Jonah's Gourd Vine

by Zora Neale Hurston

  He began to remember friends who had lain back on the shelf of his mind for years. Now and then he surprised them by casual visits, but the pitying look would send him away and it would be a long time before he made such a call again.

  He began to see a good deal of Zeke who had moved with his family to Florida, a year or two before Lucy died. He loved seeing Zeke because he was just as great a hero in his brother’s eyes as he had been when he was the biggest Negro Baptist in the State and when Zion Hope had nine hundred members instead of the six hundred now on its roll. Zeke talked but always spared him.

  Yes, John Pearson found himself possessed of a memory at a time when he least needed one.

  “Funny thing,” he said sitting in Zeke’s kitchen with his wife, “things dat happened long time uhgo used to seem way off, but now it all seems lak it wuz yistiddy. You think it’s dead but de past ain’t stopped breathin’ yet.”

  “Eat supper wid us, John Buddy, and stay de night.”

  “Thankee, Zeke. B’lieve Ah will fuh uh change.” He went to bed at Zeke’s after supper. Slept a long time. He awoke with a peculiar feeling and crept out of the house and went home.

  “Hattie, whut am Ah doin’ married tuh you?” John was standing in his wife’s bedroom beside her bed and looking down on her, a few minutes later.

  Hattie sat up abruptly, pulling up the shoulder straps of her nightgown.

  “Is dat any way fuh you tuh do? Proagin’ ’round half de night lak uh damn tom cat and den come heah, wakin’ me up tuh ast uh damn fool question?”

  “Well, you answer me den. Whut is us doin’ married?”

  “If you been married tuh uh person seben years and den come ast sich uh question, you mus’ be crazy uh drunk one. You is drunk! You oughta know whut us doin’ married jus’ ez well ez Ah do.”

  “But Ah don’t. God knows Ah sho don’t. Look lak Ah been sleep. Ah ain’t never meant tuh marry you. Ain’t got no recollection uh even tryin’ tuh marry yuh, but here us is married, Hattie, how come dat?”

  “Is you crazy sho ’nuff?”

  “Naw, Ah ain’t crazy. Look lak de first time Ah been clothed in mah right mind fuh uh long time. Look lak uh whole heap uh things been goin’ on in mah sleep. You got tuh tell me how come me and you is married.”

  “Us married ’cause you said you wanted me. Dat’s how come.”

  “Ah don’t have no ’membrance uh sayin’ no sich uh thing. Don’t b’lieve Ah said it neither.”

  “Well you sho said so—more’n once too. Ah married yuh jes’ tuh git rid of yuh.”

  “Aw naw. Ah ain’t begged you tuh marry me, nothin’ uh de kind. Ah ain’t said nothing’ ’bout lovin’ yuh tuh my knowin’, but even if Ah did, youse uh experienced woman—had plenty experience ’fo’ Ah ever seen yuh. You know better’n tuh b’lieve anything uh man tell yuh after ten o’clock at night. You know so well Ah ain’t wanted tuh marry you. Dat’s how come Ah know it’s uh bug under dis chip.”

  “Well—if you didn’t want me you made lak yuh did,” Hattie said doggedly.

  “Dat sho is funny, ’cause Ah know Ah wanted Miss Lucy and Ah kin call tuh memory eve’y li’l’ thing ’bout our courtin’ and ’bout us gittin’ married. Couldn’t fuhgit it if Ah wuz tuh try. Mo’ special and particular, Ah remember jus’ how Ah felt when she looked at me and when Ah looked at her and when we touched each other. Ah recollect how de moon looked de night us married, and her li’l’ bare feets over de floor, but Ah don’t remember nothin’ ’bout you. Ah don’t know how de moon looked and even if it rained uh no. Ah don’t ’call to mind making no ’rangements tuh marry yuh. So you mus’ know mo’ ’bout it than Ah do.”

  Hattie pulled her long top lip down over the two large chalky-white false teeth in front and thought a while. She sank back upon her pillow with an air of dismissal. “Youse drunk and anybody’d be uh fool tuh talk after yuh. You know durned well how come you married me.”

  “Naw, Ah don’t neither. Heap uh things done went on Ah ain’t meant tuh be. Lucy lef’ seben chillun in mah keer. Dey ain’t here now. Where is mah chillun, Hattie? Whut mah church doin’ all tore up? Look at de whiskey bottles settin’ ’round dis house. Dat didn’t useter be.”

  “Yeah, and you sho drinks it too.”

  “But Ah didn’t useter. Not in Lucy’s time. She never drunk none herself lak you do, and she never brought none in de house tuh tempt me.”

  “Aw g’wan out heah! Don’t keer if Ah do take uh swaller uh two. You de pastor uh Zion Hope, not me. You don’t hav’ to do lak me. Youse older’n me. Hoe yo’ own row. De niggers fixin’ tuh put yuh out dat pulpit ’bout yo’ women and yo’ likker and you tryin’ tuh blame it all on me.”

  “Naw it’s jus’ uh hidden mystery tuh me—what you doin’ in Miss Lucy’s shoes.”

  And like a man arisen, but with sleep still in his eyes, he went out of the door and to his own bedroom.

  Hattie lay tossing, wondering how she could get to An’ Dangie Dewoe without arousing suspicion.

  “Wonder is Ah done let things go too long, or is de roots jus’ done wore out and done turn’d back on me?”

  There was no sleep in either bedroom that night.

  Hattie crept into John’s bed at dawn and tried her blandishments but he thrust her rudely away.

  “Don’t you want me tuh love yuh no mo’?”

  “Naw.”

  “How come?”

  “It don’t seem lak iss clean uh sumpin.”

  “Is you mad cause Ah learnt tuh love yuh so hard way back dere ’fo’ Miss Lucy died?”

  “Ah didn’t mind you lovin’ me, but Ah sho is mad wid yuh fuh marryin’ me. Youse jus’ lak uh blowfly. Spoil eve’y thing yuh touch. You sho ain’t no Lucy Ann.”

  “Naw, Ah ain’t no Miss Lucy, ’cause Ah ain’t goin’ tuh cloak yo’ dirt fuh yuh. Ah ain’t goin’ tuh take offa yuh whut she took so you kin set up and be uh big nigger over mah bones.”

  “’Tain’t no danger uh me bein’ no big nigger wid you uhround. Ah sure ain’t de State Moderator no mo’.”

  “And dat ain’t all. You fool wid me and Ah’ll jerk de cover offa you and dat Berry woman. Ah’ll throw uh brick in yo’ coffin and don’t keer how sad de funeral will be, and Ah dare yuh tuh hit me too. Ah ain’t gonna be no ole man’s fool.”

  “You know Ah don’t beat no women folks. Ah married Lucy when she wuzn’t but fifteen and us lived tuhgether twenty-two years and Ah ain’t never lifted mah hand—”

  Suddenly a seven-year-old picture came before him. Lucy’s bright eyes in the sunken face. Helpless and defensive. The look. Above all, the look! John stared at it in fascinated horror for a moment. The sea of the soul, heaving after a calm, giving up its dead. He drove Hattie from his bed with vile imprecations.

  “You, you!” he sobbed into the crook of his arm when he was alone, “you made me do it. And Ah ain’t never goin’ tuh git over it long ez Ah live.”

  During breakfast they quarreled over the weak coffee and Hattie swore at him.

  “No woman ain’t never cussed me yet and you ain’t gonna do it neither—not and tote uh whole back,” he gritted out between his teeth and beat her severely, and felt better. Felt almost as if he had not known her when Lucy was sick. He panged a little less. So after that he beat her whenever she vexed him. More interest paid on the debt of Lucy’s slap. He pulled the crayon enlargement of Hattie’s out of its frame and belligerently thrust it under the wash-pot while she was washing and his smoking eyes warned her not to protest.

  “Rev’und,” she began at breakfast one morning, “Ah needs uh pair uh shoes.”

  “Whyn’t yuh go git ’em den?”

  “Where Ahm goin’ tuh git ’em from?”

  “Speer got plenty and J. C. Penney swear he sells ’em.”

  “Dat ain’t doin’ me no good lessen Ah got de money tuh buy ’em wid.”

  “Ain’t yuh got no money?”

  “You ain’t gimme none, is yuh? Not in de last longest.”

>   “Oh you got shoes uh plenty. Ah see yuh have five uh six pairs ’round out under de dresser. Miss Lucy never had nothin’ lak dat.”

  “Miss Lucy agin! Miss Lucy dis, Miss Lucy dat!”

  “Yeah Miss Lucy, and Ahm gointer put uh headstone at her grave befo’ anybody git shoes ’round heah—eben me.”

  “Mah shoes is nelly wore out, man. Dat headstone kin wait.”

  “Naw, Hattie, ’tain’t gonna wait. Don’t keer if youse so nelly barefooted ’til yo’ toes make prints on de ground. She’s gointer git her remembrance-stone first. You done wore out too many uh her shoes already. Here, take dis two bits and do anything you wanta wid it.”

  She threw it back viciously. “Don’t come lounchin’ me out no two bits when Ah ast you fuh shoes.”

  Hattie reported this to certain church officers and displayed her general shabbiness. Harris sympathized.

  “Iss uh shame, Sister. Ah’d cut down dat Jonah’s gourd vine in uh minute, if Ah had all de say-so. You know Ah would, but de majority of ’em don’t keer whut he do, some uh dese people stands in wid it. De man mus’ is got roots uh got piece uh dey tails buried by his door-step. Know whut some of ’em tole me? Says he ain’t uh bit worse dan de rest uh y’all ’round de altar dere. Y’all gits all de women yuh kin. He jus’ de bes’ lookin’ and kin git mo’ of ’em dan de rest. Us’pays him tuh preach and he kin sho do dat. De best in de State, and whut make it so cool, he’s de bes’ lookin’. Eben dem gray hairs becomes ’im. Nobody don’t haft do lak he do, jus’ do lak he say do. Yes ma’am, Sister Pearson ’twon’t do fuh us tuh try tuh handle ’im. He’d beat de case. De mo’ he beat you de better some of ’em laks it. Dey chunkin stones at yo’ character and sayin’ you ain’t fit. Pot calling de kittle black. Dey points de finger uh scorn at yuh and say yo’ eye is black. All us kin do is tuh lay low and wait on de Lawd.”

  “Sho wisht Ah could he’p mahself,” Hattie whimpered.

  “They is help if you knows how tuh git it. Some folks kin hit uh straight lick wid uh crooked stick. They’s sich uh thing ez two-headed men.”

  “You b’lieve in all dat ole stuff ’bout hoodoo and sich lak, Brer Harris?” Hattie watched Harris’s face closely.

  “Yeah, Ah do, Mrs. Rev’und. Ah done seen things done. Why hit’s in de Bible, Sister! Look at Moses. He’s de greatest hoodoo man dat God ever made. He went ’way from Pharaoh’s palace and stayed in de desert nigh on to forty years and learnt how tuh call God by all his secret names and dat’s how he got all dat power. He knowed he couldn’t bring off all dem people lessen he had power unekal tuh man! How you reckon he brought on all dem plagues if he didn’t had nothin’ but human power? And then agin his wife wuz Ethiopian. Ah bet she learnt ’im whut he knowed. Ya, indeed, Sister Pearson. De Bible is de best conjure book in de world.”

  “Where Ahm goin’ ter fin’ uh two-headed doctor? Ah don’t know nothin’ ’bout things lak dat, but if it kin he’p mah condition—”

  “An’ Dangie Dewoe wuz full uh power, but she dead now, but up t’wards Palatka is uh ’nother one dat’s good. He calls hisself War Pete.”

  The old black woman of the sky chased the red-eyed sun across the sky every evening and smothered him in her cloak at last. This had happened many times. Night usually found John at his brother’s house until late or at the bluff Deacon Hambo’s who kept filthy epithets upon his tongue for his pastor, but held down the church with an iron hand.

  A fresh rumor spread over the nation. It said war. It talked of blood and glory—of travel, of North, of Oceans and transports, of white men and black.

  And black men’s feet learned roads. Some said good bye cheerfully…others fearfully, with terrors of unknown dangers in their mouths…others in their eagerness for distance said nothing. The daybreak found them gone. The wind said North. Trains said North. The tides and tongues said North, and men moved like the great herds before the glaciers.

  Conscription, uniforms, bands, strutting drum-majors, and the mudsills of the earth arose and skipped like the mountains of Jerusalem on The Day. Lowly minds who knew not their State Capitals were talking glibly of France. Over there. No man’s land.

  “Gen’l Pushin’, Gen’l Punishin’, Gen’l Perchin’, Gen’l Per-shin’. War risk, war bread, insurance, Camp dis-and-dat. Is you heard any news? Dead? Lawd a mussy! Sho hope mah boy come thew aw-right. De black man ain’t got no voice but soon ez war come who de first man dey shove in front? De nigger! Ain’t it de truth? Bet if Ole Teddy wuz in de chear he’d straighten out eve’ything. Wilson! Stop dat ole lie. Wilson ain’t de man Teddy Roosevelt wuz. De fightin’est man and the rulin’est man dat God ever made. Ain’t never been two sho ’nuff smart mens in dese United States—Teddy Roosevelt and Booger T. Washington. Nigger so smart he et at de White House. Built uh great big ole school wuth uh thousand dollars, maybe mo’. Teddy wuz allus sendin’ fuh ’im tuh git ’im tuh he’p ’im run de Guv’ment. Yeah man, dat’s de way it ’tis—niggers think up eve’ything good and de white folks steal it from us. Dass right. Nigger invented de train. White man seen it and run right off and made him one jes’ lak it and told eve’ybody he thought it up. Same way wid ’lectwicity. Nigger thought dat up too. DuBois? Who is dat? ’Nother smart nigger? Man, he can’t be smart ez Booger T.! Whut did dis DuBois ever do? He writes up books and papers, hunh? Shucks! dat ain’t nothin’, anybody kin put down words on uh piece of paper. Gimme da paper sack and lemme see dat pencil uh minute. Shucks! Writing! Man Ah thought you wuz talkin’ ’bout uh man whut had done sumpin. Ah thought maybe he wuz de man dat could make sidemeat taste lak ham.”

  Armistice. Demobilized. Home in khaki. “Yeah man, parlez vous, man, don’t come bookooin’ ’round heah, yuh liable tuh git hurt. Ah could uh married one uh dem French women but shucks, gimme uh brown skin eve’y time. Blacker de berry sweeter de juice. Come tuh mah pick, gimme uh good black gal. De wine wuz sour, and Ah says parlez vous, hell! You gimme mah right change! Comme telly vous. Nar, Ah ain’t goin’ back tuh no farm no mo’. Ah don’t mean tuh say, ‘Git up’ tuh nary ’nother mule lessen he’s setting down in mah lap. God made de world but he never made no hog outa me tuh go ’round rootin’ it up. Done done too much bookoo plowing already! Woman quick gimme mah sumpin t’ eat. Toot sweet.”

  World gone money mad. The pinch of war gone, people must spend. Buy and forget. Spend and solace. Silks for sorrows. Jewels to bring back joy. The factories roared and cried, “Hands!” and in the haste and press white hands became scarce. Scarce and dear. Hands? Who cares about the color of hands? We need hands and muscle. The South—land of muscled hands.

  “George, haven’t you got some relatives and friends down South who’d like a job?”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “Write ’em to come.”

  Some had railroad fare and quickly answered the call of the North and sent back for others, but this was too slow. The wheels and marts were hungry. So the great industries sent out recruiting agents throughout the South to provide transportation to the willing but poor.

  “Lawd, Sanford gettin’ dis Nawth bound fever lak eve’ywhere else,” Hambo complained one Sunday in church. “Elder, you know we done lost two hund’ed members in three months?”

  “Co’se Ah knows it, Hambo. Mah pocketbook kin tell it, if nothing else. Iss rainin’ in mah meal barrel right uh long.”

  “Dat’s awright. De celery farms is making good. All dese folks gone Nawth makes high wages ’round heah. Less raise de church dues,” and it was done.

  But a week later Hambo was back. “Looka heah, John, dis thing is gittin’ serious sho ’nuff. De white folks is gittin’ worried too. Houses empty eve’ywhere. Not half ’nough people tuh work de farms—crops rotting in de ground. Folks plantin’ and ain’t eben takin’ time tuh reap. Mules lef’ standin’ in de furrers. Some de folks gone ’thout lettin’ de families know, and dey say iss de same way, only wurser, all over de South. Dey talkin’ ’bout passin’ laws tuh keep black folks from buying railroad tickets
. Dey tell me dey stopped uh train in Georgy and made all de colored folks git off. Up dere iss awful, de pullman porters tell me. Ride half uh day and see nothin’ but farms wid nobody on ’em.”

  “Yeah,” Pearson answered, “had uh letter from mah son in Tennessee. Same way. In some parts de white folks jails all them recruitin’ agents so dey hafta git de word uhround in secret. Folks hafta slip off. Drive off in cars and ketch trains further up de line.”

  “Tell yuh whut Ah seen down tuh Orlando. De man wuz skeered tuh git offa de train, but he seen uh colored man standin’ ’round de deepo’, so he took and called ’im and he says, ‘Ahm uh labor agent, wanta work?’ He tole him, ‘Yes suh.’ ‘Well git some mo’ men and have ’em down heah tuh meet de Nawth bound train at 2:40 o’clock. Ah’ll stick mah hand out de winder and show wid mah fingers how many Ah got transportation for. Y’all watch good and count mah fingers right,’ and he done it. Wanted sixteen. He beckoned one of ’em onto de train and fixed up wid him fuh de rest and dey all went wid ’im. Dat’s all yuh kin heah. On de streets—in de pool-room—pickin’ beans on de farm—in de cook kitchen—over de wash board—before dey go in church and soon ez dey come out, tellin’ who done already went and who fixin’ tuh go.”