Jim sat down and the pastor got to his feet.
“Looka heah, Jim, this aint for no foolishness. Do you realize dat if youse found guilty, youse gonna be run outa town?”
“Yeah” Jim answered without rising. “But Ah aint gonna be found no guilty. You caint find me.” There was a pleasurable stir on his side of the house. The Baptists were still in the coma which Jim’s first statement had brought on.
“Ah say too, he aint guilty,” began Rev. Simms with great unction in his tones. “Ah done been to de cot-house at Orlando an’ set under de voice of dem lawyers an’ heard ’em law from mornin’ tell night. They says you got tuh have a weepon befo’ you kin commit uh ’ssault. Ah done read dis heah Bible fum lid tuh lid (he made a gesture to indicate the thoroughness of his search) and it aint in no Bible dat no mule bone is a weepon, an’ it aint in no white folks law neither. Therefo’ Brother Mayor, Ah ast you tuh let Jim go. You gotta turn ’im loose, cause nobody kin run ’im outa town when he aint done no crime.”
A deep purple gloom settled down upon the Mayor and his followers. Over against this the wild joy of the Methodists. Simms already felt the reins of power in his hands. Over the protest of the Mayor he raised a song and he and his followers sang it with great gusto.
“Oh Mary dont you weep, dont you mourn
Oh Mary, dont you weep dont you mourn
Pharaoh’s army got drownded,
O-O-oh Mary, dont you weep”
The troubled expression on the face of the Baptist leader, Elder Long, suddenly lifted. He arose while yet the triumphant defense is singing its hallelujah. Mayor Clarke quieted the tumult with difficulty. Simms saw him rise but far from being worried, he sank back upon the seat, his eyes half closed, hands folded fatly across his fat stomach. He smirked. Let them rave! He had built his arguments on solid rock, and the gates of Baptist logic could not prevail against it!
When at last Long got the attention of the assembly, he commanded Dave to stand.
“Ah jus want you all tuh take a look at his head. Anybody kin see dat big knot dat Jim put on dere.” Jim, the Rev. Simms and all his communicants laughed loudly at this, but Long went on calmly. “Ah been tuh de cote-house tuh Orlando an’ heard de white folks law as much as any body heah. And dey dont ast whether de thing dat a person gits hurt wid is uh weepon or not. All dey wants tuh fin’ out is, ‘did it hurt?’ Now you all kin see dat mule bone did hurt Dave’s head. So it must be a weepon cause it hurt ’im.”
Rev. Simms had his eyes wide open now. He jumped to his feet.
“Never mind bout dem white folks laws at O’landa, Brother Long. Dis is a colored town. Nohow we oughter run by de laws uh de Bible. Dem white folks laws dont go befo’ whuts in dis sacred book.”
“Jes’ hold yo’ hot potater, Brother Simms, Ahm comin’ tuh dat part right now. Jes lemme take yo’ Bible a minute.”
“Naw indeed. You oughter brought one of yo’ own if you got one. Furthemo’ Brother Mayor, we got work tuh do. Wese workin’ people. Dont keep us in heah too long. Dis case is through wid.”
“Oh, naw it aim” the Mayor disagreed, “you done talked yo’ side, now you got tuh let Brother Long talk his. So fur as de work is concerned, it kin wait. One thing at a time. Come on up heah in yo’ pulpit an’ read yo’ own Bible, Brother Long. Dont mind me being up heah.”
Long ascended the pulpit and began to turn the leaves of the large Bible. The entire assembly slid forward to the edges of the seat.
“Ah done proved by de white folks law dat Jim oughter be run outa town an’ now Ahm gointer show by de Bible—”
Simms was on his feet again. “But Brother Mayor—”
“Set down Simms” was all the answer he got. “Youse entirely outa order.”
“It says heah in Judges 15:16 dat Samson slewed a thousand Philistines wid de jaw-bone of a ass” Long drawled.
“Yas, but this wasnt no ass, this was a mule” Simms objected.
“And now dat bring us to de main claw uh dis subjick. It sho want no ass, but everybody knows dat a donkey is de father of every mule what ever wuz born. Even little chillen knows dat. Everybody knows dat dat little as a donkey is, dat if he is dangerous, his great big mule son is mo’ so. Everybody knows dat de further back on a mule you goes, de mo’ dangerous he gits. Now if de jawbone is as dangerous as it says heah, in de Bible, by de time you gits clear back tuh his hocks hes rank pizen.”
“AMEN!! Specially Brazzle’s ol’ mule,” put in Hambo.
“An’ dat makes it double ’ssault an’ batt’ry,” Long continued. “Therefo’ Brother Mayor, Ah ast dat Jim be run outa town fuh ’ssaultin Dave wid a deadly weepon an’ stealin’ his turkey while de boy wuz unconscious.”
It was now the turn of the Baptists to go wild. The faint protests of Simms were drowned in the general uproar.
“I’ll be henfired if he aint right!” The Mayor exclaimed when he could make himself heard. “This case is just as plain as day.”
Simms tried once more. “But Brother Mayor—”
“Aw be quiet, Simms. You done talked yo’self all outa joint already.” His Honor cut him short. “Jim Weston, you git right outa mah town befo sundown an’ dont lemme ketch you back heah under two yeahs, neither. You folks dats so rearin’ tuh fight, gwan outside an’ fight all you wants tuh. But dont use no guns, no razors nor no mule-bones. Cote’s dismissed.”
A general murmur of approval swept over the house. Clarke went on, unofficially, as it were. “By ziggity, dat ol’ mule been dead three years an’ still kickin’! An’ he done kicked more’n one person outa whack today.” And he gave Simms one of his most personal looks.
THE END
Mule Bone
A Comedy of Negro Life
by
Zora Neale Hurston
and
Langston Hughes
Characters
Principal Characters
JIM WESTON: Guitarist, Methodist, slightly arrogant, aggressive, somewhat self-important, ready with his tongue.
DAVE CARTER: Dancer, Baptist, soft, happy-go-lucky character, slightly dumb and unable to talk rapidly and wittily.
DAISY TAYLOR: Methodist, domestic servant, plump, dark and sexy, self-conscious of clothes and appeal, fickle.
JOE CLARKE: The Mayor, storekeeper and postmaster, arrogant, ignorant and powerful in a self-assertive way, large, fat man, Methodist.
ELDER SIMMS: Methodist minister, newcomer in town, ambitious, small and fly, but not very intelligent.
ELDER CHILDERS: Big, loose-jointed, slow spoken but not dumb. Long resident in the town, calm and sure of himself.
KATIE CARTER: Dave’s aunt, little old wisened dried-up lady.
MRS. MATTIE CLARKE: The Mayor’s wife, fat and flabby mulatto, high-pitched voice.
THE MRS. REV. SIMMS: Large and aggressive.
THE MRS. REV. CHILDERS: Just a wife who thinks of details.
LUM BOGER: Young town marshall about twenty, tall, gangly, with big flat feet, liked to show off in public.
TEETS MILLER: Village vamp who is jealous of DAISY.
LIGE MOSELY: A village wag.
WALTER THOMAS: Another village wag.
ADA LEWIS: A promiscuous lover.
DELLA LEWIS: Baptist, poor housekeeper, mother of ADA.
BOOTSIE PITTS: A local vamp.
MRS. DILCIE ANDERSON: Village housewife, Methodist.
WILLIE NIXON: Methodist, short runt.
Minor Characters
HAMBO
GOODWIN
BRAZZLE
CODY
JONES
SAM MOSELY
TAYLOR
MRS. TAYLOR
MRS. JAKE ROBERTS
(VOICE OF MRS. MOSELY)
SENATOR BAILEY (BOY)
LITTLE MATILDA
OLD MAN
FRANK WARRICK
OLD WOMAN
SISTER THOMAS
SISTER JONES
MARY ELLA
SISTER PITTS
&n
bsp; SISTER LUCAS
MRS. HAMBO
MRS. NIXON
MRS. BLUNT
(CHILDREN)
(LOUNGERS)
Act One
SETTING: The raised porch of JOE CLARKE’s Store and the street in front. Porch stretches almost completely across the stage, with a plank bench at either end. At the center of the porch three steps leading from street. Rear of porch, center, door to the store. On either side are single windows on which signs, at left, “POST OFFICE”, and at right, “GENERAL STORE” are painted. Soap boxes, axe handles, small kegs, etc., on porch on which townspeople sit and lounge during action. Above the roof of the porch the “false front”, or imitation second story of the shop is seen with large sign painted across it “JOE CLARKE’S GENERAL STORE”. Large kerosine street lamp on post at right in front of porch.
Saturday afternoon and the villagers are gathered around the store. Several men sitting on boxes at edge of porch chewing sugar cane, spitting tobacco juice, arguing, some whittling, others eating peanuts. During the act the women all dressed up in starched dresses parade in and out of store. People buying groceries, kids playing in the street, etc. General noise of conversation, laughter and children shouting. But when the curtain rises there is a momentary lull for cane-chewing. At left of porch four men are playing cards on a soap box, and seated on the edge of the porch at extreme right two children are engaged in a checker game, with the board on the floor between them.
When the curtain goes up the following characters are discovered on the porch: MAYOR JOE CLARKE, the storekeeper; DEACON HAMBO; DEACON GOODWIN; Old Man MATT BRAZZLE: WILL CODY; SYKES JONES: LUM BOGER, the young town marshall: LIGE MOSELY and WALTER THOMAS, two village wags; TOM NIXON and SAM MOSELY, and several others, seated on boxes, kegs, benches and floor of the porch. TONY TAYLOR is sitting on steps of porch with empty basket. MRS. TAYLOR comes out with her arms full of groceries, empties them into basket and goes back in store. All the men are chewing sugar cane earnestly with varying facial expressions. The noise of the breaking and sucking of cane can be clearly heard in the silence. Occasionally the laughter and shouting of children is heard nearby off stage.
HAMBO: (To BRAZZLE) Say, Matt, gimme a jint or two of dat green cane—dis ribbon cane is hard.
LIGE: Yeah, and you ain’t got de chears in yo’ parlor you useter have.
HAMBO: Dat’s all right, Lige, but I betcha right now wid dese few teeth I got I kin eat up more cane’n you kin grow.
LIGE: I know you kin and that’s de reason I ain’t going to tempt you. But youse gettin’ old in lots of ways—look at dat bald-head—just as clean as my hand. (Exposes his palm.)
HAMBO: Don’t keer if it tis—I don’t want nothin’—not even hair—between me and God. (General laughter—LIGE joins in as well. Cane chewing keeps up. Silence for a moment.)
(Off stage a high shrill voice can be heard calling:)
VOICE: Sister Mosely, Oh, Sister Mosely! (A pause) Miz Mosely! (Very irritated) Oh, Sister Mattie! You hear me out here—you just won’t answer!
VOICE OF MRS. MOSELY: Whoo-ee…somebody calling me?
VOICE OF MRS. ROBERTS: (Angrily) Never mind now—you couldn’t come when I called you. I don’t want yo’ lil ole weasley turnip greens. (Silence)
MATT BRAZZLE: Sister Roberts is en town agin! If she was mine, I’ll be hen-fired if I wouldn’t break her down in de lines (loins)—good as dat man is to her!
HAMBO: I wish she was mine jes’ one day—de first time she open her mouf to beg anybody, I’d lam her wid lightning.
JOE CLARKE: I God, Jake Roberts buys mo’ rations out dis store than any man in dis town. I don’t see to my Maker whut she do wid it all….Here she come….
(Enter MRS. JAKE ROBERTS, a heavy light brown woman with a basket on her arm. A boy about ten walks beside her carrying a small child about a year old straddle of his back. Her skirts are sweeping the ground. She walks up to the step, puts one foot upon the steps and looks forlornly at all the men, then fixes her look on JOE CLARKE.)
MRS. ROBERTS: Evenin’, Brother Mayor.
CLARKE: Howdy do, Mrs. Roberts. How’s yo’ husband?
MRS. ROBERTS: (Beginning her professional whine) He ain’t much and I ain’t much and my chillun is poly. We ain’t got ’nough to eat! Lawd, Mr. Clarke, gimme a lil piece of side meat to cook us a pot of greens.
CLARKE: Aw gwan, Sister Roberts. You got plenty bacon home. Last week Jake bought…
MRS. ROBERTS: (Frantically) Lawd, Mist’ Clarke, how long you think dat lil piece of meat last me an’ my chillun? Lawd, me and my chillun is hongry! God knows, Jake don’t fee-eed me! ( MR. CLARKE sits unmoved. MRS. ROBERTS advances upon him) Mist’ Clarke!
CLARKE: I God, woman, don’t keep on after me! Every time I look, youse round here beggin’ for everything you see.
LIGE: And whut she don’t see she whoops for it just de same.
MRS. ROBERTS: (In dramatic begging pose) Mist’ Clarke! Ain’t you goin’ do nuthin’ for me? And you see me and my poor chillun is starvin’….
CLARKE: (Exasperated, rises) I God, woman, a man can’t git no peace wid somebody like you in town. (He goes angrily into the store followed by MRS. ROBERTS. The boy sits down on the edge of the porch sucking the baby’s thumb.)
VOICE OF MRS. ROBERTS: A piece ’bout dis wide….
VOICE OF CLARKE: I God, naw! Yo’ husband done bought you plenty meat, nohow.
VOICE OF MRS. ROBERTS: (In great anguish) Ow! Mist’ Clarke! Don’t you cut dat lil tee-ninchy piece of meat for me and my chillun! (Sound of running feet inside the store.) I ain’t a going to tetch it!
VOICE OF CLARKE: Well, don’t touch it then. That’s all you’ll git outa me.
VOICE OF MRS. ROBERTS: (Calmer) Well, hand it chear den. Lawd, me and my chillun is so hongry….Jake don’t fee-eed me. (She re-enters by door of store with the slab of meat in her hand and an outraged look on her face. She gazes all about her for sympathy.) Lawd, me and my poor chillun is so hungry…and some folks has everything and they’s so stingy and gripin’….Lawd knows, Jake don’t fee-eed me! (She exits right on this line followed by the boy with the baby on his back.)
(All the men gaze behind her, then at each other and shake their heads.)
HAMBO: Poor Jake…I’m really sorry for dat man. If she was mine I’d beat her till her ears hung down like a Georgy mule.
WALTER THOMAS: I’d beat her till she smell like onions.
LIGE: I’d romp on her till she slack like lime.
NIXON: I’d stomp her till she rope like okra.
VOICE OF MRS. ROBERTS: (Off stage right) Lawd, Miz Lewis, you goin’ give me dat lil han’ful of greens for me and my chillun. Why dat ain’t a eyefull. I ought not to take em…but me and my chillun is so hongry…Some folks is so stingy and gripin’! Lawd knows, Jake don’t feed me!
(The noise of cane-chewing is heard again. Enter JOE LINDSAY left with a gun over his shoulder and the large leg bone of a mule in the other hand. He approaches the step wearily.)
HAMBO: Well, did you git any partridges, Joe?
JOE: (Resting his gun and seating himself) Nope, but I made de feathers fly.
HAMBO: I don’t see no birds.
JOE: Oh, the feathers flew off on de birds.
LIGE: I don’t see nothin’ but dat bone. Look lak you done kilt a cow and et ’im raw out in de woods.
JOE: Don’t y’all know dat hock-bone?
WALTER: HOW you reckon we gointer know every hock-bone in Orange County sight unseen?
JOE: (Standing the bone up on the floor of the porch) Dis is a hock-bone of Brazzle’s ole yaller mule.
(General pleased interest. Everybody wants to touch it.)
BRAZZLE: (Coming forward) Well, sir! (Takes bone in both hands and looks up and down the length of it) If ’tain’t my ole mule! This sho was one hell of a mule, too. He’d fight every inch in front of de plow…he’d turn over de mowing machin
e…run away wid de wagon…and you better not look like you wanter ride ’im!
LINDSAY: (Laughing) Yeah, I ’member seein’ you comin’ down de road just so…(He limps wid one hand on his buttocks) one day.
BRAZZLE: Dis mule was so evil he used to try to bite and kick when I’d go in de stable to feed ’im.
WALTER: He was too mean to git fat. He was so skinny you could do a week’s washing on his ribs for a washboard and hang ’em up on his hip-bones to dry.
LIGE: I ’member one day, Brazzle, you sent yo’ boy to Winter Park after some groceries wid a basket. So here he went down de road ridin’ dis mule wid dis basket on his arm….Whut you reckon dat ole contrary mule done when he got to dat crooked place in de road going round Park Lake? He turnt right round and went through de handle of dat basket…wid de boy still up on his back. (General laughter)
BRAZZLE: Yeah, he up and died one Sat’day just for spite…but he was too contrary to lay down on his side like a mule orter and die decent. Naw, he made out to lay down on his narrer contracted back and die wid his feets sticking straight up in de air just so. (He gets down on his back and illustrates.) We drug him out to de swamp wid ’im dat way, didn’t we, Hambo?
JOE CLARKE: I God, Brazzle, we all seen it. Didn’t we all go to de draggin’ out? More folks went to yo’ mule’s draggin’ out than went to last school closing…Bet there ain’t been a thing right in mule-hell for four years.
HAMBO: Been dat long since he been dead?
CLARKE: I God, yes. He died de week after I started to cuttin’ dat new ground. (The bone is passing from hand to hand. At last a boy about twelve takes it. He has just walked up and is proudly handling the bone when a woman’s voice is heard off stage right.)
VOICE: Senator! Senator!! Oh, you Senator?
BOY: (Turning, displeased, mutters) Aw, shux. (Loudly) Ma’m?
VOICE: If you don’t come here you better!
SENATOR: Yes ma’am. (He drops bone on ground down stage and trots off frowning.) Soon as we men git to doing something dese wimmen….(Exits, right.)
Mule Bone Page 2