“He ain come home t eat yit.”
“Where kin he be?”
“Lawd knows, chile.”
“Somebodys gotta tell them comrades tha meetings off,” said Reva. “The sheriffs got men watchin our house. Ah had t slip out t git here widout em following me.”
“Reva?”
“Hunh?”
“Ahma ol woman n Ah wans yuh t tell me the truth.”
“Whut, An Sue?”
“Yuh ain tryin t fool me, is yuh?”
“Fool yuh?”
“Bout Johnny-Boy?”
“Lawd, naw, An Sue!”
“Ef theres anythin wrong jus tell me, chile. Ah kin stan it.”
She stood by the ironing board, her hands as usual folded loosely over her stomach, watching Reva pull off her water-clogged shoes. She was feeling that Johnny-Boy was already lost to her; she was feeling the pain that would come when she knew it for certain; and she was feeling that she would have to be brave and bear it. She was like a person caught in a swift current of water and knew where the water was sweeping her and did not want to go on but had to go on to the end.
“It ain nothin bout Johnny-Boy, An Sue,” said Reva. “But we gotta do somethin er we’ll all git inter trouble.”
“How the sheriff know about tha meetin?”
“Thas whut pa wans t know.”
“Somebody done turned Judas.”
“Sho looks like it.”
“Ah bet it wuz some of them new ones,” she said.
“Its hard t tell,” said Reva.
“Lissen, Reva, yuh oughta stay here n git dry, but yuh bettah git back n tell yo pa Johnny-Boy ain here n Ah don know when hes gonna show up. Somebodys gotta tell them comrades t stay erway from yo pas house.”
She stood with her back to the window, looking at Reva’s wide, blue eyes. Po critter! Gotta go back thu all tha slop! Though she felt sorry for Reva, not once did she think that it would not have to be done. Being a woman, Reva was not suspect; she would have to go. It was just as natural for Reva to go back through the cold rain as it was for her to iron night and day, or for Sug to be in jail. Right now, Johnny-Boy was out there on those dark fields trying to get home. Lawd, don let em git im tonight! In spite of herself her feelings became torn. She loved her son and, loving him, she loved what he was trying to do. Johnny-Boy was happiest when he was working for the party, and her love for him was for his happiness. She frowned, trying hard to fit something together in her feelings: for her to try to stop Johnny-Boy was to admit that all the toil of years meant nothing; and to let him go meant that sometime or other he would be caught, like Sug. In facing it this way she felt a little stunned, as though she had come suddenly upon a blank wall in the dark. But outside in the rain were people, white and black, whom she had known all her life. Those people depended upon Johnny-Boy, loved him and looked to him as a man and leader. Yeah; hes gotta keep on; he cant stop now…. She looked at Reva; she was crying and pulling her shoes back on with reluctant fingers.
“Whut yuh carryin on tha way fer, chile?”
“Yuh done los Sug, now yuh sendin Johnny-Boy…”
“Ah got t, honey.”
She was glad she could say that. Reva believed in black folks and not for anything in the world would she falter before her. In Reva’s trust and acceptance of her she had found her first feelings of humanity; Reva’s love was her refuge from shame and degradation. If in the early days of her life the white mountain had driven her back from the earth, then in her last days Reva’s love was drawing her toward it, like the beacon that swung through the night outside. She heard Reva sobbing.
“Hush, honey!”
“Mah brothers in jail too! Ma cries ever day…”
“Ah know, honey.”
She helped Reva with her coat; her fingers felt the scant flesh of the girl’s shoulders. She don git ernuff t eat, she thought. She slipped her arms around Reva’s waist and held her close for a moment.
“Now, yuh stop that cryin.”
“A-a-ah c-c-cant hep it….”
“Everythingll be awright; Johnny-Boyll be back.”
“Yuh think so?”
“Sho, chile. Cos he will.”
Neither of them spoke again until they stood in the doorway. Outside they could hear water washing through the ruts of the street.
“Be sho n send Johnny-Boy t tell the folks t stay erway from pas house,” said Reva.
“Ahll tell im. Don yuh worry.”
“Good-bye!”
“Good-bye!”
Leaning against the door jamb, she shook her head slowly and watched Reva vanish through the falling rain.
II
She was back at her board, ironing, when she heard feet sucking in the mud of the back yard; feet she knew from long years of listening were Johnny-Boy’s. But tonight, with all the rain and fear, his coming was like a leaving, was almost more than she could bear. Tears welled to her eyes and she blinked them away. She felt that he was coming so that she could give him up; to see him now was to say good-bye. But it was a good-bye she knew she could never say; they were not that way toward each other. All day long they could sit in the same room and not speak; she was his mother and he was her son. Most of the time a nod or a grunt would carry all the meaning that she wanted to convey to him, or he to her. She did not even turn her head when she heard him come stomping into the kitchen. She heard him pull up a chair, sit, sigh, and draw off his muddy shoes; they fell to the floor with heavy thuds. Soon the kitchen was full of the scent of his drying socks and his burning pipe. Tha boys hongry! She paused and looked at him over her shoulder; he was puffing at his pipe with his head tilted back and his feet propped up on the edge of the stove; his eyelids drooped and his wet clothes steamed from the heat of the fire. Lawd, tha boy gits mo like his pa ever day he lives, she mused, her lips breaking in a slow faint smile. Hols tha pipe in his mouth just like his pa usta hol his. Wondah how they woulda got erlong ef his pa hada lived? They oughta liked each other, they so much alike. She wished there could have been other children besides Sug, so Johnny-Boy would not have to be so much alone. A man needs a woman by his side…. She thought of Reva; she liked Reva; the brightest glow her heart had ever known was when she had learned that Reva loved Johnny-Boy. But beyond Reva were cold white faces. Ef theys caught it means death…. She jerked around when she heard Johnny-Boy’s pipe clatter to the floor. She saw him pick it up, smile sheepishly at her, and wag his head.
“Gawd, Ahm sleepy,” he mumbled.
She got a pillow from her room and gave it to him.
“Here,” she said.
“Hunh,” he said, putting the pillow between his head and the back of the chair.
They were silent again. Yes, she would have to tell him to go back out into the cold rain and slop; maybe to get caught; maybe for the last time; she didn’t know. But she would let him eat and get dry before telling him that the sheriff knew of the meeting to be held at Lem’s tomorrow. And she would make him take a big dose of soda before he went out; soda always helped to stave off a cold. She looked at the clock. It was eleven. Theres time yit. Spreading a newspaper on the apron of the stove, she placed a heaping plate of greens upon it, a knife, a fork, a cup of coffee, a slab of cornbread, and a dish of peach cobbler.
“Yo suppahs ready,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said.
He did not move. She ironed again. Presently, she heard him eating. When she could no longer hear his knife tinkling against the edge of the plate, she knew he was through. It was almost twelve now. She would let him rest a little while longer before she told him. Till one er’clock, mabbe. Hes so tired…. She finished her ironing, put away the board, and stacked the clothes in her dresser drawer. She poured herself a cup of black coffee, drew up a chair, sat down and drank.
“Yuh almos dry,” she said, not looking around.
“Yeah,” he said, turning sharply to her.
The tone of voice in which she had spoken had let him know that mo
re was coming. She drained her cup and waited a moment longer.
“Reva wuz here.”
“Yeah?”
“She lef bout a hour ergo.”
“Whut she say?”
“She said ol man Lem hada visit from the sheriff today.”
“Bout the meetin?”
“Yeah.”
She saw him stare at the coals glowing red through the crevices of the stove and run his fingers nervously through his hair. She knew he was wondering how the sheriff had found out. In the silence he would ask a wordless question and in the silence she would answer wordlessly. Johnny-Boys too trustin, she thought. Hes trying t make the party big n hes takin in folks fastern he kin git t know em. You cant trust ever white man yuh meet….
“Yuh know, Johnny-Boy, yuh been takin in a lotta them white folks lately…”
“Aw, ma!”
“But, Johnny-Boy…”
“Please, don talk t me bout tha now, ma.”
“Yuh ain t ol t lissen n learn, son,” she said.
“Ah know whut yuh gonna say, ma. N yuh wrong. Yuh cant judge folks jus by how yuh feel bout em n by how long yuh done knowed em. Ef we start tha we wouldnt have nobody in the party. When folks pledge they word t be with us, then we gotta take em in. Wes too weak t be choosy.”
He rose abruptly, rammed his hands into his pockets, and stood facing the window; she looked at his back in a long silence. She knew his faith; it was deep. He had always said that black men could not fight the rich bosses alone; a man could not fight with every hand against him. But he believes so hard hes blind, she thought. At odd times they had had these arguments before; always she would be pitting her feelings against the hard necessity of his thinking, and always she would lose. She shook her head. Po Johnny-Boy; he don know…
“But ain nona our folks tol, Johnny-Boy,” she said.
“How yuh know?” he asked. His voice came low and with a tinge of anger. He still faced the window and now and then the yellow blade of light flicked across the sharp outline of his black face.
“Cause Ah know em,” she said.
“Anybody mighta tol,” he said.
“It wuznt nona our folks,” she said again.
She saw his hand sweep in a swift arc of disgust.
“Our folks! Ma, who in Gawds name is our folks?”
“The folks we wuz born n raised wid, son. The folks we know!”
“We cant make the party grow tha way, ma.”
“It mighta been Booker,” she said.
“Yuh don know.”
“…er Blattberg…”
“Fer Chrissakes!”
“…er any of the fo-five others whut joined las week.”
“Ma, yuh jus don wan me t go out tonight,” he said.
“Yo ol ma wans yuh t be careful, son.”
“Ma, when yuh start doubtin folks in the party, then there ain no end.”
“Son, Ah knows ever black man n woman in this parta the county,” she said, standing too. “Ah watched em grow up; Ah even heped birth n nurse some of em; Ah knows em all from way back. There ain none of em that coulda tol! The folks Ah know jus don open they dos n ast death t walk in! Son, it wuz some of them white folks! Yuh jus mark mah word n wait n see!”
“Why is it gotta be white folks?” he asked. “Ef they tol, then theys jus Judases, thas all.”
“Son, look at whuts befo yuh.”
He shook his head and sighed.
“Ma, Ah done tol yuh a hundred times. Ah cant see white n Ah cant see black,” he said. “Ah sees rich men n Ah sees po men.”
She picked up his dirty dishes and piled them in a pan. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw him sit and pull on his wet shoes. Hes goin! When she put the last dish away he was standing fully dressed, warming his hands over the stove. Jus a few mo minutes now n he’ll be gone, like Sug, mabbe. Her throat tightened. This black mans fight takes everthin! Looks like Gawd put us in this worl jus t beat us down!
“Keep this, ma,” he said.
She saw a crumpled wad of money in his outstretched fingers.
“Naw; yuh keep it. Yuh might need it.”
“It ain mine, ma. It berlongs t the party.”
“But, Johnny-Boy, yuh might hafta go erway!”
“Ah kin make out.”
“Don fergit yosef too much, son.”
“Ef Ah don come back theyll need it.”
He was looking at her face and she was looking at the money.
“Yuh keep tha,” she said slowly. “Ahll give em the money.”
“From where?”
“Ah got some.”
“Where yuh git it from?”
She sighed.
“Ah been savin a dollah a week fer Sug ever since hes been in jail.”
“Lawd, ma!”
She saw the look of puzzled love and wonder in his eyes. Clumsily, he put the money back into his pocket.
“Ahm gone,” he said.
“Here; drink this glass of soda watah.”
She watched him drink, then put the glass away.
“Waal,” he said.
“Take the stuff outta yo pockets!”
She lifted the lid of the stove and he dumped all the papers from his pocket into the fire. She followed him to the door and made him turn round.
“Lawd, yuh tryin to maka revolution n yuh cant even keep yo coat buttoned.” Her nimble fingers fastened his collar high around his throat. “There!”
He pulled the brim of his hat low over his eyes. She opened the door and with the suddenness of the cold gust of wind that struck her face, he was gone. She watched the black fields and the rain take him, her eyes burning. When the last faint footstep could no longer be heard, she closed the door, went to her bed, lay down, and pulled the cover over her while fully dressed. Her feelings coursed with the rhythm of the rain: Hes gone! Lawd, Ah know hes gone! Her blood felt cold.
III
She was floating in a grey void somewhere between sleeping and dreaming and then suddenly she was wide awake, hearing and feeling in the same instant the thunder of the door crashing in and a cold wind filling the room. It was pitch black and she stared, resting on her elbows, her mouth open, not breathing, her ears full of the sound of tramping feet and booming voices. She knew at once: They lookin fer im! Then, filled with her will, she was on her feet, rigid, waiting, listening.
“The lamps burnin!”
“Yuh see her?”
“Naw!”
“Look in the kitchen!”
“Gee, this place smells like niggers!”
“Say, somebodys here er been here!”
“Yeah; theres fire in the stove!”
“Mabbe hes been here n gone?”
“Boy, look at these jars of jam!”
“Niggers make good jam!”
“Git some bread!”
“Heres some combread!”
“Say, lemme git some!”
“Take it easy! Theres plenty here!”
“Ahma take some of this stuff home!”
“Look, heres a pota greens!”
“N some hot cawffee!”
“Say, yuh guys! C mon! Cut it out! We didnt come here fer a feas!”
She walked slowly down the hall. They lookin fer im, but they ain got im yit! She stopped in the doorway, her gnarled, black hands as always folded over her stomach, but tight now, so tightly the veins bulged. The kitchen was crowded with white men in glistening raincoats. Though the lamp burned, their flashlights still glowed in red fists. Across her floor she saw the muddy tracks of their boots.
“Yuh white folks git outta mah house!”
There was quick silence; every face turned toward her. She saw a sudden movement, but did not know what it meant until something hot and wet slammed her squarely in the face. She gasped, but did not move. Calmly, she wiped the warm, greasy liquor of greens from her eyes with her left hand. One of the white men had thrown a handful of greens out of the pot at her.
“How they taste, ol bitch?
”
“Ah ast yuh t git outta mah house!”
She saw the sheriff detach himself from the crowd and walk toward her.
“Now, Anty…”
“White man, don yuh Anty me!”
“Yuh ain got the right sperit!”
“Sperit hell! Yuh git these men outta mah house!”
“Yuh ack like yuh don like it!”
“Naw, Ah don like it, n yuh knows dam waal Ah don!”
“Whut yuh gonna do bout it?”
“Ahm tellin yuh t git outta mah house!”
“Gittin sassy?”
“Ef telling yuh t git outta mah house is sass, then Ahm sassy!”
Her words came in a tense whisper; but beyond, back of them, she was watching, thinking, judging the men.
“Listen, Anty,” the sheriff’s voice came soft and low. “Ahm here t hep yuh. How come yuh wanna ack this way?”
“Yuh ain never heped yo own sef since yuh been born,” she flared. “How kin the likes of yuh hep me?”
One of the white men came forward and stood directly in front of her.
“Lissen, nigger woman, yuh talkin t white men!”
“Ah don care who Ahm talkin t!”
“Yuhll wish some day yuh did!”
“Not t the likes of yuh!”
“Yuh need somebody t teach yuh how t be a good nigger!”
“Yuh cant teach it t me!”
“Yuh gonna change yo tune.”
“Not longs mah bloods warm!”
“Don git smart now!”
“Yuh git outta mah house!”
“Spose we don go?” the sheriff asked.
They were crowded around her. She had not moved since she had taken her place in the doorway. She was thinking only of Johnny-Boy as she stood there giving and taking words; and she knew that they, too, were thinking of Johnny-Boy. She knew they wanted him, and her heart was daring them to take him from her.
“Spose we don go?” the sheriff asked again.
“Twenty of yuh runnin over one ol woman! Now, ain yuh white men glad yuh so brave?”
The sheriff grabbed her arm.
“C mon, now! Yuh done did ernuff sass fer one night. Wheres tha nigger son of yos?”
“Don yuh wished yuh knowed?”
“Yuh wanna git slapped?”
“Ah ain never seen one of yo kind tha wuznt too low fer…”
The sheriff slapped her straight across her face with his open palm. She fell back against a wall and sank to her knees.
Uncle Tom's Children Page 22