wild with large animals and dangerous men, but he feels safe on this train, watching the shifting landscapes of the huge country unfold before his eyes. How different from the small, economically impoverished island that he once called home. Riverside, California, has provided him with a roof and the possibility of making a decent living, but now he is reluctantly quarrying his way to the east coast to see the son that he has not seen in nearly ten years. His wife keeps their boy’s few letters safely tucked away in a heavy book, and she often consults the yellowing sheets, running her finger along the words as she reads and rereads, trying to memorize the sentences as though they are the comforting words to a vaguely familiar song. However, it disappoints them both that as yet their secretive son has failed to send them an up-to-date portrait of either himself or his bride, their daughter-in-law, and they both worry that the gap that has grown up between them during this past decade may yet prove to be as wide and unbridgeable as the country that they are now traveling across.
I’M A JONAH MAN
(Lyrics and Music by Alex. Rogers)
My hard luck started when I was born, leas’ so the old folks say.
Dat same hard luck been my bes’ fren’ up to dis very day.
When I was young my mamma’s fren’s to find a name they tried.
They named me after Papa and the same day Papa died.
For I’m a Jonah,
I’m an unlucky man.
My family for many years would look on me and then shed tears.
Why am I dis Jonah I sho’ can’t understand,
But I’m a good substantial full-fledged real first-class Jonah man.
A fren’ of mine gave me a six-month meal ticket one day.
He said, “It won’t do me no good, I’ve got to go away.”
I thanked him as my heart wid joy and gratitude did bound.
But when I reach’d the restaurant the place had just burn’d down.
For I’m a Jonah,
I’m an unlucky man.
It sounds just like that old, old tale,
But sometimes I feel like a whale.
Why am I dis Jonah I sho’ can’t understand,
But I’m a good substantial full-fledged real first-class Jonah man.
My brother once walk’d down the street and fell into a coal hole.
He sued the man that owned the place and got ten thousand cold.
I figured this was easy so I jump’d in the same coal hole.
Broke both my legs and the judge gave me one year for stealin’ coal.
For I’m a Jonah,
I’m an unlucky man.
If it rain’d down soup from morn till dark,
Instead of a spoon I’d have a fork.
Why am I dis Jonah I sho’ can’t understand,
But I’m a good substantial full-fledged real first-class Jonah man.
At the darkest point of the night he wakes suddenly with a dry throat and a vague tapping in his head. A shaft of moonlight stripes the bed and for a moment he studies the interplay of light and shadow before deciding what to do. He knows that it will take him some time before he becomes accustomed to living uptown, above the park in Harlem, but he understands that the woman next to him has made the right decision. Slowly he peels back the sheet and eases himself out of the bed and down onto the bare floorboards. The new carpet has yet to arrive. He stretches and then pushes his aching feet into a pair of slippers that have been deliberately placed beside the bed for this very purpose. Once he reaches the kitchen he nimbly swallows the first glass of water, then he takes his time with the second. He leaves the kitchen and wanders into the drawing room and sits on the sofa. From here he can look out at Seventh Avenue and relish the solitude of a windy night whose peace is broken only by the odd carriage that clips by, or a passing stranger hurrying his way home after an illicit assignation. He draws his feet up and lies back, glass still in hand, and then he reaches over and gingerly places the glass down on the floor beside him. It is light when he opens his eyes, and daylight is streaming through the window and laying a dappled map on the floor.
I’M A JONAH MAN
(Lyrics and Music by Alex. Rogers)
My hard luck started when I was born, leas’ so the old folks say.
Dat same hard luck been my bes’ fren’ up to dis very day.
When I was young my mamma’s fren’s to find a name they tried.
They named me after Papa and the same day Papa died.
For I’m a Jonah,
I’m an unlucky man.
My family for many years would look on me and then shed tears.
Why am I dis Jonah I sho’ can’t understand,
But I’m a good substantial full-fledged real first-class Jonah man.
A fren’ of mine gave me a six-month meal ticket one day.
He said, “It won’t do me no good, I’ve got to go away.”
I thanked him as my heart wid joy and gratitude did bound.
But when I reach’d the restaurant the place had just burn’d down.
For I’m a Jonah,
I’m an unlucky man.
It sounds just like that old, old tale,
But sometimes I feel like a whale.
Why am I dis Jonah I sho’ can’t understand,
But I’m a good substantial full-fledged real first-class Jonah man.
My brother once walk’d down the street and fell into a coal hole.
He sued the man that owned the place and got ten thousand cold.
I figured this was easy so I jump’d in the same coal hole.
Broke both my legs and the judge gave me one year for stealin’ coal.
For I’m a Jonah,
I’m an unlucky man.
If it rain’d down soup from morn till dark,
Instead of a spoon I’d have a fork.
Why am I dis Jonah I sho’ can’t understand,
But I’m a good substantial full-fledged real first-class Jonah man.
At the darkest point of the night he wakes suddenly with a dry throat and a vague tapping in his head. A shaft of moonlight stripes the bed and for a moment he studies the interplay of light and shadow before deciding what to do. He knows that it will take him some time before he becomes accustomed to living uptown, above the park in Harlem, but he understands that the woman next to him has made the right decision. Slowly he peels back the sheet and eases himself out of the bed and down onto the bare floorboards. The new carpet has yet to arrive. He stretches and then pushes his aching feet into a pair of slippers that have been deliberately placed beside the bed for this very purpose. Once he reaches the kitchen he nimbly swallows the first glass of water, then he takes his time with the second. He leaves the kitchen and wanders into the drawing room and sits on the sofa. From here he can look out at Seventh Avenue and relish the solitude of a windy night whose peace is broken only by the odd carriage that clips by, or a passing stranger hurrying his way home after an illicit assignation. He draws his feet up and lies back, glass still in hand, and then he reaches over and gingerly places the glass down on the floor beside him. It is light when he opens his eyes, and daylight is streaming through the window and laying a dappled map on the floor.
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