She moved quickly and served the last of the food. They were getting ready to move the body to its final restin’ place, and she wanted to be sure to give Missus Smith the special something she had for the marker. She opened the kitchen closet, and there it was, a beautiful wreath made by her very own hands. She had picked some special blossoms and leaves from her field just two nights ago. It would just have to rest with Mister Smith — it was only right, after all, since it did contain the very greenery that was sending him to where he was fixin’ to go. She smiled. It felt good, too. She was finally shed of him. Good riddance! Well, at least one white devil was down, but there seemed to be so many more to go. A colored woman just didn’t seem to stand half a chance ’long as one of them was anywhere round. But they would all get theirs one day, and soon. She was sure of it. Yeah, sure as sure could be.
AFTERTHOUGHTS
The work choices for the southern black woman of the depression era were limited indeed — housework or field work. In my research I have spent countless hours with women now up in age, listening to them recount experiences connected with both. Field work was backbreaking, and a necessity. A sharecropper’s spouse and many others remembered plowing from sunup to sundown and then facing an evening of household chores. “Chile,” one of my ladies said, “I worked harder than any mule I ever seen and it’s a wonder I’m even alive today to tell it.”
Working as a domestic had its own ups and downs. If you slept in, you did have a roof over your head and three meals a day — but if you had a family, this also meant you rarely saw your own children, were completely disconnected from your community or any kind of normal relationship with your husband. You were also vulnerable to some white man’s unwanted attentions and some white woman’s reluctance to put a stop to her husband’s illicit behavior.
If you did day work, you had the benefit of being able to bring the leftovers home to supplement the family’s usually meager meals, but returning home each evening inevitably meant you were responsible for all that went on there, so work became a never-ending cycle that killed many a woman way before her time.
My sympathy for these women is deep and profound. I have been blessed with both choice and opportunity and it is largely due to these women and their sacrifices that African Americans today have either. Their story is so significant that I just had to include their experience in my book. I decided to take a humorous approach and play a wonderful game of “what if.” It gave me a chance to take what must have been a fantasy of many — killing their oppressor — and make it a reality. Let’s see: What if a woman worked as a domestic? What if there was some white man there who decided she was there for the taking and some silly white woman who saw it all but decided to do nothing? What if this black woman just eliminated him with no more thought than you give to taking out the trash? How would she do it? Could she get away with it? What if? What if? What if? “Every Other Tuesday Off” is the whimsical answer to those questions.
Women and Men Folks
Hitched
I looked right next to me
She looked so fine
I said thank you Lord
’cause she’s all mine… .
The bride was shaking, the groom was sweating, the mamas were sniffing, and the daddies were grinning. Now if only the preacher would get on with it, but everybody knew Reverend Joyner wasn’t one to be rushed. He had been doing the Lord’s work the same exact way for fifty years or more, and it didn’t look like he was fixin’ to change up now. Somebody said it took him so long to christen a baby girl once that she grew up before he was finished, so he had to marry her instead!
The two witnesses standing up front shifted for what seemed like the hundredth time since this all had begun. Cousin Martha had even started coughing again. She always said that the Reverend’s ceremonies brought out her asthma “’cause he always sucked up all the air.” Sister Lilla was ushering today, but even she had kicked off both her high-heel shoes, even though she had a great big hole in her left stocking toe! I guess you can’t worry about being shamed when you’re standing round in a whole lot of pain. Why in the world had she worn high heels on a day like today, a day when Reverend Joyner had been told he could have his own way?
Sister Dora couldn’t have been happier. This was a preacher who did his job the way the Lord meant for somebody to join up his folks. Married ’em like he meant for it to stick. Maybe if more of ’em got married like this they’d be together for more than just the ceremony. He sho’ was telling ’em, and telling ’em just right. Looked like this was one marriage gonna stay stuck together tight. You know, every once in a while, you tell yourself that this time you ain’t gonna say one word ’cause so much of what you already shared ain’t even been heard. You done decided that you ain’t gonna tell ’em one more thing ’cause they probably wouldn’t listen no way, but not Reverend Joyner — he sure is having him quite a say. He’s telling it to ’em just like he’s supposed to, just like the Lord would have him do.
Sister Joyner knew better than anyone how her husband liked to have his word or two. She smiled as she remembered their wedding forty-nine years ago. The poor preacher had barely been able to get a word in edgewise. When the Reverend asked, “Do you … ,” her husband couldn’t just say, “I do.” No, he had to have him a telling or two.
“Do I? ’Course I do. Just look at her, pretty as she can be, and I mean to keep her that way, too. Gonna do more than just cherish her, gonna lift her spirits clear up to the Lord and Savior. Yessirree, we gonna stay together and pray together, too! Do I? You bet your sweet britches I do!”
Next year would be their fiftieth. Everybody said they ought to do something kind of special. Maybe she could even wear a new dress this time, something frilly, pretty, and really kind of fine. Oh goodness, he was clearing his throat and looking right at her. Probably figured out she hadn’t been listening no way. Better start paying attention, or sure enough she’d hear about it later in the day. She smiled to herself, thinking that if they did do something special next year, it would be quite a sight to see. That man standing up there would sho’ ’nough demand his due. Why, he’d probably want to be the bride, the groom, and the preacher man, too!
“Now, I told y’all I wasn’t one to be hurried. When the Lord gives me a message, I ain’t got no choice but to deliver it. So y’all listen up ’cause this here ain’t only for these two young folks. Some of you out there actin’ worse toward each other than Satan loves sin. You sleep next to each other every blessed night and wake up fussin’, cussin’, and carryin’ on again and again. And do you know what gets to me the most? Y’all think that don’t nobody know. We ain’t blind. We can all see. I can tell you, if you keeps on lightin’ into somebody it ain’t gonna be long ’fore you got yourself a full-blown fire. Now, you can smother the flames, but I ask you, how you gonna hide the smoke? I know some of y’all ain’t heard one word I done had to say, and I ain’t even gonna bother worryin’ on y’all that is too hardheaded to hear or too far gone to help. I learned a long time ago that it just don’t do one bit of good to sing spirituals to an already dead mule. But those of you who still got half a shot at some saving grace, you study on this — God is good, and he’ll give you somebody to love if you let ’em.
“Now, you can make it through the storms, but you got to have sense enough to come in out of the rain. Folks tell me I’m country, but country don’t mean stupid! I got sense enough to know that each place got its own beauty, and I ain’t never wished for greener pastures ’cause I was happy the Lord gave me all that I got, and when you happy you ain’t got to start disturbin’ stuff lookin’ round for something that might not even be. In other words, you got to figure that love is like them cottonfields right out that front door. Before you give up plantin’ your own little patch and start lookin’ for somewhere new to lay down your hoe, you’d best to take a second look at your own couple of rows. The Lord done give you the land, now it’s up to you what grows, but be careful what you l
ays there ’cause you gonna reap what you sow!
“Now, folks will tell you that love is blind. It ain’t really, just ’cause we think it ought to be — and you’ll wish it was if you stay married long enough. But the key to a happy marriage is makin’ yourself turn a blind eye to some things ’cause a lot of it ain’t that important no way. We start speakin’ up when what we need to do is hush up! Why do we always think we got to have a word, a little something to say?
“Well, young man, I hope you been listenin’ ’cause I got to ask if you plan on taking this woman to be your wife on this blessed and holy day?”
“I do.”
“Now, when you say ‘I do’ — that yes, you gonna take her — do you really means it? Look at her, son, so young and fine. It’s your job to make sure she stays that way, too, not burdened with a whole lot of trouble that gonna make her old and tired way ’fore her time. Then you gonna start mistreatin’ her and you’ll have some real problems ’fore long. Lift her up, son, even if you got to carry her every once in a while, but if you try and drag her down, well, then you gonna fall, too. And don’t always tell her what ain’t, but tell her what she does to make you happy in your home and in your heart. Love her, boy, that’s all she really wants, and you take it from me, there ain’t no better place to start. So when you says ‘I do,’ you makes sure you means it ’cause the Lord is always lookin’, and I am, too!
“Young woman, do you take this man to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward?”
“I do.”
“Now, remember when you say ‘I do,’ make sure you means it. Love ’em and keep ’em and remember that when you got a good man, a really fine man, there’s always gonna be some she-devil that got her eye on ’em. But if you treat that man good, that’s as far as she ever gonna get with ’em. If things get to be where they ain’t supposed to be, you won’t have to go to no Black Herald to find out — you’ll be the first to know, and won’t nobody have to tell you one thing.
“Hey, who here got ahold of the rings?”
Well, the mamas sniffed louder and the daddies grinned wider. The groom’s hand shook so as he tried to put the ring on her finger — or maybe it was her hand that was shaking so — that they could barely get the ring on there. It was a beautiful ring, too, not just a plain gold band like most, but one with little diamonds clear way round. He looked so proud. Just look what he did, he done gave her the finest ring in this here town!
“Boy, where you get a ring like that?” The Reverend was sweating now. He even had to take out his handkerchief and wipe ’cross his brow. “Now, you ain’t into nothin’ shady, is you, ’cause I ain’t gonna have no parts in nothin’ that justice ain’t askin’ righteous to do!”
“No, sir, I saved for two years to get this ring, that’s how much I loves her. I wanted her to have the very best.”
“Now, son, don’t you worry ’bout her wearin’ the best, you make sure you are the best, and the Lord will take care of the rest. Now where was I?
“‘Dark and stormy may come the weather
I done brought this man and woman together
Let none except the one that makes our heart
Pull this here man and woman apart
I therefore declare you ’fore the same
Live righteous, go ’long, and hold up your good name.
You have taken a real big step, now walk side by side
But she’s all yours now, son, you done got you a bride!’
Well, the knot had been tied
and this was it.
Lord, they was in for it now
But at last they was hitched!”
AFTERTHOUGHTS
The preacher is undoubtedly one of the most respected members of the African American community, and probably one of our most targeted for a good-natured ribbing now and again. The preacher tale is one of the most popular in African American oral traditions, and these tales are as likely to come from the preacher himself as from a member of his congregation. African Americans like their preachers to be humorous in addition to being insightful, philosophical, and religious. More often than not, a sermon will begin with a funny anecdote, a joke, or a sidesplitting story. It lightens things up a bit and puts folks in a good mood to properly receive the message.
My own father is a minister. He is also one of the funniest men you could ever meet. He makes me laugh as much as he makes me think. Even his sermon titles are funny; I remember one in particular that tickled my fancy for a good while, called “What in Hell Do You Want?” A little risqué for some institutions, but in the African American church, it was yet another clever and effective turn of phrase that jolted people to a necessary reality. Some would say that the preacher in “Hitched” is a gross exaggeration; others would claim that they know someone just like him. What’s your take on the Reverend Joyner? I would love to know!
Sophie with the Gold Tooth
Oh, chile, I’m so glad you dropped in, ’cause I could use me some company. This here town is a right funny place. I been livin’ here my whole life and I figure I understand it better than most, but that ain’t sayin too much. Folks round here are the tricky sort, leastways they think so. They steady running all around trying to hide all they sins, figuring on just pushing them through the cracks of living like ain’t nobody gonna know, but the heavens got vision far and wide and thank God, so do I. There’s a whole lot of folks that would try to do me in if I didn’t stay one step ahead of ’em.
I’m gonna poison you
I’m gonna get you
I’m sick and tired of the things you do
I think I’ll sprinkle some real evil stuff right round your head
and when the daylight comes, you gonna be dead… .
Poor Sister Purlie, just laying there as dead and gone as yesterday’s good time. So young, too, I’ll bet she wasn’t a day over sixty. I knew she wasn’t going to be here long. I knew it last week. Took one look at her and she seemed to be wasting away for no good reason at all. I been sick so much till I can tell when it ain’t natural. I tried to tell her, I declare I did. I told her someone done put something on her just as sure as I was standing there. I even offered to take her to see Doctor Bug. I knew he could fix her right up, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Even tried to warn her ’bout that no-good husband of hers. Never did care for him, and I know these things and then some. Now he’s over at the funeral parlor and you can hear his great carrying-on’s way over here, but he ain’t fooling me. I’m the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and I was born with not one caul over my face, but two. I even knows who the witches are in this here town, but they don’t know that I know.
Now, you take Brother Jim. He was married to a witch who went riding on her broomstick every night, and he didn’t even know it. Well, Brother Jim never was too smart to begin with, but even he started to figure something was wrong ’fore too long. Once he woke up in the middle of the night and she wasn’t even there! So the next day he comes over and talks to me ’cause he knows I know ’bout these things and then some.
“Sister Sophie,” he says, “when a man wakes up in the middle of the night and reaches over to where his wife is supposed to be and she ain’t there, wouldn’t you figure something was wrong?”
“Well,” I told him, “yes sirree, something is wrong.”
“What you figure is wrong?” Brother Jim asked me.
“That’s what you got to find out,” I told him. Then I told him when he went to bed that night not to close both his eyes, just to shut the eye closest to his wife and watch and see what she did.
Right around midnight his wife looked over at him, thinking he was sleeping, and got outta bed right ready to do her dirt. Just then there was a tap at the window. She jumped up, shed her skin in the corner, grabbed her broomstick, and flew out the window straight to that other witch what was waiting for her outside. Well, at dawn she come riding through the window, flew over to that same corner, and said, “Skin, skin, let
me in,” and her skin jumped right back on her. Then she crawled back into bed and looked at Brother Jim to see if he was still sleeping. Well, she figured he was ’cause the one eye she could see was shut.
Brother Jim didn’t know what to make of all this, so he came back to me. Well, I told him straight out he was married to a hant. Well, he ’bout jumped outta his skin. “A hant?” he asked me. “Yessirree,” I told him. Well, he didn’t quite believe it, so I told him again. “Yessirree, a hant, a witch — she-devils that ride innocent folks and animals while they sleeping. Right round midnight they goes out hunting they prey, and if you ain’t careful, Brother Jim, why, she’ll get you, too!”
Well, I tell you Brother Jim started screeching like somebody done shot him clear outta musket, but I had to tell him. It was the only Christian thing to do. “Brother Jim,” I said, “if you wakes up one of these days in a sweat and your bones is aching you like you a worn-out plow-mule, then you’ll know it’s her. If you see animals all tied up in knots, then she’s been bothering them, too. They rides everything and everybody, don’t make no never mind who. A witch can make your cow go dry, and sometimes they even smother the righteous in they sleep! She’ll keep bothering you, too, if you don’t do what you needs to do!”
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