Pappy’s death, it was said, a great red-winged bird with a fearsome beak had sailed into the room from nowhere, twice circled the old man’s bed and, before the watcher’s very eyes, disappeared.)
Preacher half expected such a symbol now.
Up the steps they tramped and onto the porch, their boots heavy on the sagging boards. He sighed when they knocked; he would have to let them in. So he smiled at Evelina, thought briefly of his outrageous offspring and, moving ever so slowly, reached the door, removed the plank and opened it wide.
Curly Head, the one with the long, orange-red beard, stepped forward first, mopping his square, burned face with a throat bandanna. He saluted as if he were touching an invisible hat.
“Evenin’, Mistuh Jesus,” said Preacher, bowing low as he could.
“Evening,” said Curly Head.
Yellow Hair followed, jaunty and whistling, a cocky swing to his gait and his hands dug deep in the pockets of his corduroys. He gave Preacher a head-to-toe scowl.
“Evenin’, Mistuh Saint,” said Preacher, distinguishing them arbitrarily.
“Hi.”
And Preacher trotted anxiously after them till they were all knotted before the fire. “How you gent’mens feelin’?” he said.
“Can’t complain,” said Curly Head, admiring the comic-strip papering and calendar-girl display. “You sure got an eye for the gals, Gran’pa.”
“Nawsuh,” said Preacher gravely, “I ain’t studyin’ ’bout nona them ol’ gals, nawsuh!” And he shook his head for emphasis. “I’se a Christian, Mistuh Jesus: an upstandin’ Baptist, paid-in-full membuh of de Cypress City Mornin’ Star.”
“No offense meant,” said Curly Head. “What’s your name, Gran’pa?”
“Name? Why, Mistuh Jesus, you knows I’m Preacher. Preacher what’s been conversin’ wid you nigh on six months?”
“Why, sure I do,” said Curly Head and slapped him heartily on the back; “course I do.”
“What
is
this?” said Yellow Hair. “What in hell are you talking about?”
“Got me,” said Curly Head, and shrugged. “Look, Preacher, we’ve had a hard day and we’re kind of thirsty.… Think you could help us out?”
Preacher smiled craftily, raised his arm, said, “Ain’t nevuh touched a drap in my life, dat’s de truth.”
“We mean water, Gran’pa. Plain old drinking water.”
“And make sure the dipper’s clean,” said Yellow Hair. He was a very particular fellow and a bit sour for all his jaunty ways. “What you have this fire blazing away for, Gran’pa?”
“It be on accounta my health, Mistuh Saint. I gits de chills mighty easy.”
Yellow Hair said, “It’s just like these colored folks come out of a machine, all of them all the time sick and all the time got funny notions.”
“I ain’t sick,” said Preacher, beaming. “I’se fine! Ain’t nevuh felt no bettuh ’n whut I feels right now, nawsuh!” He fondled the arm of the rocker. “Come sits yo’self here in my nice rockah, Mistuh Jesus. See de pretty pillow? Mistuh Saint … hims welcome to de baid.”
“Much obliged.”
“Could do with a sit-down, thanks.”
Curly Head was the older and more handsome: head finely set, eyes a kind deep blue, face full and strong and wearing a rather earnest expression. The beard lent a touch of real magnificence. He spread his legs wide and swung one over the rocker’s arm. Yellow Hair, sharper featured and paler complexioned, collapsed on the bed and scowled at this and that. The fire made a drowsy sound; the lamp sputtered softly.
“Spec I best git my belongin’s?” said Preacher, his voice quite wan.
When no answer was forthcoming he spread his quilt in a far corner, and silently, a little secretively, began gathering Evelina’s picture, his pipe, a green bottle that once had held his anniversary scuppernong wine and now contained seven good-luck pink pebbles and a net of dust and spider threads, an empty box of Paradise candy and other objects, equally precious, which he piled
Preacher half expected such a symbol now.
Up the steps they tramped and onto the porch, their boots heavy on the sagging boards. He sighed when they knocked; he would have to let them in. So he smiled at Evelina, thought briefly of his outrageous offspring and, moving ever so slowly, reached the door, removed the plank and opened it wide.
Curly Head, the one with the long, orange-red beard, stepped forward first, mopping his square, burned face with a throat bandanna. He saluted as if he were touching an invisible hat.
“Evenin’, Mistuh Jesus,” said Preacher, bowing low as he could.
“Evening,” said Curly Head.
Yellow Hair followed, jaunty and whistling, a cocky swing to his gait and his hands dug deep in the pockets of his corduroys. He gave Preacher a head-to-toe scowl.
“Evenin’, Mistuh Saint,” said Preacher, distinguishing them arbitrarily.
“Hi.”
And Preacher trotted anxiously after them till they were all knotted before the fire. “How you gent’mens feelin’?” he said.
“Can’t complain,” said Curly Head, admiring the comic-strip papering and calendar-girl display. “You sure got an eye for the gals, Gran’pa.”
“Nawsuh,” said Preacher gravely, “I ain’t studyin’ ’bout nona them ol’ gals, nawsuh!” And he shook his head for emphasis. “I’se a Christian, Mistuh Jesus: an upstandin’ Baptist, paid-in-full membuh of de Cypress City Mornin’ Star.”
“No offense meant,” said Curly Head. “What’s your name, Gran’pa?”
“Name? Why, Mistuh Jesus, you knows I’m Preacher. Preacher what’s been conversin’ wid you nigh on six months?”
“Why, sure I do,” said Curly Head and slapped him heartily on the back; “course I do.”
“What
is
this?” said Yellow Hair. “What in hell are you talking about?”
“Got me,” said Curly Head, and shrugged. “Look, Preacher, we’ve had a hard day and we’re kind of thirsty.… Think you could help us out?”
Preacher smiled craftily, raised his arm, said, “Ain’t nevuh touched a drap in my life, dat’s de truth.”
“We mean water, Gran’pa. Plain old drinking water.”
“And make sure the dipper’s clean,” said Yellow Hair. He was a very particular fellow and a bit sour for all his jaunty ways. “What you have this fire blazing away for, Gran’pa?”
“It be on accounta my health, Mistuh Saint. I gits de chills mighty easy.”
Yellow Hair said, “It’s just like these colored folks come out of a machine, all of them all the time sick and all the time got funny notions.”
“I ain’t sick,” said Preacher, beaming. “I’se fine! Ain’t nevuh felt no bettuh ’n whut I feels right now, nawsuh!” He fondled the arm of the rocker. “Come sits yo’self here in my nice rockah, Mistuh Jesus. See de pretty pillow? Mistuh Saint … hims welcome to de baid.”
“Much obliged.”
“Could do with a sit-down, thanks.”
Curly Head was the older and more handsome: head finely set, eyes a kind deep blue, face full and strong and wearing a rather earnest expression. The beard lent a touch of real magnificence. He spread his legs wide and swung one over the rocker’s arm. Yellow Hair, sharper featured and paler complexioned, collapsed on the bed and scowled at this and that. The fire made a drowsy sound; the lamp sputtered softly.
“Spec I best git my belongin’s?” said Preacher, his voice quite wan.
When no answer was forthcoming he spread his quilt in a far corner, and silently, a little secretively, began gathering Evelina’s picture, his pipe, a green bottle that once had held his anniversary scuppernong wine and now contained seven good-luck pink pebbles and a net of dust and spider threads, an empty box of Paradise candy and other objects, equally precious, which he piled
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