Part 24

Brudge’s ranting became louder, more breathless, as he declared God had made him so strong he could lift up a mule by himself. He would pray for April’s legs to grow back. God would answer his prayer. The people would soon see. April would be well.

April lay on the bed by the window, his short body covered over with a quilt. When Breeze peeped in at him, he threw out his long arms with an impatient gesture that made the flies rise with a buzz.

“Tell Uncle Bill I say come here!” he ordered, then he groaned and put his clasped hands under his head. Breeze felt vaguely uneasy. He whispered to Uncle Bill to hurry, and the old man’s feet stumbled up the steps, for Brudge’s unexpected conversion had him shaken and bewildered. But he steadied when April burst out furiously, “Whyn’ you make Brudge hush dat fool talk? Brudge’s mind ain’ never been solid, an’ now yunnuh’s gwine run em clean crazy! Tell dem people to go on home! Brudge went to sleep in dem woods. E ain’ seen nothin’ but a dream! No!”

Uncle Bill patted his shoulder and tried to cool his heat. “Brudge is just happy, son. Dat’s all. I know ezactly how de boy feels. I felt de same way when I found peace. You ain’ never been saved. Dat’s how come you don’ un’erstand. Brudge is called to preach, April. Sho’ as you’ born. You ought to be so t’ankful!”

“Great Gawd!” April fairly bellowed. “You is fool as Brudge! Whe’s Joy? Tell Joy to make Brudge hush dat fuss! I can’ stand so much racket! No!”

April’s eyes glowed fever bright and his forehead held drops of sweat. Nobody but Uncle Bill would have dared to cross him, and even Uncle Bill was upset.

“You mustn’ fret dis way, April. You’ll git you’ liver all hottened up. I’ll make Brudge stop talkin’, but you mustn’ holler like a baby. People’ll t’ink you’ mind ain’ solid. Anybody else but you would be rejoicin’!”

The yard was soon empty, the cabin still. Only Joy and Uncle Bill sat outside on the steps, talking in whispers.

That night Joy went out in a blustery wind and rain, and did not come home until late. The heavy steps that always left stealthily came inside along with hers. Doors creaked sharply. There were little hissing sounds like whispers. Maybe it was the wind.

April raised up on an elbow. Listened. Leaned toward Joy’s room and listened. Crawling out of bed on his long thin arms, he crept across the floor and strained his ear against the wall between his room and the room where Joy slept.

He crouched and listened but he made no sound. It was not the wind that he heard.

Suddenly, something inside him seemed to break. Something in his head or his breast. With a yell he beat on the door, and tried to break it down. Then he lost his balance and fell back on the floor where he lay and raved and cursed himself and Joy and God.

* * * * *

During the days that followed, April’s darkened room was filled with his wild delirium. Joy sat by him for hours at a time, brushing the flies away, wiping off his face with a cool wet cloth, trying to hush him, to lower his fever with the root teas Uncle Isaac brewed for him. Outside in the heat, the trees slept, the moss on them hung limp, the tree ferns were brown and lifeless.

Whenever Joy flung herself down on Breeze’s straw mattress in the corner to rest, Uncle Bill took her place, watching, waiting for some change to come. His big rough hands, blue at the nails and knuckles, squeezed each other distressfully, or stroked April’s restless fingers trying to stop their plucking, plucking, at the cover. Coaxing them to stand still. His old ears constantly listened at the window for the marsh birds to tell him if the tide came in or went out and his eyes were dim with pity and sorrow and love for April, who tossed on the bed, mumbling, raving.

Sometimes April thought the mules were loose in the fields and trampling the cotton, and cried out to stop them! Once he thought he had swallowed Joy’s fine diamond ring and it was cutting his chest to pieces. He babbled of boll-weevils and poison and ginning the cotton.

Uncle Bill tried to hold the weak nerveless hands, to steady them and keep them quiet. Over and over he prayed to God to have mercy on April, to give him back his right senses, not to let him die out of his mind, and at last his prayer was heard.

The night was sultry, the cabin parching hot. Joy had broken down, panic-stricken, and she knelt on the floor with her head on Uncle Bill’s knee. She burst into a storm of weeping that drowned out April’s raving, but Uncle Bill put his arms around her and took her into another room and made her go to bed. She must sleep. He’d wake her if he needed anything. Breeze would sleep with one eye open and jump up the minute Uncle Bill called him. Zeda and Jake were both coming at the first turn of the night after midnight. Joy must not fret and wear herself out. She’d poison her breast-milk and make her baby sick.

Midnight must have passed but dawn had not come when April called Uncle Bill so distinctly Breeze woke up, leaped to his feet, but Uncle Bill was at April’s bed.

“Uncle,” April called again weakly, “you’s wake, enty?”

“Yes, son, I’m right ’side you.” Uncle Bill took both April’s hands and held them close, while he leaned low to hear every word the sick man spoke.

“My time’s come, Uncle. I ain’ got much longer----” April’s voice climbed up, then dropped.

Uncle Bill looked up at the rafters. “Do, Jedus, look down. Do have mercy!”

“Don’ stop to pray! De time’s too short now!” April’s short patience had come back, but his shortened breath held it in sudden check.

“Uncle--my feets is cold--I feels death up to my knees----”

“Son, you ain’ got no feets; neither knees! Is you forgot?”

“No, I ain’ forgot. But I feels ’em--dey’s cold---- Listen, Uncle----”

April’s sense had come back. He was in his right mind, even if he did feel the feet and legs that had been gone for months. His low husky words were earnest.

“I ain’ scared to go. I’d sooner go dan stay. My time’s out. I’m done for. I know it. I got one t’ing to ask you. Not but one. You’ll do it, enty? I couldn’ rest in my grave--if you fail me----”

His breath cut off his words and he closed his eyes as it came with a rattle through his teeth. Uncle Bill called Breeze to open the window.

“Open em easy, son. Don’ wake up Joy, not yet,” he cautioned.

“Not yet,” April’s whisper echoed.

Outside, the black trees sounded restless. An uneasy pattering and rustling ran through the dry lips of the leaves. Flying insects buzzed into the room and beat against the walls with noisy humming wings. Moths flew wildly about the glass lamp on the floor at the foot of the bed. They were crazed by its smoky yellow bitter-smelling light.

“Uncle----” April’s breath stifled, his eyes widened with the strain, but he forced his lips to twist out the words he wanted to say.

“Bury me in a man-size box---- You un’erstan’?-- A man--size--box---- I--been--six--feet--fo’--Uncle---- Six feet--fo’!”

The blaze in his eyes fell back, cold, dim. A long shudder swept over him. The tide had turned.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.