Bloodline: Five Stories

by Ernest J. Gaines

  Ernest J. Gaines

  BLOODLINE

  Ernest J. Gaines was born on a plantation in Pointe Coupée Parish, near New Roads, Louisiana, which is the Bayonne of all his fictional works. His other books include A Lesson Before Dying, A Gathering of Old Men, In My Father’s House, The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman, Of Love and Dust, and Catherine Carmier. He divides his time between San Francisco and the University of Southwestern Louisiana, in Lafayette, where he is writer-in-residence.

  ALSO BY

  Ernest J. Gaines

  A Lesson Before Dying

  A Gathering of Old Men

  In My Father’s House

  The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman

  Of Love and Dust

  Catherine Carmier

  FIRST VINTAGE CONTEMPORARIES EDITION, DECEMBER 1997

  Copyright © 1963, 1964, 1968 by Ernest J. Gaines

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

  Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in hardcover in the United States by the Dial Press, Inc., New York, in 1968.

  Acknowledgment is made to the following magazines where these stories first appeared: Negro Digest for “The Sky Is Gray”;

  Sewanee Review for “Just Like a Tree”; and

  The Texas Quarterly for an abbreviated version of

  “A Long Day in November.”

  Gaines, Ernest J., 1933–

  Bloodline / by Ernest J. Gaines—1st Vintage Contemporaries ed.

  p. cm.

  Contents: A long day in November—The sky is gray—Three men—Bloodline—

  Just like a tree.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-83036-4

  1. Afro-Americans—Louisiana—Fiction. 2. Plantation life—Louisiana—Fiction. 3.

  Louisiana—Social life and customs—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3557.A355B55 1997

  813′.54—dc21 97-35629

  Random House Web address: http://www.randomhouse.com/

  v3.1

  For Dee with my deepest love

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  A Long Day in November

  The Sky Is Gray

  Three Men

  Bloodline

  Just Like a Tree

  A Long Day in November

  1: Somebody is shaking me but I dont want get up now, because I’m tired and I’m sleepy and I don’t want get up now. It’s warm under the cover here, but it’s cold up there and I don’t want get up now.

  “Sonny?” I hear.

  But I don’t want get up, because it’s cold up there. The cover is over my head and I’m under the sheet and the blanket and the quilt. It’s warm under here and it’s dark, because my eyes’s shut. I keep my eyes shut because I don’t want get up.

  “Sonny?” I hear.

  I don’t know who’s calling me, but it must be Mama because I’m home. I don’t know who it is because I’m still asleep, but it must be Mama. She’s shaking me by the foot. She’s holding my ankle through the cover.

  “Wake up, honey,” she says.

  But I don’t want get up because it’s cold up there and I don’t want get cold. I try to go back to sleep, but she shakes my foot again.

  “Hummm?” I say.

  “Wake up, honey,” I hear.

  “Hummm?” I say.

  “I want you get up and wee-wee,” she says.

  “I don’t want wee-wee, Mama,” I say.

  “Come on,” she says, shaking me. “Come on. Get up for Mama.”

  “It’s cold up there,” I say.

  “Come on,” she says. “Mama won’t let her baby get cold.”

  I pull the sheet and blanket from under my head and push them back over my shoulder. I feel the cold and I try to cover up again, but Mama grabs the cover before I get it over me. Mama is standing ’side the bed and she’s looking down at me, smiling. The room is dark. The lamp’s on the mantelpiece, but it’s kind of low. I see Mama’s shadow on the wall over by Gran’mon’s picture.

  “I’m cold, Mama,” I say.

  “Mama go’n wrap his little coat round her baby,” she says.

  She goes over and get it off the chair where all my clothes’s at, and I sit up in the bed. Mama brings the coat and put it on me, and she fastens some of the buttons.

  “Now,” she says. “See? You warm.”

  I gap’ and look at Mama. She hugs me real hard and rubs her face against my face. My mama’s face is warm and soft, and it feels good.

  “I want my socks on,” I say. “My feet go’n get cold on the floor.”

  Mama leans over and get my shoes from under the bed. She takes out my socks and slip them on my feet. I gap’ and look at Mama pulling my socks up.

  “Now,” she says.

  I get up but I can still feel that cold floor. I get on my knees and look under the bed for my pot.

  “See it?” Mama says.

  “Hanh?”

  “See it under there?”

  “Hanh?”

  “I bet you didn’t bring it in,” she says. “Any time you sound like that you done forgot it.”

  “I left it on the chicken coop,” I say.

  “Well, go to the back door,” Mama says. “Hurry up before you get cold.”

  I get off my knees and go back there, but it’s too dark and I can’t see. I come back where Mama’s sitting on my bed.

  “It’s dark back there, Mama,” I say. “I might trip over something.”

  Mama takes a deep breath and gets the lamp off the mantelpiece, and me and her go back in the kitchen. She unlatches the door, and I crack it open and the cold air comes in.

  “Hurry,” Mama says.

  “All right.”

  I can see the fence back of the house and I can see the little pecan tree over by the toilet. I can see the big pecan tree over by the other fence by Miss Viola Brown’s house. Miss Viola Brown must be sleeping because it’s late at night. I bet you nobody else in the quarter’s up now. I bet you I’m the only little boy up. They got plenty stars in the air, but I can’t see the moon. There must be ain’t no moon tonight. That grass is shining—and it must be done rained. That pecan tree’s shadow’s all over the back yard.

  I get my tee-tee and I wee-wee. I wee-wee hard, because I don’t want get cold. Mama latches the door when I get through wee-wee-ing.

  “I want some water, Mama,” I say.

  “Let it out and put it right back in, huh?” Mama says.

  She dips up some water and pours it in my cup, and I drink. I don’t drink too much at once, because the water makes my teeth cold. I let my teeth warm up, and I drink some more.

  “I got enough,” I say.

  Mama drinks the rest and then me and her go back in the front room.

  “Sonny?” she says.

  “Hanh?”

  “Tomorrow morning when you get up me and you leaving here, hear?”

  “Where we going?” I ask.

  “We going to Gran’mon,” Mama says.

  “We leaving us house?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Daddy leaving too?”

  “No,” she says. “Just me and you.”

  “Daddy don’t want leave?”

  “I don’t know what your daddy wants,” Mama says. “But for sure he don’t want me. We leaving, hear?”

  “Uh-huh,” I say.

  “I’m tired of it,” Mama says.

  “Hanh?”


  “You won’t understand, honey,” Mama says. “You too young still.”

  “I’m getting cold, Mama,” I say.

  “All right,” she says. She goes and put the lamp up, and comes back and sit on the bed ’side me. “Let me take your socks off,” she says.

  “I can take them off,” I say.

  Mama takes my coat off and I take my socks off. I get back in bed and Mama pulls the cover up over me. She leans over and kiss me on the jaw, and then she goes back to her bed. Mama’s bed is over by the window. My bed is by the fireplace. I hear Mama get in the bed. I hear the spring, then I don’t hear nothing because Mama’s quiet. Then I hear Mama crying.

  “Mama?” I call.

  She don’t answer me.

  “Mama?” I call her.

  “Go to sleep, baby,” she says.

  “You crying?” I ask.

  “Go to sleep,” Mama says.

  “I don’t want you to cry,” I say.

  “Mama’s not crying,” she says.

  Then I don’t hear nothing and I lay quiet, but I don’t turn over because my spring’ll make noise and I don’t want make no noise because I want hear if my mama go’n cry again. I don’t hear Mama no more and I feel warm in the bed and I pull the cover over my head and I feel good. I don’t hear nothing no more and I feel myself going back to sleep.

  Billy Joe Martin’s got the tire and he’s rolling it in the road, and I run to the gate to look at him. I want go out in the road, but Mama don’t want me to play out there like Billy Joe Martin and the other children.… Lucy’s playing ’side the house. She’s jumping rope with—I don’t know who that is. I go ’side the house and play with Lucy. Lucy beats me jumping rope. The rope keeps on hitting me on the leg. But it don’t hit Lucy on the leg. Lucy jumps too high for it.… Me and Billy Joe Martin shoots marbles and I beat him shooting.… Mama’s sweeping the gallery and knocking the dust out of the broom on the side of the house. Mama keeps on knocking the broom against the wall. Must be got plenty dust in the broom.

  Somebody’s beating on the door. Mama, somebody’s beating on the door. Somebody’s beating on the door, Mama.

  “Amy, please let me in,” I hear.

  Somebody’s beating on the door, Mama. Mama, somebody’s beating on the door.

  “Amy, honey; honey, please let me in.”

  I push the cover back and I listen. I hear Daddy beating on the door.

  “Mama?” I say. “Mama, Daddy’s knocking on the door. He want come in.”

  “Go back to sleep, Sonny,” Mama says.

  “Daddy’s out there,” I say. “He want come in.”

  “Go back to sleep, I told you,” Mama says.

  I lay back on my pillow and listen.

  “Amy,” Daddy says, “I know you woke. Open the door.”

  Mama don’t answer him.

  “Amy, honey,” Daddy says. “My sweet dumpling, let me in. It’s freezing out here.”

  Mama still won’t answer Daddy.

  “Mama?” I say.

  “Go back to sleep, Sonny,” she says.

  “Mama, Daddy want come in,” I say.

  “Let him crawl through the key hole,” Mama says.

  It gets quiet after this, and it stays quiet a little while, and then Daddy says:

  “Sonny?”

  “Hanh?”

  “Come open the door for your daddy.”

  “Mama go’n whip me if I get up,” I say.

  “I won’t let her whip you,” Daddy says. “Come and open the door like a good boy.”

  I push the cover back and I sit up in the bed and look over at Mama’s bed. Mama’s under the cover and she’s quiet like she’s asleep. I get on the floor and get my socks out of my shoes. I get back in the bed and slip them on, and then I go and unlatch the door for Daddy. Daddy comes in and rubs my head with his hand. His hand is hard and cold.

  “Look what I brought you and your mama,” he says.

  “What?” I ask.

  Daddy takes a paper bag out of his jumper pocket.

  “Candy?” I say.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Daddy opens the bag and I stick my hand in there and take a whole handful. Daddy wraps the bag up again and sticks it in his pocket.

  “Get back in that bed, Sonny,” Mama says.

  “I’m eating candy,” I say.

  “Get back in that bed like I told you,” Mama says.

  “Daddy’s up with me,” I say.

  “You heard me, boy?”

  “You can take your candy with you,” Daddy says. “Get back in the bed.”

  He follows me to the bed and tucks the cover under me. I lay in the bed and eat my candy. The candy is hard, and I sound just like Paul eating corn. I bet you little old Paul is some cold out there in that back yard. I hope he ain’t laying in that water like he always do. I bet you he’ll freeze in that water in all this cold. I’m sure glad I ain’t a pig. They ain’t got no mama and no daddy and no house.

  I hear the spring when Daddy gets in the bed.

  “Honey?” Daddy says.

  Mama don’t answer him.

  “Honey?” he says.

  Mama must be gone back to sleep, because she don’t answer him.

  “Honey?” Daddy says.

  “Get your hands off me,” Mama says.

  “Honey, you know I can’t keep my hands off you,” Daddy says.

  “Well, just do,” Mama says.

  “Honey, you don’t mean that,” Daddy says. “You know ’fore God you don’t mean that. Come on, say you don’t mean it. I can’t shut these eyes till you say you don’t mean it.”

  “Don’t touch me,” Mama says.

  “Honey,” Daddy says. Then he starts crying. “Honey, please.”

  Daddy cries a good little while, and then he stops. I don’t chew on my candy while Daddy’s crying, but when he stops I chew on another piece.

  “Go to sleep, Sonny,” he says.

  “I want eat my candy,” I say.

  “Hurry then. You got to go to school tomorrow.”

  I put another piece in my mouth and chew on it.

  “Honey?” I hear Daddy saying. “Honey, you go’n wake me up to go to work?”

  “I do hope you stop bothering me,” Mama says.

  “Wake me up round four thirty, hear, honey?” Daddy says. “I can cut ’bout six tons tomorrow. Maybe seven.”

  Mama don’t say nothing to Daddy, and I feel sleepy again. I finish chewing my last piece of candy and I turn on my side. I feel good because the bed is warm. But I still got my socks on.

  “Daddy?” I call.

  “Go to sleep,” Daddy says.

  “My socks still on,” I say.

  “Let them stay on tonight,” Daddy says. “Go to sleep.”

  “My feet don’t feel good in socks,” I say.

  “Please go to sleep, Sonny,” Daddy says. “I got to get up at four thirty, and it’s hitting close to two now.”

  I don’t say nothing, but I don’t like to sleep with my socks on. But I stay quiet. Daddy and Mama don’t say nothing, either, and little bit later I hear Daddy snoring. I feel drowsy myself.

  I run around the house in the mud because it done rained and I feel the mud between my toes. The mud is soft and I like to play in it. I try to get out the mud, but I can’t get out. I’m not stuck in the mud, but I can’t get out. Lucy can’t come over and play in the mud because her mama don’t want her to catch cold.… Billy Joe Martin shows me his dime and puts it back in his pocket. Mama bought me a pretty little red coat and I show it to Lucy. But I don’t let Billy Joe Martin put his hand on it. Lucy can touch it all she wants, but I don’t let Billy Joe Martin put his hand on it.… Me and Lucy get on the horse and ride up and down the road. The horse runs fast, and me and Lucy bounce on the horse and laugh.… Mama and Daddy and Uncle Al and Gran’mon’s sitting by the fire talking. I’m outside shooting marbles, but I hear them. I don’t know what they talking about, but I hear them. I hear them. I hear them. I hear
them.

  I don’t want wake up, but I’m waking up. Mama and Daddy’s talking. I want go back to sleep, but they talking too loud. I feel my foot in the sock. I don’t like socks on when I’m in the bed. I want go back to sleep, but I can’t. Mama and Daddy talking too much.

  “Honey, you let me oversleep,” Daddy says. “Look here, it’s going on seven o’clock.”

  “You ought to been thought about that last night,” Mama says.

  “Honey, please,” Daddy says. “Don’t start a fuss right off this morning.”

  “Then don’t open your mouth,” Mama says.

  “Honey, the car broke down,” Daddy says. “What I was suppose to do, it broke down on me. I just couldn’t walk away and not try to fix it.”

  Mama’s quiet.

  “Honey,” Daddy says, “don’t be mad with me. Come on, now.”

  “Don’t touch me,” Mama says.

  “Honey, I got to go to work. Come on.”

  “I mean it,” she says.

  “Honey, how can I work without touching you? You know I can’t do a day’s work without touching you some.”

  “I told you not to put your hands on me,” Mama says. I hear her slap Daddy on the hand. “I mean it,” she says.

  “Honey,” Daddy says, “this is Eddie, your husband.”

  “Go back to your car,” Mama says. “Go rub against it. You ought to be able to find a hole in it somewhere.”

  “Honey, you oughtn’t talk like that in the house,” Daddy says. “What if Sonny hear you?”

  I stay quiet and I don’t move because I don’t want them to know I’m woke.

  “Honey, listen to me,” Daddy says. “From the bottom of my heart I’m sorry. Now, come on.”

  “I told you once,” Mama says, “you not getting on me. Go get on your car.”

  “Honey, respect the child,” Daddy says.

  “How come you don’t respect him?” Mama says. “How come you don’t come home sometime and respect him? How come you don’t leave that car alone and come home and respect him? How come you don’t respect him? You the one need to respect him.”

  “I told you it broke down,” Daddy says. “I was coming home when it broke down on me. I even had to leave it out on the road. I made it here quick as I could.”