Gussie came lumbering into the room, scanning the faces of the singers nervously. Finding himself suddenly yielding to the melody’s insistent appeal, he lifted his raucous voice to join the chorus just as the song came to an end.
Gussie came lumbering into the room, scanning the faces of the singers nervously. Finding himself suddenly yielding to the melody’s insistent appeal, he lifted his raucous voice to join the chorus just as the song came to an end.
With a disappointed look, he asked:
“W’at y’all stop for? Go ’head agin, an’ lemme sing wid you.”
“W’at you know ’bout singin’, ole w’ite nigger?” Felo asked, half-jestingly. “Sho time to stop, w’en you come lopin’ up in hyuh an’ wan’ sing.”
It was a thrust that went deeper than Felo intended. Gussie understood that the feeling with which he was accepted by his colored companions was something more like tolerance than a feeling of genuine friendship; and the fact, unpleasant as it was, made him conscious of a natural sense of race pride and prejudice not easily overlooked.
With an indignant glare at Felo, he said:
“I know I’m w’ite, ole ugly nigger. But you ain’ got to tell me ’bout it. I bin knowin’ you ever sence we was chillun playin’ together; but you ain’ need to talk like dat befo’ all dis crowd.”
“Gussie,” Susan called to him quietly, “put yo’ hat yonder, an’ set down, an’ don’ ack so boist’us. You ain’ bin hyuh for over three weeks, an’ now you come an’ wan’ raise a confusion? Go set down an’ ack like people.”
Taking in the awkwardness of the situation with admirable tact, Carmelite asked:
“Gussie, how much Aun’ Fisky chahges for a dozen duck aigs? I got one muskovy duck home yonder I wan’ set befo’ de weather git too col’.”
“She bin gittin’ two-bits a dozen for ’um.” Gussie answered sullenly. “But she ain’ got no mo’, now.”
“You mean she done sol’ all her ducks?” Carmelite persisted.
“No. She done sol’ all de aigs she had to Mr. Gully baker-shop.”
“Go ’way from hyuh, Gussie,” Carmelite answered, laughing. “W’at Mr. Gully wan’ do wid duck aigs in a baker-shop?”
“To put in de cake for de weddin’, las’ night.”
“Who? Dey had a weddin’ yonder in Gritny las’ night?” Inquired Susan, eager to hear further particulars.
“Yas’m.” Gussie replied, becoming more amiable. “Dat w’ite ooman dey call Maggie Hutson. ’Twas her weddin.’”
“Lawd!” exclaimed Nookie in tones of great surprise. “You mean to say ole Maggie Hutson done got her a husban’, aft’ de sinful life she bin carryin’ all dese years up an’ down de road wid so many diffunt mens?... Lawd! Gussie, tell it agin; so I kin lissen if w’at you tellin’ is somh’n true.”
“Sho Gawd is.” Gussie assured her. “Maggie got her one husban’; an’ had her one sho-nuff weddin’, wid all de church bells ringin’; went ridin’ all thoo de town, settin’ back on de ca’idge seat ’long-side her fright’nes’-lookin’ skinny old man; wid a weepin’ veil hangin’ down ove’ her face, an’ a aw’inge flower wreath settin’ ’cross her fawid; jes’ a-bowin’ an’ smilin’ at people, like she wan’ show ’um she kin put on wreath an’ veil even if she is look like somebody come off a bad street.... Sho did. ’Twas like a fatal purrade goin’ roun’ Gritny.”
“Lawd, people! Lissen w’at Gussie sayin’.” Nookie exclaimed, laughing heartily. “Settin’ up in a ca’idge, wid aw’inge flowers on her head, brazen as she is! Lawd, people! Don’t you know da’s comical?”
“W’at make Maggie ain’ got de right to put aw’inge flowers in her head if da’s her pleasure?” Came Nat’s dissenting voice. “Y’all niggers sho like to fin’ somh’n wrong wid yuther people ways. Maggie got a right to put mustud-greens, an’ twis’cow-pea vines in her head if she fin’ it make her look good; an’ if da’s de way her min’ be workin’.”
“But, Unc’ Nat,” Scilla essayed to explain in behalf of the sisterhood, “de wimmins gotta think a li’l somh’n ’bout form an’ fashion, ain’t dey?... Wearin’ aw’inge flowers public like dat sho is redic’lus; cheap as Maggie bin made herself yonder in Gritny wid de mens.”
Getting up from his chair and gesticulating with both arms, as though addressing a crowd on an open road, Felo called out:
“Stan’ back, members! Stan’ back, an’ make room. ’Cause us sanctified sisters done commence pitchin’ rocks an’ stones.”
“Scilla ain’ spoke nothin’ w’at ain’ true,” Gussie interposed. “Evvybody yonder know Maggie hist’ry.”
At this point Susan’s rumination became audible: “An’ all dem w’at don’t, dey ain’ goin’ be long findin’ out, w’en yo’ mouf start runnin’.”
“Can’t help from knowin’ w’at I know, Aun’ Susan,” Gussie replied hurriedly in self-vindication. “Ain’ I bin worked for Maggie, spadin’ her garden, an’ w’ite-washin’ her kitchen; an’ bin had de freedom o’ de whole house, day-time an’ night-time, too?”
With sharp impatience Nat called to him:
“Stop right whah you is, Gussie; befo’ you try to make we-all b’lieve you had de freedom o’ somh’n else besides.”
Laughing boisterously, Gussie said:
“Money ain’ nothin’ but money w’en somebody got somh’n to sell, ain’t it?... An’ one man ain’ look much diffunt from a yuther man in de dark,—even if he do be w’ite.”
A sudden reprimand from Susan interrupted his laughter.
“Look, Gussie!” He heard her call. “Black or w’ite,—w’ichever color you wan’ call it,—but you ain’ in no bar-room. Either yonder on de levee-front. So you better talk diffunt talk, if you wanna stay hyuh a li’l w’ile soshable dis evenin’.”
“I ain’ try’n to ack ugly, Aun’ Susan.” Gussie insisted. “I jes’ wan’ p’int out how Maggie try’n to make herself look like somh’n sheain’t. Da’s all.”
Nat leaned forward in his chair, and clasping his knees with his brawny black hands, braced himself for a philosophic argument.
“Nobody ain’ wan’ dispute Gussie dat he bin seen de aw’inge flowers an’ things Maggie had settin’ on top her head,” he went on. “But w’at we does wan’ know: Is Gussie bin able to see de change w’at moughta took place in Maggie tahminashun; an’w’at de feelin’ inside de ’ooman was,—direckin’ Maggie to do w’at she was cunsider right?... You know de sperret ways is sho myste’rous. An’ people gotta move accawdin’, w’en it strike you un-beknownce.”
“Yas, Lawd.” Came a fervid antiphon of soprano voices.
“Who?... Yas indeed.” Carmelite agreed. “Sweet man Jesus is a heart-fixer an’ a mind-regalator, too.”
“An’ nobody ain’ need to scawn Maggie aw’inge flowers, either”; Susan added with calm assurance, “’aft de church ain’ found ’um comical, an’ de pries’ done sprinkle ’um wid holy water.”
Felo got up and gave the fire a vigorous poke, and turned to the company, saying:
“Stop y’all preachin’ on Maggie, for Gawd sake; an’ take yo’ tex’ from somh’n cuncernin’ we-all color. Maggie ain’ nothin’ to we-all, no way.”
“You sho right, Felo,” Aunt Susan concurred. “An’ thank you for sayin’ so.... An’ look,” she suggested genially, “some you mens oughta go yonder in de shed an’ fetch me a few sticks o’ wood for dis fire, befo’ it git too low.”
Gussie and Felo left the room to get the wood. Susan began pottering about the hearth. Nat fixed a pipe of tobacco, lighted it, and gave it to Tom;then fixed one for himself and sat down and began smoking. Uncle Foteen was nodding in his chair by the fireside. Dink began playing softly on the comb, the women humming pleasantly with him, the soothing melody of “Po’ Moanuh got a Home at Las’.” Before long, the wave of discord had passed on, and the room became pervaded with a flood of harmony; the potent spell of music lifting their emotional natures to a sense of quiet, singing ecstasy and spiritual introspection. Felo and Gussie came in with several sticks of wood, and before putting them down, stood listening attentively.
“Lay ’um down easy, an’ leave Unc’ Foteen sleep.” Susan told them in a half-whisper.
“Y’all peaceful an’ nice now,” Felo remarked, “but you sho goin’ have noise up in hyuh w’en de circus come. Yonder Lizzie Cole an’ Chester Frackshun comin’ outside. So you better make up yo’ min’ to lissen at a loud racket w’en dey git hyuh.”
They took the announcement indifferently, and continued to sing until the new arrivals appeared in the doorway.