Bloodline: Five Stories

by Ernest J. Gaines

  “Prove it’s green,” the boy says.

  “Sure, now,” the lady says. “Don’t tell me it’s coming to that.”

  “It’s coming to just that,” the boy says. “Words mean nothing. One means no more than the other.”

  “That’s what it all coming to?” that old lady says. That old lady got on a turban and she got on two sweaters. She got a green sweater under a black sweater. I can see the green sweater ’cause some of the buttons on the other sweater’s missing.

  “Yes ma’am,” the boy says. “Words mean nothing. Action is the only thing. Doing. That’s the only thing.”

  “Other words, you want the Lord to come down here and show Hisself to you?” she says.

  “Exactly, ma’am,” he says.

  “You don’t mean that, I’m sure?” she says.

  “I do, ma’am,” he says.

  “Done, Jesus,” the old lady says, shaking her head.

  “I didn’t go ’long with that preacher at first,” the other lady says; “but now—I don’t know. When a person say the grass is black, he’s either a lunatic or something’s wrong.”

  “Prove to me that it’s green,” the boy says.

  “It’s green because the people say it’s green.”

  “Those same people say we’re citizens of these United States,” the boy says.

  “I think I’m a citizen,” the lady says.

  “Citizens have certain rights,” the boy says. “Name me one right that you have. One right, granted by the Constitution, that you can exercise in Bayonne.”

  The lady don’t answer him. She just looks at him like she don’t know what he’s talking ’bout. I know I don’t.

  “Things changing,” she says.

  “Things are changing because some black men have begun to think with their brains and not their hearts,” the boy says.

  “You trying to say these people don’t believe in God?”

  “I’m sure some of them do. Maybe most of them do. But they don’t believe that God is going to touch these white people’s hearts and change things tomorrow. Things change through action. By no other way.”

  Everybody sit quiet and look at the boy. Nobody says a thing. Then the lady ’cross the room from me and Mama just shakes her head.

  “Let’s hope that not all your generation feel the same way you do,” she says.

  “Think what you please, it doesn’t matter,” the boy says. “But it will be men who listen to their heads and not their hearts who will see that your children have a better chance than you had.”

  “Let’s hope they ain’t all like you, though,” the old lady says. “Done forgot the heart absolutely.”

  “Yes ma’am, I hope they aren’t all like me,” the boy says. “Unfortunately, I was born too late to believe in your God. Let’s hope that the ones who come after will have your faith—if not in your God, then in something else, something definitely that they can lean on. I haven’t anything. For me, the wind is pink, the grass is black.”

  9: The nurse comes in the room where we all sitting and waiting and says the doctor won’t take no more patients till one o’clock this evening. My mama jumps up off the bench and goes up to the white lady.

  “Nurse, I have to go back in the field this evening,” she says.

  “The doctor is treating his last patient now,” the nurse says. “One o’clock this evening.”

  “Can I at least speak to the doctor?” my mama asks.

  “I’m his nurse,” the lady says.

  “My little boy’s sick,” my mama says. “Right now his tooth almost killing him.”

  The nurse looks at me. She’s trying to make up her mind if to let me come in. I look at her real pitiful. The tooth ain’t hurting me at all, but Mama say it is, so I make ’tend for her sake.

  “This evening,” the nurse says, and goes on back in the office.

  “Don’t feel ’jected, honey,” the lady says to Mama. “I been round them a long time—they take you when they want to. If you was white, that’s something else; but we the wrong color.”

  Mama don’t say nothing to the lady, and me and her go outside and stand ’gainst the wall. It’s cold out there. I can feel that wind going through my coat. Some of the other people come out of the room and go up the street. Me and Mama stand there a little while and we start walking. I don’t know where we going. When we come to the other street we just stand there.

  “You don’t have to make water, do you?” Mama says.

  “No, ma’am,” I say.

  We go on up the street. Walking real slow. I can tell Mama don’t know where she’s going. When we come to a store we stand there and look at the dummies. I look at a little boy wearing a brown overcoat. He’s got on brown shoes, too. I look at my old shoes and look at his’n again. You wait till summer, I say.

  Me and Mama walk away. We come up to another store and we stop and look at them dummies, too. Then we go on again. We pass a café where the white people in there eating.

  Mama tells me keep my eyes in front where they belong, but I can’t help from seeing them people eat. My stomach starts to growling ’cause I’m hungry. When I see people eating, I get hungry; when I see a coat, I get cold.

  A man whistles at my mama when we go by a filling station. She makes ’tend she don’t even see him. I look back and I feel like hitting him in the mouth. If I was bigger, I say; if I was bigger, you’d see.

  We keep on going. I’m getting colder and colder, but I don’t say nothing. I feel that stuff running down my nose and I sniff.

  “That rag,” Mama says.

  I get it out and wipe my nose. I’m getting cold all over now—my face, my hands, my feet, everything. We pass another little café, but this’n for white people, too, and we can’t go in there, either. So we just walk. I’m so cold now I’m ’bout ready to say it. If I knowed where we was going I wouldn’t be so cold, but I don’t know where we going. We go, we go, we go. We walk clean out of Bayonne. Then we cross the street and we come back. Same thing I seen when I got off the bus this morning. Same old trees, same old walk, same old weeds, same old cracked pave—same old everything.

  I sniff again.

  “That rag,” Mama says.

  I wipe my nose real fast and jugg that handkerchief back in my pocket ’fore my hand gets too cold. I raise my head and I can see David’s hardware store. When we come up to it, we go in. I don’t know why, but I’m glad.

  It’s warm in there. It’s so warm in there you don’t ever want to leave. I look for the heater, and I see it over by them barrels. Three white men standing round the heater talking in Creole. One of them comes over to see what my mama want.

  “Got any axe handles?” she says.

  Me, Mama and the white man start to the back, but Mama stops me when we come up to the heater. She and the white man go on. I hold my hands over the heater and look at them. They go all the way to the back, and I see the white man pointing to the axe handles ’gainst the wall. Mama takes one of them and shakes it like she’s trying to figure how much it weighs. Then she rubs her hand over it from one end to the other end. She turns it over and looks at the other side, then she shakes it again, and shakes her head and puts it back. She gets another one and she does it just like she did the first one, then she shakes her head. Then she gets a brown one and do it that, too. But she don’t like this one, either. Then she gets another one, but ’fore she shakes it or anything, she looks at me. Look like she’s trying to say something to me, but I don’t know what it is. All I know is I done got warm now and I’m feeling right smart better. Mama shakes this axe handle just like she did the others, and shakes her head and says something to the white man. The white man just looks at his pile of axe handles, and when Mama pass him to come to the front, the white man just scratch his head and follows her. She tells me come on and we go on out and start walking again.

  We walk and walk, and no time at all I’m cold again. Look like I’m colder now ’cause I can still remember how
good it was back there. My stomach growls and I suck it in to keep Mama from hearing it. She’s walking right ’side me, and it growls so loud you can hear it a mile. But Mama don’t say a word.

  10: When we come up to the courthouse, I look at the clock. It’s got quarter to twelve. Mean we got another hour and a quarter to be out here in the cold. We go and stand ’side a building. Something hits my cap and I look up at the sky. Sleet’s falling.

  I look at Mama standing there. I want stand close ’side her, but she don’t like that. She say that’s crybaby stuff. She say you got to stand for yourself, by yourself.

  “Let’s go back to that office,” she says.

  We cross the street. When we get to the dentist office I try to open the door, but I can’t. I twist and twist, but I can’t. Mama pushes me to the side and she twist the knob, but she can’t open the door, either. She turns ’way from the door. I look at her, but I don’t move and I don’t say nothing. I done seen her like this before and I’m scared of her.

  “You hungry?” she says. She says it like she’s mad at me, like I’m the cause of everything.

  “No, ma’am,” I say.

  “You want eat and walk back, or you rather don’t eat and ride?”

  “I ain’t hungry,” I say.

  I ain’t just hungry, but I’m cold, too. I’m so hungry and cold I want to cry. And look like I’m getting colder and colder. My feet done got numb. I try to work my toes, but I don’t even feel them. Look like I’m go’n die. Look like I’m go’n stand right here and freeze to death. I think ’bout home. I think ’bout Val and Auntie and Ty and Louis and Walker. It’s ’bout twelve o’clock and I know they eating dinner now. I can hear Ty making jokes. He done forgot ’bout getting up early this morning and right now he’s probably making jokes. Always trying to make somebody laugh. I wish I was right there listening to him. Give anything in the world if I was home round the fire.

  “Come on,” Mama says.

  We start walking again. My feet so numb I can’t hardly feel them. We turn the corner and go on back up the street. The clock on the courthouse starts hitting for twelve.

  The sleet’s coming down plenty now. They hit the pave and bounce like rice. Oh, Lord; oh, Lord, I pray. Don’t let me die, don’t let me die, don’t let me die, Lord.

  11: Now I know where we going. We going back of town where the colored people eat. I don’t care if I don’t eat. I been hungry before. I can stand it. But I can’t stand the cold.

  I can see we go’n have a long walk. It’s ’bout a mile down there. But I don’t mind. I know when I get there I’m go’n warm myself. I think I can hold out. My hands numb in my pockets and my feet numb, too, but if I keep moving I can hold out. Just don’t stop no more, that’s all.

  The sky’s gray. The sleet keeps on falling. Falling like rain now—plenty, plenty. You can hear it hitting the pave. You can see it bouncing. Sometimes it bounces two times ’fore it settles.

  We keep on going. We don’t say nothing. We just keep on going, keep on going.

  I wonder what Mama’s thinking. I hope she ain’t mad at me. When summer come I’m go’n pick plenty cotton and get her a coat. I’m go’n get her a red one.

  I hope they’d make it summer all the time. I’d be glad if it was summer all the time—but it ain’t. We got to have winter, too. Lord, I hate the winter. I guess everybody hate the winter.

  I don’t sniff this time. I get out my handkerchief and wipe my nose. My hands’s so cold I can hardly hold the handkerchief.

  I think we getting close, but we ain’t there yet. I wonder where everybody is. Can’t see a soul but us. Look like we the only two people moving round today. Must be too cold for the rest of the people to move round in.

  I can hear my teeth. I hope they don’t knock together too hard and make that bad one hurt. Lord, that’s all I need, for that bad one to start off.

  I hear a church bell somewhere. But today ain’t Sunday. They must be ringing for a funeral or something.

  I wonder what they doing at home. They must be eating. Monsieur Bayonne might be there with his guitar. One day Ty played with Monsieur Bayonne’s guitar and broke one of the strings. Monsieur Bayonne was some mad with Ty. He say Ty wasn’t go’n ever ’mount to nothing. Ty can go just like Monsieur Bayonne when he ain’t there. Ty can make everybody laugh when he starts to mocking Monsieur Bayonne.

  I used to like to be with Mama and Daddy. We used to be happy. But they took him in the Army. Now, nobody happy no more.… I be glad when Daddy comes home.

  Monsieur Bayonne say it wasn’t fair for them to take Daddy and give Mama nothing and give us nothing. Auntie say, “Shhh, Etienne. Don’t let them hear you talk like that.” Monsieur Bayonne say, “It’s God truth. What they giving his children? They have to walk three and a half miles to school hot or cold. That’s anything to give for a paw? She’s got to work in the field rain or shine just to make ends meet. That’s anything to give for a husband?” Auntie say, “Shhh, Etienne, shhh.” “Yes, you right,” Monsieur Bayonne say. “Best don’t say it in front of them now. But one day they go’n find out. One day.” “Yes, I suppose so,” Auntie say. “Then what, Rose Mary?” Monsieur Bayonne say. “I don’t know, Etienne,” Auntie say. “All we can do is us job, and leave everything else in His hand …”

  We getting closer, now. We getting closer. I can even see the railroad tracks.

  We cross the tracks, and now I see the café. Just to get in there, I say. Just to get in there. Already I’m starting to feel little better.

  12: We go in. Ahh, it’s good. I look for the heater; there ’gainst the wall. One of them little brown ones. I just stand there and hold my hands over it. I can’t open my hands too wide ’cause they almost froze.

  Mama’s standing right ’side me. She done unbuttoned her coat. Smoke rises out of the coat, and the coat smells like a wet dog.

  I move to the side so Mama can have more room. She opens out her hands and rubs them together. I rub mine together, too, ’cause this keep them from hurting. If you let them warm too fast, they hurt you sure. But if you let them warm just little bit at a time, and you keep rubbing them, they be all right every time.

  They got just two more people in the café. A lady back of the counter, and a man on this side the counter. They been watching us ever since we come in.

  Mama gets out the handkerchief and count up the money. Both of us know how much money she’s got there. Three dollars. No, she ain’t got three dollars, ’cause she had to pay us way up here. She ain’t got but two dollars and a half left. Dollar and a half to get my tooth pulled, and fifty cents for us to go back on, and fifty cents worth of salt meat.

  She stirs the money round with her finger. Most of the money is change ’cause I can hear it rubbing together. She stirs it and stirs it. Then she looks at the door. It’s still sleeting. I can hear it hitting ’gainst the wall like rice.

  “I ain’t hungry, Mama,” I say.

  “Got to pay them something for they heat,” she says.

  She takes a quarter out the handkerchief and ties the handkerchief up again. She looks over her shoulder at the people, but she still don’t move. I hope she don’t spend the money. I don’t want her spending it on me. I’m hungry, I’m almost starving I’m so hungry, but I don’t want her spending the money on me.

  She flips the quarter over like she’s thinking. She’s must be thinking ’bout us walking back home. Lord, I sure don’t want walk home. If I thought it’d do any good to say something, I’d say it. But Mama makes up her own mind ’bout things.

  She turns ’way from the heater right fast, like she better hurry up and spend the quarter ’fore she change her mind. I watch her go toward the counter. The man and the lady look at her, too. She tells the lady something and the lady walks away. The man keeps on looking at her. Her back’s turned to the man, and she don’t even know he’s standing there.

  The lady puts some cakes and a glass of milk on the counter. Then she pours up a cup of co
ffee and sets it ’side the other stuff. Mama pays her for the things and comes on back where I’m standing. She tells me sit down at the table ’gainst the wall.

  The milk and the cakes’s for me; the coffee’s for Mama. I eat slow and I look at her. She’s looking outside at the sleet. She’s looking real sad. I say to myself, I’m go’n make all this up one day. You see, one day, I’m go’n make all this up. I want say it now; I want tell her how I feel right now; but Mama don’t like for us to talk like that.

  “I can’t eat all this,” I say.

  They ain’t got but just three little old cakes there. I’m so hungry right now, the Lord knows I can eat a hundred times three, but I want my mama to have one.

  Mama don’t even look my way. She knows I’m hungry, she knows I want it. I let it stay there a little while, then I get it and eat it. I eat just on my front teeth, though, ’cause if cake touch that back tooth I know what’ll happen. Thank God it ain’t hurt me at all today.

  After I finish eating I see the man go to the juke box. He drops a nickel in it, then he just stand there a little while looking at the record. Mama tells me keep my eyes in front where they belong. I turn my head like she say, but then I hear the man coming toward us.

  “Dance, pretty?” he says.

  Mama gets up to dance with him. But ’fore you know it, she done grabbed the little man in the collar and done heaved him ’side the wall. He hit the wall so hard he stop the juke box from playing.

  “Some pimp,” the lady back of the counter says. “Some pimp.”

  The little man jumps up off the floor and starts toward my mama. ’Fore you know it, Mama done sprung open her knife and she’s waiting for him.

  “Come on,” she says. “Come on. I’ll gut you from your neighbo to your throat. Come on.”

  I go up to the little man to hit him, but Mama makes me come and stand ’side her. The little man looks at me and Mama and goes on back to the counter.

  “Some pimp,” the lady back of the counter says. “Some pimp.” She starts laughing and pointing at the little man. “Yes sir, you a pimp, all right. Yes sir-ree.”