“I-c-y-m-i-s-s-y! Here’s your i-c-y-m-i-s-s-y!” Ganus chanted urgently as he watched Kitty in the doorway.
She opened the door a little wider.
“What in the world are you selling, Ganus?” she asked.
“I’m trying to sell folks some ice, Miss Kitty.”
“In this ungodly weather?”
“I reckon so,” he admitted dolefully. “Nobody wants to buy it, though, it looks like. You wouldn’t happen to want to buy some, would you, Miss Kitty?”
“Jesus Christ, I should say not, in this god-awful weather! Can’t you find something else to sell, Ganus?”
“I dug a big bucket of fishing worms in our backyard and tried to sell bait, but since cold weather started in nobody’s been going fishing much lately, it looks like. I scooped out a big hole and put them all back in the ground so they’d be there next year.”
He could see her whole body shake as a blast of cold wind struck the side of the house and went whistling through the dogtrot. He hugged his chest with both arms.
“Jesus Christ, Ganus, you look half-frozen,” she remarked with a sympathetic shaking of her head. “I hate to see anybody look so forlorn and cold on a god-awful day like this. This weather’d hang an icicle on a rich man’s pokey. Don’t you even have no gloves to put on?”
“No, ma’m,” he said, with a convulsive shiver shaking him all over. He expected her to close the door at any moment and to leave him with no choice but to turn the heavy cart around and start pushing it homeward. “It sure enough is a mighty cold day, Miss Kitty,” he said, with another pathetic spasm of shaking and trembling. “I don’t know when I’ve ever felt so cold before. It’s got down inside my bones, too.”
Kitty opened the door a little wider and carefully looked up the street toward town to see if anyone were coming from that direction. Ganus had been the only person on the street during the past hour.
“How’ve you been lately, Miss Kitty?” he asked, hoping to keep her engaged in conversation so she would not shut the door. “Have you been staying well lately?”
She looked at him for a moment before answering. “I’ve been pretty well, Ganus,” she told him. “This goddam weather’s enough to kill off the rich and poor alike, though.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. “It sure might do just that.”
Once more she looked up Woodbine Street toward town. Ganus felt his teeth begin to chatter.
“I don’t want no part of that damn ice, Ganus,” she said quickly, “but you can come in the kitchen and get warm if you want to. It’s colder out here than the backside of a privy on top of a hill in a snowstorm.”
“I sure would appreciate that, Miss Kitty—but—”
“But what but?” she asked impatiently, her arms hugging her huge protruding breasts to protect herself from the cold piercing wind. “What’s the matter with you, Ganus? Looks like you’d trip over your pole for a chance to get out of that god-awful cold.”
His teeth were chattering uncontrollably as he stared at her in the tight green sweater.
“Yes, ma’m, but—but—”
“Oh, stop that fidgeting around like that out there in the cold, Ganus,” she said scoldingly. “For Christ’s sake, hitch up the slack in the seat of your pants and come on in the house and get your nubbin warm. It gives me the shivers just to look at you.”
He moved his head from side to side resolutely.
“I sure would like to get warm, Miss Kitty, but—but I sure don’t want to get in trouble. I’ve done had my share of that already, and I don’t want no more of it. I wouldn’t say it’s your fault, Miss Kitty, but it looks like something always comes along and gets me in trouble, when I don’t take care. That’s the Good Man’s own truth, Miss Kitty.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, provoked with him. “I’m only trying to let you get warm, Ganus. I can’t stand to see anybody look so cold and miserable. It’s a goddam shame any human has to be out on a day like this.”
“Would you want to buy a little piece of ice then, Miss Kitty?”
“Good God, no!” She beckoned to him with her hand. “Come on around to the kitchen door, Ganus. I’ll let you in.”
“You reckon it’ll be all right, Miss Kitty?” he asked doubtfully. “I mean, couldn’t nothing go wrong, could it?”
“Oh, quit gabbling, Ganus, and come on in.”
“Yes, ma’m,” he said obediently.
As soon as she had closed the front door, he looked up the street. Seeing no one within sight, he then trotted around the corner of the house to the kitchen.
He was standing at the door before she could get there to open it, and he waited on the step and rubbed his numb fingers together and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. When she opened the door, he stooped over, his hands and knees almost touching the floor, and got past her into the warm kitchen with a nimble movement that enabled him to keep from touching the green sweater in the narrow passage. He could feel the sensation of the chill leaving his body as soon as the warmth of the stove reached him through the thin clothing.
“Now, stand there by the stove and get yourself thawed out, Ganus,” she spoke as though scolding him for having come out in such weather. “Go on and do like I tell you. You’d better get yourself some gloves, and a big overcoat, too, if you’re going out in this god-awful weather again.”
“Yes, ma’m,” he said.
He watched her from the corners of his eyes as she opened the fire-box and shoved sticks of wood inside. Hunching his shoulders, he crouched over the hot stove and rubbed the warmth into his hands. When she had finished replenishing the fire, she sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. He looked straight ahead and tried to keep from glancing in her direction after he had noticed the careless way she had pulled up the tight mauve petticoat and crossed her leg over her knee.
“Jesus only knows how sorry I felt for you out there in the street,” she said sympathetically, watching him with concern. “I said to myself, “That poor boy’s liable to get frostbitten—nubbin and all.’ I just can’t stand seeing people suffer. It does something to me, deep down inside where it hurts the worst. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been big-hearted, to the rich and poor alike, when I see somebody I can do something for. Some folks say it’s hell to be so big-hearted, but I like it. It makes me feel good to give somebody what they want real bad. Rich or poor, I’ll do it every chance I get. If a stranger walked in that door right now, I wouldn’t be satisfied till I’d been big-hearted to him. See how it is with me, Ganus?”
“Yes, ma’m,” he said, bothered by a persistent feeling of misgiving. He wished now he had stayed out in the street instead of listening to her. He could not put out of mind the memory of what had happened when he made the mistake of going into Vernice Weathersbee’s bungalow. Presently he asked, “Miss Kitty, where’s Mr. Levi now?”
“Levi? Oh, I don’t know where he’s at now,” she replied indifferently. Continuing in the same casual manner, she said, “All I know is that the son-of-a-bitch’s off somewhere driving that goddam truck of his. If he ain’t hung up somewhere, likely as not.”
He was shocked, and it was several moments before he could say anything again. “When’s Mr. Levi coming home, Miss Kitty?”
“How the hell would I know!” she said with a short laugh. “I never expect to see the bastard till I see him.” She shrugged her shoulders. “When he does come home the next time, I know one thing, though, and that is that he won’t be here long. All he cares about is driving that damn truck-and-trailer of his to hell and gone all over the country day and night.”
She lit a cigarette and blew smoke across the kitchen.
“Are you getting warm?” she asked after a while.
“Yes, ma’m, Miss Kitty,” he answered gratefully. “You sure are good to me.” He allowed himself to turn and look at her with a brief appreciative glance. “All morning long nobody else let me come in and get warm. Looks like most folk
s don’t care how cold it gets outside for the colored. They just don’t want me in their house, I reckon.”
“How much ice have you sold today?”
“None at all, Miss Kitty. But Mrs. Upshaw over there in that little red house on Oak Street near the white-folks’ Baptist church gave me a quarter for splitting up some stove-wood for her about an hour ago. I made that much so far today, but that’s all.” He shook his head to himself. “It looks like it’s just as hard for me these days to make a dime as it is to make a dollar. Things sure have tightened up for me since the middle of last summer.”
“I thought you had a good job at Daitch’s Market. Why did you quit such a fine job?”
“That’s when things started tightening up for me, Miss Kitty. But I didn’t exactly quit it.” He looked down at the top of the stove with a sad expression. “I was trying as hard as I could to hold on to that fine job, but something bad came along and I didn’t get to finish work one day and when I went to go to work the next morning, Mr. Harry told me he’d hired another boy because I’d stayed off the job nearly one whole afternoon. Dr. English found out about it somehow, and he sent over and took my bicycle away from me, too. I started out to hustle some groceries up to Mrs. Vernice Weathersbee’s little house up there on Cypress Street and, I declare, that’s how all the trouble started. Looks like something bad’s always on the lookout for me. I don’t try to get in trouble, but somehow trouble always finds out where I am and creeps up on me before I can watch out for it. The Good Man knows that’s the truth, Miss Kitty. I hate to say it, but it’s the white folks who always do the harm. My sister’s been hunting for steady work all the past summer, but the white folks just won’t leave her alone, neither, and she’s afraid to tell on white men when they bother her. Some white man did her real bad, and she’s afraid to tell about that, too. Looks like it gets worse all the time for both of us—ever since we moved to town more than a year ago to live with Aunt Hazel. I reckon it wouldn’t help none to tell on them, anyway—it’d just make everything a lot worse in the end. I’ve been looking all over to find me a steady job since Mr. Harry made me quit that day, but I can’t seem to find one. That’s why I started out trying to sell a little ice this morning. I reckon it was the wrong thing to do, though, with so much cold weather coming along. Most folks get all the ice they want at this time of year just by setting a pan of water on the back steps at night and letting it freeze up tight.”
“When do you eat then, Ganus, if you’re not working?” Kitty asked with a worried look.
“We don’t none of us always eat, on time, every day, Miss Kitty.”
“Are you hungry now?”
“I sure am, Miss Kitty. I’d do anything for a little bite of something to eat right now. I’d be mighty glad to go out there in the backyard and chop up all your wood for you. I’d sure be thankful if I could take a little bite of something home for Kathyanne and Aunt Hazel, too. They get mighty hungry sometimes, just like I do.”
Kitty got up. “I didn’t know you were that bad off, Ganus,” she said, deeply concerned. “It’s a goddam shame. Nobody ought to have to go hungry. There ought to be enough to eat for everybody. There’s plenty of things grown in the ground. It’s a goddam shame for everybody not to get his share of it. You do look awfully gaunt and hungry. There’s some sweet potatoes baking in the oven, and I’ll fry some sausage for you. I can’t stand to see anybody go hungry, white or black.”
He motioned her away from the stove with a quick gesture of his arms.
“I’ll do all that, Miss Kitty,” he told her. “You let me do all the cooking, if there’s any to be done. You just go and sit down somewhere nice and comfortable and don’t bother yourself. I’ll fix everything just right.”
He pulled off his sweater and tied a dry dishtowel around his waist. Then he got the frying pan and put it on the stove to heat. Leaving the kitchen, Kitty went to the bedroom. She lay down on the bed and read some more. She could hear Ganus moving around lightly in the kitchen for the next quarter-hour, and soon after that there was a knock on the bedroom door.
“Miss Kitty, everything’s all ready and hot,” he said with a pleased grin. “I made some fine coffee and short biscuits. I found a jar of strawberry preserves in the pantry, too. If you’ll come and sit down at the table, I’ll have your sweet potatoes and sausage all ready for you to eat.”
She went into the kitchen, and, to her surprise, saw that he had put a clean white cloth over the stained oilcloth on the table. The water glasses sparkled and he had found a white napkin somewhere and had folded it on her plate. She had never seen a table set so invitingly before; she had always been accustomed to putting plates and cups-and-saucers in front of the chairs and then sitting down to eat. And when Ganus pulled her chair back and then pushed it forward as she sat down, she remembered she once had seen the same thing done in a moving picture. Without a word, she leaned over the table and began eating the sausage and sweet potatoes and hot biscuits. Ganus served himself and then sat down on the woodbox behind the stove and began eating hungrily. Halfway through the meal she noticed that Ganus was watching her over the top of the stove with a worried frown.
“What’s the matter, Ganus?” she asked.
“Miss Kitty, where’d you say Mr. Levi is now?” he asked as though he had been dissatisfied with her answer ever since he had asked her the first time.
“Only God Himself knows,” she said, looking out the window at the trash-littered yard. “All I ever know about him is that he’s here when he gets here, and that he won’t stay long after that. He only stays long enough to eat a meal and take a nap and change his clothes. Then he’s gone again for God only knows how long—maybe three days, four days, a week. If he came home at midnight, he’d be gone again by three or four o’clock to load cotton somewhere and truck it to the mill. I get mad as hell at him sometimes. It’s lonesome staying here all by myself, but he won’t listen to me. All he ever says is, button up and sit tight and wait for him to come back the next time. It’s always the next time, God damn him.” She stopped and looked at Ganus behind the stove, grateful to be able to talk to anybody about the things her mind had dwelt on for so long a time.
Ganus nodded solemnly, wondering why she was saying such things to him. “Yes, ma’m,” he said when she continued to look at him.
“God only knows how bad in the dumps I get sometimes. I get the worst blue funks a girl ever had waiting for a man to get the notion. It’s plain hell to want a man real bad and, God damn it, know you can’t get him, at least not when you want the son-of-a-bitch the most. Even when he does come home, it’s just as apt as not to do you no damn good. Half the time he’s been all petered out already. Some female in Augusta or somewhere along the road comes along and frazzles him to a fare-you-well before I get a chance. It’s a hell of a note for somebody like me who’s been used to taking it or leaving it all my life to have to wait for him to get hard up for me. Rich or poor, that’s a shame for any girl. What I ought to do is walk out and leave him, but the bastard does something to me, and it gets under my skin, and I get all tingly all over when he walks in and gives me that up and down look of his. Oh, God help me! Something hits me like a ton of frozen brickbats. I never want to quit after that starts. The rest of the time I know damn well I’d have better chances hiding out in a Methodist belfry. But I don’t know what to do about it. If I left him, I might be sorry, and get a worse deal from the next one I took up with. Men sure can be as mean as a snake till they get the notion. Rich or poor, nothing’s too good for a girl then. They shuck off and crawl around and treat me like a gypsy queen in a feather bed on a rainy night down in Florida. But just wait till they get limber, and then it’s the same old hell all over again till the next time they get the notion, and start shucking off and begging some more. The goddam bastards. They’ll ruin your life every time, every frigging one of them, rich or poor. They’re nothing but stingy, mean, selfish liars. I wish to God I could get along without men. But who can
? I know I can’t keep away from them. Just let one come along with the notion, and I get in the mood like nobody’s business. I’ve never known it to fail yet.” She looked straight at Ganus. “I reckon my big trouble is that, rich or poor, a man can always get me where he wants me, God help me.”
Ganus jumped up and busied himself with the dishes. He did not say anything to her until the dishes had been rinsed and dried and put away. Then he sat down on the floor between the stove and the wall and leaned back against the woodbox.
“It sure would be nice if you could stay here and do all the work, Ganus,” she said, nodding to herself. “It would be nice to have you here to do all the cooking and cleaning and things like that.” Then she laughed to herself. “He wouldn’t let you stay, though. He wouldn’t even let you stay and work for nothing. That’s the kind he is.” She got up and went to the door. “The bastard,” she said hoarsely.
After leaving the kitchen, she went back to bed to read some more. As soon as she was out of sight, Ganus stretched out beside the woodbox and went to sleep. Later when Kitty tiptoed into the kitchen to see why he was so quiet, she got a quilt and spread it over him. Then she went back to bed and cried.
It was about five o’clock when she heard a truck rumble into the yard and she jumped up and looked out the window. It was Levi. She was so glad to see him that she forgot all about Ganus. She waited for him to come into the house but, instead of coming to the front door, he went around to the rear. When she did remember Ganus, it was too late to get him out of the house. Levi was opening the kitchen door and coming inside when she ran from the bedroom. She started back, hoping that Levi would follow her but, instead, he caught her by the arm. She had time to glance behind the stove, and she was relieved to see that Ganus was still covered with the quilt.