Jonah's Gourd Vine

by Zora Neale Hurston

  The bed was down in a twinkling, the feather mattress and bolster heaped upon the floor, while Bud dragged out the head and foot pieces. Lucy sank down upon the mattress and fought the lump in her throat. When her brother returned for the rails and slats, Lucy was crumpled in a little dark ball in the center of the deep mound of feathers.

  “Bud, you ought’n tuh take dat bed. Mist’ Alf give it tuh us. Dat’s our weddin’ bed.”

  “He oughta give ’im mo’. Git up offa dat air mattress!”

  “Ah ain’t, and if you don’t git offa dis place Ah’ll call Mist’ Alf. Ah bet you’ll leave here then.”

  “Aw Ah ain’t skeered uh no white man. Ah been free ever since Grant took Richmond.”

  But in a few moments Bud was gone and Lucy was shivering and weeping upon the feather mattress.

  “Hezekiah,” she called to her oldest boy, “run down tuh de quarters lak uh li’l’ man and tell An’ Pheemy tuh come quick. Run on, son. Youse five years ole now, youse uh great big boy. Hurry up.”

  “Mama, Ahm hungry.”

  “Mama know it too. Run on now. Run fast, Hezekiah! Show mama how fas’ you kin run. Oh Gawd have mussy on me! Have mussy in uh mos’ puhticular manner. Have mussy on mah ever-dyin’ soul!”

  Before midnight Lucy in awful agony upon her pallet on the floor had given birth to her first daughter.

  The odor of airless childbirth hung over the stuffy room. Pheemy with the help of Old Edy and Della performed the ancient rites.

  Edy and Della sweetened the mother and put a clean meal-sack sheet beneath Lucy, but only Pheemy could handle the after-birth in the proper way, so that no harm could come to Lucy. That is she buried it shoulder deep to the east of the house beneath a tree, then she returned and attended to the navel string of the baby and adjusted the belly-band.

  “Della, you and Edy kin go ’long now. Ah kin see after Lucy.”

  They went reluctantly. As soon as the sound of their feet died away Pheemy asked, “How you feelin’ inside, honey?”

  “Lawd, An’ Pheemy, Ah got somethin’ in mah heart ain’t got no name. Ah layin’ here right now tryin’ tuh find some words for feelin’s. Look lak mah right heart ain’t beatin’ no mo’.”

  “Neb mine, Lucy, ’bout de words. You needs sleep and rest and some chicken gruel. Ah gwine bring yuh some. Ahm gwine find some sheep pills so de baby kin have some sheep shadney.”

  That night Pheemy fell asleep in a chair before the fire. The children full of corn pone and buttermilk had been asleep since early night. Lucy alone saw John when he crept in towards morning. She shut her eyes and pretended sleep. John stood looking down upon her for a long time. Lucy, later, thru the crack of her eye saw him examining the new-born baby, and felt him timidly tucking the covers under her feet, and heard him stretching himself on the floor beside the mattress; heard the deep breathing of his sleep. She raised herself upon her elbows and looked at him hard. She looked at the flickering fire, the rude dingy walls and everything in the room and knew that she’d never lose the picture as long as she lived. She stretched out her hand nearest her husband and rested the fingers on his tousled head. With her other arm she cuddled her baby close, and fell into a deep, healthful sleep.

  When Lucy woke up, old Hannah was riding high. The light was strong in her face. She looked about and asked Pheemy, “Where John?”

  “He at de barn—done chopped up uh tree for wood. Oughter be ’bout through wid his work by now. You better suckle dat chile.”

  John crept in and stood before Lucy while her fat daughter searched hungrily for the nipple.

  “Lucy, whut you doin’ sleepin’ on de floor?”

  “Dat’s all Ah got tuh sleep on, John Buddy.”

  “Where de weddin’ bed at?”

  “Bud come took it fuh dat li’l’ change us owe ’im fuhm las’ year.”

  “When he come got it?”

  “Yistiddy.”

  He hung his head a moment.

  “Lucy, kin Ah see de baby?”

  “She nussin’ now, John. Soon’s she git through.”

  “Dat ain’t no trouble.” He stooped and picked up mother and child and sat with them in his lap. “Lucy, Ahm sho proud uh dis li’l’ girl chile you done had. Dat’s jus’ whut Ah wanted—uh girl so us could have it fuh uh doll-baby. An’ Pheemy, don’t Lucy have de biggest babies? Dis chile it almost big as her. She so little Ah hafta shake de sheets tuh find her in de bed.”

  She slapped him feebly.

  “Ain’t you got no better sense dan tuh set in uh man’s lap and box his jaws? He’s liable tuh let yuh fall thru his legs.” He stopped laughing abruptly. “An’ Pheemy you fed mah wife and slopped mah three li’l’ pigs?”

  “Look in de meal-barrel and see.”

  John didn’t look. Pheemy’s words told him. He laid Lucy again upon the pallet and left. As he stepped thru the wire fence gap at Bud’s place he saw Bud riding up the path behind him on his mule, his huge bull whip coiled upon his saddle-horn.

  “Gid up dere, Sooky!” Bud Potts held his eyes stubbornly before him. John Pearson’s hand flung out, grasped the mule’s bridle close to the bit, and shoved the animal back upon its haunches.

  “Gid down, Bud. You might kin beat me, but if you do, eve’ybody goin tuh know you been in uh fight. So good uh man, so good uh man.”

  “Whut you mean, John, comin’ here pickin’ uh fuss lak dat?”

  “Ah ain’t come tuh pick no fuss, Ahm come tuh fight. God bein’ mah helper Ah means tuh teach yuh how tuh go proagin’ ’round takin’ folkses weddin’ beds when dey ain’t home and flinging dey wives on de floor. Gid down!”

  “If you wuz any kind uh man, all dis wouldn’t come tuh pass. De white folks and eve’ybody is sick and tiahed uh de way you keerin’ on. Nohow you can’t beat me. Ahm uh man.”

  “Maybe Ah can’t, but Ahm so goin’ tuh give it uh common trial. Hit de ground! If Ah don’t beat yuh, you kin go and tell de word Ah give it uh po’ man’s trial.”

  Bud tried to ride off, but he was snatched scuffling to the ground and hammered to his knees time and time again. When he swore no more, when he begged for mercy no more, John picked him up and heaved him across the rump of the mule and recrossed the branch.

  Almost home he remembered the empty meal-barrel and swerved off into the Weens’ wood lot where droves of piney wood rooters nosed for ground nuts. John laid a shoat by the heels and stuck it expertly before it had squealed more than three or four times. Looking all about to see if he was seen, he swung the hog over his shoulder and took the back way home.

  By that time the sun was washing herself in the bloody sea and splashing her bedclothes in red and purple. John built a fire under the washpot, and dressed his meat before he came inside the house. When Lucy opened her eyes from a nap, crude slabs of pork steak were sizzling in the skillets.

  “Where you git all dat fresh meat from, John?”

  “Neb’ mind where Ah got de meat from. You jes’ eat ’til you git plenty. Ah’ll get out and throw uh natural fuh you any time. You got uh man tuh fend fuh yuh.”

  “Lawd knows Ah do needs one. Me and mah po’ li’l’ chillun been singin’ mighty low ’round here.”

  “Now, Lucy, don’t start dat talk ’bout breakin’ up and quittin’ ’cause Ah ain’t goin’ tuh hear dat. Youse mah wife and all Ah want you tuh do is gimme uh chance tuh show mah spunk.”

  “Good Lawd, John, dat’s all justice been beggin’ righteous tuh do—be uh man. Cover de ground you stand on. Jump at de sun and eben if yuh miss it, yuh can’t help grabbin’ holt uh de moon.”

  “Li’l’ Bit, please don’t tongue lash me,” there was a short pause, “’cause Ah done beat Bud nelly tuh death, and dat’s plenty tuh think uhbout—by rights Ah oughta kilt ’im.” He rubbed his swollen knuckles.

  “Oh mah Gawd! When?”

  “Dis evenin’—jus’ ’fo’ Ah come home, Lucy. Ah wouldn’t be no man atall tuh let yo’ brother uh nobody else snatch uh bed out from under y
ou, mo’ special in yo’ condition.”

  “John dat’s goin’ tuh cause trouble and double, Bud hate you and now you done hit ’im he ain’t goin’ tuh let his shirt-tail touch ’im till he tell it tuh de white folks. Lawd, me and mah po’ chilluns. If dey ever git yuh on dat chain-gang Ah never speck tuh see you live no mo’.”

  “Ah ain’t goin’ tuh no chain-gang. If dey ever git in behind me, Ah’ll tip on ’cross de good Lawd’s green. Ah’ll give mah case tuh Miss Bush and let Mother Green stand mah bond.”

  “Dey liable tuh grab yuh, ’fo’ yuh know it.”

  “Aw les’ squat dat rabbit and jump uh ’nother one. You ack lak you done cut loose.”

  “Naw, Ah ain’t cut loose but look lak wese tied tuhgether by uh long cord string and youse at one end and Ahm at de other. Way off.”

  “You kin take in some de slack.”

  “Don’t look lak it.”

  “Aw, lemme see de caboose uh dat. Less eat dis hog meat and hoe-cake. Jes’ ’cause women folks ain’t got no big muscled arm and fistes lak jugs, folks claims they’s weak vessels, but dass uh lie. Dat piece uh red flannel she got hung ’tween her jaws is equal tuh all de fistes God ever made and man ever seen. Jes’ take and ruin a man wid dey tongue, and den dey kin hold it still and bruise ’im up jes’ ez bad.”

  “Say whut yuh will or may, you tryin’ tuh loud talk me, but, John, you gives mah folks too much tuh go on. Ah wants mah husband tuh be uh great big man and look over ’em all so’s Ah kin make ’em eat up dey talk. Ah wants tuh uphold yuh in eve’ything, but yuh know John, nobody can’t fight war wid uh brick.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Duke came panting up to Lucy’s late the next afternoon. Lucy was propped up in a rocker and Pheemy was washing baby rags.

  “Hates tuh tell yuh, Lucy, but dey done got ’im.”

  “Do, Jesus.”

  “Yassum, de high sheriff put his hand on his shoulder down dere by de deepo’ ’bout uh hour uh go. Bud Potts swo’ out de warrant, and den Weens say he goin’ have ’im bound over tuh de big cote. Sho is bad, and you in yo’ condition.”

  “Where dey got ’im, Duke?”

  “In de big jail. Cy Perkins, Jestice uh de Peace, goin’ tuh bind ’im over. Den Judge Pearson’ll set on de case nex’ cote day.”

  Lucy rose abruptly, “Ahm goin’, Pheemy. You take keer mah chillun.”

  “Lucy, yo’ body ain’t healed up yit. You can’t go.”

  “Ah specks tuh be back ’fo’ dark, An’ Pheemy.”

  “Gal, you ain’t but three days out uh labor. De elements is pizen tuh yuh, and effen yuh git lated ’til after sundown, de pizen night air sho will be de last uh you.”

  Lucy flung the plaid shawl about her head and shoulders. “And, An’ Pheemy, if de baby cries tuh nuss ’fo’ Ah git back, jus’ give her uh sugar-tit tuh suck on and keep her pacified.”

  Lucy stepped out of the cabin door and was gone. In due time she stood in Cy Perkins’ office where he was holding court. She saw her brother’s bruised and beaten face. She saw her husband handcuffed and humble, his eyes turned away from the world.

  The court had not set. She still had time if she worked fast. She held her shawl under the chin with the frail fingers of one hand as she went and stood before her brother.

  “Don’t come puttin’ up no po’ mouf tuh me, Lucy. Git out mah face,” Bud shouted before she could speak. “Dis case ain’t uh goin’ tuh be nol prossed uh nothin’ else. Ah wouldn’t squash it fuh mah mammy. You made yo’ bed now lay in it.”

  She turned away. Cy Perkins called her.

  “Howdy, Lucy.”

  “Well, Ah thankee, Mist’ Perkins. Ah come tuh see ’bout mah husband.”

  “Got any bail money, Lucy? That’s what you need.”

  “Naw suh. Ah come wid jus’ whut Ah stand in, ’cause Ah ain’t got nothin’ else, but Ah come.”

  Cy Perkins looked hard at the forlorn little figure. Lucy stood before him with her large bright eyes staring and not knowing she stared. Suddenly she sat down because she couldn’t stand any more.

  “Look like you’re sick, Lucy.”

  “Mah troubles is inward. Mist’ Perkins.”

  “Her new baby ain’t but three days old,” Duke volunteered.

  Perkins fumbled with his papers, never looking at Lucy the while. John remained with head hung down and face averted except for one begging glance at Lucy. Finally the Justice of the Peace arose and beckoned Lucy into his back office.

  “Don’t try to stand up, Lucy. Set down before you fall down. It’s too bad that you are out at a time like this. Listen, Lucy, this is serious. Your family is well thought of ’round here and lots of folks think John needs a good whipping before he goes to the gang. If he’s got any friends he better call on ’em now. Tell you the truth, Lucy, if it wasn’t for you, and me knowing your papa so well, I wouldn’t have parted my lips, but your husband is in a mess of trouble.”

  “Thankee, Mist’ Perkins. Ah got fo’ li’l’ chillun ’round mah feet; if dey send John off Ah don’t know whut’ll ’come uh us all.”

  “Have you been to Judge Alf yet?”

  “Naw suh. Ah hates tuh go ’cause he done cautioned John good tuh behave hisself, but Ah reckon Ah better.”

  “Hurry across there to his office. I won’t set court until you get back.”

  Lucy didn’t come back. She all but collapsed on the steps of Pearson’s office, and he sent her home in his buggy. Alf Pearson strode across to Perkins’ office and asked that the prisoner be released in his charge and it was done. Weens was paid for his hog, but John was bound over to the big court for the assault upon his brother-in-law. There was a great deal of loud whispering about night-riders and the dark of midnight, but nobody touched John as he drove Judge Pearson home.

  “John, I’m not going to ask you why you’ve done these things, partly because I already know, and partly because I don’t believe you do.”

  “If Ah had uh knowed ’twuz gointer raise all dis rukus.”

  Alf laughed sardonically, “Of course you did not know. Because God has given to all men the gift of blindness. That is to say that He has cursed but few with vision. Ever hear tell of a happy prophet? This old world wouldn’t roll on the way He started it if men could see. Ha! In fact I think God Himself was looking off when you went and got yourself born.”

  “Yes suh, Ah speck so.”

  They turned into the cedar-lined drive that led up to the big, columned veranda.

  “John, distance is the only cure for certain diseases. Here’s fifty dollars. There are lots of other towns in the world besides Notasulga, and there’s several hours before midnight. I know a man who could put lots of distance between him and this place before time, even wearing his two best suits—one over the other. He wouldn’t fool with baggage because it would hold him back. He would get to a railroad twenty-five or thirty miles off.”

  John assisted Alf Pearson to alight.

  “Good bye, John. I know how to read and write and I believe Lucy does too.”

  He strode up the steps of his veranda very straight and stiff, as if he had an extra backbone in his back.

  In the early black dark John was gone. Lucy feverishly peeped thru first one crack then another, watching up the big road after him.

  “Lucy, whyn’t you stay in dat bed?” Pheemy grumbled. “You look lak youse jes’ determined tuh be down sick and Ah already got mah hands full wid dese chilluns.”

  “An’ Pheemy, Ahm standin’ on de watch wall. Reckon de patter rollers’ll ketch ’im?”

  “Lawd naw. He pitched out towards Chehaw and dem folks is in Notasulga waitin’ fuh midnight.”

  The hours went past on their rusty ankles and midnight stood looking both ways for day.

  “Hush!” said Lucy, “dey’s comin’!”

  Pheemy listened hard but couldn’t hear a thing.

  “Dat’s all right, An’ Pheemy, Ah don’t zakly hear nothin’ neither, but uh far uhway whisper look lak it’
s puttin’ on flesh.”

  They stood peering for a quarter of an hour or more at the narrow slit of the big road visible from the cabin. Then sure enough as silently as horsemen can, rode twenty or thirty men in the cloud-muddied moonlight. Slowly, watchfully, as they passed the big gate that led to the quarters and on past the stately cedar drive.

  “How come dey ain’t turned in?” Lucy asked, a tremble.

  “Dey ain’t gwine set foot on Judge Alf Pearson’s place, if dey run on ’im outside dey’d grab ’im. Dey might go in some folks’ quarters, but ’tain’t never no patter roller set foot on dis place. Dey know big wood from brush.”

  Pheemy told the truth, but she was only embolden to speak after the last rider had passed the big gate, and faded into the distance.

  “Maybe dey already got ’im.”

  “Aw naw, gal, g’wan tuh rest. Dey jes’ bluffin’ tuh skeer us black folks.”

  The next day Chuck Portlock met Alf Pearson and tried to say casually, “Say, Judge dey tell me dat nigger run off. You got any notion which way he went?”

  “Afraid not, Chuck. I’ve treed many a coon in my time, but I don’t believe I’ve got a drop of bloodhound in me.”

  CHAPTER 12

  John’s destination was purely accidental. When he came out upon the big road to Chehaw, he overtook another Negro. They hailed each other gladly in the early dawn.

  “Where you bound fuh?” John asked.

  “Tuh ketch me uh high henry.”

  “Whuss dat?”

  “Uh railroad train, man, where you been all yo’ days you don’t know de name of uh train?”

  “Oh, ’bout in spots and places. Where you bound fuh when you git on de train?”

  “Tuh Florida, man. Dat’s de new country openin’ up. Now git me straight, Ah don’t mean West Florida, Ah means de real place. Good times, good money, and no mules and cotton.”

  “B’lieve Ah’ll go ’long wid yuh.”

  “Man, dat calls fuh more’n talk. Dat calls fuh money.”