Part 20

A crowd of people were around the burning tree, and others were coming. All were talking excitedly. God must have His eye on April to aim a thunderbolt so close to his house. He had a narrow escape. His house might catch fire yet, for pieces of burning limbs were falling, and water could not put out fire started with lightning. Nothing could, but new milk from a cow with her first calf. Where would April get enough of that to do any good?

April was brazenly unafraid. He laughed at the notion of getting a heifer’s milk. He said he’d make water outen this fire, or any other fire, that bothered his cabin. They’d see.

April sat in front of the fire on his hearth, and when Big Sue fixed his breakfast in a pan and handed it to him, he called to the neighbors, standing outside, “Yunnuh come an’ eat some breakfast wid me. We’s got a-plenty fo’ ev’ybody.” At first all of them answered, “No, thank you,” but when April insisted, a half-dozen or more went in and took a piece of bread, or a mouthful of sweetened water.

“How’s Joy?” Bina asked Big Sue politely.

“Joy’s awful nervish since dat tree got struck. I made em stay in bed dis mawnin’.”

“Joy ain’ been well in a good while,” Bina commented.

Big Sue’s eyes snapped. “Joy ever was a delicate child, Bina. You know dat good as me.”

The thick high trees, lapping their branches overhead, sheltered the cabins from a sun that burned down, fierce and bright, drawing a strong steamy stench up from the heated mud flats left naked by the outgone tide.

The fields were all too wet for plowing, and the blacksmith shop was the center for the day’s work. Plowshares needed to be filed and sharpened. Plow-stocks mended. Mules’ feet trimmed. Manes and tails clipped short. A few of the older, thinner beasts had got lousy. The hair must be cut off them and their hides wet with tea made out of china-berry leaves.

The men laughed and talked and chewed tobacco and smoked, as they worked leisurely at their different tasks. A difference of opinion rose as to the best place to twitch a mule to make him stand still for his hair to be cut off. A twine-string could be twisted around an ear, or tied to the upper lip. Uncle Bill preferred the lip. He said mules have pockets inside their ears and a string twisted tight enough to hold the beast quiet, will tear that pocket in two. April objected to the twitch on the lip, for it often caused a painful swelling.

The question was still unsettled when Brudge came running hard as he could, crying out that Joy had been taken with a death-sickness. She was lying on the bed in a trance. She couldn’t speak a word. Brudge almost popped out his eyeballs showing how her eyes were rolled away back in her head. Her hands and feet were cold as clabber. Big Sue said April must hurry or Joy would be gone before he got there!

April did not wait to hear the end of Brudge’s talk, but flew home ahead of them all with Breeze close at his heels. Lamentations and outcries met them as they got nearer. Big Sue’s above all the rest. Joy was dying. Nothing but a death-sickness could strike a young woman down so hard.

Breeze was almost petrified with terror, but he dragged himself on to the cabin, which was already filled with the neighbors. Joy lay on the bed covered over with a quilt, up to her very neck. Her eyes were shut. Her head moved from side to side. Her lips whispered things nobody could hear at all.

Big Sue sat near the bed in a low chair, her fat body rocking. Big tears rolled down her cheeks as she chanted over and over.

“Do, Jedus! Don’ let Joy dead!

“Oh, my Gawd! Help my chile! Help em!

“Oh, Lawd! Oh, my Gawd!

“Don’ let Joy dead dis mawnin’!”

April broke through the crowd surrounding the bed, and taking one of Joy’s hands from under the cover felt her pulse, then leaned over to hear what she was saying. “No. No, honey,” he crooned, “you wouldn’ dead an’ leave me. No. No. I couldn’ do widout you nohow. I wouldn’ ’a’ left you last night in dat storm, but I was ’fraid de stables would blow down an’ kill all de mules an’ horses. De storm is gone. De lightnin’ didn’ hurt nobody. Death is gone away off now. E can’ take you. No!”

Breeze pricked up his ears. Was death about to take Joy?

As her life fluttered uncertainly, Big Sue’s wailing and misery were less hard to bear than April’s fierce resolute manner.

Joy had to get well. No matter what ailed her. If she was conjured, Uncle Isaac had to take off the spell. If the storm had scared her until her heart-string was strained, she must keep still and rest until it went back into place. Nobody must come in the room to worry her with talking. Send for Maum Hannah. No matter if she was at the end of the earth instead of the end of the “Neck,” go fetch her! Hurry! Don’t tarry and waste any more time! Fetch Maum Hannah! Joy had a death-sickness!

Uncle Bill hitched up the fastest horse in the barnyard to the lightest cart, and went flying down the road for Maum Hannah, who had gone to a sick woman some miles away. When he got back, several hours later, the horse was lathered with sweat, and all but broken winded, but Joy was still alive.

The room was chock-full, the door choked with people, both windows were dark with heads. Big Sue’s mourning that had fallen into a low mumbling prayer to Jesus now changed and livened to:

“Do, Maum Hannah! Help my Joy!

“Do, Maum Hannah! Don’ let Joy dead!

“Do, Maum Hannah!”

Maum Hannah hurried up the steps as fast as her crippled knee would let her. She was all out of breath, but instead of pitying Big Sue, she stopped still and eyed her with an impatient grunt. “Do shut you’ mouth, Big Sue! You ought to be shame’ to cut all dis crazy! You can’ fool dese people. No! Everybody knows wha’ ails Joy, ’ceptin’ April. An’ e ought to take you out an’ duck you good in de creek fo’ makin’ such a fool out o’ him! Dat fine horse is most dead! Bill made em run so fas’, de wind likened to ’a’ cut my breath off. You people go home. Gi’ Joy a chance to turn dat chile loose. Joy done well to hold em dis long but e can’ hold em no longer. Yunnuh go on! Go on, Breeze! Yunnuh clear de room!”

Big Sue stopped grieving and stared, but Maum Hannah’s talk stung April to the quick. He stepped up to her angrily, but she stopped taking off her cloak long enough to pat his arm, “Don’ be vexed wid me, son. I’m tellin’ yunnuh what Gawd loves, de truth! Joy’s done well to hold dat chile dis long. You married in de Christmas, enty? Well, Joy can’ hold em six more months. I know dat. Dat gal’s got to turn em loose, no matter if it do hurt you’ feelin’s!”

Joy trembled like a leaf in a storm. Her dazed eyes turned from Maum Hannah to April, who was silent, except for one word. “Bitch,” he snarled, and his eyes blazed like lightning flashes, as he turned and left the room.

Breeze left too, but he scarcely knew where he was, or where he was going. April had cursed Joy and she a-dying!

He dragged himself home and fell across Joy’s own bed, for Big Sue was not there to stop him. He wept until his tears failed him. He tried his best to pray, “O Gawd, don’ let Joy die--” but he went fast asleep. He slept heavily until a harsh hoarse voice waked him. He came instantly to his senses, and tried to stammer out some excuse, but Big Sue’s grim swollen face made his words falter, and the slap her hand laid on his jaw brought shining stars in front of his eyes.

“Git up and go borrow a piece o’ fire f’om somebody! Hurry, too, befo’ I kill you!”

He ran to April’s house, but stopped at the step for a tiny baby was crying inside. He ran all the way to Zeda’s and borrowed a piece of fire, then flew home. As he made up the fire for Big Sue, she walked around the room unsteadily, mumbling between her teeth. If April mistreated her Joy now, she herself would put a “hand” on him; one so strong that it would wither his hands! And his feet! She couldn’t keep still or stop talking. Her tongue lashed April and Joy too, and each word was a poison sting. Who was he to blame Joy? He had children scattered from one end of this “Neck” to the other. Now he cursed Joy as if she were lowest of the low. It was a shame! A heavy shame! Joy must leave him at once!

The wind had risen and whistled through the trees, tossing the branches, making them moan. Big Sue talked on and on. Breeze was glad when she went back to April’s cabin, although she left him without a bite to eat. He’d go somewhere and get supper. Maybe Uncle Bill was at home. He’d go see.

To his surprise April was there too, sitting by the fire, miserably dejected, while Uncle Bill talked to him, trying to cheer him.

Breeze had hardly got inside when Zeda arrived and, brushing past Uncle Bill, walked up to April and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me, April. I got somet’ing to say to you.” Bitter spite hurried her words.

But April, instead of looking up as she bade him, leaned forward and spat in the fire.

“Wha’ ails you, now, Zeda?” he asked curtly.

“I kin easy say what ails me; dat new-born child yonder ’side Joy is my gran’! But e’s you’ gran’, too! Joy had dat chile for Sherry, an’ you ain’ gwine put no dis-grace-ment on em. No. If nobody else can’ hinder you, I kin. I already got you’ feet so dey can’ rest. Wid Leah’s death-sheet.”

April heard her, and although he didn’t answer, his jaw set his teeth hard enough to bite a ten-penny nail in two. Zeda smiled.

“You may as well give in, April,” she persisted. “Sherry’s you own, an’ who is Breeze, but you’ own? Ev’body knows dat. It’s a wonder somebody ain’ cut you’ throat long time ago. If you wa’n’t so lucky you’d ’a’ been in hell wid some o’ dem women you sent dere.”

“How come you meddlin’ in my business so raven?” April suddenly flashed out.

“Dat li’l’ chile is my business. Joy had em fo’ Sherry, a li’l’ boy-chile, too. You go on home an’ tell Joy to hurry up an’ git well. ’Tain’ no use to hold hard feelin’s ’gainst em. No! Joy’s had you a gran’son.”

When he did not stir, she blazed out: “You’ neck is stiff, enty! So’s my own! An’ I hope a misery’ll gnaw you’ heart in two. I hope you’ll die of thirst an’ hunger. I hope ev’y lawful yard-chile you had by Leah’ll perish. I hope you’ feet’ll rot----”

“You shut you’ mouth, Zeda. If you cuss me again I’ll choke you’ tongue down you’ throat.” April got up and fled from her bitter words.

XVIII

JOY AND APRIL

For days after Joy’s child was born, Big Sue kept to her cabin. Joy had disgraced her, made her ashamed to show her face in company. She’d never forgive Joy as long as she lived. Never. Joy saw Leah drop dead in her face, yet she went straight on and married Leah’s husband. A shame! Joy would sup sorrow yet. She might bewitch April and make a plumb fool out of him, but she’d pay for bringing disgrace on her mother who had worked her knuckles to the bone to keep Joy in school!

If Joy had behaved herself, she might have married anybody instead of a man old as her daddy, and conjured to boot. That death-sheet had put a spell on April. Sure as preaching. He’d never be the same man again. He’d have run Joy out of his house if he had been in his right mind.

She talked so fast and loud one morning she didn’t see Uncle Bill until he was at the door-step. “How come you tiptoes around so easy dis mornin’!” she asked tartly.

“Gawd knows how I’m a-walkin’, I’m so fretted.”

“Wha’ dat ail you now?”

“Joy sent me to tell you.”

“How come Joy don’ fetch e own answer?”

“Joy’s too troub-led.”

Big Sue shot a look at him and sucked her teeth. “Joy’s mighty late gittin’ troub-led,” and a hard, wicked smile touched her mouth.

“Joy’s troub-led about April. April ain’ well, Miss Big Sue.”

Big Sue sniffed and said April was due to have something wrong with him, wicked as he had lived, hard as he had been with everybody that crossed him. What kind of sickness did April have?

“Somet’ing ails his feets.”

“Dat ain’ surprisin’. April slept wid a death-sheet on ’em a whole night.”

“Uncle Isaac took dat spell off em.”

“Well, who put dis spell on em, den?”

Uncle Bill sat down on the step. He was so troubled in his mind, it was difficult for him to say what ailed April. At first it favored chilblains; then ground-itch, for April went out barefooted in the dew every morning God sent, and any little scratch that lets dew get inside your skin may give you ground-itch. But none of the chilblain or ground-itch cures helped him at all. His appetite was clean gone. He had eaten nothing but spoon-victuals for a week. He was thin as a fence rail.

Big Sue made an ugly mouth. What did she care? Why hadn’t April married a settled woman who could cook decent rations instead of a scatter-brained girl like Joy who didn’t know the name of one pot from another? He needn’t be sending word here about victuals. Let April eat what Joy fixed for him. Love would season up lumpy hominy and make doughy bread taste good.

Uncle Bill sat frowning, chewing his tobacco wearily, studying. Joy had said she hated to worry Big Sue. She was sorry for all that had happened. Joy was a good girl. She had slipped up once, and made a bad mistake, but any young inexperienced girl is likely to miss and do that. April did right to excuse her.

Big Sue sneered. Joy had worked one sharp trick. Leah herself couldn’t have fooled April any slicker. Joy ever was tricky, though. Just like Silas for the world. Likely as not, Joy had April conjured right now.

Uncle Bill pursed up his lips so tight, they looked as if they’d never open and speak again, and his eyes were full of worry.

“Whyn’ you go see Uncle Isaac? E might could help April?” Big Sue asked presently.

“I done seen em. When de bear-grass poultices and de violet-leaves tea failed, I went an’ got Uncle Isaac. Joy sent me. I don’ like charms. I don’ trust ’em. I know a Christian man ain’ got no business foolin’ wid ’em. But Joy was so fretted, I done it to please her. I kept a-studyin’ over it; one mind said do it; another mind said, no, I better ask all de Christian people to hold a prayer-meetin’ an’ ask Gawd to help April; I listened at dem two minds arguin’ one whole night befo’ I give in to Joy. An’ now I wish to Gawd I didn’ heed em.”

“How come so? April wouldn’ wear em, I bet you!” Big Sue was listening with interest now, anxious to know what happened, but Uncle Bill took his time.

April did everything Joy said. Wilful and unruly as he was with every one else, he tried to please Joy. And yet when Joy brought that charm to him and began coaxing him to let her tie it around his neck, he balked. Joy had to outtalk him.

For a whole day and night April wore it, a little cloth bag, tied with a white horse hair; but because it didn’t cure his feet right away, he jerked it off and threw it in the fire. Such a pity. Even strong charms take time to start working. April ever was a short-patienced man. He made trouble for himself by hastiness. A man can be hot-blooded and pettish with people but not with charms or magic.

Joy snatched the bag out of the flames, but it was scorched and a hole burned in one side. A speck of the mixture inside it spilled out on the coals and smoked such a strong smoke, April sneezed three times!

Right then, the gristles in April’s feet got hard. Hard as a rock! God only knew if they’d ever go back to their rightful softness.

Uncle Isaac made Joy take the bag off to the woods and bury it at the foot of a locust tree, but April got worse and worse. His feet were numb and hard and dry. Joy wanted to send for a white doctor. They might get one to come on the boat from town, and with the crop so promising they’d have money to pay him next fall. But April wouldn’t have it. He said Maum Hannah knew more than any white doctor.

Big Sue kept shaking her head and grunting shamelessly until Uncle Bill got up painfully to go. Something in his sad face must have moved her, for all of a sudden she scrambled to her feet, letting her scraps fall on the floor. “I made some nice little sweetened breads dis mawnin’. Take some to April. I sho’ am sorry ’bout his feets. You tell em so. I’m gwine broil em a fat pullet, too.”

“Ev’y man has to manage his own dueness, but how ’bout gwine along wid me, to see April, Miss Big Sue? You done chastise Joy long enough. De gal’s in trouble.”

“I can’ go, not so well, right now, Uncle Bill, but Breeze kin go if e’ll thread me two or three needles first.” She started to say more, but she changed her mind and kept silent, her eyes cast down on her sewing. When she did speak it was to say Joy had been mighty shut-mouthed about April. Joy had funny ways.

Breeze and Uncle Bill found April with a quilt around him, sitting alone by the fire, looking at his feet. Looking and looking. His heavy black brows overshadowed his sad eyes as they lifted and hovered over Breeze, then Uncle Bill. But as soon as he shook hands and said “thank you” for the food, they fell, and settled on his feet, which were bare and on the hearth very close to the fire.

The weather had turned off cool in the night, but there was no reason for April to keep his feet so close to the fire. Uncle Bill told him he’d scorch them, but April shook his head and said they felt no heat at all. Not a bit. They had gone to sleep or something. They felt like blocks of wood. And he moved them stiffly, as if they were.

He complained that he had no appetite. He was tired too. Sitting still was the hardest work he had ever done in his life. If he could read, or if he had somebody to talk to, if he had something pleasant to think about, it would help pass the time. But he couldn’t read, and he didn’t want anybody to stay at home out of the field. Cotton needs fast hoeing during these warm wet days. He wished he could stop off thinking. Stop short off. He’d like to go to sleep and never wake up any more. He’d go crazy if he had to stay still and look at his feet much longer. What in God’s name ailed them! Nobody seemed to know!

Uncle Bill tried to tell him the plantation news, but April’s eyes stayed on his feet. Uncle Bill offered to teach him to read if he wanted to learn. Now would be a good time for April to learn how to write. He ought to learn to write his name if no more. Every man ought to know how to write his name. But April said he never had much faith in books and reading. Black people were better off without it. It takes their mind off their work. It makes them think about things they can’t have. They’re better off without knowing how. Uncle Bill didn’t argue.

All of a sudden a coal popped out of the hearth with a sharp explosion. It fell right between April’s feet, as if it could see and did it on purpose. It lay there, red, bright, like a dare. April opened his tired eyes wide, and leaned forward and looked at it, for instead of dying out it burned freer. April carefully raised one long black bony foot and placed its heel on the coal. He waited a moment; then he lifted it up and stared at Uncle Bill. His scared eyes told what had happened. Breeze knew too.

April had felt no heat. His foot was dead. It couldn’t feel fire! April grabbed the fire shovel, and scraped up a batch of live coals from under the fire and dropped them on the hearth. He’d see if fire had stopped being hot. Uncle Bill didn’t raise a finger to stop him when he lifted his other foot and pressed its heel down on the coals and mashed hard on them.

The bitter smell of his burned flesh stung the air. April’s eyes glared, and he laughed a harsh discordant laugh. But a sob quickly caught him by the throat and choked him. He leaned over and picked up a live coal in his fingers, then dropped it quickly, for his fingers were alive. They could feel. The coal burned them. But his feet were dead. They couldn’t feel even fire!

“Oh, Gawd!” he moaned, and his long fingers knotted and clenched, his strong tobacco-yellowed teeth ground together.

Joy came in from the field to feed her little baby. Nobody heard her bare footsteps, until she spoke to Uncle Bill and Breeze. She went up to April and put a hand on his arm, and asked how his feet were. She leaned over and looked at them, but he drew them underneath his chair. He didn’t want her to see. He reached for the quilt on the floor beside him and covered them over.

“My feets is all right,” he told her gruffly.

But Joy sniffed the air once or twice, she searched the fire with her eyes, then she swept the hearth clean of the coals. She patted April’s shoulder, and said gentle things to him. He must have patience. She’d make some fresh violet-leaves tea and soak his feet. She was sure that would help them.