Uncle Tom's Children

  Like a pillar of fire he went through the white neighborhood. Some day theys gonna burn! some day theys gonna burn in Gawd Awmightys fire! How come they make us suffer so? The worls got too mucha everthing! Yit they bleed us! They fatten on us like leeches! There ain no groun yuh kin walk on tha they don own! N Gawd knows tha ain right! He made the earth fer us all! He ain tol no lie when He put us in this worl n said be fruitful n multiply…. Fire fanned his hate; he stopped and looked at the burning stars. “Gawd, ef yuh gimme the strength Ahll tear this ol buildin down! Tear it down, Lawd! Tear it down like ol Samson tore the temple down!” He walked again, mumbling. “Lawd, tell me whut t do! Speak t me, Lawd!” He caught his breath; a dark figure came out of the shadows in front of him. He saw a glint of metal; it was a policeman. He held erect and walked rapidly. Ahll stop, he thought. He wont have t ast me t stop…. He saw the white face drawing closer. He stopped and waited.

  “Put your hands up, nigger!”

  “Yessuh.”

  He lifted his arms. The policeman patted his hips, his sides. His back blazed, but he bit his lips and held still.

  “Who you work for?”

  “Ahma preacher, suh.”

  “A preacher?”

  “Yessuh.”

  “What you doing out here this time of night?”

  “Ah wuz visitin a sick man, a janitah, suh, whut comes t mah church. He works fer Miz Harvey….”

  “Who?”

  “Miz Harvey, suh.”

  “Never heard of her, and Ive been on this beat for ten years.”

  “She lives right back there, suh,” he said, half-turning and pointing.

  “Well, you look all right. You can go on. But keep out of here at night.”

  “Yessuh.”

  He was near his own people now. Across a grassy square he could see the top of the round-house glinting dully in the moonlight. The black asphalt turned to cinders and the houses were low, close together, squatting on the ground as though hiding in fear. He saw his church and relaxed. He came to the steps, caught hold of a bannister and rested a moment.

  When inside he went quietly down a hall, mounted the stairs, and came to the door of his room. He groped in the dark and felt the bed. He tried to pull off the shirt. It had stuck. He peeled it. Then he eased onto the bed and lay on his stomach. In the darkness his back seemed to take new fire. He went to the kitchen and wet a cloth with cold water. He lay down again with the cloth spread over him. That helped some. Then he began to shake. He was crying.

  X

  The door creaked.

  “Tha yuh, Pa?”

  “Son?”

  “Good Gawd, wes been lookin all over fer yuh! Where yuh been? Mas worried t death!”

  “C mon in, son, n close the do.”

  “Don yuh wanna light?”

  “Naw; close the do.”

  There was a short silence.

  “Whuts the mattah, Pa? Yuh sick?”

  “Close the do n set down, son!”

  Taylor could hear Jimmy’s breathing, then a chair scraping over the floor and the soft rustle of Jimmy’s clothes as he sat.

  “Whuts the mattah, Pa? Whut happened?”

  Taylor stared in the darkness and slowly licked his swollen lips. He wanted to speak, but somehow could not. Then he stiffened, hearing Jimmy rise.

  “Set down, son!”

  “But, Pa….”

  Fire seethed not only in Taylor’s back, but all over, inside and out. It was the fire of shame. The questions that fell from Jimmy’s lips burned as much as the whip had. There rose in him a memory of all the times he had given advice, counsel, and guidance to Jimmy. And he wanted to talk to him now as he had in the past. But his impulses were deadlocked. Then suddenly he heard himself speaking, hoarsely, faintly. His voice was like a whisper rising from his whole body.

  “They whipped me, son….”

  “Whipped yuh? Who?”

  Jimmy ran to the bed and touched him.

  “Son, set down!”

  Taylor’s voice was filled with a sort of tense despair. He felt Jimmy’s fingers leaving him slowly. There was a silence in which he could hear only his own breath struggling in his throat.

  “Yuh mean the white folks?”

  Taylor buried his face in his pillow and tried to still the heaving in his chest.

  “They beat me, son….”

  “Ahll git a doctah!”

  “Naw!”

  “But yuhs hurt!”

  “Naw; lock the do! Don let May in here….”

  “Goddam them white bastards!”

  “Set down, son!”

  “Who wuz they, Pa?”

  “Yuh cant do nothin, son. Yuhll have t wait….”

  “Wes been waitin too long! All we do is wait, wait!”

  Jimmy’s footsteps scuffed across the floor. Taylor sat up.

  “Son?”

  “Ahma git mah gun n git Pete n Bob n Joe n Sam! Theyll see they cant do this t us!”

  Taylor groped in the darkness; he found Jimmy’s shoulders.

  “C mon, son! Ahm awright….”

  “Thas the reason why they kill us! We take everthing they put on us! We take everthing! Everthing!”

  “Yuh cant do nothin erlone, Jimmy!”

  Jimmy’s voice was tense, almost hysterical.

  “But we kin make em know they cant do this t us widout us doin something! Aw, hell, Pa! Is we gonna be dogs all the time?”

  “But theyll kill yuh, son!”

  “Somebody has t die!”

  Taylor wanted to tell Jimmy something, but he could not find the words. What he wanted to say boiled in him, but it seemed too big to come out. He flinched from pain, pressing his fingers to his mouth, holding his breath.

  “Pa?”

  “Yeah, son?”

  “Hadley n Green wuz here t see yuh three-fo times.”

  “Yeah?”

  Jimmy said nothing. Taylor twisted around, trying to see his son’s face in the darkness.

  “Whut they say, son?”

  “Aw, hell! It don mattah….”

  “Tell me whut they said!”

  “Ttthey ssaid…. Aw, Pa, they didn’t know!”

  “Whut they say?”

  “They said yuh had done run out on em….”

  “Run out?”

  “Everbody wuz astin where yuh wuz,” said Jimmy. “Nobody knowed. So they tol em yuh run out. N Brother Smith had the Deacon Board t vote yuh outta the church….”

  “Vote me out?”

  “They said they didn’t wan yuh fer pastah no mo. It wuz Smith who made em do it. He tol em yuh had planned a demonstration n lef em holdin the bag. He fussed n stormed at em. They thought they wuz doin right….”

  Taylor lay on his bed of fire in the darkness and cried. He felt Jimmy’s fingers again on his face.

  “Its awright, Pa. We’ll git erlong somehow….”

  “Seems like Gawds done lef me! Ahd die fer mah people ef Ah only knowed how….”

  “Pa….”

  “How come Ah cant never do nothin? All mah life Ah done tried n cant do nothin! Nothin!”

  “Its awright, Pa!”

  “Ah done lived all mah life on mah knees, a-beggin n a-pleadin wid the white folks. N all they gimme wuz crumbs! All they did wuz kick me! N then they come wida gun n ast me t give mah own soul! N ef Ah so much as talk lika man they try t kill me….”

  He buried his face in the pillow, trying to sink himself into something so deeply that he could never feel again. He heard Jimmy turning the key in the lock.

  “Son!”

  Again he ran to Jimmy and held him.

  “Don do tha, son!”

  “Thingsll awways be like this less we fight!”

  “Set down, son! Yo po ol pas a-beggin yuh t set down!”

  He pulled Jimmy back to the bed. But even then it did not seem he could speak as he wanted to. He felt what he wanted to say, but it was elusive and hard to formulate.

  “Son….”

/>   “Ah ain gonna live this way, Pa!”

  He groped for Jimmy’s shoulders in the darkness and squeezed them till the joints of his fingers cracked. And when words came they seemed to be tearing themselves from him, as though they were being pushed upward like hot lava out of a mountain from deep down.

  “Don be a fool, son! Don thaw you life erway! We cant do nothin erlone.”

  “But theys gonna treat us this way as long as we let em!”

  He had to make Jimmy understand; for it seemed that in making him understand, in telling him, he, too, would understand.

  “We gotta git wid the people, son. Too long we done tried t do this thing our way n when we failed we wanted t run out n pay-off the white folks. Then they kill us up like flies. Its the people, son! Wes too much erlone this way! Wes los when wes erlone! Wes gotta be wid our folks….”

  “But theys killin us!”

  “N theyll keep on killin us less we learn how t fight! Son, its the people we mus gid wid us! Wes empty n weak this way! The reason we cant do nothin is cause wes so much erlone….”

  “Them Reds wuz right,” said Jimmy.

  “Ah dunno,” said Taylor. “But let nothin come tween yuh n yo people. Even the Reds cant do nothin ef yuh lose yo people….” Fire burned him as he talked, and he talked as though trying to escape it. “Membah whut Ah tol yuh prayer wuz, son?”

  There was silence, then Jimmy answered slowly:

  “Yuh mean lettin Gawd be so real in yo life tha everthing yuh do is cause of Im?”

  “Yeah, but its different now, son. Its the people! Theys the ones whut mus be real t us! Gawds wid the people! N the peoples gotta be real as Gawd t us! We cant hep ourselves er the people when wes erlone. Ah been wrong erbout a lotta things Ah tol yuh, son. Ah tol yuh them things cause Ah thought they wuz right. Ah tol yuh t work hard n climb t the top. Ah tol yuh folks would lissen t yuh then. But they wont, son! All the will, all the strength, all the power, all the numbahs is in the people! Yuh cant live by yoself! When they beat me tonight, they beat me…. There wuznt nothin Ah could do but lay there n hate n pray n cry…. Ah couldnt feel mah people, Ah couldn’t see mah people, Ah couldn’t hear mah people…. All Ah could feel wuz tha whip cuttin mah blood out….”

  In the darkness he imagined he could see Jimmy’s face as he had seen it a thousand times, looking eagerly, his eyes staring before him, fashioning his words into images, into life. He hoped Jimmy was doing that now.

  “Ahll awways hate them bastards! Ahll awways hate em!”

  “Theres other ways, son.”

  “Yuhs sick, Pa….”

  “Wes all sick, son. Wes gotta think erbout the people, night n day, think erbout em so hard tha our po selves is fergotten…. Whut they suffer is whut Ah suffered las night when they whipped me. Wes gotta keep the people wid us.”

  Jimmy was silent. A soft knock came at the door.

  XI

  “Dan!”

  “Thas ma,” said Jimmy.

  Taylor heard Jimmy rise to his feet; he gripped Jimmy’s hands.

  “Please, Pa! Let her come in n hep yuh!”

  “Naw.”

  “Dan!”

  Jimmy broke from him; he heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened.

  “Dan! Fer Gawds sake, whuts the mattah?”

  Jimmy switched on the light. Taylor lay blinking at May’s anxious face. He felt shame again, knowing that he should not feel it, but feeling it anyway. He turned over and buried his face in his hands.

  “Dan!”

  She ran and knelt at the side of the bed.

  “They tried t kill im, Ma! They beat im!” said Jimmy.

  “Ah knowed them white folks wuz gonna do something like this! Ah knowed it,” sobbed May.

  Taylor sat up.

  “Yuh be still! Lay down!” said May.

  She pushed him back onto the bed.

  “Cant yuh do something fer im, Ma? Hes sufferin tha way.”

  Taylor heard May leave the room and come back.

  “Hol still, Dan. This ain gonna hurt yuh….”

  He felt warm water laving him, then something cool that smelled of oil. He heard Jimmy moving to and fro, getting things for May. When his back was dressed he felt the bed sink as May sat on the edge of it. The heavy odors of violets and magnolias came to him; he was slowly coming back to the world again. He was the same man, but he was coming back somehow changed. He wondered at the strange peace that seeped into his mind and body there in the room with May and Jimmy, with the white folks far off in the darkness.

  “Feel bettah, Dan?”

  “Ahm awright.”

  “Yuh hongry?”

  “Naw.”

  He wanted to talk to Jimmy again, to tell him about the black people. But he could not think of words that would say what he wanted to say. He would tell it somehow later on. He began to toss, moving jerkily, more now from restlessness of mind than from the dying fire that still lingered in his body.

  XII

  Suddenly the doorbell pealed. Taylor turned and saw May and Jimmy looking at each other.

  “Somebody at the do,” said Jimmy in a tense voice.

  “Yuh reckon they white folks?” asked May.

  “Yuh bettah go down, Jimmy,” said Taylor.

  “Ef its any white folks tell em Dans out,” said May.

  Jimmy’s footsteps died away on the stairs. A door slammed. There were faint sounds of voices. Footsteps echoed, came on the stairs, grew loud. Taylor knew that more than one person was coming up. He lifted himself and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Dan, yuh cant git up! Youhll make yoself sick!”

  He ignored her. The door opened and Jimmy ran in.

  “Its Brother Bonds, Pa!”

  Bonds stood in the doorway with his head wrapped in blood-stained bandages. His face twitched and his eyes stared at something beyond the walls of the room, as though his attention had been riveted once and for always upon one fixed spot.

  “Whut happened, Brother?” asked Taylor.

  Bonds stared, dazed, with hunched and beaten shoulders. Then he sank to the floor, sobbing softly:

  “They beat me! They beat mah chillun! They beat mah wife! They beat us all cause Ah tol em t git outta mah house! Lawd, how long Yuh gonna let em treat us this way? How long Yuh gonna let em make us suffer?”

  May sobbed. Jimmy ran out of the room. Taylor caught him on the stairs.

  “Don be a fool, boy! Yuh c mon back here, now!”

  Jimmy flopped on the edge of a chair and mumbled to himself. The room was quiet save for the rustle of tree leaves that drifted in from the outside and the sound of Bonds sobbing on the floor. As Taylor stood his own suffering was drowned in a sense of widening horror. There was in his mind a vivid picture of all the little dingy huts where black men and women were crouched, afraid to stir out of doors. Bonds stopped crying and looked at Taylor; again that sense of shame spread over Taylor, inside and out. It stirred him to speech.

  “Who else they beat, Brother?”

  “Seem like everbody, Reveren! Them two Commoonists got beat something terrible n they put em in jail. N Ah heard they kilt one black man whut tried t fight back. They ketchin everbody they kin on the streets n lettin em have it. They ridin up n down in cars….”

  Jimmy cursed. The doorbell pealed again.

  “Git me a shirt, May!”

  “Dan, yuh ain able t do nothin!”

  The doorbell pealed again, then again. Taylor started toward the dresser; but May got there before he did and gave him a shirt.

  “Dan, be careful!”

  “C mon downstairs, Brother Bonds. N yuh, too, Jimmy,” said Taylor.

  XIII

  The church’s waiting room was full. Black men and women sat and stood, saying nothing, waiting. Arms were in slings; necks were wrapped in white cloth; legs were bound in blood-stained rags.

  “LOOK AT WHUT YUH DONE DONE!” a voice bawled.

  It was Deacon Smith. Taylor’s eyes went from face t
o face; he knew them all. Every Sunday they sat in the pews of his church, praying, singing, and trusting the God he gave them. The mute eyes and silent lips pinned him to a fiery spot of loneliness. He wanted to protest that loneliness, wanted to break it down; but he did not know how. No parables sprang to his lips now to give form and meaning to his words; alone and naked, he stood ashamed. Jimmy came through the door and placed his hand on his shoulder.

  “Its daylight, Pa. The folks is gatherin in the playground! theys waitin fer yuh….”

  Taylor went into the yard with the crowd at his heels. It was broad daylight and the sun shone. The men in their overalls and the women with children stood about him on all sides, silent. A fat black woman elbowed her way in and faced him.

  “Waal, Reveren, we done got beat up. Now, is we gonna march?”

  “Yuh wanna march?” asked Taylor.

  “It don make no difference wid me,” she said. “Them white folks cant do no mo than theys awready done.”

  The crowd chimed in.

  “N Gawd knows they cant!”

  “Ahll go ef the nex one goes!”

  “Ah gotta die sometime, so Ah jus as waal die now!”

  “They cant kill us but once!”

  “Ahm tired anyhow! Ah don care!”

  “The white folks says theys gonna meet us at the park!”

  Taylor turned to Jimmy.

  “Son, git yo boys together n tell em t roun up everbody!”

  “Yessuh!”

  May was pulling at his sleeve.

  “Dan, yuh cant do this….”

  Deacon Smith pushed his way in and faced him.

  “Yuhll never set foot in a church ergin ef yuh lead them po black folks downtown t be killed!”

  The crowd surged.

  “Ain nobody leadin us nowhere!”

  “We goin ourselves!”

  “Is we gonna march, Reveren?”

  “Yeah; soon as the crowd gits together,” said Taylor.

  “Ain nobody t blame but yuh ef yuh carry em t their death!” warned Deacon Smith.

  “How come yuh don shut yo old big mouth n let the Reveren talk?” asked the fat woman.