Some Sing, Some Cry

by Ntozake Shange

  “Good evening, Mrs. Winrow, I hope to see you again soon. Please give my best to Ma Bette and Lizzie. You’ll be hearin’ from me soon.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Minor,” is all Eudora had to say.

  Elma’s eyes, fierce and determined, cut at her mother. There was no need to be rude. Elma knew she couldn’t marry soon. What was wrong with her mother? On the porch a disappointed couple tried to say their farewell with hope, but Eudora’s cold stance made that hard.

  “Don’t forget, I love you. We are engaged. Don’t forget that, Elma. Don’t forget that no matter what.” Elma nestled her head on Raymond’s shoulder.

  “I won’t forget, my sweetheart. I’ll never forget. Now you go along before we upset her some more.”

  Elma reluctantly entered the house only to find Eudora packing away in silence. “Mama, have you ever been happy? I mean truly happy like I am tonight?”

  Eudora without pausing for a moment said frankly, “I don’t remember.”

  Before the crack of dawn Ma Bette was fixing herself for church. Her great-grandchild was to sing. Eudora’d arranged with the minister for Elma to perform one of the pieces she did at Fisk for the congregation. Being turned out of one’s home was no reason to miss praising the Lord. She knew Eudora felt the same. Besides, with Tom disappeared and the town whispering loud as thunder, it was important to hold one’s head high no matter what.

  When she saw that Eudora had entered the kitchen, Ma Bette asked, “Anythin’ I can get for ya?”

  “Why, yes, Grandma, some coffee is all.” The two women sat quietly for a minute, then simultaneously said, “How . . .”

  Then Eudora finished the thought. “Are we goin’ to move by tomorrow?”

  “Aw, darlin’, don’t you worry none, the Lawd is gointa find a way.”

  Elma entered the room, curious about the moodiness of it. “What’s got you two so bothered this beautiful mornin’, besides movin’ tomorrow?”

  Eudora pulled herself out of doubting the Lord and replied, “Eager to hear you sing today.”

  “Who sing? What? I’m on vacation,” Elma teased.

  “You’re too young to realize now, but colored women don’t get ‘vacation,’ missy. Now get ready for church and check on your sister.”

  Elma took a deep breath, let it out. What her mother didn’t realize was that she had grown accustomed to making her own decisions, determining on her own what was best. Elma followed Eudora’s instructions only because they were being tossed out of their home. In any other situation Eudora would have to take the lead from Elma herself.

  At the small Azula Street church more eyes were set on the Winrow family than on the deacon greeting folks. Black, brown, and hazel eyes fixed themselves on Ma Bette, Eudora, and the girls, then quickly turned away. No one could bring themselves to talk out loud about the fact of Tom Winrow abandoning his family and them not having a roof over their heads, but they all wanted to ask Eudora what was she planning to do now. Where were they going to go? How were they going to live? Could Elma go back to college or not? In their bonnets and gloves the women all came to say “Good morning,” but left unsaid their true interest. All this was laid to rest once the preacher gave his sermon on loving your neighbor, as if he too were drawn to the calamity that beset the Winrows. Nevertheless, the entire assembly was spellbound when Elma sang “Amazing Grace.”

  With the first few notes, Elma’s voice filled the church. She released each word as if singing itself were for her an act of sacrament and rapture. Her voice took on colors and textures, moistened the church women’s faces, massaged the ache out of the necks and shoulders of the working men who wondered at this wisp of a thing who sang like a woman much larger than she was, much older than she was, and in more pain than the young Elma could possibly have known. The congregation which had arrived curious about Tom Winrow and his family found itself in humble reverence as Elma laid her heart open.

  “I once was lost but now am found,

  Was blind but now I see.

  ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear . . .”

  Lizzie was probably the only parishioner whose thoughts were ablaze. She wanted to find her father. Suddenly in the middle of the second verse Lizzie bolted out of the church. She ran as far as she could, hoping to leave the staring eyes far in the distance, and off her face. She had to get those pitying eyes off her face.

  After the service, Elma wanted to go after Lizzie, but Eudora said, “No, leave her be. The child’s lost the only parent she adores. She’ll be along, or down by the wharf. Oh, by the way, I thought we might stop to visit with cousin Diggs this afternoon.”

  “Must we, Mother?” Elma pleaded. “I’m not so sure I want to visit with them.”

  “Well, I know for sho’ that I won’t be,” Ma Bette interrupted. “I’ll get a ride home with the Beltons. They was always nice folks.”

  “Well, whatever suits you, Mother,” Eudora said.

  Lizzie wandered back, her eyes red and cheeks flushed. Elma wiped the child’s face with her handkerchief and pulled her up close. “We’ll find Pa, Lizzie. Don’t you worry.” And Lizzie began to cry again.

  “You two stop sniveling so. We’ve got things to do, and folks don’t want us being pitiful on their Sunday afternoon.”

  “Where are we going, Mama? Shouldn’t we go home in case Pa comes back?” Lizzie asked.

  “Not today, Lizzie, we’ve got to go see our cousins.”

  “The Diggses? Aw, Mama, not today.”

  “Yes today. We’ve got business to settle with them.” And with that, Eudora clucked the horse. They were on their way to Charleston.

  The Diggses were just preparing to sit down for Sunday dinner by the time the Winrows arrived. True to form, the Diggses invited them to join in. There was plenty to go around. While the rest of the state suffered through a crippling drought, there was a boom in the undertaking business, and how well the Diggses were doing! Eudora didn’t fail to notice Roswell Jr. eyeing Elma, which made sense for an unattached middle-aged man and fit right into Eudora’s plans. She guided the conversation toward Elma’s achievements and her return to Charleston, “leaving her one of the most accomplished young Negro women in the area.” Roswell Jr. nodded yes to everything Eudora said and would then smile vacantly at Elma, who now began to see through her mother’s plans.

  “Excuse me, Mother, but may I have a word with you in private?” Elma said curtly.

  Mother and daughter met in the pantry, Elma a whirlwind of emotion. “You’re thinking to marry me off to that sorry excuse for a man, Mama? Why? We can make it on our own without selling my soul. Or don’t you have your faith anymore?”

  Trying to calm her daughter, Eudora said softly, “Now, it’s not the worst idea in the world. You could have anything you wanted, even voice lessons!”

  “For what, Mama? So I could sing to Roswell, huh?”

  Eudora felt her anger rising. “Now you listen to me, girl. I’ve worked my fingers to the bone to make sure you always got what you wanted. Now the family needs you to sacrifice something to keep a roof over our heads.”

  “Sacrifice? Sacrifice? Go beggin’ for favors from that good-for-nothin’? Well, I can do that in Lil Mexico, too. Is that what we’ve come to, Mama?”

  That did it. Eudora slapped Elma with all her might. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again!” The ruckus brought the rest of the family running for the pantry.

  “What are you staring at, huh?” Elma fumed, her cheek still burning with her mother’s palm print. “Well, I tell you, we’re homeless. Pa’s run off and sold the farm. We’ve got to be off our land by Monday dusk. Mama was hoping you’d help us a little, seeing as how she’s done for you and charged way below what she should have. Any aid you care to give at this time would be greatly appreciated. But marriage between cousin Roswell and me is out of the question. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  Elma let the pantry door slam and looked for Lizzie. So much was happening to that little g
irl that a child so young shouldn’t have to bear. But Lizzie was nowhere to be seen.

  “See what you’ve done now, Mama? Lizzie’s run off again,” Elma said accusingly to her mother.

  Blanche Diggs, the matriarch of the family, had come from the dining room, roused by all the commotion in her usually quiet domain. “Why, Eudora, Elma, why are you all closeted up in here? Lord knows we so rarely see you, do come out and be with us. You’ll have time to be with each other by and by. Roswell, tell Cook to bring the coffee and dessert for our guests. Now let’s all sit down and talk.”

  Francina was only too happy to bring her mother up to date on the problems presented by Eudora’s situation. “Well, we can’t have our family living in the street, now can we? Eudora, what could we do to be most helpful to getting you back on your feet, if you’re sure you don’t want to move in with us?”

  When Francina heard this, she glared at her mother. “Surely you don’t mean that, Mother.”

  “I most certainly do. How would it look to the whole community if we’re willing to help strangers and not our own? Francina, watch that you are never in need.”

  Eudora remembered Blanche’s cold reception years before when she had first arrived from the island. She didn’t want to accept her aunt’s help now, didn’t want to need the help, but she had no choice. Just as before, twice before, the only ones to turn to. Fam’ly, fuh better or worse. Blanche assured the dispossessed women that they would have a decent roof over their heads and some help with the packing and moving. Tempers cooled.

  Throughout the evening, Roswell Jr. kept saying that he would be delighted to take Elma’s hand in marriage. Finally his stepmother reminded him, “Roswell, you’re old enough to be that girl’s father. Surely you don’t believe there is no young man courting her right this minute.”

  Roswell joked, “Mother Blanche, you mean to say I’ve lost my charm?”

  “Yes, you’ve still not any substance to you. Now, get Cook for coffee.”

  Blanche looked around and realized only she and Eudora were left. “Now, Eudora, since it’s just you and me, we can talk reasonably. I know we’ve never been close, but I won’t have a Diggs in need and not be of any assistance. I’ve great respect for what you’ve done for your girls in spite of that husband of yours. Maybe you are better off without him. Yes, let’s think of it that way. Things may be looking up for you now.”

  Eudora was simply trying to keep her head from floating away from her body. Too much emotion. Too many accusations. Too much need. Eudora was used to mending small intricate tears, not huge ruptures in cloth. This thing with Tom was going to drive her mad. After all her years with Tom, she’d always believed that he would never abandon them. It was their tacit agreement. Between working hard and loving the same way, Tom recognized that Eudora had “married beneath her” and he’d tried to compensate for that. But now this. This was even a greater cause for embarrassment—to leave the family with nothing. Not even a note or a last good-bye. Eudora thought Tom at least cared enough for her as a woman that he’d want a last embrace. All those years for nothin’. Her family was a brood of paupers. Eudora sat trance-like near Blanche, whom she had always despised, and was grateful for family.

  Guitars strumming in time to the blues licks of drums graced the night, and Lizzie let the music carry her off to wherever her pa was. Blues music was in her heart this night, even though she was a child.

  “Backwater blues done cause me to pack mah things an’ go,

  Backwater blues done cause me to pack mah things an’ go,

  Cause mah house fell down an I cain’ live there no mo’,

  O-o-ooom, I cain’ move no mo’,

  O’o-o-oom, I cain’ move no mo’,

  There ain’ no place fo’ a po’ ol’ gal to go . . .”

  Lizzie sat on the porch in front of Pilar’s bar soaking in the music and the smells of beer, bluesy women, and pipe tobacco. Osceola saw her crying there. Puzzled, he came up to her quietly. “What’s a matter, Lizzie?”

  As if he’d unleashed a cyclone, Lizzie grabbed Osceola’s legs and wept and wept. All he could put together was that Tom was gone. “But Lizzie, what you don’t understand is that your pa had debts. He owed some big men a lot of money. Pretty soon things was bound to get ugly. Maybe it’s best he’s gone,” Osceola explained.

  “Naw, Pa didn’t go on his own. It was your brother. I seen him down at the waterhole plotting with that dirty-lookin’ white man. He was trickin’ folks into losin’, so they sign up wit him and go north.”

  Osceola thought for a minute. “Maybe that’s why your pa tol’ me to look out for y’all.”

  All of a sudden a gruff intimidating voice cracked the air. “Y’all best keep your mouths shut. I don’ wanta hear bout none of that from nobody nowhere evah.”

  It was Deke himself looming over them, but Osceola challenged him anyway. “Is it true? Did you do that? Trick folks into losin’ their pay to gamblin’ so they could sell themselves to the Northerner?”

  “What if I did, what’s it matter to you?”

  Elma had appeared from around the corner. Her search for Lizzie had brought her to this place she’d heard so much about. “A lot of folks would be interested in that information, Deke.”

  “Well, now look at Miss Susie-Q come callin’. Was ya lookin’ to dance tonight or find yourself a fella?” Elma ignored Deke’s crude remarks. “Listen, your pa was a good-for-nothin’ loser. If ya asked me, you’re bettah off without him.”

  Realizing she was a bit out of her league, Elma retorted, “Our pa is a good man, and if you know how to find him, would you please tell us. Deke, that’s not asking too much.”

  “Naw, Missy Near White, I ain’ tellin’ you nothin’ ’cept your pa was good for nothin’ and he’s long gone by now. I’m tellin’ you, you’re bettah off without him.”

  Now Elma was really furious. “We’d be bettah off if you hadn’t stole the money off him with your cheatin’ ways. You better give it back to me right now, Deke, I mean it. Give me my pa’s money, right now!”

  Now Deke smiled a curious smile. He took a wad of money from his pocket, unfolded each bill slowly, then ran the money gently but with malice across Elma’s cheek. “You gon’ play wit me, baby, you gotta get the facts first.”

  Before Deke could do anything, Elma grabbed the money from his hand, looking him straight in the eye as if daring him to move against her.

  “Come along, Lizzie, right now,” she said.

  Deke grabbed for Elma’s arm, but Osceola jumped him. Deke’s fury roused, he simply threw Osceola off and walked back into the bar. Lizzie was at Osceola’s side immediately. “Oh, ain’t nothin’ wrong wit me, Lizzie. Get off me now,” Osceola grumbled and got up limping.

  Elma gathered the youngsters around her and led them to a safer place. She kept repeating, “I wish I knew what to do now. I guess I should take this money to Mama first.”

  “No, no, Elma, use that money to go to New York and marry Raymond. Then you can send for me.”

  “Oh, darlin’, Raymond’s probably left by now.”

  “Oh no, Elma, we know where he is.”

  And Lizzie and Osceola took Elma to find her beau.

  Without her granddaughter around to chastise her, Ma Bette donned the white lace skirts and cotton shirt she called her “goin’ out” clothes. Even her hat was white with a large brim sporting blue trim of satin. Off to the wharf she was, aiming to see her “customers.” Over the years Ma Bette had built up quite a clientele of folks who believed she had the power to remove hexes, cast spells, change the course of human affairs. Now was their time to pay up. Her family was in need. There was the crush of time upon them now as never before. Tomorrow by dusk they must be out of their home and going someplace. The first young woman she approached was fashioning a woven basket to hold her fruits on Monday.

  Ma Bette said, “Ya know I cain’t rightly tell how much it is you owe me for bringin’ yo’ man back to ya, but whatever y
a could spare today I’d appreciate.”

  With fear in her eyes, the girl came back with just under a dollar. “I’ll have the rest fo’ ya Tuesday next, Ma Bette. Ya know it ain’t like me to forget how good ya been to me.”

  Ma Bette dropped the coins in the little hoodoo bag ’round her neck, nodded, smiled, and went on her way. Most of her customers were duly accommodating, except for one young stevedore. He wanted to argue with Ma Bette. “You promised that woman would get all the way out of my life, but she still comes round pesterin’ me. Naw, I don’t owe ya nothin’, Ma Bette.”

  Ma Bette thought for a minute, then turned back to him and said, “As I recall that was a two-part hex and you only paid me for one-half of it, so she’s only half out of your life. Pay up on your bill and ya’ll never see her again. If ya don’ pay up, I’m likely to work some roots on ya for bein’ so honery. An she be on you like yo’ shadow.”

  The young stevedore tore through his pockets as if they were filled with red ants to give Ma Bette whatever money he had. Finally Ma Bette found a lonesome spot ’long the sea to count her money. Not enough. Not near enough to get them out of the mess they were in. That meant only one thing.

  The intersection of Meeting Street with Ashmead, where the magnolias and bougainvillea guarded the wealth of Charleston with grace and a peculiarly intimidating beauty, was where Ma Bette was headed. She was an apparition along the pathway, a throwback to other times, other places, in her white lace and her hat. She fit in among the color of Little Mexico, but here colored people were assumed, like the landscape, something to pass through, walk on, lean on, and use at will. Ma Bette walking along with her song brought the life of her people to bear among the weeping willows and grand oaks.

  At one very imposing mansion she stopped. There are people and things no one ever wants to think about. This house was such a place, where time is caught in its tracks and memory waltzes wildly with the present. Ma Bette had to steel her nerves and catch her breath, which was irregular. All her children, all her children had been touched by the people in this house, the white folks, who looked upon her and hers as some phenomenon of nature like the sea, low tide, high tide, dependable and unfeeling. She gathered her skirts and headed for the massive front doors, where a white butler answered, saying, “You, you must go to the back door, nigger.”