As Mr. Amos sat down to eat, Felo took his accustomed chair on the opposite side of the room near the door leading to the kitchen, where he would be in readiness during the progress of the meal. He sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor rug, staring into infinitude; his arms hanging aimlessly by the sides of his chair.
As Mr. Amos sat down to eat, Felo took his accustomed chair on the opposite side of the room near the door leading to the kitchen, where he would be in readiness during the progress of the meal. He sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor rug, staring into infinitude; his arms hanging aimlessly by the sides of his chair.
In the center of the table was a shallow dark greenbowl filled with dainty, pink wild mimosa blossoms; the unusual color combination together with the acquisition of the rare little flowers, causing Mr. Amos to wonder in silent admiration. After a while he said to Felo:
“Were did you get the lovely ‘touch-me-nots,’ so late in the season?”
“Yonder in Gritny,” came the reply; slow and apathetic.
“From your mother’s garden?”
“Ma ain’ got no time to play wid no garden; wid all dem chillun an’ dat hog she got to look to.”
“Then I suppose you bought them?” Mr. Amos persisted.
“Who goin’ buy tetch-me-not flow’rs, w’en dey got ’um growin’ wil’ like grass, all up an’ down de railroad track?”
“Well,” said Mr. Amos, “wherever they came from, they’re very lovely; and I suppose I must thank you for bringing them to me.”
Felo made no reply, but sat looking at the floor vacantly. His silence was unusual and Mr. Amos wondered at it. Felo was always ready for conversation. Was there anything the matter, Mr. Amos asked him.
After a slight hesitation, he answered in a subdued tone:
“Man, eat yo’ li’l foods, an’ don’ worry ’bout me.”
Wondering at the polite indifference, Mr. Amos asked:
“What ails you, Felo, are you ill?”
Folding his arms slowly, he leaned forward on his knees and looked away from Mr. Amos as he spoke:
“Man, eat yo’ foods, for Gawd sake; an’ don’ ask so many inquis’tun queshtun. Git thoo so I kin wash dese dishes an’ go yonder to my room.”
“What’s the matter with you tonight?” Mr. Amos asked with a show of impatience. “Are you sick? Are you tired? Anything the matter at home?”
“Man, don’ plague me,” he answered appealingly. “Be still an’ don’ worry me. Do I look like anybody sick?”
“You look about as healthy as somebody dead and buried,” Mr. Amos answered, smiling playfully. “What happened to you that you look so forlorn and friendless?”
Attempting a bravado manner, he said:
“Nobody but de devil sont you hyuh to plague me tonight. My feelin’s is my feelin’s; an’ nothin’ ain’ goin’ change ’um. So ’tain no use talkin’ an’ try’n tell w’at make ’um so.”
“Alright, deacon,” Mr. Amos answered, with an air of feigned indifference. “If you think there’s nothing I can do to help you smooth out the kinks, whatever they are, so be it.”
Felo remained silent until Mr. Amos was about to leave the room. Seeing him start towards the stairway, he asked:
“You ain’ goin’ out tonight, is you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, y’oughta stay home some time an’ git yo’ night-res’.... All time runnin’ out in de night air an’ fros’, exposin’ yo’self like you does; wid de win’ searchin’ ’roun yo’ ankles an’ things, an’ blowin’ ’cross yo’ body an’ keep you lookin’ so puny.”
“How about yourself?” Mr. Amos asked him. “You don’t seem to be concerned about the night air and the wind when you go rambling about? I suppose being a deacon of the church, you have some special arrangement with God to temper the elements to your convenience?”
“Look. Leave dat be jes’ like it is,” he said abruptly, “I’m thinkin’ ’bout who got to look aft’ you w’en you git flat o’ yo’ back an’ can’ help yo’self no mo’. ’Tain nobody but Felo got to be plague’ wid you. Da’s de one thing make me cuncern yonder wid defuture.... But de main thing I ax you,—befo’ you commence all dis heavy comasation,—is you goin’ out tonight?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Well, w’en I git thoo in de kitchen, I wan’ talk wid you confidenshun.”
Mr. Amos laughed good-naturedly, saying to him:
“I’ll be upstairs, ready to listen to your tale of rape or robbery, whichever it might be. But come with a different face than the one you wear now. I don’t want to have bad dreams tonight.”
With a heroic attempt to smile, he answered, as Mr. Amos walked away:
“Go ’head upstairs, for Gawd sake. You all time ready to play too much.”
After finishing all his chores in the kitchen, Felo went through the house, seeing that all the windows and doors were fastened, before he went upstairs. Going into the room where Mr. Amos was, he found him lying on the bed reading, with the cat asleep on his chest. The cat, like Mr. Amos, was one of Felo’s constant worries. He didn’t know which one of them was “de wusser.” It was a splendid excuse for him to expostulate.
“Y’awter put dat ole cat out-doahs. All two of you keep dis place lookin’ like a fatal rabbit-nes’,de way yo’ hair be fallin’ ove’ evvything. I kin shake dem blankets till my two arms be stiff, an’ de hair yet hanging’ to ’um. An’ de onles way to git y’all hair off des flo’-rugs,—I gotta git down on my knees an’ brush ’um wid a swiss-broom.”
Mr. Amos put his book aside and laughed heartily.
“Keep on!” Felo began again. “One dese nights you goin’ see dat same cat cut yo’ breath fum you; lay’n ’cross yo’ buzzum like dat.... An’ some dese w’ite-folks only goin’ be too glad to say ’twan nobody but nigger Felo did ’way wid you. An’ who you reckon goin’ be hyuh in de house to put it on de cat, aft’ dey done spread de news?... Nobody. Da’s who.”
Mr. Amos looked at him and asked quietly:
“Did you come up here to give a lecture on the cat? Or did you say you had something worrying you, and you wanted to talk about it?”
“I come up hyuh to look aft’ yo’ comfut,” he replied, taking a pillow from the opposite side of the bed and making ready to arrange it under Mr. Amos’s head.
“Hyuh; lemme slip dis pilluh und’ yo’ head; an’ leave dat ole cat slide down further on yo’ stummic, whah ’tain so dang’us.”
This little attention performed, Felo sat down inthe rocking chair and began looking about the room, uncertain how to start his communication. After an awkward silence, he asked:
“You goin’ keep on readin’?”
“What have you got to say?” Mr. Amos questioned, without looking away from his book.
“Man, put yo’ book down, an’ be soshable,” he commanded. “You ain’ sattafy peepin’ up in books all day long, you gotta come hyuh at night-time strainin’ yo’ eyesight over agin?... W’a’s de matter, you don’ wan’ talk?”
“No; I want to listen,” said Mr. Amos, closing the book and putting it aside. “What have you to tell me?”
“I wan’ tell you ’bout a upsetment me an’ Lethe had las’ night,” he began apologetically. “I know Lethe done blabbed it all over Gritny by now; an’ I know she goin’ tell Miss Tilly; an’ Miss Tilly sho ain’ goin’ miss tell you soon’s she see you; so I wan’ tell you de whole thing so you know de straight tale w’en you hyeah it fum somebody else.”
Whereupon he gave a careful account of his visit to Aunt Susan’s cook shop; the members he met and talked with there; his misunderstanding with Lizzie, and his late visit to the church; where he learned that Lethe had gone home in a sullen frame of mind over some wilful misinformation communicated toher by the vengeful Lizzie. Leaving the church with the wake in full swing, he told how he went to Lethe’s house, to find that she had gone to bed. He knocked on the door and she got up and let him in; finding fault with him for coming so late; and asking why he hadn’t spent the night with the women he began the evening with so pleasantly at Susan’s.
“I say to ’uh: For Gawd sake, Lethe, don’ try an’ raise no humbug late in de night like dis. I ain’ come hyuh to make no squawble over any lie Lizzie Cole done hatched up jes’ for spite.
“I say: I come hyuh like I do evvy Sunday night; ’cause I wan’ see you, an’ ’cause I thinks somh’n ’bout you.... So dah whah I commence to undress myself, an’ went to bed, ’cause I was sleepy.”
“Went to bed!” Mr. Amos exclaimed in playful amazement. “In Lethe’s house?... I didn’t know that was part of the religious obligation of a deacon of the church on Sunday night?”
“Dah ’tis again,” Felo commented, looking thoroughly abashed. “Da’s de main reason I ain’ nev’ wan’ tell you nothin’ seecut. You all time wan’ twis’ things to make people look foolish.... Ain’ Lethe an’ me bin knowin’ each-another for a long time?... Ever sence she come yonder fumTuckapaw Parish,—an’ oughta be un’stan’ w’at our feelin’s is by now?”
“Then I suppose Lethe is what your Bible calls a concubine. You remember Solomon had several hundred. But you must be careful not to have more than two or three in Gretna. The ways of the church have changed since Solomon’s day; and a deacon in Gretna is expected to hold a high head among his people.”
“Man, leave de Bible be; an’ quit reachin’ way back yonder in ainshen days to git somh’n to make game o’ people, an’ call ’um out dey name dat-a-way. Lethe alright. An’ I kin give ’uh de praise ’bove inny cullud ooman I know w’at ain’ got no husban’.”
“Then why don’t you do the decent thing and marry her?”
“Marry who?” He asked in open-eyed amazement. “You wan’ me marry Lethe wid de high temper she got,—an’ jealous-hearted like she is, too?... Man, you ain’ know w’at you say’n. You gotta see Lethe in a high passion like I seen ’uh las’ night, befo’ you fix it in yo’ min’ dat me an’ Lethe oughta marry each-another.”
Besides, Lethe was suspicious-minded; he went on enumerating. She was ready to believe anything anybody told her. She had a tongue that wagged atboth ends and blabbed everything she knew. It’s bad for a nigger to be like that. But could she tell what happened without exposing herself too? Maybe she didn’t care about her reputation. But what would the white folks think of him when they heard it? How would he ever reinstate himself in the church if they brought him up before the moderator to make explanation? The elder and the deacon were supposed to be more sanctified than common members. But maybe Lethe wouldn’t say anything after all.... But what made her listen to that lying Lizzie, and ’cuse him of having other women? Did he ever miss one Sunday night with her since they fixed up the understanding between them?... But that’s the way with a jealous-hearted woman; you never know what she is going to do. And you just got to wrassle with them when they won’t listen to reason; and leave them to take their comings, no matter how cheap it makes you feel when everything is over.
“De mo’ I tried to talk easy an’ persuade ’uh she was wrong,” Felo continued, “de mo’ louder she answer back; searchin’ in ’uh min’ for nasty names to make me shame;—an’ me lay’n up in de bed strug’lin to git some sleep. All at once, I raise my voice an’ say to ’uh: ‘Lethe, for Gawd sake don’ be so shameless. Try an’ shut yo’ evil-thinkin’ fly-trapan’ lay down an’ ax Gawd to help you pray.’ She ain’ said a word; but I seen ’uh reach over to de pot-shelf an’ grab a skillet, an’ turn ’roun an’ commence to come ’cross de room. Dah whah I jumped out de bed, an’ was huntin’ on de flo’ for my pants, w’en she say: ‘Whah you think you goin’?’
“I say: Lethe, I ain’ come hyuh tonight to make no brawl wid no foolish ’ooman. I’m goin’ yonder to Sis’ Fanny house whah I b’long, an’ lay down wid a peaceful min’, an’ not be upset wid a shameless thing like you is.
“She say: ‘You goin’ home, is you?... Well, w’en you does go, I wan’ tell you ’tain’ nobody but me an’ Gawd be witness you goin’ ’way from hyuh cripple....’
“An’ dah whah she made at me wid de skillet, jes’ w’en I was pullin’ on one my pants laigs. I drapped de thing on de flo’, an’ grabbed hol’ the skillet an’ wrenched it out ’uh han’; w’en she come up at me full-fo’ce, like she wan’ scratch my face, either butt me,—dang’us-lookin’ as innybody you ever seen.
“I ain’ stop to consider ’bout w’at to do; but I up wid de skillet an’ plastud it ’cross ’uh face haphazzud. An’ de nex’ thing I knowed, I seen three teeth lay’n on de flo’, knocked clean out de front ’uh mouth....
“Did I felt ’shame’?” Felo answered, slightly disconcerted by Mr. Amos’s unexpected reproof. “Da’s another subjec’.
“De thing w’at worried me mo’n anything else, was how I could git home all dem five long blocks ’dout anybody seein’ me, aft’ I had re’lize I comed away widout no pants on;—slippin’ long de street in de moonlight wid blood all ove’ my und’shirt, runnin’ de risk o’ somebody comin’ up on me an’ takin’ me for a rogue done commit murder, befo’ day in de mawnin’.
“I knowed Lethe could take care ’uhself. An’ I knowed she had salt in de house; so I knowed soon she had stop de bleedin’ from de mouth, she be out o’ danger.
“So w’en I reached home an’ got in bed, I sho did wrassel wid my soul, an’ prayed hard to fall asleep. But Gawd mus’ bin vex wid me.... ’E helt de sleep back from me; an’ I ain’ had a single wink o’ sleep de whole night long.
“I tried to pray, but my min’ was upset wid all kind o’ confusion.... I ain’ never notice befo’ how cows an’ creeters an’ things could be such plumb nuisance in de night-time. Look like I could hyeah evvy rooster in evvybody hen-house, crowin’ an’ ’nouncin’ de crackin’ o’ day all over Gritny. An’ w’en de win’ blowed pass de house, I couldheayh de a-ko like a mul’tude o’ dogs barkin’ an’ callin’ at one-’nother, miles futher away.... An’ between dat hog Ma Fanny got yonder in de yard, gruntin’ an’ goin’ on; an’ Miss Barb’ra cows nex’-do, keepin’ up such a mooin’ an’ a moanin’; it look like evvything was talkin’ ’bout some kin’ o’ tribulation an’ on-res’ful cundition....
“Even de mawkin-bird singin’ in de umbrella tree ’ginse de fence, ’is voice so loud an’ screechy, it soun’ like he findin’ fault wid de moon for shinin’ so bright. An’ I couldn’ help wishin’ de night air make ’im ketch de so’ th’oat; den I know he had to keep still.
“I say to myself: Dis ain’ doin’ no good; lay’n hyuh frettin’, an’ big day already come.... Lemme git up an’ dress an’ go walk out-do’as in de fresh air.
“So dah whah I put on my clo’se an’ went ’roun to Lethe house to see’f I could patch up de diffunce w’at comed up between us.
“I knocked on de do’ easy, but she ain’ answer. I knocked agin a li’l louder, an’ call to ’uh, an’ she still ain’ answer.... I say: Maybe she gone up de street to de doctor. I say: Lemme walk ’roun a li’l piece, an’ I come back later an’ maybe she be hyuh.
“So dah whah I went up de railroad track fur as deChinee-men’s garden; an’ I watched ’um hoein’ an’ plantin’ till almos’ a whole hour had pass; den I start back. I walked slow, an’ picked a bunch o’ tetch-me-nots to bring to Lethe; growin’ so plennyful ’long-side de track, wid de night-jew on ’um, an’ lookin’ so pink an’ nice an’ sweet-smellin’.
“I got to de house an’ it was shet tight, but smoke was comin’ out de chimley. I say: Da’s a good sign. She home; an’ she ain’ dead.... I knocked on de do’, but she ain’ made no answer. I listen to see’f I could hyeah walkin’ in de room, but evvything was still. I knocked once mo’ an’ still she ain’ answer. Den I call to ’uh. I say: Lethe, dis Felo.... I’m on my way ’cross de river, an’ I come after my pants.
“Bimeby I could hyeah stirrin’ in de room; an’ nex’ thing I seen,—de window cracked open a li’l piece, an’ my pants fell down on de gal’ry flo’. An’ den de window shet tight, like nobody was in de house.
“I rolled de pants up in some newspaper I got to de Dago stan’; an’ crossed on de ferry-boat, an’ come hyuh to de castle to consult wid you ’bout w’at to do.... An’ now you got de whole story.”
“And the honor of hearing it well-told by the bold hero himself,” Mr. Amos commented, looking at him with an amused smile.
“Man, don’ laugh an’ make game dat way,” returned Felo, with quiet appeal. “Dis thing too much like a tawment to my soul to try an’ joke ’bout it.... How you reckon I’m goin’ feel if Lethe go blab de thing all over Gritny, an’ de members bring me up befo’ de church? ’Tain nothin’ to play wid. Dis subjec’ isseerus.”
“Then you’re not concerned a bit over the loss of Lethe’s teeth, are you?” Mr. Amos asked him.
“Lethe ain’ got to worry ’bout ’uh teeth,” Felo assured him. “She know she gotta look to me to pay de bill for fixin’ ’um. Lethe kin git new teeth; but who you think goin’ puvvide me wid a good reppatashun, after Lethe done spread de news, an’ my name bin walked on by a passul o’ mean-minded Gritny niggers?... W’ich one be de worse off den, me or Lethe?”
“Don’t you suppose Lethe values her good name as much as you do yours?” Mr. Amos argued with him. “If she exposes you, she exposes herself. No woman with pride will do a thing like that. She’ll lie to protect herself. And you’ll see that Lethe is no exception.”
Felo seemed greatly relieved, hearing this.
“Now, da’s de way I like to hyeah you talk,” he said. “Straighten de thing out for me. Tell me w’at I mus’ do.”
“Go to see Lethe tomorrow and have an understanding with her,” Mr. Amos suggested. “Tell her you’re sorry, and you want to set things right. Explain your position in the church, and make her see hers as well. And if she cares anything at all for you, she’ll certainly listen to reason.”
“Da’s suffishen,” Felo agreed, in a tone which seemed to tell that he was resolved to fulfill his duty. Then came an after-thought:
“But I sho Gawd hope dem missin’ teeth in de front ’uh mouth goin’ make ’uh feel ’shame’ ’bout ’uh looks, an’ keep ’uh from goin’ in de street till I git to see ’uh.”
“Start early in the morning,” Mr. Amos advised. “Take the day off, and finish up the job before you come back.”
A smile of appreciation lighted his face and his voice resumed its habitual cheerfulness.
“Man, you sho got a good head for somebody bin raised in Gritny. De onles diffunce twix’ you an’ me: you wise-minded from readin’ in books an’ things; an’ po’ me, I ain’ got nothin’ but mother-wit.... But I’m goin’ do jes’ like you say; an’ leave hyuh firs’ thing in de mawnin’, soon as I give you yo’ coffee.”
“And be sure to take the touch-me-nots with you togive to Lethe,” Mr. Amos reminded him, with a playful smile.
Getting up from his chair suddenly, he pretended to be greatly annoyed, and walked over to the bed-side to cover his embarrassment, saying:
“Man, git up from hyuh, wid dat ole cat, an’ lemme fix yo’ bed so you kin lay down an’ sleep an’ stop thinkin’ up a whole lot o’ humbug.... Come on; you done plague me enough for one night.... Lemme turn down de bed for you, so I kin go lay down an’ pray.”