new house in town !” she whispered joyously.
He looked around to see the children also with wide spreading mouths, looking just like their mother.
“I know we got a new house,” he said patiently, “but it’s going to be over on Mr. J. L.’s place, and nowhere else!”
“Oh, nooo,” she said gaily, still laughing in her rough, unused-to-laughing way. “This house has got sinks and a toilet inside the house and it’s got ’lectric lights and even garden space for flowers and greens. You told me yourself,” she said, laughing harder than ever, “that old man J. L.’s place done fell down on one side and is anyhow all full of hay.” Talking about the house seemed to make her dizzy. She fell into a chair, placing her hands to her eyes as if to clear her head. “Besides,” she said, suddenly sobered, “it don’t cost but twenty dollars a month to rent and you can make enough at a factory in town to pay that much: factory work’ll keep you out of the rain. A school is close by for the children and the neighbors look like nice people. And on top of that …” She started to list assets of the house again. Her eyes lit up, then went dull and tired. She had spent all day looking for the house. “Besides all them things,” she said tonelessly, and resigned as she stood up, “I told the man we’d be there to start living in that house Monday morning. I signed the lease.”
“You signed the lease?” He was furious. He could not, even after she’d tried to teach him, read or write. It had gone in with the courting and out with the marriage. “I ought to chop your goddam fingers off!”
“I’m real sorry about it, Brownfield,” said Mem, whose decision to let him be man of the house for nine years had cost her and him nine years of unrelenting misery. He had never admitted to her that he couldn’t read well enough to sign a lease and she had been content to let him keep that small grain of pride. But now he was old and sick beyond his years and she had grown old and evil, wishing every day he’d just fall down and die. Her generosity had shackled them both.
“Somebody had to sign the lease, Brownfield,” she said gently, looking up into his angry eyes. “I just done got sick and tired of being dragged around from dump to dump, traded off by white folks like I’m a piece of machinery.” She straightened her shoulders and drew her children to her side, the baby, Ruth, in her arms. “You just tell that old white bastard—Stop up Your Ears, Children!—that we can make our own arrangements. We might be poor and black, but we ain’t dumb.” There was a pause. “At least I ain’t,” she said cruelly, burying her face in her baby’s hair.
“I guess you know that up there in town you wouldn’t be able to just go out in the field when you’re hungry and full up a sack with stuff to eat. I hope you know what you doing too, going out there pulling up all the greens and things just when we leaving the place.”
“They sell food in the grocery stores there in town,” said Mem, not slackening her work. “And I planted these greens myself and worked them myself, and I be damn if I’m going to let some sad-headed old cracker that don’t care if I starve scare me out of taking them!”
“If you had any sense you’d know it don’t look right,” said Brownfield, raising himself up on an elbow. “Here we is moving off to Mr. J. L.’s place next Monday and you goes out and strips the fields on Thursday.” He turned his gaze on her callused feet. “My ma always told me not to git myself mixed up with no ugly colored woman that ain’t got no sense of propridy.”
“I reckon if your ma was black, Brownfield,” Mem said, putting a hand on her hip, “she found out a long time ago that you can’t eat none of that.”
“You don’t surely think that I intends to move to town,” Brownfield said slowly, turning his back as if he were about to fall off to sleep. He smiled at the wall.
He looked around to see the children also with wide spreading mouths, looking just like their mother.
“I know we got a new house,” he said patiently, “but it’s going to be over on Mr. J. L.’s place, and nowhere else!”
“Oh, nooo,” she said gaily, still laughing in her rough, unused-to-laughing way. “This house has got sinks and a toilet inside the house and it’s got ’lectric lights and even garden space for flowers and greens. You told me yourself,” she said, laughing harder than ever, “that old man J. L.’s place done fell down on one side and is anyhow all full of hay.” Talking about the house seemed to make her dizzy. She fell into a chair, placing her hands to her eyes as if to clear her head. “Besides,” she said, suddenly sobered, “it don’t cost but twenty dollars a month to rent and you can make enough at a factory in town to pay that much: factory work’ll keep you out of the rain. A school is close by for the children and the neighbors look like nice people. And on top of that …” She started to list assets of the house again. Her eyes lit up, then went dull and tired. She had spent all day looking for the house. “Besides all them things,” she said tonelessly, and resigned as she stood up, “I told the man we’d be there to start living in that house Monday morning. I signed the lease.”
“You signed the lease?” He was furious. He could not, even after she’d tried to teach him, read or write. It had gone in with the courting and out with the marriage. “I ought to chop your goddam fingers off!”
“I’m real sorry about it, Brownfield,” said Mem, whose decision to let him be man of the house for nine years had cost her and him nine years of unrelenting misery. He had never admitted to her that he couldn’t read well enough to sign a lease and she had been content to let him keep that small grain of pride. But now he was old and sick beyond his years and she had grown old and evil, wishing every day he’d just fall down and die. Her generosity had shackled them both.
“Somebody had to sign the lease, Brownfield,” she said gently, looking up into his angry eyes. “I just done got sick and tired of being dragged around from dump to dump, traded off by white folks like I’m a piece of machinery.” She straightened her shoulders and drew her children to her side, the baby, Ruth, in her arms. “You just tell that old white bastard—Stop up Your Ears, Children!—that we can make our own arrangements. We might be poor and black, but we ain’t dumb.” There was a pause. “At least I ain’t,” she said cruelly, burying her face in her baby’s hair.
“I guess you know that up there in town you wouldn’t be able to just go out in the field when you’re hungry and full up a sack with stuff to eat. I hope you know what you doing too, going out there pulling up all the greens and things just when we leaving the place.”
“They sell food in the grocery stores there in town,” said Mem, not slackening her work. “And I planted these greens myself and worked them myself, and I be damn if I’m going to let some sad-headed old cracker that don’t care if I starve scare me out of taking them!”
“If you had any sense you’d know it don’t look right,” said Brownfield, raising himself up on an elbow. “Here we is moving off to Mr. J. L.’s place next Monday and you goes out and strips the fields on Thursday.” He turned his gaze on her callused feet. “My ma always told me not to git myself mixed up with no ugly colored woman that ain’t got no sense of propridy.”
“I reckon if your ma was black, Brownfield,” Mem said, putting a hand on her hip, “she found out a long time ago that you can’t eat none of that.”
“You don’t surely think that I intends to move to town,” Brownfield said slowly, turning his back as if he were about to fall off to sleep. He smiled at the wall.
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