She sighed.
“Naw, Ah guess Ah wouldnt.”
“Well, I reckon Ill be getting along,” said the white man. “Can I have a drink of water?”
“Sho. But we ain got nothin but well-watah, n yuhll have t come n git.”
“Thats all right.”
She slid off the porch and walked over the ground with bare feet. She heard the shoes of the white man behind her, falling to the earth in soft whispers. It was black dark now. She led him to the well, groped her way, caught the bucket and let it down with a rope; she heard a splash and the bucket grew heavy. She drew it up, pulling against its weight, throwing one hand over the other, feeling the cool wet of the rope on her palms.
“Ah don git watah outta here much,” she said, a little out of breath. “Silas gits the watah mos of the time. This buckets too heavy fer me.”
“Oh, wait! Ill help!”
His shoulder touched hers. In the darkness she felt his warm hands fumbling for the rope.
“Where is it?”
“Here.”
She extended the rope through the darkness. His fingers touched her breasts.
“Oh!”
She said it in spite of herself. He would think she was thinking about that. And he was a white man. She was sorry she had said that.
“Wheres the gourd?” he asked. “Gee, its dark!”
She stepped back and tried to see him.
“Here.”
“I cant see!” he said, laughing.
Again she felt his fingers on the tips of her breasts. She backed away, saying nothing this time. She thrust the gourd out from her. Warm fingers met her cold hands. He had the gourd. She heard him drink; it was the faint, soft music of water going down a dry throat, the music of water in a silent night. He sighed and drank again.
“I was thirsty,” he said. “I hadnt had any water since noon.”
She knew he was standing in front of her; she could not see him, but she felt him. She heard the gourd rest against the wall of the well. She turned, then felt his hands full on her breasts. She struggled back.
“Naw, Mistah!”
“Im not going to hurt you!”
White arms were about her, tightly. She was still. But hes a white man. A white man. She felt his breath coming hot on her neck and where his hands held her breasts the flesh seemed to knot. She was rigid, poised; she swayed backward, then forward. She caught his shoulders and pushed.
“Naw, naw… Mistah, Ah cant do that!”
She jerked away. He caught her hand.
“Please…”
“Lemme go!”
She tried to pull her hand out of his and felt his fingers tighten. She pulled harder, and for a moment they were balanced, one against the other. Then he was at her side again, his arms about her.
“I wont hurt you! I wont hurt you…”
She leaned backward and tried to dodge his face. Her breasts were full against him; she gasped, feeling the full length of his body. She held her head far to one side; she knew he was seeking her mouth. His hands were on her breasts again. A wave of warm blood swept into her stomach and loins. She felt his lips touching her throat and where he kissed it burned.
“Naw, naw…”
Her eyes were full of the wet stars and they blurred, silver and blue. Her knees were loose and she heard her own breathing; she was trying to keep from falling. But hes a white man! A white man! Naw! Naw! And still she would not let him have her lips; she kept her face away. Her breasts hurt where they were crushed against him and each time she caught her breath she held it and while she held it it seemed that if she would let it go it would kill her. Her knees were pressed hard against his and she clutched the upper parts of his arms, trying to hold on. Her loins ached. She felt her body sliding.
“Gawd…”
He helped her up. She could not see the stars now; her eyes were full of the feeling that surged over her body each time she caught her breath. He held her close, breathing into her ear; she straightened, rigidly, feeling that she had to straighten or die. And then her lips felt his and she held her breath and dreaded ever to breathe again for fear of the feeling that would sweep down over her limbs. She held tightly, hearing a mounting tide of blood beating against her throat and temples. Then she gripped him, tore her face away, emptied her lungs in one long despairing gasp and went limp. She felt his hand; she was still, taut, feeling his hand, then his fingers. The muscles in her legs flexed and she bit her lips and pushed her toes deep into the wet dust by the side of the well and tried to wait and tried to wait until she could wait no longer. She whirled away from him and a streak of silver and blue swept across her blood. The wet ground cooled her palms and knee-caps. She stumbled up and ran, blindly, her toes flicking warm, dry dust. Her numbed fingers grabbed at a rusty nail in the post at the porch and she pushed ahead of hands that held her breasts. Her fingers found the door-facing; she moved into the darkened room, her hands before her. She touched the cradle and turned till her knees hit the bed. She went over, face down, her fingers trembling in the crumpled folds of his shirt. She moved and moved again and again, trying to keep ahead of the warm flood of blood that sought to catch her. A liquid metal covered her and she rode on the curve of white bright days and dark black nights and the surge of the long gladness of summer and the ebb of the deep dream of sleep in winter till a high red wave of hotness drowned her in a deluge of silver and blue that boiled her blood and blistered her flesh bangbangbang…
II
“Yuh bettah go,” she said.
She felt him standing by the side of the bed, in the dark. She heard him clear his throat. His belt-buckle tinkled.
“Im leaving that clock and graphophone,” he said.
She said nothing. In her mind she saw the box glowing softly, like the light in the baby’s eyes. She stretched out her legs and relaxed.
“You can have it for forty instead of fifty. Ill be by early in the morning to see if your husbands in.”
She said nothing. She felt the hot skin of her body growing steadily cooler.
“Do you think hell pay ten on it? Hell only owe thirty then.”
She pushed her toes deep into the quilt, feeling a night wind blowing through the door. Her palms rested lightly on top of her breasts.
“Do you think hell pay ten on it?”
“Hunh?”
“Hell pay ten, wont he?”
“Ah don know,” she whispered.
She heard his shoe hit against a wall; footsteps echoed on the wooden porch. She started nervously when she heard the roar of his car; she followed the throb of the motor till she heard it when she could hear it no more, followed it till she heard it roaring faintly in her ears in the dark and silent room. Her hands moved on her breasts and she was conscious of herself, all over; she felt the weight of her body resting heavily on shucks. She felt the presence of fields lying out there covered with night. She turned over slowly and lay on her stomach, her hands tucked under her. From somewhere came a creaking noise. She sat upright, feeling fear. The wind sighed. Crickets called. She lay down again, hearing shucks rustle. Her eyes looked straight up in the darkness and her blood sogged. She had lain a long time, full of a vast peace, when a far away tinkle made her feel the bed again. The tinkle came through the night; she listened, knowing that soon she would hear the rattle of Silas’ wagon. Even then she tried to fight off the sound of Silas’ coming, even then she wanted to feel the peace of night filling her again; but the tinkle grew louder and she heard the jangle of a wagon and the quick trot of horses. Thas Silas! She gave up and waited. She heard horses neighing. Out of the window bare feet whispered in the dust, then crossed the porch, echoing in soft booms. She closed her eyes and saw Silas come into the room in his dirty overalls as she had seen him come in a thousand times before.
“Yuh sleep, Sarah?”
She did not answer. Feet walked across the floor and a match scratched. She opened her eyes and saw Silas standing over her with a lighted lamp. His hat was pushed
far back on his head and he was laughing.
“Ah reckon yuh thought Ah wuznt never comin back, hunh? Cant yuh wake up? See, Ah got that red cloth yuh wanted…” He laughed again and threw the red cloth on the mantel.
“Yuh hongry?” she asked.
“Naw, Ah kin make out till mawnin.” Shucks rustled as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Ah got two hundred n fifty fer mah cotton.”
“Two hundred n fifty?”
“Nothin different! N guess whut Ah done?”
“Whut?”
“Ah bought ten mo acres o lan. Got em from ol man Burgess. Paid im a hundred n fifty dollahs down. Ahll pay the res next year ef things go erlong awright. Ahma have t git a man t hep me nex spring…”
“Yuh mean hire somebody?”
“Sho, hire somebody! Whut yuh think? Ain tha the way the white folks do? Ef yuhs gonna git anywheres yuhs gotta do just like they do.” He paused. “Whut yuh been doin since Ah been gone?”
“Nothin. Cookin, cleanin, n…”
“How Ruth?”
“She awright.” She lifted her head. “Silas, yuh git any lettahs?”
“Naw. But Ah heard Tom wuz in town.”
“In town?”
She sat straight up.
“Yeah, thas whut the folks wuz sayin at the sto.”
“Back from the war?”
“Ah ast erroun t see ef Ah could fin im. But Ah couldnt.”
“Lawd, Ah wish hed c mon home.”
“Them white folks sho’s glad the wars over. But things wuz kinda bad there in town. Everwhere Ah looked wuznt nothin but black n white soljers. N them white folks beat up a black soljer yistiddy. He wuz jus in from France. Wuz still wearin his soljers suit. They claimed he sassed a white woman…”
“Who wuz he?”
“Ah don know. Never saw im befo.”
“Yuh see An Peel?”
“Naw.”
“Silas!” she said reprovingly.
“Aw, Sarah, Ah jus couldnt git out there.”
“Whut else yuh bring sides the cloth?”
“Ah got yuh some high-top shoes.” He turned and looked at her in the dim light of the lamp. “Woman, ain yuh glad Ah bought yuh some shoes n cloth?” He laughed and lifted his feet to the bed. “Lawd, Sarah, yuhs sho sleepy, ain yuh?”
“Bettah put tha lamp out, Silas…”
“Aw…” He swung out of the bed and stood still for a moment. She watched him, then turned her face to the wall.
“Whuts that by the windah?” he asked.
She saw him bending over and touching the graphophone with his fingers.
“Thasa graphophone.”
“Where yuh git it from?”
“A man lef it here.”
“When he bring it?”
“Today.”
“But how come he t leave it?”
“He says hell be out here in the mawnin t see ef yuh wans t buy it.”
He was on his knees, feeling the wood and looking at the gilt on the edges of the box. He stood up and looked at her.
“Yuh ain never said yuh wanted one of these things.”
She said nothing.
“Where wuz the man from?”
“Ah don know.”
“He white?”
“Yeah.”
He put the lamp back on the mantel. As he lifted the globe to blow out the flame, his hand paused.
“Whos hats this?”
She raised herself and looked. A straw hat lay bottom upwards on the edge of the mantel. Silas picked it up and looked back to the bed, to Sarah.
“Ah guess its the white mans. He must a left it…”
“Whut he doin in our room?”
“He wuz talkin t me bout tha graphophone.”
She watched him go to the window and stoop again to the box. He picked it up, fumbled with the price-tag and took the box to the light.
“Whut this thing cos?”
“Forty dollahs.”
“But its marked fifty here.”
“Oh, Ah means he said fifty…”
He took a step toward the bed.
“Yuh lyin t me!”
“Silas!”
He heaved the box out of the front door; there was a smashing, tinkling noise as it bounded off the front porch and hit the ground.
“Whut in hell yuh lie t me fer?”
“Yuh broke the box!”
“Ahma break yo Gawddam neck ef yuh don stop lyin t me!”
“Silas, Ah ain lied t yuh!”
“Shut up, Gawddammit! Yuh did!”
He was standing by the bed with the lamp trembling in his hand. She stood on the other side, between the bed and the wall.
“How come yuh tell me tha thing cos forty dollahs when it cos fifty?”
“Thas whut he tol me.”
“How come he take ten dollahs off fer yuh?”
“He ain took nothin off fer me, Silas!”
“Yuh lyin t me! N yuh lied t me bout Tom, too!”
She stood with her back to the wall, her lips parted, looking at him silently, steadily. Their eyes held for a moment. Silas looked down, as though he were about to believe her. Then he stiffened.
“Whos this?” he asked, picking up a short yellow pencil from the crumpled quilt.
She said nothing. He started toward her.
“Yuh wan me t take mah raw-hide whip n make yuh talk?”
“Naw, naw, Silas! Yuh wrong! He wuz figgerin wid tha pencil!”
He was silent a moment, his eyes searching her face.
“Gawddam yo black soul t hell, don yuh try lyin t me! Ef yuh start layin wid white men Ahll hoss-whip yuh t a incha yo life. Shos theres a Gawd in Heaven Ah will! From sunup t sundown Ah works mah guts out t pay them white trash bastards whut Ah owe em, n then Ah comes n fins they been in mah house! Ah cant go into their houses, n yuh know Gawddam well Ah cant! They don have no mercy on no black folks; wes just like dirt under their feet! Fer ten years Ah slaves lika dog t git mah farm free, givin ever penny Ah kin t em, n then Ah comes n fins they been in mah house…” He was speechless with outrage. “Ef yuh wans t eat at mah table yuhs gonna keep them white trash bastards out, yuh hear? Tha white ape kin come n git tha damn box n Ah ain gonna pay im a cent! He had no bisness leavin it here, n yuh had no bisness lettin im! Ahma tell tha sonofabitch something when he comes out here in the mawnin, so hep me Gawd! Now git back in tha bed!”
She slipped beneath the quilt and lay still, her face turned to the wall. Her heart thumped slowly and heavily. She heard him walk across the floor in his bare feet. She heard the bottom of the lamp as it rested on the mantel. She stiffened when the room darkened. Feet whispered across the floor again. The shucks rustled from Silas’ weight as he sat on the edge of the bed. She was still, breathing softly. Silas was mumbling. She felt sorry for him. In the darkness it seemed that she could see the hurt look on his black face. The crow of a rooster came from far away, came so faintly that it seemed she had not heard it. The bed sank and the shucks cried out in dry whispers; she knew Silas had stretched out. She heard him sigh. Then she jumped because he jumped. She could feel the tenseness of his body; she knew he was sitting bolt upright. She felt his hands fumbling jerkily under the quilt. Then the bed heaved amid a wild shout of shucks and Silas’ feet hit the floor with a loud boom. She snatched herself to her elbows, straining her eyes in the dark, wondering what was wrong now. Silas was moving about, cursing under his breath.
“Don wake Ruth up!” she whispered.
“Ef yuh say one mo word t me Ahma slap yuh inter a black spasm!”
She grabbed her dress, got up and stood by the bed, the tips of her fingers touching the wall behind her. A match flared in yellow flame; Silas’ face was caught in a circle of light. He was looking downward, staring intently at a white wad of cloth balled in his hand. His black cheeks were hard, set; his lips were tightly pursed. She looked closer; she saw that the white cloth was a man’s handkerchief. Silas’ fingers loosened; she heard the handkerchief hit the floor softly,
damply. The match went out.
“Yuh little bitch!”
Her knees gave. Fear oozed from her throat to her stomach. She moved in the dark toward the door, struggling with the dress, jamming it over her head. She heard the thick skin of Silas’ feet swish across the wooden planks.
“Ah got mah raw-hide whip n Ahm takin yuh t the barn!”
She ran on tiptoe to the porch and paused, thinking of the baby. She shrank as something whined through air. A red streak of pain cut across the small of her back and burned its way into her body, deeply.
“Silas!” she screamed.
She grabbed for the post and fell in dust. She screamed again and crawled out of reach.
“Git t the barn, Gawddammit!”
She scrambled up and ran through the dark, hearing the baby cry. Behind her leather thongs hummed and feet whispered swiftly over the dusty ground.
“Cmere, yuh bitch! Cmere, Ah say!”
She ran to the road and stopped. She wanted to go back and get the baby, but she dared not. Not as long as Silas had that whip. She stiffened, feeling that he was near.
“Yuh jus as well c mon back n git yo beatin!”
She ran again, slowing now and then to listen. If she only knew where he was she would slip back into the house and get the baby and walk all the way to Aunt Peel’s.
“Yuh ain comin back in mah house till Ah beat yuh!”
She was sorry for the anger she knew he had out there in the field. She had a bewildering impulse to go to him and ask him not to be angry; she wanted to tell him that there was nothing to be angry about; that what she had done did not matter; that she was sorry; that after all she was his wife and still loved him. But there was no way she could do that now; if she went to him he would whip her as she had seen him whip a horse.
“Sarah! Sarah!”
His voice came from far away. Ahm goin git Ruth. Back through dust she sped, going on her toes, holding her breath.
“Saaaarah!”
From far off his voice floated over the fields. She ran into the house and caught the baby in her arms. Again she sped through dust on her toes. She did not stop till she was so far away that his voice sounded like a faint echo falling from the sky. She looked up; the stars were paling a little. Mus be gittin near mawnin. She walked now, letting her feet sink softly into the cool dust. The baby was sleeping; she could feel the little chest swelling against her arm. She looked up again; the sky was solid black. Its gittin near mawnin. Ahma take Ruth t An Peels. N mabbe Ahll fin Tom… But she could not walk all that distance in the dark. Not now. Her legs were tired. For a moment a memory of surge and ebb rose in her blood; she felt her legs straining, upward. She sighed. Yes, she would go to the sloping hillside back of the garden and wait until morning. Then she would slip away. She stopped, listening. She heard a faint, rattling noise. She imagined Silas’ kicking or throwing the smashed graphophone. Hes mad! Hes sho mad! Aw, Lawd!… She stopped stock still, squeezing the baby till it whimpered. What would happen when that white man came out in the morning? She had forgotten him. She would have to head him off and tell him. Yeah, cause Silas jus mad ernuff t kill! Lawd, hes mad ernuff t kill!