A Death In The Family by James Agee Page B

entirely amused by his amusement. They felt, he knew, that he was not a man to take the word “gallon” so purely as a joke; not that the drinking had been any sort of problem, for a long time now. He sang.
     
I got a gallon an a sugarbabe too, my honey, my baby,
I got a gallon an a sugarbabe too, my honey, my sweet thing.
I got a gallon an a sugarbabe too,
Gal don’t love me but my sugarbabe do
This mornin,
This evenin,
So soon.
 
When they kill a chicken, she saves me the wing, my honey, my baby,
When they kill a chicken, she saves me the wing, my honey, my sweet thing,
When they kill a chicken, she saves me the wing, my honey
Think I’m aworkin ain’t adoin a thing
This mornin,
This evenin,
So soon.
 
Every night about a half past eight, my honey, my baby,
Every night about a half past eight, my honey, my sweet thing
Every night about a half past eight, my honey
Ya find me awaitin at the white folks’ gate
This mornin,
This evenin,
So soon.
     
    The child still stared up at him; because there was so little light or perhaps because he was so sleepy, his eyes seemed very dark, although the father knew they were nearly as light as his own. He took his hand away and blew the moisture dry on the child’s forehead, smoothed his hair away, and put his hand back:
     
    What in the world you doin, Google Eyes? he sang, very slowly, while he and the child looked at each other,
What in the world you doin, Google Eyes?
What in the world you doin, Google Eyes?
What in the world you doin, Google Eyes?
     
    His eyes slowly closed, sprang open, almost in alarm, closed again.
     
Where did you get them great big Google Eyes?
Where did you get them great big Google Eyes?
You’re the best there is and I need you in my biz,
Where in the world did you get them Google Eyes?
     
    He waited. He took his hand away. The child’s eyes opened and he felt as if he had been caught at something. He touched the forehead again, more lightly. “Go to sleep, honey,” he said. “Go on to sleep now.” The child continued to look up at him and a tune came unexpectedly into his head, and lifting his voice almost to tenor he sang, almost inaudibly:
     
Oh, I hear them train car wheels arumblin,
Ann, they’re mighty near at hand,
I hear that train come arumblin,
Come arumblin through the land.
Git on board, little children,
Git on board, little children,
Git on board, little children,
There’s room for many and more.
     
    To the child it looked as if his father were gazing oft into a great distance and, looking up into these eyes which looked so far away, he too looked far away:
     
Oh, I look a way down yonder,
Ann, uh what dyou reckon I see,
A band of shinin angels,
A comin’ after me.
Git on board, little children,
Git on board, little children,
Git on board, little children,
There’s room for many and more.
     
    He did not look down but looked straight on into the wall in silence for a good while, and sang:
     
Oh, every time the sun goes down,
There’s a dollar saved for Betsy Brown,
Sugar Babe.
     
    He looked down. He was almost certain now that the child was asleep. So much more quietly that he could scarcely hear himself, and that the sound stole upon the child’s near sleep like a band of shining angels, he went on:
     
There’s a good old sayin, as you all know,
That you can’t track a rabbit when there ain’t no snow
Sugar Babe.
     
    Here again he waited, his hand listening against the child, for he was so fond of the last verse that he always hated to have to come to it and end it; but it came into his mind and became so desirable to sing that he could resist it no longer:
     
Oh, tain’t agoin to rain on, tain’t agoin to snow:
     
    He felt a strange coldness on his spine, and saw the glistening as a great cedar moved and tears came into his eyes:
     
But the sun’s agoin to shine, and the wind’s agoin to blow
Sugar Babe.
     
    A great cedar, and the colors of limestone and of clay; the smell of wood smoke and, in the deep