Jonah's Gourd Vine

by Zora Neale Hurston

  “Dis po’ dinner,” consisted of fried chicken, hot biscuits, rice, mashed sweet potatoes, warmed over greens, rice pudding and iced tea.

  “You goin’ tuh set down and eat wid me, ain’t yuh Sister Lovelace?”

  “Naw, you go right uhead and eat. Ahm goin’ tuh fan de flies. Dey right bad dese days. Ah been laying off tuh have de place screened, but jes’ ain’t got ’round tuh it. De wire is easy tuh git but dese carpenters ’round heah does sich shabby work ’til Ah ruther not be bothered.”

  “Ahm uh carpenter.”

  “You ain’t got time tuh fool wid nothin’ lak dat. Youse too big uh man.”

  “Oh, Ah got plenty time.”

  John felt warm heart-beats that night in his room. He decided to drop a line or two to Sanford. He sent a cheerful line to Hambo first of all.

  He wrote to Mamie Lester for news and comfort. She never answered. She felt injured that he should ask such a thing of her. Her indignation burst out of her. She asked many people, “Who do John Pearson think Ah am to be totin’ news for him? He ain’t nothin’.” She said “nothin’” as if she had spat a stinking morsel out of her mouth.

  After a long time, when he didn’t get an answer, John Pearson understood, and laughed in his bed. The virtuous indignation of Mamie Lester! He could see her again as he had first seen her twenty years ago, as she had tramped into Sanford as barefooted as a yard dog with her skimpy, dirty calico dress and uncombed head; and her guitar hanging around her neck by a dirty red ribbon. How she had tried to pick him up and instead had gotten an invitation to his church. Respectability and marriage to a deacon. She, who had had no consciousness of degradation on the chain-gang and in the brothel, had now discovered she had no time for talk with fallen preachers.

  Now that he had work to do, he wrote to George Gibson, asking him to return his tools that George had borrowed. George ignored the letter. He was really angry, “The son of a bum! Won’t pay nobody and then come astin’ me ’bout dem tools. Ah wish he would come to my face and ast me for ’em.”

  “Do Pearson owe you too?” another impostor asked.

  “Do he? Humph!” he left the feeling that if he only had the money that John Pearson owed him, he need never worry any more.

  George was indignant at being asked favors by the weak. His blood boiled.

  It became the fashion that whoever was in hard luck, whoever was in debt—John Pearson had betrayed him. Gibson habitually wore a sorrowful look of infinite betrayal. In the meanwhile he used John’s tools and came finally to feel that he deserved them.

  The next day after the chance meeting John began his task of screening the house of Sally Lovelace, and when he was thru he hesitated over taking the money agreed upon.

  “You done fed me more’n de worth uh de job,” he said.

  “Aw shucks, man, uh woman dat’s useter havin’ uh man tuh do fuh got tuh wait on somebody. Take de money. You goin’ tuh be tuh church dis Sunday?”

  “Er—er—Ah don’t jus’ exactly know, tuh tell yuh truth, Sister Lovelace.”

  “You jokin’, Ah know. Whut you goin’ tuh do, if you don’t go?”

  “Not tuh turn yuh no short answer, Ah don’t know.”

  “Oh come uhlong wid me. Deacon Turner and dem wuz overglad tuh know youse in town. Dey wants yuh tuh run our revival meetin’ and dey did say suppin’ ’bout yuh preachin’ Communion Service.”

  John flinched, and Mrs. Lovelace saw it. He had to stay to supper then, and at eleven o’clock that night she knew everything. He had not spared himself, and lay with his head in her lap sobbing like a boy of four.

  “Well, youse gointer pastor right here at Pilgrim Rest and none of ’em bet’ not come ’round here tryin’ tuh destroy yo’ influence!” Sally blazed. “Ain’t doodley squat dey self and goin’ ’round tromplin’ on folks dat’s ’way uhbove ’em.” She ran her fingers soothingly thru John’s curly hair, and he fell asleep at her knee.

  John escorted Sally to church on Sunday and preached.

  “Man, you preached!” Sally said warmly during dinner—“only thing Ah heahed so many folks wuz shoutin’ Ah couldn’t half hear whut you wuz sayin’. You got tuh preach dat at home some time. Special fuh me.”

  “Preach it anytime you say, but sho ’nuff Ah felt lak ole times tuhday. Felt lak Samson when his hair begin tuh grow out agin.”

  “Dat’s de way fuh yuh tuh feel, John. Oh yeah, ’fo’ Ah fuhgit it, dere’s uh lady got twenty-seben houses. She wants you tuh look over and patch up wherever dey needs fixin’. Ain’t been nothin’ done on ’em in two years. ’Bout two weeks steady work and den de Meth’dis’ parsonage got tuh have new shingles all over and me and de pastor’s wife stands in. Oh you goin’ tuh git ’long good in this town.”

  John had finished the work on the houses before he found out that they belonged to Sally. The Methodist preacher had paid him. He found himself displeased when he heard of Sally’s ownership. What would she with all that property, want with him?

  “John, dey’s fixin’ tuh loose de pastor uh Pilgrim Rest and Ahm quite sho dey’s ’bout tuh call you. So go git yo’ things tuhgether and less git married tuhday so nobody can’t start no talk.”

  “Thank yuh, Sally.”

  “You wuz aimin’ tuh ast me anyhow, wuzn’t yuh?”

  “Sho wuz, jus’ ez soon ez Ah could git tuh de place where Ah could make support fuh yuh.”

  “Well, den eve’ything is all right between us. We ain’t no chillun no mo’, and we don’t need tuh go thru uh whole lot uh form and fashion—uh kee-kee-in’ and eatin’ up pocket handkerchers. You done got de church and dat calls fuh over uh hund’ed dollars uh month and besides whut you got comin’ in from carpenterin’, and Ah got three hund’ed dollars eve’y month from de rent uh dem houses. Ahm gointer marry you, ’cause Ah love yuh and Ah b’lieve you love me, and ’cause you needs marryin’.”

  “Ah sho do, Sally. Less go git married and den got set on de fish pond and ketch us uh mess uh speckled perches fuh supper. Iss uh heap mo’ fun than buyin’ ’em.”

  “Less do. Ah always wanted tuh go sich places, but Oscar never would take me. He wuz uh good puhvider tho’.”

  Sally went to bed as a matter of course that night, but John was as shy as a girl—as Lucy had been. His bride wondered at that. He stayed a long time on his knees and Sally never knew how fervently he prayed that Sally might never look at him out of the eyes of Lucy. How abjectly he begged his God to keep his path out of the way of snares and to bear him up lest he bruise his feet against a stumbling-stone, and he vowed vows, if God would only keep his way clean. “Let Lucy see it too, Lawd, so she kin rest. And be so pleased as to cast certain memories in de sea of fuhgitfulness where dey will never rise tuh condemn me in de judgment. Amen and thang God.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Sally, you never ought tuh bought me no car. Dat’s too much money tuh take out de bank.”

  “Who else Ahm goin’ tuh spend it on? Ah ain’t got uh chick nor uh chile ’ceptin’ you. If us ever goin’ tuh enjoy ourselves, dis is de world tuh do it in.”

  “But uh Chevrolet would uh done me. You didn’t hafta go buy no Cadillac.”

  “Wanted yuh tuh set up in uh Cadillac. Dat’s yo’ weddin’ present and our first anniversary present all two together.”

  “Don’t look lak us been married no year, Sally.”

  “But us is. Dat’s ’cause we happy. Tuh think Ah lived tuh git forty-eight ’fo’ Ah ever knowed whut love is.”

  “Ah love you de same way, Sally.”

  “Look here, John, you ain’t been back tuh Sanford since yuh lef’ dere.”

  “Don’t keer if Ah never see it no mo’ ’twill be too soon.”

  “Yeah, but honey, yo’ buddy Hambo done been down here and paid you uh visit. You oughter go up and spend uh few days wid him, and let dem niggers see how well you gittin’ uhlong.”

  “Awright; when you wanta go?”

  “Me? Ah ain’t goin’. Ah got mah guava jelly tuh
put up. Ah don’t trust ridin’ so fur in dese cars, nohow. You go and tell me all uhbout it. You been right up under me ever since us been married. Do yuh good tuh git off uh spell.”

  “Naw, Sally, Ah don’t want tuh go ’thout you.”

  “Fool, how you goin’ tuh git uh rest from me and take me wid yuh? You jes’ lak uh li’l’ boy and dass whut make Ah love yuh so, but you g’wan.”

  “Naw, Ah promised mahself never tuh sleep uh night ’way from you. Ah don’t wanta break mah vow.”

  Sally exulted in her power and sipped honey from his lips, but she made him go, seeing the pain in John’s face at the separation. It was worth her own suffering ten times over to see him that way for her.

  The next morning he turned the long nose of his car northwards and pulled up at Hambo’s gate. He was affectionately called every vile name in the language and fed on cow peas, but it seemed good to be there.

  Three girls in their late teens stood about his gleaming chariot when he emerged towards sundown to visit the new pastor of Zion Hope church. They admired it loudly and crudely hinted for rides, but John coolly drove off without taking any hints. He was used to admiration of his car now and he had his vows.

  Sanford was warm. From what he heard now as he sat under the wheel of his car, Sanford had had not a moment of happiness since he left. Zion Hope was desolate. The choir in heaven had struck silence for the space of half an hour. Wouldn’t he consider a recall?

  “Naw, it would be de same ole soup-bone—jus’ warmed over—dat’s all. Ah got uh church bigger’n dis one.”

  “You could give dem two Sundays and us two, couldn’t yuh?” Trustee John Hall pled.

  “Ah couldn’t see de way tuh be ’way from home dat much. We got too much proppity down dere fuh me tuh look after.”

  “You got proppity?”

  “Yep. Thirty houses tuh rent. Three of ’em brand new. Ah jus’ finished ’em off las’ week and dey was rented ’fo’ de roof got on.” He pulled out the huge roll of bills in his pocket, “And Ah jus’ got th’ew collectin’ de month’s rent ’fo’ Ah come off.”

  “God uhmighty man, youse rich! You got bucks above suspicion! Oh shucks, Ah lak tuh fuhgit. Here’s dat fo’ dollars Ah owe you fuh buildin’ dat shed-room ’fo’ you went way from here. Ah could uh been done paid yuh, but Ah let talk keep me from it.”

  John pocketed the money without thanking him. He was grinning sardonically inside, thinking of the heat of the pavements and empty belly, the cold cruelty of want, how much men hit and beat at need when it pleads its gauntness.

  But Hall was looking upon plenty and heard no miserable inside gnawings. He heard not John’s cold lack of courtesy.

  “But you got tuh preach for us dis comin’ Sunday. Dat’s Communion service. Nobody in de world kin preach dat lak you. Lemme go put it out right now, so’s de whole church will know.”

  “You reckon Ah’d fine uh welcome, Hall?”

  “Lawd yes, Rev. Pearson. You left a welcome at Zion Hope when you left here, and you kerried a welcome wid yuh where you went and you brought a welcome back wid you. Come preach for us one mo’ time. God a’mighty man, Zion Hope couldn’t hold all de folks dat would be dere. We’d lift a collection lak on big rally day.”

  But John was fingering the four dollars in his mind. He would buy a chicken for supper. Hambo would like that. He would still have enough left over to service the car and take him home.

  “Nope, Brother Hall. Thankee for de invitation, but Ah feels to get on back home tuh mah wife. Can’t be off too long.”

  He went on thinking how to show Sally how he could guard their money. Sure three dollars and a quarter would take him home. Maybe less. He wrote Sally about it, wrote her some kind of a letter every day.

  While he and Hambo ate supper he heard voices on the porch—gay giggling. He motioned to see who it was.

  “Aw, don’t go,” Hambo continued, “’Tain’t nobody but dem three li’l’ chippies from up de street. Dey gone crazy ’bout dat car. Dat kinda plump one is Ora Patton—jes’ ez fresh ez dishwater. Always grinnin’ up in some man’s face. She’s after yo’ money right now. I seen her pass here eve’y few minutes—switchin’ it and lookin’ back at it. Set down and finish yo’ supper man. Ah wouldn’t pay her no rabbit-foot. She ain’t wuth it.”

  “Oh, Ah ain’t studyin’ ’bout dem gals. Jus’ don’t want nobody tuh mess wid dat car. Dat radiator cap cost twenty-six dollars. Soon ez Ah git th’ew supper Ahm goin’ tuh put de car up.”

  “You better, dey steal gas ’round here too, but dat Ora is hot after yuh. Her egg-bag ain’t gonna rest easy ’til she git nex’ tuh yuh. Money crazy. Don’t give ’er uh damn cent. Be lak me. Ah wouldn’t give uh bitch uh bone if she treed uh terrapin.”

  “She won’t git nothin’ outa me. Ahm lak de cemetery. Ahm takin’ in, but never no put out. ’Ceptin’ tuh Sally. She come tuh me in hell and Ah love her for it.”

  When John stepped to the door of his car he found Ora on the running-board.

  “Hello, daddy.”

  “Oh, er, hello, daughter.”

  “Don’t call me no daughter. Take me fuh uh short ride.”

  “Ahm jus’ goin’ tuh de garage. Two—three blocks, you kin ride dat fur if you wanta.”

  “Okay, stingy papa. You eben wear uh stingy-rim hat.” As the car moved off silently, “Lawd! Ah wonder how it feels tuh be drivin’ uh great big ole ‘Kitty.’”

  “Kin you drive?”

  “Yeah. Lemme take de wheel jes’ uh minute. Every body in town is talkin’ ’bout dis blue and silver ‘Kitty.’ You mus’ got money’s mammy, and grandpa change.”

  “Nope, broke ez uh he-ha’nt in torment. All dis b’longs tuh mah wife. Here’s de garage. Youse goin’ on past it.”

  “Aw, gimme uh li’l’ bit uh ride, daddy. Don’t be so mean and hateful.”

  “Nope, Ahm goin’ home tuhmorrer and Ah got tuh be in bed so Ah wont go tuh sleep drivin’. Move over.”

  He reached for the wheel and Ora shot down on the gas. They had nosed out on the road to Osteen before John dared to struggle for possession of the wheel. He hated to think of even a scratch on his paint. Then Ora pulled to the side of the road and parked and threw her arms about his neck and began to cry.

  “Ora so bad and now, big, good-looking daddy is mad wid her! Po’ Ora can’t he’p who she like. Please don’t be mad, you pretty, curly headed man.”

  John unwrapped her arms from ’round his neck gently.

  “Well, Ah’ll give you uh li’l’ short ride, if thass all yuh want. Can’t burn up too much gas.”

  Ora kissed him fleshily, “Dat’s right sweet daddy. Let de wheels roll, Ah loves cars. Ride me ’til Ah sweat.”

  In twenty minutes John was back at the garage and Ora got out pouting. “You mus’ figger Ah sweats mighty easy, papa. Ah ast yuh fuh uh ride, but you ain’t gimme none hardly.”

  Friday came and John was glad. He was going home and Ora had failed of her purpose. He was convincing himself that God and Sally could trust him.

  Friday night Ora waited for him outside the garage. Standing in the dark of a clump of hibiscus.

  “Thought you wuz goin’ home Tuesday?” she accused. “Here ’tis Friday night and you ain’t gone yet. Ah know you jes’ wants tuh git rid uh me.”

  “Naw, ’tain’t dat. First place Ah got uh wife and second place Ahm goin’ home sho ’nuff tuhmorrer and therefo’ Ah ain’t got no time tuh talk. Needs mah sleep. Ahm gittin’ ole.”

  “Aw, naw, you ain’t. Come on less take uh good bye ride. Less don’t make it stingy lak de las’ time. Less ride out tuh Oviedo and back.”

  She climbed in beside him and put her hands on top of his wheel and eye-balled him sweetly.

  “Don’t go in dis ole garage. Drive on.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Two hours later when John found himself dressing in a dingy back room in Oviedo he was mad—mad at his weakness—mad at Ora, though she did not know it as yet. She was putting
on her shoes on the other side of the bed.

  “Daddy, you got twenty dollars you kin gimme? Ah needs so many things and you got plenty.”

  “Naw, Ah tole you befo’ Ah didn’t have nothin’. Anything you see on me b’longs tuh Sally.” He laced his shoes and put on his vest, then he remembered the remainder of the four dollars he had collected. He pulled it out of his pocket and threw it at her, “Here! Take dat. Iss all Ah got, and Ah hope you rot in hell! Ah hope you never rise in judgment!” He seized his coat and put it on as he hurried out to the car. Ora grabbed up her dress and dashed after him, but he was under the wheel before she left the room, and the motor was humming when she reached the running-board. John viciously thrust her away from the car door without uttering a word. He shoved her so hard that she stumbled into the irrigation ditch, as the car picked up speed and in a moment was a red eye in the distance.

  “Well, de ole gray-head bastard! Wonder whut got intuh him? Dis li’l’ ole three dollars and some odd change is gonna do me uh lot uh good. Ah been strainin’ up tuh git tuh Oviedo fuh de last longest and here Ah is, but Ah wisht Ah knowed whut he flew hot over. Sho do. He done lef’ me right where Ah wants tuh be, wid pay-day at de packin’ house tuhmorrer. Jes’ lak de rabbit in de briar patch.

  “Bright and soon tuhmorrer Ah means tuh git me uh bottle uh perfume and some new garters—one red one tuh draw love and one yeller one tuh draw money. Hey, hey, Ah can’t lose—not wid de help Ah got.”

  When Hambo awoke John was gone. Ten dollars was on the dresser beside the clock, and a couple of brand new nightshirts were on a chair.

  “Well de hen-fired son-of-a-gun done slipped off and never tole me good bye again! Bet de wop-sided, holler-headed——thought Ah wuz gointer cry, but he’s uh slew-footed liar!” Whereupon Hambo cried over the stove as he fried his sow-bosom and made a flour hoe-cake. Then he found he couldn’t eat. Frog in his throat or something so that even his coffee choked him.

  The ground-mist lifted on a Florida sunrise as John fled homeward. The car droned, “ho-o-ome” and tortured the man. False pretender! Outside show to the world! Soon he would be in the shelter of Sally’s presence. Faith and no questions asked. He had prayed for Lucy’s return and God had answered with Sally. He drove on but half-seeing the railroad from looking inward.