Descendants of Hagar

by Nik Nicholson

Then the boxes start to travel through the line, and I see how things change and then stay the same. Always be some big black woman cooking something for some white people, but this the first time I’ve seen ’em selling something other than the breakfast.

  The fairs done changed so much over the years. When I was a little girl, use to be somebody here selling us all kinds of ointments and medicines. One thing make you sleep better, another thing give you energy, and another thing make you live longer. Folks be buying all them elixirs, and when they don’t work they go on back to they own gardens and remedies. Now it’s laws, the government keeping people from selling us sugar water and saying it’s miracle medicine.

  Use to be a time, when I couldn’t go to the fair less I was working in it. Niggas what’n welcome; now we got our own day. Guess white folks figure all our money the same color.

  It’s early, and the folk here now mostly working the fair. Most of the men in line Iain recognize probly came from the other towns to see the fair. This year be a good turnout cause it’s election year, and Wilson probly gone come through here fore the fair over.

  We pass a stand where a man putting up pictures of gorillas and naked niggas he say live in Africa. Coley get all mad, say she cain’t believe it.

  I laugh cause walking to the back with ‘a like going to the fair for the first time. She get to see how the whites don’t make eye contact with ‘a, cause they don’t want ‘a trying to buy nothing from ’em. Or they looking right at all of us, daring us to do or say anything so they can make trouble. Some of the vendors here don’t want niggas here, but the council voted and they allowing a few of our stands.

  I’m gone be selling tabacca, candy, pickles, candy apples, stuffed animals, rag dolls and wooden toys. Sometimes I be taking orders for things too, for when I get back to the store. Another family selling barbeque plates, with baked beans, macaroni and cheese, greens and sweet tea. Food probly the best thing going down here.

  Then another family selling all kinds of seafood. They got gumbo, ettoufee’, fried or grilled fish, with cabbage, grilled potatoes or corn, maybe all that together in a corn and potato mash, some cornbread, spaghetti and lemonade. I’ll be trading for the whole week. Iain gone cook supper one day while I’m coming down here.

  “Why do they have those pictures up like that?” Coley point at the gorilla and African pictures.

  “Every year, it be some scientist at the fair talking bout how niggas came from gorillas. How we ain smart as white folks and all.”

  “Oh Linny! That’s horrible.” She say staring over at the white man organizing his area, and lining up chairs. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “How don’t you care? I mean, he is talking about you.”

  “He ain talkin bout me. That man don’t even know me.”

  “You’re a Negro, aren’t you?”

  “You is too,” I say, laughing. “What I care what white folks say about me?”

  “And what about that woman, who is up there dressed like a slave? She ought to be ashamed of herself. She’s embarrassing the whole race.”

  “That woman make more in a day on tips than you probly earn from a whole month teaching.”

  “Everything isn’t about money. We have to do things for the uplifting of our race. No one could pay me enough to wrap my head, then act like some old slave mammy and serve them.”

  “They sho could pay me, honey. I be done got my whole house fixed up.” A woman call from behind us and I laugh. “Hard as things been round here with harvesting a good crop and actually making a profit, whole lotta folk be willing to act like a slave to make ends meet.”

  Whispering, Coley complain, “Some people… I just can’t believe that Colored woman is up there acting like a slave. I think her behavior is ignorant and selfish. To pretend to be a slave, when all these other Negroes are out here risking their lives, and fighting for our rights.”

  “You know what I think, white people will fall for anything. They all farmers, too. Most folks round here land owners who need to make a living off of what they grow. Then they gone pay some nigga for a box of pancake mix, when they got all the things in the box on they farm. No, white folks ignorant, and any other farmer buying into box pancake mix.”

  “Sho is,” an old man agree with me, snickering.

  “Niggers,” Coley reads out loud, as we entering the area where we can set up.

  I don’t say nothing. I’m use to the word nigger being posted to tell us where it’s safe to go. Cause if you find yourself on the wrong side of that line, it could be the last time you cross one. I try not to pay ‘a no attention, cause I can tell the word done wore ‘a spirit down. But she got to learn or else she might get us all in nooses.

  It’s different though, seeing how she respond to the word. Iain never knew us to be nothing else. ‘Negro,’ a word we use amongst ourselves sometimes, when we feeling proud, but we call each other ‘niggas’ too, or ‘hands.’ Say, “A nigga got to work to eat.” Or “You know where they hiring hands,” another word for niggas.

  White folks, men mostly, call us niggers. If they low class, even the women call us niggers. We answer too. If they high class, and some white women, mostly the older ones, call us something between the two, ‘niggra.’

  ‘Colored,’ a word you learn later on in life. Negro a word, when you first hear it, seem like they talking bout somebody else, some other race, you been so use to being called a nigga.

  I don’t wont no soft word like ‘Colored.’ ‘Colored,’ like lines drawn in sand, or too hard to see. ‘Colored,’ make it seem like maybe white folks care about you. ‘Colored,’ sound like maybe they gone listen to you explain, or take mercy on you if you cry, scream or beg, but ain’t none of that true. White folks don’t listen to niggas. Fact is, they like when they scream and cry.

  One of the things we all try to do, or tell ourselves we gone do if we can, is go proud, silent. We gone pray, and try to keep our mind on something else if we ever get caught by a mob. Less they put that fire to you, then you may not be able to help screaming. Not to mention, they cutting fingers off and stabbing all in men’s guts. Then again, folks say they done seen someone burn proud.

  Please don’t be no woman caught by a mob. Lord, the things I done heard they done done to a woman. It’s been a while since they actually killed a woman round here, but they’ll rape a nigga girl child, or woman, if they find ‘a on a road by ‘aself.

  One time they rape two sisters walking together from school, thinking they was safe together, but they was both too small to be any help to the other. Then again niggas cain’t hardly fight back. They be saying you attacked them when you was just trying to keep them off you.

  Anyhow, I just think using the word ‘nigga’ keep everything clear, and time you hear the word, or see it wrote somewhere you reminded that they don’t care nothing bout you. When they call you a nigga you understand they like to hear you scream, and beg for yo life while they putting you in that noose. You remember, they cut fingers and toes off of you for good luck like you a rabbit. Or keep pieces of us, like they would stuff a deer head, or bear, like it’s a game or sport to kill us.

  Sometimes they burns, and shoot all through some ol’ woman’s son. So when they call you a nigger you know who you is and you understand who they is. I don’t even take offense when somebody call me a nigger, I’m thinking that’s what I’m is anyhow.

  Every time Coley hear the word, or see it, she get like this, get to acting and poking ‘a lip out. Walking round with this sad, pitiful look. Then she go round pouting and looking at other niggas like they owe ‘a something.

  She always talking bout uplifting the race and pushing books about who we should be, and how we should want more. She always saying how this about more than us, we fighting for our whole race. She ain never seen a man lynched, or had to watch ‘a own daddy, or brother, or cousin drug out in the middle of the night. Ain gone even talk about all the folks right here b
een strapped to trees and beat for some white man feeling they wronged him. She ain never seen a man or young boy be cut down out a tree.

  Other times she be talking down to us, like we all children and she the only one know anything. When it seem to me like she’s the one don’t pay attention, don’t understand who she is or where she at. This a different world then where she come from. Don’t seem like ‘a folks got the same concerns as us. Where she from, folks got time to get groups together, organize and picket.

  Here, staying alive hard enough. Then she start asking me, “Don’t it make you mad the way they treat you? Don’t it make you sad that they talk to you like this, or yall like this?” Like she ain no nigga too. I usually tell her, Iain never know no other way to be treated or nothing else to be called. Being called a nigger ain no insult, it’s just what we is. ‘Colored’ some word they use up north somewhere.

  She always going on and on about how we need to fight back, or how we need to protest so we can get the same rights as white folks, so we can vote. I don’t care about voting, if it mean it’s gone be night riders, rapes, hangings, and we ain’t gone be safe in our own house. I definitely ain’t yearning for what whites got, if what they got ain’t enough to keep them from bothering us.

  Niggas could be happy if white folks would be happy with what they got. But they always trying to find ways to get more, and make you work for what they want. They don’t never want to be fair and pay you what you worth. Just give you what they feel.

  What I want and wish, is that they would leave us niggas alone. Stop coming through our town and picking anybody out and asking them to wash they laundry, or cook them some meals. I wish they’d stop coming to our land and telling us to be at they house at some time in the morning to work they land.

  And you cain’t never hardly say no, that be like sassing ’em. They make it like you taking care of you and yours is a sin, and refusing to take care of them cause they cain’t or won’t take care of themselves is yo problem. They be saying you too proud to work.

  They hung a man for saying he got his own field to plow and hoe. Then they burned that man’s barn down, and killed some of his cattle. All I want is to live on my land without them bothering me. Which here lately it’s been good, but this movie done got the Klan started again, and they done got started good.

  “Hey girl, what time yall niggas gone be set up?” one of the local white men ask anybody who hear and know the answer. But he looking at Coley cause she the one stop moving and stare ’im in the face like she got the answer. Standing there all strong like she running something. They both anchored awhile, looking at each other fore I realize ain’t nobody gone speak for us. So I go on, for the first time speaking out of turn, and I take up for Coley.

  “She touched,” I’m excusing ‘a behavior while I’m trying to get to ‘a fore she can dispute what I’m saying. Then I push ‘a towards some work, but she still moving stiff like she mute and dumb. A boy come with me to help give ‘a something to do.

  An idle nigga be a dead one round here, and Coley looking this white man in his face like she know ’im.

  I keep my eyes to the ground when I say, “We should be up in less than an hour, suh.”

  “You betta watch that retard you got! Don’t look like nothing wrong with ‘a to me. Cept she might be done got that Yankee fever, and need to be broke,” he say, challenged to hold the reigns on his restless horse.

  I hope he ain’t restless. We be surrounded by Klan, and they growing in such large numbers. Even the police Klan now. Hate to see a hanging at this fair, way they did over in Louisville.

  “Best looking retard I done ever seen.” He stare at Coley in disbelief.

  I’m scared cause Coley looking back as bold as if she was a white man herself. “Yes suh!” I say, nervous. “Church folk keep ‘a up.”

  “Got me fooled.” He staring at ‘a half way trying to figure out what else he gone do, cause she cain’t keep looking at ’im like that. I don’t know how to make Coley stop without letting on she just high strung, and ain’t never been in the south. I’m praying he go on, but he don’t.

  Fore I know anything, Prudence jump up and come running towards Coley. Then she slap Coley to the ground. I clench my dress to keep from stopping ‘a. I know what Prudence doing ain’t half as bad as what he would do to Coley. Truth is, Prudence might be saving ‘a life, saving all of us some heart ache.

  When Coley look up shocked, Prudence slap ‘a again, and again looking over at him waiting for him to tell ‘a it’s enough, but he don’t, he just sitting there waiting and expecting.

  Coley lost, keep poking ‘a head up, and Prudence keep on knocking it back down.

  Fore I know it, I done closed my eyes, hunched my shoulders and I’m flinching with every lick she putting on ‘a.

  Finally the hitting stop. When I peak out, the white man done rode away, on his restless horse. All the other women done surrounded us, watching Coley wallowing in the dirt. Her hair and dress caked with the red-clay dirt. She moaning and crying audibly. Her whine start off small, then grow big. Many of the women hold their chins up as if this is some kind of initiation. Like this humiliation had to happen.

  “Shut up!” the women start to shout in whispers at ‘a, looking round like they scared of they own voice. Looking like they expecting somebody to come down here after us, to shut Coley up. The men look away. Coley cry into the ground, use ‘a arm to muffle the sobs. The women circle round ‘a, like they might beat ‘a.

  After a while, we all go back to working as if it ain even happen, but we remember and every once in a while they glance at Coley on the ground, then at each other. I don’t offer her a hand, or try to help ‘a up cause I think if somebody white see this, then they be sure I was telling the truth. Way Coley acting got to be cause she crazy.

  Then again, I keep searching my mind and cain’t find nothing I can say to ‘a to make this better. I wait til she ready to get up first. I work around ‘a, let ‘a lie there flapping round, crying and moving like a fish on dry land feeling for the stream.

  It’s a long while fore Coley stop whining like a small child, kicking and screaming, and she start to get up. I reach to help ‘a but she swat at me, like I’m a stranger she don’t recognize. She get up holding ‘a face, backing away from me like I’m gone hurt ‘a, then she take in everybody else. It’s some mix of anger, shame, betrayal, loneliness and confusion.

  They all meet ‘a eyes, hard and unflinching. Most of the women give ‘a stiff faces, and even stand proud. The men look on with a mix of pity and fear. She a loose cannon, and outsiders been known to invite trouble. And when the Klan come they don’t come for the women, even if the woman be the one started it. They come for the men.

  We all stand silently as she gets ‘a footing. She spits blood from ‘a mouth and you can already see how ‘a face gone bruise. She moving slowly, convicting and condemning each of us with ‘a eyes. Then she start to move fast, like she going somewhere.

  “Coley?” I follow behind ‘a, cause I know she ready to leave. But I cain’t take ‘a back right now, not by myself. That’s why we all met in town with our horses, wagons and cars so we could be together, in case there be trouble. Me and her cain’t get on the road by ourselves. Specially since she done did what she did. Maybe he see us and try something. Not that there is safety in numbers or nothing. Our whole town done watched people beat and hung. But they won’t usually start nothing with a lot of niggas.

  When I catch up and grab ‘a arm, she swing again, and I grab ‘a tight. Then hold ‘a in my arms to keep ‘a from hitting me. She jerk, but she weak, and I hold ‘a tight.

  “She a crazy heffa!” Sisera say, shaking ‘a head.

  I don’t say nothing. Coley jerk and fight in my embrace.

  “Get your damn hands off of me,” she scream, pushing free, then stumble off again, like she drunk.

  “You cain’t just leave,” I reason with ‘a. “It ain’t safe.” I follow ‘a deeper into th
e nigga section, while folks watching ‘a nervously.

  “Leave me, the hell, alone!”

  “You got to calm down fore-”

  “Fore you be done got us all lynched, you selfish cow,” Mitylene bark, interrupting us.

  “Somebody else need to smack ‘a, and bring ‘a down another notch,” Priscilla add.

  “Or two,” Mitylene put in.

  “Yall ain’t helping.” I look ’em in they eyes as I’m chasing ‘a. I’m trying to think of what to say, how to make this right, or at least to smooth it out. She cain’t keep screaming down here, drawing attention.

  Then again, it ain’t just about that. I do want to say something to comfort ‘a, cause I know what it feel to have the whole town turn on you.

  She walking fast, frantic, hysterical, crying. I’m keeping a good stride just keeping ‘a in sight. Ain’t no changing what done happened.

  When we get down to the last tent, she go behind it and put ‘a face to the side of it and cry. She cry loud, then scream at the top of ‘a lungs and jump up and down like a small child having a fit.

  “Aaaaah!” She show a face to me. Her eyes are red with hurt, and it makes me sad to see ‘a broken.

  I don’t know what come over me, but I grab ‘a, and hold ‘a tighter. This time when she kick, and punch and scream, I don’t let go.

  “Let me go! Let me go! I want to go home to my mama!” She scream into me. “Aaaaaaaah!”

  “Shhhh,” I whisper. “It’s going to be okay. Shhhh.” I rock ‘a, and hold ‘a.

  Iain hugged nobody since I don’t know when. Iain felt no emotion at all, no sadness or happiness. Been trying to forget to feel, and just keep moving. Ain’t no point in tears, don’t nobody care if you hurt. Pain part of life. We all got our ailments.

  I don’t realize I’m crying til I have to sniff to breathe. Where she was hitting, she clinging to me, and I’m holding ‘a tight in my arms. We both crumble to the ground, and I rock her. I start to feel all the pain of losing Miemay, and not having nobody to talk to. I start to feel the pain of going to a empty house and not feeling welcome in my own town. I think about working in my fields, and not being able to cover enough ground, and how much crop been lost.