Part 12

“Dah bless Gawd!” he exclaimed; taking a seat across the room, near the kitchen door. “I ain’ _never_ knowed it to fail; long as I kin remember,” he went on, with a sweeping gesture of the right arm. “Evvy time you see me dream ’bout fresh meat, you sho find out it ain’ goin’ be mo’n a day pass by, befo’ I hyeah tell ’bout somebody done died.... An’ now I bin had a dream ’bout fresh meat, dis make _three_ nights successful, han’-runnin’.... An’ hyuh come de news from Lethe dis mawnin’, ’bout two mo’ people done passed out, yonder in Gritny....”

“Never mind your dreams,” Mr. Amos interrupted with an amused smile. “Tell me who’s dead. And you can think about your fresh meat afterwards.”

“Go ’head, an’ laugh much as you please,” Felo answered, a trifle provoked. “Y’all w’ite folks jus’ alike.... All time ready to laugh at somh’n you don’ un’stan....”

“Well, let us hear what Lethe had to say, and maybe I will be better able to interpret your dream,” Mr. Amos encouraged him.

“Da’s de very thing I wan’t tell you. If you only keep still, an’ stop ty’in’ up my pro-gress wid so many on-nec’sary queshtun,” he remonstrated playfully; eager to recount Lethe’s sensational chronicle of disaster.

Three deaths in less than a week’s time! He began solemnly.... Ole Aunt Milly from down the bayou.... Pulled up in a skiff, all the way from Peach Orchard.... Comin’ all that long distance, rolled up in a blanket.... And buried in a grave half-full of rain water! He went on enumerating the lugubrious incidents; falling into a sort of chant, wavering between two monotonous tones.

Then Tempe, fallin’ in a well and gettin’ drownded so curuss.... And nobody able to get the straight understandin’ about it.... And smack on top of dat: Gussie Fisky, cut down by a switch engine haphazzud.... Right in front of his own house, in the black night.... And nobody close by to carry the news.... Umph-umph! Went the vigorous grunt of contemplation.... What was the world comin’ to?... These Gritny people better make haste and pray. Before Gawd reached down and snatched at ’um; and they come to open their eyes in Tawment.... Beggin’ for mercy when it wasn’t no use.... “Yas Lawd!” he concluded with a deep sigh. “It sho look like sudden deaths is gittin’ pop’lar.”

Knowing Felo’s eager readiness to have a part in every “popular” demonstration of this kind; Mr. Amos asked him how he was going to manage to be present at all the ceremonies.

No. He wasn’t going to take part in Tempe’s burying, Felo explained. They didn’t need him to speed Tempe over.... Tempe was a Chrishtun; and they would have a whole multitude of wimmins there to raise big excitement over her.... He was going to stay home and try to “sun the house,” and wipe up the floors.... Try and see if he couldn’t kill that strong miljew scent Mr. Amos said he found about the house the last couple of days.... Complainin’ and worryin’ about the dinin’room smellin’ mouldy.... And the rain bin fallin’ so steady lately; nobody ain’ goin’ study ’bout openin’ any window to leave in fresh air, damp as ever’thing is out-doors.... Anybody ought to know how that ole grass rug on the floor holds the miljew when the weather be’s rainy.... He was going to stay home and give all his ’tenshun to the house.... If the sun just comed out strong and ’lowed him a chance to work good all day....

But his mind told him that he had to go see Gussie that night.... Gussie was a brother-member of his Lodge. And it was compulsionary for him to be at the wake and go to the funeral.... Aunt Fisky sont him word that she wanted all Gussie’s ole-time playmates to walk ’long-side him for pall-bearers.... So after he got through fixin’ supper, he was goin’ to Gritny, and stay all night; and come back in the evenin’ after the funeral was over.

Fully conscious of the deep importance with which Felo considered his sentimental expedition, and agreeable to leaving him to the enjoyment of his own devices; Mr. Amos told him to take the whole day, and to let the house-cleaning go for another time.

No. He insisted on following his own mind, and getting through with what he had to do, so he would hear no more talk about that play-gone miljew scent in the house; when he got back from Gritny, and wanted to tell about what took place when they put Gussie away.... He couldn’t talk sociable when people kept on makin’ a whole lot of complainin’.... “An’ innyway,—de sun done comed out dis mawnin’, an’ I ain’ goin’ risk puttin’ de thing off no longer.... So gimme some change to go to market an’ buy yo’ li’l foods for dis evenin’.... An’ go ’head to yo’ office, an’ lemme git to my business.”

Mr. Amos gave him the money for the purchases, and was about to leave, when Felo followed him to the door and asked:

“You want some yam sweet potato dis evenin’? Fixed in de oven wid butter an’ milk an’ vunilla essen’, an’ some dem w’ite-o’-aig things you call mush-mallow?”

Mr. Amos gave a smile of assent, remembering this was one of Felo’s boasted specialties, and that it was intended as a delicate compliment.

“An’ you want some smothered poke-chops, an’ stuffed aigplant wid swimps in ’um?” Felo suggested.

“Why do you want to make such a feast?” Mr. Amos asked in surprise. “After you finish all the house-cleaning you say you mean to do, you better rest yourself; if you hope to do any singing at a wake tonight.... Fix the yams, if you care to. But get something else easy to cook.”

“Man, go ’head to yo’ office, for Gawd sake,” Felo told him; provoked at having his show of hospitality received with such marked indifference. “’Tain no use try’n to sattafy some people, w’en dey ain’ never learnt how to ’preshate li’l favors did for ’um wid a free heart.... Go ’head to yo’ office.... An’ you better be glad if you come back hyuh an’ fin’ coffee an’ bread to eat, w’en you git home dis evenin’.”

Left to himself, after he had done his marketing in the neighborhood, it was not long until Felo’s domestic maneuvering was in full swing. Any casual passer-by would have supposed the house was in process of evacuation. Festoons of bed-clothes and barricades of pillows protruded negligently from upstairs windows; scarves and cushions and draperies of many colors flaunted in reckless abandon from down-stairs windows; rugs hung over the side fence, and blankets flapped on the back-yard clothes-line. Everything was brought out to bask in the welcome sunshine and to gather freshness from the pleasant flowing breeze. Filled with abundant energy and the unflagging desire to please, Felo was determined to overlook no single detail about the house. Work don’t never hurt nobody if they goes at it with the right sperret, he told himself.... He sho was goin’ to try his best to keep people from thinkin’ his boss was runnin’ a li’l ole picayune boa’din’-house.... This house was a rezzident; and he sho was goin’ keep it lookin’ so.... And Mr. Amos never need feel ’shamed to have any comp’ny try to ’zamine his toys and things, and all them “heavy-heavy-hangs-ove’-yo’-head” he had on the wall; after Felo got done playin’ with ’um....

When he came home in the evening, Mr. Amos was struck by the orderly appearance of everything. The rugs were fresh-looking and arranged with care; the floors and the furniture were rubbed and polished; bright flowers were on the piano and tables; and the whole house looked cheerful and inviting.

As he walked back to the diningroom he heard the pleasant sound of Felo’s voice, singing at his work in the kitchen.

“Death he is a cruel monster in dis lan’; You kin call but he won’t answer, ain’t it gran’?”

The words didn’t carry a very cheerful greeting; but the melody was a lovely one; thought Mr. Amos, as he stood listening, waiting until Felo would finish the verse.

“I kin leave at break of day, You will find but empty clay,— Lawd, I wonder w’at they’ll say W’en I’m gone...?”

“What a strange allurement death and wakes and funerals seem to hold out to him; when at heart he is really of a happy disposition,” Mr. Amos commented, as Felo ended his song and changed to a soft murmuring hum.

Mr. Amos stood looking about the room, waiting for Felo to sing again. Suddenly he became conscious of the odor of pineapple. Wondering where it came from, he soon discovered a large pineapple towering out of the punch bowl on the corner cupboard, and another one standing on a tray on the side table.

“Well, what do you call this?” He asked Felo, not knowing how to regard the unusual decoration.

Felo came in from the kitchen, smiling, wanting to know if everything wasn’t “sattafactual.”

Everything was fine. He was thoroughly pleased; Mr. Amos told him. “But will you kindly tell me why you bought these pineapples and put them in here after this fashion?”

Felo looked at the pineapples thoughtfully, his face assuming a puzzled expression. What was the matter with them? They were nice and fresh.... He never let nobody sell him no cheap rotten fruits.... These pineapples were fine ripe pineapples.... And nobody couldn’t buy no better pineapples for two-bits a piece....

“But you know I never eat pineapples,” Mr. Amos informed him placidly.

“Dah bless Gawd!” Felo exclaimed, abashed; rolling his eyes impressively from one pineapple to the other. “You know, I clean forgot you ain’ never eat pineapple,” he tried to explain. “Gawd knows.” He apologized with deep feeling. “De thing sho did slip my membunce, jus’ like I tell you.”

“And that’s the reason why you bought two pineapples instead of one?” Mr. Amos asked, teasingly.

“You ain’ try’n to raise no complaint ’bout fo’-bits, is you?” Felo went on. “But you know, de things look so nice an’ temptin’ w’en I seen ’um on de Dago stan’ dis mawnin’; I thought on w’at I hyeah’d you say,—how dis place smell so mouldy.... So I say: I’m goin’ buy dese pair o’ pineapples an’ put ’um in de room hyuh; an’ I know dey goin’ sho out-stink a billy-goat.... An’ I bet you ain’ smell no miljew scent up in hyuh now. Is you?”

Mr. Amos complimented him on his novel method of disinfecting, but said he preferred to smell the tempting scent that came floating in from the pots.

Felo rolled his eyes appreciatively, saying:

“Well, hurry up an’ set to de table, an’ lemme bring you yo’ li’l foods befo’ yo’ appatite fo’sake you. Evvything ready. So come on an’ eat. An’ maybe I kin go ’way from hyuh soon, w’en I git thoo waitin’ on you.”

Further urging was unnecessary. Mr. Amos knew by the regaling odors coming from the kitchen, that the evening meal would consist of much more than the meager “coffee and bread” which Felo promised in the morning. Having revoked his threat, in spite of the many duties accomplished that day, Felo had exerted himself in preparing a truly noble dinner.

Not satisfied with the simple luxury of eggplant stuffed with shrimp and tomato, seasoned with onion, thyme, parsley and red pepper, macerated with milk and butter, Felo had added the epicurean garnish of rolled toast and grated sapsago cheese. The yam potatoes, crowned with an aureole of golden-brown marshmallows, looked like an arrangement of autumn leaves mottled with sunshine; and Mr. Amos found himself wondering if it were not a bowl of delectable vegetables masquerading as a delicious dessert. The pork chops were smothered in a rich tomato gravy flavored with cloves and lemon peel; a tempting ragout, which Felo assured Mr. Amos, as he placed before him a plate of hot biscuits just out of the oven, “sho will make you rear back an’ smack yo’ lips manful, after you done sopped some o’ dese light biscuits in dis good ole-time Creyall gravy.”

Knowing that Felo at all times looked for more active proof than simple words of praise in appreciation of his culinary efforts, Mr. Amos endeavored to “perish” and “destroy” as much as was humanly possible. Because Felo was most pleased when he saw people “eat good”; and “et like dey bin use to good eatin’.” Feeling that “a dinner table full o’ empty plates an’ dishes was cert’ny mo’ convincin’ den a whole lot o’ col’ overs settin’ up in de ’frigerator.”

When Mr. Amos finished his coffee, he went upstairs to lie down, leaving Felo to “scuffle wid his pots an’ make quick tracks for Gritny.” It was not long before the kitchen boomed with the happy chorus of “De ole sheep done knowed de road”; every now and then a broken cadence floating off through the house like the sound of jubilation:

“My brother, ain’t you got yo’ counts all sealed? De young lambs mus’ find de way. You better git ’um ready ’fore you leave dis field; De young lambs mus’ find de way.”

It was a pleasant sound, and Mr. Amos delayed reading his book as long as the singing continued. As soon as there was silence in the kitchen, he knew that Felo was dressing, and that it would not be long until he was on his way across the river to Gussie’s wake.

If there were two particular forms of divertissement equally cherished by every dweller of the East Green and thereabouts, perhaps the one holding second place would be the fine funeral following a nice wake. Granting this, it was easy to understand why Gussie’s obsequies seemed to offer something of more than ordinary importance. Being a white man, and an outcast among his own color; and a man without religion, and therefore counted a lost soul among his church-going colored companions; they were deeply concerned about how he would be “put away with any right kind of form and fashion.” ... Who could they get to preach his funeral if the colored elder didn’t want to come?... Maybe Aunt Fisky would get the white folks to bring the priest to say prayers and swing smoke over Gussie and sprinkle him with holy water?...

Conjectural comment was at its height when Felo arrived. And curious to know the full particulars, like all the other members present, he asked Aunt Fisky if she had done anything regarding the funeral ceremonies. She told him quietly that she didn’t want any priest or revyun of any kind to come up in her house.... She wasn’t no hypocrite.... Everybody in Gritny knew that Gussie never was no church member.... And now that Gussie was ’ceased, there wasn’t no use for any elder to stand up and preach about his sinful ways.... It couldn’t help Gussie none. And what good would it do anybody else?... They ain’t got to tell Gawd about it; ’cause Gawd already knowed what Gussie was. So He didn’t have to listen to a whole lot o’ random.... And besides, she didn’t believe in rakin’-up people’s wrong-doin’ after they gone. The members could sing over Gussie much as they pleased. And the man from the Peefus Lodge could say the Ow Father and read something out his book. And that’s all she cared about.... And she was goin’ to see that they did it, too.... Gussie had dragged on long enough with a whole lot o’ racket and confusion. So she made up her mind that she was goin’ to see him go ’way from this earth quiet and respectable.... She wasn’t goin’ to find no fault ’bout havin’ a brass band; ’cause she knowed Gussie always liked music and was _too_ proud to walk behind a purrade. So, if people cared anything at all about her and Gussie feelin’s, she cert’ny would look to see them respect her wishes in this lonesome interprise....

Felo said he would tell everyone present, and promised to see that her wishes would be obeyed. He went over to talk to Carmelite, where she was sitting in a corner, looking very dejected. She shook hands with him and listened silently as he repeated what Aunt Fisky had told him.

“An’ you sho kin count on me, Mr. Felo, to help you make dese niggers do de right thing,” Carmelite assured him feelingly.

“You goin’ set up all night?” Felo asked her.

“Sho Gawd is,” she declared with fervor. “Bad as I feel; I’m goin’ stay right hyuh, an’ fix de coffee an’ do all I kin, befo’ I go home to my house.”

“W’a’s de matter?” Felo asked wonderingly. “You ain’ sick, is you?”

No; she wasn’t ’zacly sick; Carmelite told him. She was jus’ feelin’ down-casted.... Sittin’ there an’ lookin’ at Gussie, an’ callin’ back to her mind what took place to her house last night.... Gussie eatin’ up all her duck-egg cake with nobody but himself, yonder in her kitchen.... And hyuh a whole crowd o’ people come to eat crackers and coffee over Gussie; and he layin there on the table and ain’t knowin’ a thing ’bout what was goin’ on....

“An’ lookin’ so natchal, too. Widout any puttin’-on a-tall,” came Frozine’s sympathetic comment.

“Ain’t it true,” agreed Mozella. “For a man bin cut half-in-two like he is, Gussie sho do look natchal.”

“An’ ain’ he got a nice pale color?” remarked Soongy.

“Sho is,” declared Nookie. “I ain’ never took notice till now, how pale Gussie complexion.”

“Look like Death done bleached his skin mo’ lighter,” Carmelite reflected pensively.

“An’ Gussie sho look like somebody diffunt, layin’ up there strouded in dem purrade clo’se he got on,” said Pinkey, taking a seat along-side of Carmelite.

At sight of Aunt Fisky coming in from the back room, all comment ceased for a while. She came over where the women were sitting, and gave Carmelite a pan full of orange leaves, asking her to pin them on the sheet “droped” over the table where Gussie was lying. Carmelite and several of the women got down on their knees and began pinning the orange leaves on the sheet, making a border in the form of a cross all around the bier.

At length, a low mournful humming began to tremble in the room as the women went on with their work in the dim weird light from the flickering candles, standing in bottles on the mantelpiece and on the table at Gussie’s head and feet.

Before long the old house was vibrating to the rolling sound of

“Didn’t my Lawd deliver Daniel, And why not every man...?”

Their voices pulsating with unusual fervor and their minds thrilled with the import of the words:

“O de wind blows east, an’ de wind blows west; It blows like a Judgment Day; An’ ev’ry poor soul that never did pray ’ll be glad to pray dat day.”

One by one the neighbors continued to come in, each one bringing along from home a chair to sit on; knowing that Aunt Fisky would not be able to accommodate them, and that the crowd would increase as the night went on.

Felo began looking about eagerly to see if Lethe had come. What kept her so late? He asked himself.... He would run around to her house to see what was the matter.... Now was a good time. The singing was at its height.... Nobody would miss him....

Felo lost no time, but hurried on across the Green and down the street to Lethe’s house. As he opened the gate, he was surprised to find her sitting on the gallery steps, leaning against the post in the darkness.

“W’at you doin’, settin’ out hyuh in de jew all alone?” He asked abruptly. “Who you waitin’ for? Settin’ out hyuh in de dark, wid dis chill air blowin’ ’cross yo’ shoulders, an’ nothin’ on to puhteck you from de night dampness?”

“I’m waitin’ hyuh for Lizzie Cole to come,” Lethe answered, quietly.

“Settin’ out hyuh on-cuncerned, waitin’ for ole loud-mouth Lizzie; an’ Aun’ Fisky an’ evvybody waitin’ yonder for you to come to Gussie wake; an’ had to git me to come see w’at keepin’ you?” He complained. “W’at kind o’ game dis is you play’n, inny-way?” He demanded with mock seriousness. “You ain’ inten’ to go to de wake tonight?”

“I gotta wait hyuh till Lizzie come wid dem chickens, befo’ I kin go,” Lethe answered calmly.

“W’at chickens you talkin’ ’bout?” He asked impatiently. “I don’ know nothin’ ’bout any chickens.... Ole crazy Lizzie ain’ thinkin’ ’bout bringin’ no chickens to Gussie wake, is she?... An’ you ain’ wan’ play fool an’ uphol’ ’uh in ’uh devilment?”

“Felo, for Gawd sake set down, an’ don’ talk so hasty,” Lethe told him with annoyance. “Lizzie comin’ hyuh to bring de chickens she wan’ me keep for ’uh till she come back from sugar-grindin’, yonder whah she goin’ to Lafoosh plantation.”

“W’en she goin’?” Felo asked, sitting down beside Lethe on the step.

“Dey got a whole crowd o’ wimmins goin’ in de mawnin’; an’ I spec’ Lizzie goin’ ’long wid’ um’ on de Morgan train.”

“An’ she had to wait till dis late in de night to go ketch chickens an’ fetch ’um hyuh to bother you wid ’um?... W’at make ole lazy Chester couldn’ brought ’um hyuh in de day-time?”

“Chester gone away,” Lethe informed him.

“Who? Chester gone sugar-grindin’!” Felo exclaimed, laughing with great amusement. “Lizzie Cole better hurry an’ go yonder an’ look after Chester, befo’ some dem green country niggers sasharate de po’ boy body an’ soul, w’en he workin’ munks de mens, cuttin’ sugar cane in de big open fiel’.”

“W’at make you all time wan’ be so scoffish?” Lethe asked him. “Chester ain’ big enough to take care himself?... Chester ain’ simple.... An’ you ain’ need to worry ’bout Chester. ’Cause Chester ain’ gone to no country to cut no sugar cane.... Whah Chester gone ain’ nobody business. So try’n keep still, an’ don’ be talkin’ all ove’ yo’ mouth till you know somh’n ’bout people mo’ better’n guessin’ an’ supposin’.”

“But no!” Felo faltered; surprised at her unexpected defensive attitude. “Since w’en you done come to be mixed up in Chester business so, you gotta set to me like dis?”

“Felo, is you a plumb fool all by yo’-self?” Lethe asked him quietly. “W’at I wan’ do, havin’ any traffic wid chillun like Chester?... You ain’ got to come hyuh an’ ’cuse me, suspicious like dat....”

“Chillun, man, or boy; or w’atsome-ever you wan’ call it,” he interrupted sullenly. “But look like y’all two mus’ be got some kind o’ secut un’stannin’ wid each-another; w’en you so quick to take up de queshtun, an’ ack like you know somh’n you don’ wan’ tell ’bout.... But da’s alright,” he went on, with an aggrieved air. “You ain’ compel to lemme know w’at goin’ on.... W’en you got Chester right hyuh so conveenyun all de time; an’ I’m way yonder ’cross de river, countin’ on evvything bein’ straight, an’ trus’in all things is fair an’ square.... You ain’ compel to tell me nothin’, if da’s de way yo’ mind lead you....”

“Felo, for Gawd sake, shet yo’ mouth an’ keep still,” Lethe told him; getting up from the steps and starting to go into the house. “Hyuh come Lizzie, now.... So come in-doors, if you wan’ find out ’bout Chester.... Leave Lizzie tell you ’bout him. She ain’ goin’ hol’ nothin’ back from you.... Hyuh she is, now. Go ’head inside; an’ don’ look so hateful.”