Just Plain Folks

by Lorraine Johnson-Coleman

  I wonder when they said the black woman was the mule of the Earth, did they say it ’cause they knew they had burdened us with something no other soul would dare try to carry?

  Did they know we were too strong to be crushed under the weight of affliction, or did they finally realize that we were too stubborn not to make it all the way through?

  Why can’t she see that this headrag is not a banner of surrender but my crowning glory, and these scars are not welts of weakness but the punctuation marks of a well-fought war story?

  Oh, why must my fair sisters be the other woman? Don’t they know that we, too, have been all that they have been — saint, sinner, priestess, and madonna? Can’t they look past the depths of our destitution and see all the glory, or are they afraid to see a reflection of what could someday be their own story? After all, ain’t we women, too?

  White folks. Poor white trash and them quality ones, too. They sure is some funny folks. They figure this world will be just fine if we do just what they want us to and stay where they tell us to. ’Long as we can stay on out of they way, well, maybe, just maybe, they might let us be. But I got to ask you, what’s gonna happen round here when we get sick of bein’ told and fed up with bein’ put? What’s gonna happen when we colored women gets tired of bein’ somebody’s nursemaid and our men get tired of bein’ everybody’s nigger? I just got to ask you, what in the world you figure gonna happen then?

  Hagar’s Children

  Bless Gracious! I reckon I been settin’ out here thinkin’ since the sun bid me good day more than a few hours ago — but then I been remembering, too. You know there sure is somethin’ mighty special ’bout this here peculiar bit of night that comes along right ’fore daylight. It’s amazin’ how a pretty little piece of quiet and some calming beauty of blackness can set an old body still and put a good mind to recollectin’. Now ’course all of my rememberings ain’t so good — I got me some rememberings that run so deep till they live here in the pit of my stomach and touch the center of my very soul. It’s one of them there that I been settin’ here studyin’ on… .

  It was one of them yesterdays that the Lord was fixin’ up to be something wonderful. It introduced itself onto that early-morning sky in a burst of absolute glory. Then the Devil came along. He decided he couldn’t just let it be, so he stuck his hands into the mixin’ and the makin’s of it. ’Fore you knew a thing he had stirred up stuff pretty bad. All of a sudden that warm wonderful goodness was clean gone away, and there was nothin’ but a cold hard day astarin’ back at me. A day when I would live through the kind of pain that washes over the body like bloodstained rains. A day when Hagar’s children would decide they deserved a place next to Sarah’s precious babies. A day when hell would rise up from underneath the Earth’s floor and come a-knockin’ right up to my front door. A day that as long as I live, I won’t ever forget.

  I remember ’cause even though it was one of them beautiful springtime dawns, there was no plowing in the fields and no hustle and bustle humming about. Nope — nothin’. My husband, looking ’bout poor as Job’s turkey, come a-stumbling up the walkway wearin’ that felt hat of his slung way down low on ’cross his big head — but I could still see his eyes, and they was clouded with misery and sorrow. He rested hisself right down next to me, and we sat there on them rickety porch steps for almost ten whole minutes ’fore either of us said one single word. Then he told me. Just blurted it straight out — but I knew it even ’fore he said it. Knew it ’fore that barnyard owl screeched right in my left ear. Knew it ’fore the March winds blew the smell of death right up near. I knew it sho’ ’nough ’cause the spirit had already showed it to me a long time ago.

  “Me and Bo went out there early this morning like you said for us to. It was like you pictured it — but hell, it was even worse than you seen it.” He stopped talkin’ for a bit and grabbed hold of my hand. “Richard was layin’ in that little ditch that runs on ’cross their back door. They must have tied him to somethin’ or ’nother and then dragged him throughout that entire place, ’cause when we found him he was facedown in the dirt but the back of his head was clean gone away, and his brains had oozed on down to the back of his shirt. They ain’t killed Sister Nora right off — maybe they showed her some mercy and spared her some on account of that baby she was carryin’. They beat her somethin’ awful, though — her eyes were so swollen shut that we had to tell her three times who we was ’fore we was able to sense it into her and she could get it clear through.”

  He stopped for a minute. Maybe it was to catch his breath ’cause he been spilling that there faster than a preacher pocketing pennies. Maybe it was just to choke back some of the pain or swallow him back some of that rage. I don’t rightly know ’cause I ain’t looked at him. I couldn’t. Just kept starin’ straight ahead like there was something magical out there in front of me that would take all the pain away.

  “Did she say anything to you?” At least I managed to spit that much out, but it wasn’t easy ’cause my gut was risin’ up fast to meet the back of my throat.

  “Yeah, yeah, she did. She begged me to save that baby of hers — asked me to birth it right then and there and take it over to Suda Mae’s so she could raise it on up in the way it should go.”

  He stopped again. This time I knew it ’cause he was sobbin’. I could feel his teardrops hittin’ the back of my hand that was restin’ inside his. But I knew he didn’t want me to know he was a settin’ there boohooing like somebody’s newborn babe, so I still ain’t looked at him. Just kept astarin’ straight ahead, waiting on that miracle to come.

  “Now, I ain’t got me no kinda understandin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies.” He told it to me like I ain’t already know. “I done helped a few horses in my day, but that’s really ’bout all. ’Course I knew if it was left up to me to save that chile’s blessin’, then me and the Savior would stumble on through and do it just like we manages to do everything else we do. I was prayin’, somethin’ powerful, that I might still have me a li’l more time, so I sent Bo on out to fetch Bertha the medicine woman.”

  My eyes were closed then — at least I think they was; they might’ve just been bustin’ full of heartache. I knew he was lookin’ at me. I could just feel it, could feel that exact moment he turned his love to me. I opened up my mouth and tried to say somethin’, anything, but wouldn’t nothin’ come loose, so I just sat there with my lips locked up together tight. I knew he didn’t want to tell me no more — some things just ain’t fit to be throwed up on no man, woman, or chile — but Hagar’s babies are built to shoulder some mighty big loads, and I wasn’t ’bout to let nobody carry mine.

  “I sat there holdin’ her. I knew you wouldn’t mind me huggin’ her a bit. I guess I was just hopin’ that somehow, some of my strength would pass from outta me and into her. Maybe if I could just hold her long enough and strong enough, I would save her. But I reckon I ain’t held on to her close enough, ’cause she didn’t linger on me long — just ceased right there in my arms. Lord, it seem like no matter how hard we tries, us colored men just can’t seem to hold our women close enough, long enough, or strong enough to keep some of hardship’s dirt from landin’ on ’em.” Then he let out a long, long sigh — one of them dredged-up-from-the-bottom-of-damnation kinds of sighs that only a colored man could bring on round.

  “Bertha and Bo come up, then. We knew Sister Nora was gone, but that baby was movin’ so till we could see it clear through all of her clothes. Bertha figured she could save it, had her mind set to savin’ it, and went right at savin’ it — but by the time she got Nora propped up like she was supposed to be, that baby was already slowin’ down on his livin’. Bertha kept tryin’, pushin’ and a-pullin’, tuggin’ and a-reachin’, but that baby wouldn’t budge, not even one little bit. After awhile Bertha had to give it up ’cause she knowed it just won’t gonna let go. So we all just stood there feeling ’bout helpless as could be and watched the life drain right on out of ’em. In a few minutes, well, he was g
one, too. Lord, ’fore that young’un even had a chance at some livin’, he had already been trialed, blamed, and executed.”

  “What y’all do then?”

  “Well, we all knows how proud them two could be — they wouldn’t had wanted nobody lookin’ down at ’em with all their sufferin’ hangin’ clear out there in the open for all the world to see. So Bertha got ’em ready, and Bo and me, well, we buried ’em. We couldn’t put ’em away without so much as a marker to remember ’em, so we cut the headboard off that bed Richard made the day they was married, and we used it to rest they heads. I reckon they in glory now, and a mite better off than them they left behind.”

  He was ’bout finished. I could always tell when he was comin’ to the end of an especially hard row. “Yeah, baby, it was just like you said it would be. The ways of some pretty evil white folks got ahold of ’em and carried ’em right on out of here. Sometimes I reckon that this here old world just ain’t no place a colored soul ought to be.” Then he stood up, walked off, and left me alone with my misery.

  Sara’s Precious Babies

  She was suddenly awake. Normally when she was in a sound sleep, she didn’t hear him when he returned, but today it was like the evil of the deed had its own presence and shook her right where she lay. It had been done. It was the same after any kill, whether it be a troublesome deer or a pesky nigger — he always skipped across the front yard in triumph. This time he wasn’t alone — there was a second set of footsteps dragging on behind them first skipping ones, and now, as they entered her home, she could hear the muffled sounds of hushed voices and the sinister glee of softer laughter.

  No matter how many times it happened, she was never quite ready for it — not even this time, when instead of being a spontaneous act, it had been carefully planned and executed. They’d even had the courtesy this time to warn her beforehand. She’d already seen it coming, though, way before the time of reckoning, and even before they had their usual “Darling, something has happened, and we have to handle it” talk. She had known it when Nora and Richard first came. They rode into town like they were something else, like they was already looking for some higher bushes and sweeter berries than all the rest of them others. Sitting so high and mighty — her back was way too straight, his eyes just too alert, their speech far too educated and certainly way too direct. Why, they didn’t even lower their eyes when they talked to a white person. Wasn’t no nigger born with a right to act like that — ’least, that was what Lester had told her. They wouldn’t make it six months in this town, Lester had said again and again, and he was right — they hadn’t even made it three.

  That fool was probably out there right now dripping blood all over her freshly scrubbed floors and sloshing the celebratory moonshine all over her new tablecloth. It sounded like it was Mister Robert that was out there with him. Shameful. How could he be seen with that man, especially now that it was daylight and all? Everybody knew that he wasn’t nothin’ but poor white trash, but Lester insisted on him. Said nobody could string up a nigger better than Robert. Said watching him was like being in the presence of greatness. Lester said it was almost beautiful to see, except the niggers always managed to spoil it by not having the dignity to die gracefully. Lester said that they would usually beg for their lives so pitifully, and then their black faces would get all shiny with tears and sweat. And even as they were dying, when the course had been set and it was obvious that there wasn’t but one way it would end, still they pleaded and they prayed, sometimes until their voices cracked, their eyes bulged, and their tongues hung limp and lifeless from their mouths. Usually — but not always. She certainly couldn’t picture Nora like that, not with her face so much like that of a pretty brown angel and her head always pointed to the heavens somewhere. No, she sure couldn’t picture Nora like that.

  She felt queasy this morning. This was the first time in a long time that these things had made her sick to her stomach. She hadn’t been this sick since the very first one so long, long ago, and Lester had told her then that if she was going to retch every time, she’d have no guts left by the time she was forty. So she’d grown up quickly and learned that none of it had one thing to do with her. She still couldn’t stand it, but it was not her place to say anything — no, nothing at all. Her mama always said that as long as Lester was beating on the niggers, then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t beat up on her.

  Today, though, she wasn’t just queasy, she was sad, too, and despite her will, the tears rolled freely down her cheeks. She sobbed as silently as she could, but she couldn’t seem to stop it completely. Lord, if Lester heard her crying right now, he’d be hotter than piss in a July ditch. But today she could no more hold back the pain and sorrow than the morning sun could hold back the daylight. It just seemed to be busting out of her like the Lord had somehow sent it to her special. Well, then, it would just have to be. It wasn’t that she especially liked Nora. She didn’t know her well enough to like her or dislike her, but she did know that wasn’t no nigger woman supposed to be that pretty. Still, she had to admit that she did like having Nora around. She could sew like a dream and made sweet-potato pies so good that they made you want to slap your brains out — but Lester hated her. She knew the reason that he hated Nora was that he wanted her — wanted her even when she was swollen with another nigger’s leavings. He knew, too, that she was not his for the taking, so he hated her. And Nora, God rest her soul, let ’em all know she wasn’t about to be no white man’s whore.

  She wasn’t sure if she would miss Nora herself, but she was sure that she would miss her smile and her sweet-potato pies. Lord, surely she hadn’t deserved this. Surely not. Not that some of ’em didn’t deserve it, now. Why, one time she’d had this nigger woman make her a dress for her daddy’s birthday party, and she’d told her three times that she wanted the pearls across the bodice and on down the sleeves. Well, that stupid nigger only remembered to put ’em on the bodice. Ruined her dress and her good time — now, that nigger should’ve been shot where she stood, but she was still walking on round here proud as you please. But Nora, who sewed like a dream and who had the face of an angel, was gone, never to be nowhere again — just ’cause she wouldn’t be no man’s whore.

  Lester had him a nigger woman once. He thought she didn’t know about her, but he was wrong. She’d always known, right from the first. She’d followed him one day to see which woman’s scent it was that he had the nerve to bring to her bed. She’d thought it was Miss Melanie, the pretty blonde who ran the town store, but it wasn’t Miss Melanie. It was a beautiful nigger wench who lived clear ’cross town. Even in her rags, she was so beautiful that she could steal your breath clear away. There was no love or joy in that woman’s eyes as she stood on her shanty steps and watched Lester come to her — just a silent resignation. It was probably that very same look I have in my eyes when he comes to me, Sue thought, and she laughed bitterly. At first she’d thought that the nigger was nothin’ more than a two-dollar whore, ’cause he’d pressed a handful of dollars into her hands as soon as he got near enough, but then a little boy came out the front door, and gracious sakes, he was the chocolate image of Lester! Right after, a little girl come along who didn’t so much look like Lester, but she had her a white daddy for sure. Lester might hate them niggers in his heart, she thought, but that hatred sure don’t reach down to that lower part of his body, the part he thinks with. She laughed again, even more bitterly this time.

  She slid deeper into the covers and relished the few minutes of peace and quiet — he’d be calling her soon, she was sure of it. If only she could have said something to stop it — but what? Well, it didn’t much matter, because he wouldn’t have listened no way. If only she could leave — but go where? Living with her mama and daddy wasn’t a possibility, and besides, she was sick of them anyway. She stood up quietly, walked over to the water basin, and washed the sleep and sorrow out of her eyes. She shivered. There seemed to be a chill in the room that went straight to the bone. Out of the
window she could see dark and somber clouds sliding across the dreary sky. It was going to storm for sure. Maybe the rains would wash this day clean — it had a definite stench to it that was really quite offensive. Yes, let the rains come and wash the day clear.

  There was a knock at the door. Lester. “Honey, you up? Sue, do you hear me?” Well, she might as well answer, ’cause even if she didn’t, he wouldn’t go away. He’d just bust on in like a bat out of hell.

  “Yeah, I’m up,” she answered. The door opened slowly, and Lester came in holding a bundle of soiled and bloody garments. “Oh, by the way, something happened, but we done already took care of it. I didn’t wake you ’cause you was sleeping so soundly, but don’t you worry, we done took care of it,” and with that he slammed the door behind him. Worry? What should she worry ’bout something that wasn’t even hers?

  The dumb fool had flung them bloody clothes right on the floor — couldn’t even walk the extra three feet needed to put ’em into the sink. Now look at that bloody puddle in the middle of her beautiful oak floors. It was raining pretty hard now, and the drops seemed to drum the despair of the day right smack into her head. She picked up the clothes and threw them into the sink. She grabbed her hammer off the fireplace. A hammer was one of her favorite things — one part could put stuff together, and the other part could rip it all apart again. Deadly but useful, kind of like some folks walking around her every day. She took a good strong swing with the pointed end, and it locked itself firmly into the floorboard. She tried to lift the plank clear out, but it wouldn’t even budge. She freed her hammer and then tried it again. Oh, it was going to be a stubborn little devil, but no matter what, it had to go. The last time Lester had come in skipping, he’d skipped blood all over her front room. In her ignorance, she’d attempted to scrub away the ugliness — but even after she washed it clean, the blood would come again and again. Every single time it rained, the crimson pools would raise up from the dead, like Christ come a-calling to shake His finger at them. Finally she’d told Lester that the floor would just have to go. She slammed her hammer into the plank once more — sometimes it just wasn’t enough to remove the sin, sometimes you simply had to destroy the carrier.