Some Sing, Some Cry

by Ntozake Shange

  When the train pulled in, Eudora kept her eye out for Elma in the Colored car, but was astonished when her daughter’s head poked from the First Class Whites Only car. Now Eudora couldn’t hold back her fury with Tom. How were they to fetch Elma’s bags way up in the White section without drawing attention? At least if Tom were there he could act like a porter for any old white somebody and get them out of this mess. Eudora tried to grab aholdt to Lizzie but she was too late. Lizzie ran up in front of the white folks and grabbed her sister, held her tight and led her through the crowd to where Eudora was waiting alone.

  “Oh Elma, welcome home, sweetheart.” Eudora nervously hugged her daughter. Ma Bette was next with a peck on both cheeks for her arriving grandchild. Her arms still strong, Bette pushed Elma back from her to get a good look. Yes, Elma seemed healthy enough, her skin was clear, her hands warm. Yep, seemed to Bette that Elma’d taken good care of herself.

  “Oh, I’m so glad to be home, to see all of you. I’ve missed y’all so much.”

  Before Eudora could say a word about her bags being in an awfully precarious place for a colored passenger, Osceola came lumbering under the weight of Elma’s things. “M’am, I think I got em all. Didn’t want to draw attention, but Miz Elma’s name was on what all I carried ovah heah.”

  Eudora’s heart was touched. Osceola knew how much she resented his friendship with Lizzie, but he knew what an awkward situation they were in without Tom to carry Elma’s things. Some things in Charleston had to be feigned, pretended, or the city wouldn’t work. A Negro girl couldn’t get out of the Whites Only car, even if everybody saw her. Her family couldn’t be there waiting for her, even if they were. Some things had to be overlooked, dressed up, and ignored or hellish inclinations were indulged. Even on Sundays, such things were known to happen. Thanks to Osceola, Eudora’s family’d been spared. This all but set Eudora’s bonnet on fire. Where was her good-for-nothin’ husband to leave them in such a position that a mere boy had to come to their rescue! Osceola set about loading the wagon with Elma’s bags. There weren’t that many but Osceola couldn’t for the life of him figure out where Lizzie’s Pa’d gone to, or was this what he meant by “lookin’ after Lizzie”? Osceola caught Ma Bette staring straight at him, so he hurried more. No reason to get that old woman on his wrong side, everybody knew she worked roots, even if nobody liked to talk about it. No sireee, no reason to get Ma Bette on your bad side. Just brings trouble, and Osceola thought he had enough of that ’tween his brother Deke and Lizzie, ’tween his brother and her father, too. After he set the bags in the wagon, he doffed his straw hat and stepped aside, fading into the noonday crowd.

  Elma craned her neck, looking about. “Where’s Pa?”

  This was the question Eudora’d hoped she wouldn’t have to answer. “Oh, he’ll be along.” Ma Bette said in a rather sing-songy voice. “Ya’ll bet he’ll be ’long once he gets a sniff of the gumbo I got in store for us today. Oh, he’ll be ’long for sho’.”

  Elma couldn’t get over her homecoming. She’d missed her family more than she realized. She couldn’t help thinking of all the sacrifices they’d made to keep her in school, to live out her dreams, but here they were, and gumbo, too!

  “That’s right, chile, gumbo wit shrimps, clams, lobster, wild rice, and scuppernong wine.”

  Lizzie got excited just hearin’ about it. “It’s all for you, Elma, on accounta you comin’ back home.”

  Ma Bette tried to calm her youngest great-grand. “Yep, I went and got my own harvest together. Oh, chile, what ya cryin’ fo’?” Ma Bette pulled the weepy Elma close to her. “Ya only come home, baby, you didn’t get to heaven yet. Ya jus’ got brought home to ya folks is all. Now quit alla that sobbin’. Eudora, come talk to this chile of yourn.”

  Eudora pulled Elma from Ma Bette’s fragile arms and led her towards the wagon.

  “Where’s Pa, Mama? Is he still mad at me for costin’ the family so much?”

  Eudora pursed her lips and whispered in her daughter’s ear, “Oh, he’ll be along shortly, I’m sure. He’s so proud of you, baby. We all are.” With that said Eudora beat her anger with her husband further down so she felt her toes prickling and her fingers boiling. Where in the world could that fool be? Didn’t he realize his very own child was due home? Of course he knew. What a stupid question! The tautness in her belly choked back a vague feeling of dread welling up inside her. Could something have happened to him? Was Tom hurt? Had violence struck him somewhere no one else had seen? No, couldn’t be. It was easier, more comfortable for Eudora to imagine herself the victim, not Tom. This was Eudora’s moment, and Tom’s not being there had to be Eudora’s crisis—certainly not his. That’s what vexed Eudora most. Didn’t he have any respect for any of them? They didn’t have much, but they’d always been a family. Now Tom seemed set on taking that away from them as well. But, as always, when it came to her daughter, Eudora masked her anger with her husband.

  “Come along, darlin’, we’ve gotta million and one things to talk ’bout. Why, what’s it like at Fisk? Where all have ya been? Oh I’m just so tickled to have ya back with us.” Though it was against her better judgment, Eudora let Lizzie handle the reins. They were going home.

  Eudora had done all she could to make her house inviting and open to Elma. Sometimes when a child goes off to school, the rhythms and song of the house take over the child’s place, leaving no room for her return. This was not the case for Elma.

  “Oh, Mama, it’s like I never left at all. Thank you. Thank you.”

  Eudora blushed, so thrilled she was that her child felt home.

  “Well, ya’ll cain’t oooh and aaah all the day long. C’mon down heah for some of my gumbo,” Ma Bette chastised.

  Lizzie was the first at the table. Her wild hair had found its way out of its plaits, but Lizzie still had a dress on and that was something. “I’m ready, Nana.”

  “Yep, but you ain’t the onliest one eatin’, are ya?” Ma Bette chimed finally when Elma and Eudora joined them.

  Ma Bette turned to the kitchen as Eudora said the blessing. “Lord, you know how grateful we are for Elma’s return to us. How we rejoice in her health and happiness and all the new experiences you afforded her this past year. Lord, we thank you for our health, our food prepared in your Spirit, and the coming together of our whole family this day. Amen.”

  As everyone added their amens, Lizzie ran up behind Ma Bette, who was carrying a huge tureen of gumbo to the table. Lizzie could see the crab claws, the lobster tails, and clams steaming on top.

  “Oh, I cain’t wait! Elma, you gotta come home more often. Ma Bette never puts all this in my gumbo.”

  “Oh, hush up, chile, and get from under my feet ’fore I don’t offer you none of this masterpiece I done made for my oldest great-grand.” Ma Bette served Elma first and was so full of questions about the travels of the Fisk Jubilee Singers that Elma hardly had a chance to eat. In the midst of all this Eudora thought she heard horses outside, but shook her head. No, not on Sunday at suppertime. Nobody came visiting at such an hour, but when Lizzie’s head turned toward the front door too, Eudora figured she’d better go see what was going on. Sure enough there was a rider in the front yard. Mr. Calhoun’s manager, a mangy-lookin’ white man by the name of Granger, was on horseback just beyond the front porch Eudora’d covered with flowering plants. What could he want? They didn’t owe any money, hadn’t asked the Calhouns for any advances on crop produce.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Granger,” Eudora said, pushin’ the screen door open. The rest of the family followed behind her from the dining table.

  “Afternoon, Eudora,” Granger replied. Lizzie hated it when white folks referred to her mother by her first name instead of by her proper name, Mrs. Winrow. Nonetheless, the mystery of the white man’s appearance grabbed all their attention. Ma Bette lit up her pipe. The girls stood by their mother. This was a time that demanded the presence of the man of the house. Eudora cursed Tom under her breath. Why of all days did he decide t
o disappear?

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Granger?”

  “Well, I got a piece of paper here saying y’all got to clear clean out by Monday.”

  Ma Bette rolled her eyes and went over to the side of the porch where she could see the breadth of the land cradling her old soul. Eudora took a deep breath, holding Elma and Lizzie back from saying anything to Granger, who was known to be mean-spirited.

  “Why, Mr. Granger, you must be mistaken. We own our land. Why, we’ve owned it since the War.”

  “Not no more, Eudora.” Granger smiled licentiously. “I got the deed right heah in my hand. Your man come by to see Mr. Calhoun last night, sold the whole of the farm off to Mr. Calhoun. Said he was headin’ north on the next train rollin’, he did. If you ask me, he needed to go on up north, he didn’t belong round heah. Too ornery.”

  At this Eudora almost lost control of Lizzie, who was screamin’, “My Pa didn’t leave, he didn’t go nowhere!”

  Luckily, Lizzie didn’t run at the white man, but out into the scrawny fields that had so frustrated her father. Lizzie’s screams of “No, Pa, no!” could be heard over all the rest of the transaction. Ma Bette quietly went back into the house humming “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” That left Eudora and Elma to deal with Granger.

  “I don’t have all day, Eudora, y’all got to be out by Monday. That’s all there is to it. You should be grateful Mr. Calhoun sent me out heah to let you know. I coulda waited to Monday, ya know.”

  “Why, yes, sir, Mr. Granger, and I thank you for that, but could I see the deeds?”

  “What, you doubtin’ my word, gal?”

  “Why, no, sir, I just wanted to see Tom’s signature to know what he’s done to us.”

  Mr. Granger was getting irritated now. “Jus’ be outta heah by Monday dusk. ’Course I’ll be glad to be of any assistance if it’s too much for a whole house of women.”

  Eudora could sense the danger in Granger’s offer. “Well, no. We’ll be just fine, sir, but I do thank you for your kindness. We’ll manage, though.”

  Miffed that his entreaty had been rebuffed, Granger turned to ride off, yelling, “Monday dusk, off this Calhoun land.”

  Eudora could hear what she imagined was Granger’s deranged laugh for hours after he left. The dust from his galloping horse clouded her eyes for days. She didn’t understand. The Calhouns? She had been working for Mrs. Calhoun for years. They had just said what a fine family she had.

  Ma Bette was in the house clearing the table as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Mama, what’re we gointa do?” Eudora asked in desperation.

  Ma Bette replied. “Seems like we’re gointa move,” is all she had to say.

  Elma found Lizzie in the cornfield screaming and running errantly past the withered stalks of her father’s farm. “It’s a lie! It’s a lie. Pa didn’t. He didn’t leave. He didn’t leave us. It’s a lie. Elma, you know it’s a lie.”

  Elma didn’t know much more than what Granger had said and what she could piece together of her parents’ marriage. All she was concerned about now was her sister, whose pain was infectious. Elma found herself sittin’ in a furrow cryin’, Lizzie runnin’ in circles around her.

  “Elma, tell me it’s not true! It cain’t be true! Pa wouldn’t leave me. He might leave her. But he wouldn’t leave me. I’m his baby. Elma, I’m Pa’s baby.” Lizzie eventually grew tired and crawled into Elma’s arms.

  Some homecoming this was, coming home to a home with no Pa. Now a home that wasn’t even theirs anymore. Elma rocked Lizzie for a long time. All she could think to do was sing. She found the words of “My Lord, What a Morning” falling from her lips all over her sister’s body in spasms of sorrow. The words of the spiritual fell upon the land like rain, bringing peace to the parched fields and welcoming the setting sun.

  Eudora sat straight up in the kitchen, a stone of a woman. What strength she had was wound so tight she couldn’t even speak. Ma Bette didn’t say anything either. The clatter of dishes and Ma Bette’s feet moving about was all that could be heard. Finally, Eudora let loose of a cry like a wounded animal. Ma Bette went for the brandy she kept secreted. Eudora reluctantly took a swig and said, “Mama, what are we to do?”

  “Well, don’t you want to know what Tom did?” Ma Bette replied.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what Tom did. Right now I just want to know what we’re to do.”

  In her matter-of-fact way, Ma Bette replied, “We gotta move on, is what.”

  The sunset paid no mind to the tumult at the Winrow farm, gliding easily into night, ablaze with scarlet and purple streamers to embrace the earth.

  Raymond Minor, Elma’s beau from Nashville, approached the Diggs home in Charleston expecting to find Elma at home. The horseshoe-shaped stairway left Raymond a choice of which side to take up to the double-doored mansion. He flipped a coin and decided the right side was for him. Then he’d lead Elma down the left side covering all his bets straight to her heart. He took the heavy doorknocker in his hand and beat out a rag on the impressive mahogany door. Dah-dah-dadada was the heavy knock the Diggses heard. What street pickaninny had made it his business to come begging now, was the thought that flashed through Francina’s head. About to give him a livid piece of her mind, Francina opened the heavy door only to be greeted by a fine-looking young gentlemen with no niggah to him, if Francina was any judge of character.

  “Why, good evening, sir. Can I help you?” Francina cooed.

  “Why yes, you may, Mrs. . . .?”

  “It’s Miss Francina Diggs, sir. And what may I call you? Why don’t you step in? It’s so colored to tend to one’s business in public.”

  Raymond didn’t quite know how to take that comment, but he entered the dense beauty of the Diggs home in his quest for Elma. “I’m Raymond Minor, an acquaintance of Elma Diggs, from Fisk. We met in Nashville. I’ve come to call on her, if it’s not too late.”

  “You came to call on Elma?” Francina asked in disbelief. What kind of charade had Elma played at Fisk, that she would be expected to reside at Francina’s home?

  Unabashed, Raymond repeated, “Yes, I’m looking for Miss Diggs of the Diggses of Charleston.”

  “Well, Mr. Minor, you’ve found the Diggses of Charleston, but Elma Winrow certainly doesn’t live here. She’s out on her family’s farm. Surely she’s mentioned the farm to you?”

  Raymond couldn’t grasp what Francina was trying to say to him. He just couldn’t figure why Miss Francina Diggs didn’t just call Elma to let her know she had company. “What farm? I’ve come to call on Elma at her home,” Raymond replied.

  “Well, Mr. Minor, the mistake you’ve made, or that someone has made, is not to inform you of the fact that Elma Winrow lives on the farm. She most certainly does not live here.”

  Resenting Francina’s tone, Raymond nevertheless remained gracious. “Well then, you’ll hopefully forgive my intrusion. And I’ll take my leave. Good evening then.”

  Francina, vaguely aware that she’d said something to cause Mr. Minor discomfort, quickly tried to make amends. “Won’t you stay for a light repast? I’m sure Cook can manage to prepare you something. After all, you’ve come all the way from Nashville. What a journey, you must be exhausted.”

  “Thank you, but no, I must be on my way. Do you think you could direct me toward the Winrow place, then?”

  “Oh, ask any livery driver. They’ve all hauled that Tom Winrow out there in the middle of the night.”

  Raymond could feel his temper rising. His ears started to burn. It was best he be on his way quickly.

  “I thank you again, Miss Diggs. I really must be on my way.”

  Francina was so involved with insulting Elma’s family she barely realized that Raymond was way out the door as she continued, “If you must, but I’m sure Cook can . . .” She saw she was talking to no one. Raymond Minor was gone. When Francina shut the door, the weight of it pulled her back. She leaned against it, repeating to herself alone, “Well, she do
es live on a farm, if you can call it a farm, she lives on a sharecroppers’ vision of a farm she does, acting like she lives here with us. Wait till I tell Papa Elma’s up at Fisk passing herself off as one of us. Ah, she is tough, she is, I can’t take that away from her. How I wish there was something I could do. Let him go on out to the farm, it’s no skin off my back, if he’s been fooled by that no-count gambler’s daughter.”

  Raymond was puzzled by Elma’s deception, if indeed it had been deception. Raymond’s thoughts leapfrogged through his memories of Elma’s mentions of home. Perhaps it was he, Raymond Minor, who’d presumed. He had made assumptions that revealed more about himself than he cared to know. All colored folks were living precariously so long as the Jim Crow laws were in effect, so be it a farm or a grand house with a portico, all Raymond was interested in was Elma herself. Her family raised her, and whatever their circumstances, they’d done a wonderful job. The thought of Elma being so close caused his palms to dampen and his heart to beat faster. After Francina’s less than tender remarks about Elma and her family, he was more resolute than ever. He’d come to Charleston to court the woman of his dreams. He even had a surprise for her, tickets to Phil Smith’s Colored Minstrel Show.

  Raymond hired a carriage to take him to the Winrow farm, as Francina had suggested it was too far out of the way for a gentleman to walk, plus with night coming on it might be dangerous as well. And just as she’d said, the carriage driver was familiar with the Winrow place.

  “Ya goin’ to git ol’ Tom to pay a debt, we could turn us round right heah, suh. Tom ain’t got no money fo’ ya. I can say that right na’.”

  Raymond didn’t want to engage in conversation that derided his girl. “Would you kindly just take me there,” he replied.