“Is tha whut white men do t nigger women?”
She rose slowly and stood again, not even touching the place that ached from his blow, her hands folded over her stomach.
“Ah ain never seen one of yo kind tha wuznt too low fer…”
He slapped her again; she reeled backward several feet and fell on her side.
“Is tha whut we too low t do?”
She stood before him again, dry-eyed, as though she had not been struck. Her lips were numb and her chin was wet with blood.
“Aw, let her go! Its the nigger we wan!” said one.
“Wheres that nigger son of yos?” the sheriff asked.
“Find im,” she said.
“By Gawd, ef we hafta find im we’ll kill im!”
“He wont be the only nigger yuh ever killed,” she said.
She was consumed with a bitter pride. There was nothing on this earth, she felt then, that they could not do to her but that she could take. She stood on a narrow plot of ground from which she would die before she was pushed. And then it was, while standing there feeling warm blood seeping down her throat, that she gave up Johnny-Boy, gave him up to the white folks. She gave him up because they had come tramping into her heart demanding him, thinking they could get him by beating her, thinking they could scare her into making her tell where he was. She gave him up because she wanted them to know that they could not get what they wanted by bluffing and killing.
“Wheres this meetin gonna be?” the sheriff asked.
“Don yuh wish yuh knowed?”
“Ain there gonna be a meetin?”
“How come yuh astin me?”
“There is gonna be a meetin,” said the sheriff.
“Is it?”
“Ah gotta great mind t choke it outta yuh!”
“Yuh so smart,” she said.
“We ain playin wid yuh!”
“Did Ah say yuh wuz?”
“Tha nigger son of yos is erroun here somewheres n we aim t find im,” said the sheriff. “Ef yuh tell us where he is n ef he talks, mabbe he’ll git off easy. But ef we hafta find im, we’ll kill im! Ef we hafta find im, then yuh git a sheet t put over im in the mawnin, see? Git yuh a sheet, cause hes gonna be dead!”
“He wont be the only nigger yuh ever killed,” she said again.
The sheriff walked past her. The others followed. Yuh didnt git whut yuh wanted! she thought exultingly. N yuh ain gonna never git it! Hotly, something ached in her to make them feel the intensity of her pride and freedom; her heart groped to turn the bitter hours of her life into words of a kind that would make them feel that she had taken all they had done to her in her stride and could still take more. Her faith surged so strongly in her she was all but blinded. She walked behind them to the door, knotting and twisting her fingers. She saw them step to the muddy ground. Each whirl of the yellow beacon revealed glimpses of slanting rain. Her lips moved, then she shouted:
“Yuh didnt git whut yuh wanted! N yuh ain gonna nevah git it!”
The sheriff stopped and turned; his voice came low and hard.
“Now, by Gawd, thas ernuff outta yuh!”
“Ah know when Ah done said ernuff!”
“Aw, naw, yuh don!” he said. “Yuh don know when yuh done said ernuff, but Ahma teach yuh ternight!”
He was up the steps and across the porch with one bound. She backed into the hall, her eyes full on his face.
“Tell me when yuh gonna stop talkin!” he said, swinging his fist.
The blow caught her high on the cheek; her eyes went blank; she fell flat on her face. She felt the hard heel of his wet shoes coming into her temple and stomach.
“Lemme hear yuh talk some mo!”
She wanted to, but could not; pain numbed and choked her. She lay still and somewhere out of the grey void of unconsciousness she heard someone say: aw fer chrissakes leave her erlone its the nigger we wan….
IV
She never knew how long she had lain huddled in the dark hallway. Her first returning feeling was of a nameless fear crowding the inside of her, then a deep pain spreading from her temple downward over her body. Her ears were filled with the drone of rain and she shuddered from the cold wind blowing through the door. She opened her eyes and at first saw nothing. As if she were imagining it, she knew she was half-lying and half-sitting in a corner against a wall. With difficulty she twisted her neck and what she saw made her hold her breath—a vast white blur was suspended directly above her. For a moment she could not tell if her fear was from the blur or if the blur was from her fear. Gradually the blur resolved itself into a huge white face that slowly filled her vision. She was stone still, conscious really of the effort to breathe, feeling somehow that she existed only by the mercy of that white face. She had seen it before; its fear had gripped her many times; it had for her the fear of all the white faces she had ever seen in her life. Sue… As from a great distance, she heard her name being called. She was regaining consciousness now, but the fear was coming with her. She looked into the face of a white man, wanting to scream out for him to go; yet accepting his presence because she felt she had to. Though some remote part of her mind was active, her limbs were powerless. It was as if an invisible knife had split her in two, leaving one half of her lying there helpless, while the other half shrank in dread from a forgotten but familiar enemy. Sue its me Sue its me… Then all at once the voice came clearly.
“Sue, its me! Its Booker!”
And she heard an answering voice speaking inside of her, Yeah, its Booker… The one whut jus joined… She roused herself, struggling for full consciousness; and as she did so she transferred to the person of Booker the nameless fear she felt. It seemed that Booker towered above her as a challenge to her right to exist upon the earth.
“Yuh awright?”
She did not answer; she started violently to her feet and fell.
“Sue, yuh hurt!”
“Yeah,” she breathed.
“Where they hit yuh?”
“Its mah head,” she whispered.
She was speaking even though she did not want to; the fear that had hold of her compelled her.
“They beat yuh?”
“Yeah.”
“Them bastards! Them Gawddam bastards!”
She heard him saying it over and over; then she felt herself being lifted.
“Naw!” she gasped.
“Ahma take yuh t the kitchen!”
“Put me down!”
“But yuh cant stay here like this!”
She shrank in his arms and pushed her hands against his body; when she was in the kitchen she freed herself, sank into a chair, and held tightly to its back. She looked wonderingly at Booker. There was nothing about him that should frighten her so, but even that did not ease her tension. She saw him go to the water bucket, wet his handkerchief, wring it, and offer it to her. Distrustfully, she stared at the damp cloth.
“Here; put this on yo fohead…”
“Naw!”
“C mon; itll make yuh feel bettah!”
She hesitated in confusion. What right had she to be afraid when someone was acting as kindly as this toward her? Reluctantly, she leaned forward and pressed the damp cloth to her head. It helped. With each passing minute she was catching hold of herself, yet wondering why she felt as she did.
“Whut happened?”
“Ah don know.”
“Yuh feel bettah?”
“Yeah.”
“Who all wuz here?”
“Ah don know,” she said again.
“Yo head still hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“Gee, Ahm sorry.”
“Ahm awright,” she sighed and buried her face in her hands.
She felt him touch her shoulder.
“Sue, Ah got some bad news fer yuh…”
She knew; she stiffened and grew cold. It had happened; she stared dry-eyed, with compressed lips.
“Its mah Johnny-Boy,” she said.
“Yeah; Ahm awful sorry t haf
ta tell yuh this way. But Ah thought yuh oughta know…”
Her tension eased and a vacant place opened up inside of her. A voice whispered, Jesus, hep me!
“W-w-where is he?”
“They got im out t Foleys Woods tryin t make im tell who the others is.”
“He ain gonna tell,” she said. “They just as waal kill im, cause he ain gonna nevah tell.”
“Ah hope he don,” said Booker. “But he didnt hava chance t tell the others. They grabbed im jus as he got t the woods.”
Then all the horror of it flashed upon her; she saw flung out over the rainy countryside an array of shacks where white and black comrades were sleeping; in the morning they would be rising and going to Lem’s; then they would be caught. And that meant terror, prison, and death. The comrades would have to be told; she would have to tell them; she could not entrust Johnny-Boy’s work to another, and especially not to Booker as long as she felt toward him as she did. Gripping the bottom of the chair with both hands, she tried to rise; the room blurred and she swayed. She found herself resting in Booker’s arms.
“Lemme go!”
“Sue, yuh too weak t walk!”
“Ah gotta tell em!” she said.
“Set down, Sue! Yuh hurt! Yuh sick!”
When seated, she looked at him helplessly.
“Sue, lissen! Johnny-Boys caught. Ahm here. Yuh tell me who they is n Ahll tell em.”
She stared at the floor and did not answer. Yes; she was too weak to go. There was no way for her to tramp all those miles through the rain tonight. But should she tell Booker? If only she had somebody like Reva to talk to! She did not want to decide alone; she must make no mistake about this. She felt Booker’s fingers pressing on her arm and it was as though the white mountain was pushing her to the edge of a sheer height; she again exclaimed inwardly, Jesus, hep me! Booker’s white face was at her side, waiting. Would she be doing right to tell him? Suppose she did not tell and then the comrades were caught? She could not ever forgive herself for doing a thing like that. But maybe she was wrong; maybe her fear was what Johnny-Boy had always called “jus foolishness.” She remembered his saying, Ma we cant make the party grow ef we start doubtin everbody….
“Tell me who they is, Sue, n Ahll tell em. Ah jus joined n Ah don know who they is.”
“Ah don know who they is,” she said.
“Yuh gotta tell me who they is, Sue!”
“Ah tol yuh Ah don know!”
“Yuh do know! C mon! Set up n talk!”
“Naw!”
“Yuh wan em all t git killed?”
She shook her head and swallowed. Lawd, Ah don blieve in this man!
“Lissen, Ahll call the names n yuh tell me which ones is in the party n which ones ain, see?”
“Naw!”
“Please, Sue!”
“Ah don know,” she said.
“Sue, yuh ain doin right by em. Johnny-Boy wouldnt wan yuh t be this way. Hes out there holdin up his end. Les hol up ours…”
“Lawd, Ah don know…”
“Is yuh scareda me cause Ahm white? Johnny-Boy ain like tha. Don let all the work we done go fer nothin.”
She gave up and bowed her head in her hands.
“Is it Johnson? Tell me, Sue?”
“Yeah,” she whispered in horror; a mounting horror of feeling herself being undone.
“Is it Green?”
“Yeah.”
“Murphy?”
“Lawd, Ah don know!”
“Yuh gotta tell me, Sue!”
“Mistah Booker, please leave me erlone…”
“Is it Murphy?”
She answered yes to the names of Johnny-Boy’s comrades; she answered until he asked her no more. Then she thought, How he know the sheriffs men is watchin Lems house? She stood up and held onto her chair, feeling something sure and firm within her.
“How yuh know bout Lem?”
“Why… How Ah know?”
“Whut yuh doin here this tima night? How yuh know the sheriff got Johnny-Boy?”
“Sue, don yuh believe in me?”
She did not, but she could not answer. She stared at him until her lips hung open; she was searching deep within herself for certainty.
“You meet Reva?” she asked.
“Reva?”
“Yeah; Lems gal?”
“Oh, yeah. Sho, Ah met Reva.”
“She tell yuh?”
She asked the question more of herself than of him; she longed to believe.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Ah reckon Ah oughta be goin t tell em now.”
“Who?” she asked. “Tell who?”
The muscles of her body were stiff as she waited for his answer; she felt as though life depended upon it.
“The comrades,” he said.
“Yeah,” she sighed.
She did not know when he left; she was not looking or listening. She just suddenly saw the room empty and from her the thing that had made her fearful was gone.
V
For a space of time that seemed to her as long as she had been upon the earth, she sat huddled over the cold stove. One minute she would say to herself, They both gone now; Johnny-Boy n Sug… Mabbe Ahll never see em ergin. Then a surge of guilt would blot out her longing. “Lawd, Ah shouldna tol!” she mumbled. “But no man kin be so lowdown as t do a thing like tha…” Several times she had an impulse to try to tell the comrades herself; she was feeling a little better now. But what good would that do? She had told Booker the names. He jus couldnt be a Judas t po folks like us… He couldnt!
“An Sue!”
Thas Reva! Her heart leaped with an anxious gladness. She rose without answering and limped down the dark hallway. Through the open door, against the background of rain, she saw Reva’s face lit now and then to whiteness by the whirling beams of the beacon. She was about to call, but a thought checked her. Jesus, hep me! Ah gotta tell her bout Johnny-Boy… Lawd, Ah cant!
“An Sue, yuh there?”
“C mon in, chile!”
She caught Reva and held her close for a moment without speaking.
“Lawd, Ahm sho glad yuh here,” she said at last.
“Ah thought somethin had happened t yuh,” said Reva, pulling away. “Ah saw the do open… Pa tol me to come back n stay wid yuh tonight…” Reva paused and started. “W-w-whuts the mattah?”
She was so full of having Reva with her that she did not understand what the question meant.
“Hunh?”
“Yo neck…”
“Aw, it ain nothin, chile. C mon in the kitchen.”
“But theres blood on yo neck!”
“The sheriff wuz here…”
“Them fools! Whut they wanna bother yuh fer? Ah could kill em! So hep me Gawd, Ah could!”
“It ain nothin,” she said.
She was wondering how to tell Reva about Johnny-Boy and Booker. Ahll wait a lil while longer, she thought. Now that Reva was here, her fear did not seem as awful as before.
“C mon, lemme fix yo head, An Sue. Yuh hurt.”
They went to the kitchen. She sat silent while Reva dressed her scalp. She was feeling better now; in just a little while she would tell Reva. She felt the girl’s finger pressing gently upon her head.
“Tha hurt?”
“A lil, chile.”
“Yuh po thing.”
“It ain nothin.”
“Did Johnny-Boy come?”
She hesitated.
“Yeah.”
“He done gone t tell the others?”
Reva’s voice sounded so clear and confident that it mocked her. Lawd, Ah cant tell this chile…
“Yuh tol im, didnt yuh, An Sue?”
“Y-y-yeah…”
“Gee! Thas good! Ah tol pa he didnt hafta worry ef Johnny-Boy got the news. Mabbe thingsll come out awright.”
“Ah hope…”
She could not go on; she had gone as far as she could. For the first time that night she began to cry.
“Hush, An Sue!
Yuh awways been brave. Itll be awright!”
“Ain nothin awright, chile. The worls jus too much fer us, Ah reckon.”
“Ef yuh cry that way itll make me cry.”
She forced herself to stop. Naw; Ah cant carry on this way in fronta Reva… Right now she had a deep need for Reva to believe in her. She watched the girl get pine-knots from behind the stove, rekindle the fire, and put on the coffee pot.
“Yuh wan some cawffee?” Reva asked.
“Naw, honey.”
“Aw, c mon, An Sue.”
“Jusa lil, honey.”
“Thas the way to be. Oh, say, Ah fergot,” said Reva, measuring out spoonful of coffee. “Pa tol me t tell yuh t watch out fer tha Booker man. Hes a stool.”
She showed not one sign of outward movement or expression, but as the words fell from Reva’s lips she went limp inside.
“Pa tol me soon as Ah got back home. He got word from town…”
She stopped listening. She felt as though she had been slapped to the extreme outer edge of life, into a cold darkness. She knew now what she had felt when she had looked up out of her fog of pain and had seen Booker. It was the image of all the white folks, and the fear that went with them, that she had seen and felt during her lifetime. And again, for the second time that night, something she had felt had come true. All she could say to herself was, Ah didnt like im! Gawd knows, Ah didnt! Ah tol Johnny-Boy it wuz some of them white folks…
“Here; drink yo cawffee…”
She took the cup; her fingers trembled, and the steaming liquid spilt onto her dress and leg.
“Ahm sorry, An Sue!”
Her leg was scalded, but the pain did not bother her.
“Its awright,” she said.
“Wait; lemme put some lard on tha burn!”
“It don hurt.”
“Yuh worried bout somethin.”
“Naw, honey.”
“Lemme fix yuh so mo cawffee.”
“Ah don wan nothin now, Reva.”
“Waal, buck up. Don be tha way…”
They were silent. She heard Reva drinking. No; she would not tell Reva; Reva was all she had left. But she had to do something, some way, somehow. She was undone too much as it was; and to tell Reva about Booker or Johnny-Boy was more than she was equal to; it would be too coldly shameful. She wanted to be alone and fight this thing out with herself.
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