good holt, then he begin to squeeze and squeeze. John knowed he couldn’t stand dat much longer, do he’d be jus’ another man wid his breath done give out. So he reached into his pocket and got out his razor and slipped it between dat bear’s ribs. De bear turnt loose and reeled on over in de bushes to lay down. He had enough of dat fight.
John got back on his horse and rode on off.
De lion smelt de bear’s blood and come runnin’ to where de grizzly was layin’ and started to lappin’ his blood.
De bear was skeered de lion was gointer eat him while he was all cut and bleedin’ nearly to death, so he hollered and said: “Please don’t touch me, Brer Lion. Ah done met de King of de World and he done cut me all up.”
De lion got his bristles all up and clashed down at de bear: “Don’t you lay there and tell me you done met de King of de World and not be talkin’ ’bout me! Ah’ll tear you to pieces!”
“Oh, don’t tetch me, Brer Lion! Please lemme alone so Ah kin git well.”
“Well, don’t you call nobody no King of de World but me.”
“But Brer Lion, Ah done met de King sho’ nuff. Wait till you see him and you’ll say Ah’m right.”
“Naw, Ah won’t, neither. Show him to me and Ah’ll show you how much King he is.”
“All right, Brer Lion, you jus’ have a seat right behind dese bushes. He’ll be by here befo’ long.”
Lion squatted down by de bear and waited. Fust person he saw goin’ up de road was a old man. Lion jumped up and ast de bear, “Is dat him?”
Bear say, “Naw, dat’s Uncle Yistiddy, he’s a useter-be!”
After while a li’l boy passed down de road. De lion seen him and jumped up agin. “Is dat him?” he ast de bear.
Bear told him, “Naw, dat’s li’l tomorrow, he’s a gointer-be, you jus’ lay quiet. Ah’ll let you know when he gits here.”
Sho nuff after while here come John on his horse but he had done got his gun. Lion jumped up agin and ast, “Is dat him?”
Bear say: “Yeah, dat’s him! Dat’s de King of de World.”
Lion reared up and c
racked his tail back and forwards like a bull-whip. He ’lowed, “You wait till Ah git thru wid him and you won’t be callin’ him no King no mo’.”
He took and galloped out in de middle of de road right in front of John’s horse and laid his years back. His tail was crackin’ like torpedoes.
“Stop!” de lion hollered at John. “They tell me you goes for de King of de World!”
John looked him dead in de ball of his eye and told him, “Yeah, Ah’m de King. Don’t you like it, don’t you take it. Here’s mah collar, come and shake it!”
De lion and John eye-balled one another for a minute or two, den de lion sprung on John.
Talk about fightin’! Man, you ain’t seen no sich fightin’ and wrasslin’ since de mornin’ stars sung together. De lion clawed and bit John and John bit him right back.
Way after while John got to his rifle and he up wid de muzzle right in ole lion’s face and pulled de trigger. Long, slim black feller, snatch ’er back and hear ’er beller! Dog damn! Dat was too much for de lion. He turnt go of John and wheeled to run to de woods. John levelled down on him agin and let him have another load, right in his hindquarters.
Dat ole lion give John de book; de bookity book.1 He hauled de fast mail back into de woods where de bear was laid up.
“Move over,” he told de bear. “Ah wanta lay down too.”
“How come?” de bear ast him.
“Ah done met de King of de World, and he done ruint me.”
“Brer Lion, how you know you done met de King?”
“’Cause he made lightnin’ in my face and thunder in my hips. Ah know Ah done met de King, move over.”
“Dad, dat lie of your’n done brought up a high wind,” said Jim Allen, measuring the weather with his eye. “Look a li’l bit like rain.”
“Tain’t gonna rain, but de wind’s too high for fish to bite. Le’s go back,” suggested Presley. “All them that caught fish got fish. All them that didn’t got another chance.”
Everybody began to gather up things. The bait cans were kicked over so that the worms could find homes. The strings of fish were tied to pole ends. When Joe Wiley went to pull up his string of fish, he found a water moccasin stealin’ them and the men made a great ceremony of killin’ it. Then they started away from the water. Cliff had a long string of fish.
“Look, Gran’pa” he said, “Ah reckon you satisfied, ain’t you?”
“Sho Ah’m satisfied, Ah must is got cat blood in me ’cause Ah never gits tired of fish. Ah knows how to eat ’em too, and dat’s somethin’ everybody don’t know.”
“Oh, anybody can eat fish,” said Joe Willard.
“Yeah,” Jim conceded grudgingly, “they kin eat it, but they can’t git de real refreshment out de meat like they oughter.”
“If you kin git any mo’ refreshment off a fish bone than me, you must be got two necks and a gang of bellies,” said Larkins.
“You see,” went on Jim, “y’all ain’t got into de techincal apex of de business. When y’all see a great big platter of fried fish y’all jus’ grab hold of a fish and bite him any which way, and dat’s wrong.”
“Dat’s good enough for me!” declared Willard emphatically. “Anywhere and any place Ah ketch a fish Ah’m ready to bite him ’ceptin’ he’s raw.”
“Me too.”
“See dat?” Jim cried, exasperated. “You young folks is just like a passle of crows in a corn patch. Everybody talkin’ at one time. Ain’t nary one of you tried to learn how to eat a fish right.”
“How you eat ’em, Mr. Allen?” Gene Oliver asked to pacify him.
“Well, after yo’ hands is washed and de blessin’ is said, you look at de fried fish, but you don’t grab it. First thing you chooses a piece of corn-bread for yo’ plate whilst youse lookin’ de platter over for a nice fat perch or maybe it’s trout. Nobody wid any manners or home-raisin’ don’t take de fork and turn over every fish in de dish in order to pick de best one. You does dat wid yo’ eye whilst youse choosin’ yo’ pone bread. Now, then, take yo’ fork and stick straight at de fish you done choosed, and if somebody ast you to take two, you say ‘No ma’am, Ah thank you. This un will do for right now.’
“You see if you got too many fishes on yo’ plate at once, folkses, you can’t lay ’em out proper. So you take one fish at de time. Then you turn him over and take yo’ fork and start at de tail, liff de meat all off de bone clear up to de head, ’thout misplacin’ a bone. You eats dat wid some bread. Not a whole heap of bread—just enough to keep you from swallerin’ de fish befo’ you enjoy de consequences. When you thru on dat side of de fish turn him over and do de same on de other side. Don’t eat de heads. Shove ’em to one side till you thru wid all de fish from de platter, den when there ain’t no mo’ fish wid sides to ’em, you reach back and pull dem heads befo’ you and start at de back of de fish neck and eat right on thru to his jaw-bones.
“Now then, if it’s summer time, go set on de porch and rest yo’self in de cool. If it’s winter time, go git in front of de fireplace and warm yo’self—now Ah done tole you right. A whole heap of people talks about fish-eatin’ but Ah done tole you real.”
“He’s tellin’ you right,” agreed Dad Boykin. “Ah’m older than he is, ’cause Ah was eighty-one las’ November, and Ah was eatin’ fish befo’ Jim was born, but Ah never did get de gennywine schoolin’ till Jim showed me. But Ah teached him somethin’ too, didn’t Ah, Jim?”
“Yeah, Dad, yo’ showed me how to warm myself.”
There was a great burst of laughter from the young men, but the two old men scowled upon them.
“You see,” Dad said bitingly. “You young poots won’t lissen to nothin’! Not a one of you knows how to warm hisself right and youse so hard-headed you don’t want to be teached. Any fool kin lam hisself up in a chimbley corner and cook his shins, but when it comes right down to de entrimmins, youse as ig’nant as a hog up under a acorn tree—he eats and grunts and never look up to see where de acorns is comin’ from.”
“Dad, please such, teach us how to warm ourselves,” begged Cliff. “We all wants to know.”
“Oh, y’all done wasted too much time, almost back in de quarters now, and de crowd will be scatterin’.”
“Dat’s all right, Dad,” urged Joe Willard soothingly. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere till we been teached by you.”
“Well, then, Ah’ll tell y’all somethin’. De real way to git warm is first to git a good rockin’ chear and draw it up to de fire. Don’t flop yo’self down in it lak a cow in de pasture. Draw it right up in de center of de fireplace ’cause dat’s de best. Some folks love to pile into de chimbley corner ’cause they’s lazy and feared somebody gointer step on they foots. They don’t want to have no trouble shiftin’ ’em back and forth. But de center is de best place, so take dat. You even might have to push and shove a li’l bit to git dere, but dat’s all right, go’ head.
“When you git yo’ chear all set where you wants it, then you walk up to de mantel piece and turn yo’ back to de fire—dat’s to knock de breezes offen yo’ back. You know, all de time youse outside in de weather, li’l breezes and winds is jumpin’ on yo’ back and crawlin’ down yo’ neck, to hide. They’ll stay right there if you don’t do somethin’ to git shet of ’em. They don’t lak fires, so when you turn yo’ back to de fire, de inflamed atmosphere goes up under yo’ coat-tails and runs dem winds and breezes out from up dere. Sometimes, lessen you drive ’em off, they goes to bed wid you. Ain’t y’all never been so you couldn’t git warm don’t keer how much kivver you put on?”
“Many’s de time I been lak dat.”
“Well,” went on Dad, “Dat because some stray breezes had done rode you to bed. Now dat brings up to de second claw of de subjick. You done got rid of de back breezes, so you git in yo’ chear and pull off yo’ shoes and set in yo’ sock feet. Now, don’t set there all spraddle-legged and let de heat just hit you any which way, put yo’ feet right close together so dat both yo’ big toes is side by side. Then y
ou shove ’em up close to de fire and let ’em git good and hot. Ah know it don’t look lak it but dem toes’ll warm you all over. You see when Ah was studyin’ doctor Ah found out dat you got a leader dat runs from yo’ big toe straight to yo’ heart, and when you git dem toes hot youse hot all over.”
“Yeah, Ah b’lieve youse right, Dad, ’bout dat warmin’ business, but Ah wisht somebody’d tell us how to git cool right now.”
The party was back in the camp. Everybody began to head for his own shack.
“See you tonight at de jook,” Jim Presley called to Willard. “Don’t you and Big Sweet put on no roll now. Ah hate to see men and wimmin folks fightin’.”
“Me too,” said Wiley emphatically. “If a man kin whip his woman and whip her good; all right, but when they don’t do nothin’ but fight, it makes my stomach turn.”
“Well,” said Big Sweet crisply. “If Joe Willard try to take dese few fishes he done caught where he shacked up last night, Ah’m gointer take my Tampa switch-blade knife, and Ah’m goin’ ’round de hambone lookin’ for meat.”
“Aw, is dat so?” Joe challenged her.
“Ah been baptized, papa, and Ah wouldn’t mislead you,” Big Sweet told him to his teeth.
“Hey, hey!” Gene Oliver exclaimed. “Big Moose done come down from de mountain. Ah’m gointer be at dat jook tonight to see what Big Sweet and Ella Wall gointer talk about.”
“Me too. De time is done come where big britches gointer fit li’l Willie,”2 Joe Wiley declared significantly.
“Oh, wese all gointer be there,” Larkins said. “Say, Big Sweet, don’t let de ’gator beat you to de pond, 3 do he’ll give you mo’ trouble than de day is long.”
So everybody got for home.
Back in the quarters the sun was setting. Plenty women over the cook-pot scorching up supper. Lots of them were already thru cooking, with the pots shoved to the back of the stove while they put on fresh things and went out in front of the house to see and be seen.
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