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spruced down with butter? Where you on your way to?
Jefferson stands there at the Rē’-mōte train depot. He would ignore these men, lazy, shiftless, not ready. He would do something with his life. Not become just another hayseed whose only recreation is catching junebugs and chirping along with the crickets.
I’m gon on way from this damned town.
Well ex-cuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..s..e me! the man answers, mimicking. His companion spits some tobacco against the station house wall.
The train is in sight. The train that would take him to Jackson Mississippi. Then on to New York.
12
T HE PARTY IS HELD at a Townhouse in Harlem. It was lent to the revelers by a wealthy patron. It isn’t an authentic Chitterling Switch but an imitation 1. It is what some of the New Negroes would imagine to be a Rent Party given, to meet the 1st of the month, by newly arrived immigrants from the South. In fact there is nowhere in evidence a delegate from the “brother-on-the-street.” A man is pounding out some blues on the piano. Once in a while he sips from a cup of King Kong Korn that someone has placed on its top. People are moving from room to room; some of them are passing drinks. Ladies are wearing richly colored dresses, earrings, bracelets, brooches and beads and are well-plumed in a style that neuter-living Protestants would call “garish.” 1 woman dressed in an exotic high-gypsy is taking in cash at the door, cash used to supply funds to anti-lynching campaigns.
61 lynchings occurred in 1920 alone. In 1921, 62, some of the victims, soldiers returning from the Great War who after fighting and winning significant victories—just as they had fought in the Revolutionary and Civil wars and the wars against the Indians—thought that America would repay them for the generosity of putting their lives on the line, for aiding in salvaging their hides from the Kaiser who had been tagged “enemy” this time. Instead, a Protestant country ignorant even of Western mysteries executes soldiers after a manner of punishments dealt to witches in the “Middle Ages.” Europe and the Catholic Church are horrified but not surprised at this “tough guy” across the waters whose horrendous murders in Salem led Europe to reform its witch laws.” Until Marcus Garvey came along to rescue the American Negro he was basking in his lethargy like a crocodile sleeping in the sun. The man the Guianese art critic is directing his comments to mutters something about “ringtail” or “monkey chaser”; LaBas and Earline move on to avoid the ensuing conflict this exchange usually brings.
They see Berbelang and a well-dressed young blond White man whom they recognize from the society pages as Thor Wintergreen, the son of a famous tycoon.
O hello…Berbelang greets PaPa LaBas and Earline. Berbelang, what are you doing here?
No time to explain. We’re leaving. I’ll be home later on.
Berbelang and his friend move toward the door.
But…but what time are you going to be home?
I’ll call you, Berbelang says, edging toward the exit.
Come up to the Kathedral sometime, Berbelang; I’d like to talk to you, LaBas calls after Berbelang.
He and his companion are putting on their coats which have been handed to them by the Hostess.
Yes I will…maybe 1 day next week. I’d like to talk to you too.
You see, pop? He doesn’t seem to have any time for me at all.
This unhappy plea from Earline is a contrast to the gay laughter, the couples dancing, and the sound of glasses touching in the many rooms.
I think I’m going to leave, PaPa.
But we just got here, Earline. It looks interesting.
You stay. I’m going to go home to wait for him. Maybe we can have a talk.
PaPa LaBas helps Earline with her coat. No sooner does she have it on than she rushes from the house, almost tearfully.
Shaking his head, LaBas turns around. Nothing like an affair of the heart, LaBas thinks, remembering the bittersweet days of his youth. They’ll work it out. They’re beautiful
Jefferson stands there at the Rē’-mōte train depot. He would ignore these men, lazy, shiftless, not ready. He would do something with his life. Not become just another hayseed whose only recreation is catching junebugs and chirping along with the crickets.
I’m gon on way from this damned town.
Well ex-cuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..s..e me! the man answers, mimicking. His companion spits some tobacco against the station house wall.
The train is in sight. The train that would take him to Jackson Mississippi. Then on to New York.
12
T HE PARTY IS HELD at a Townhouse in Harlem. It was lent to the revelers by a wealthy patron. It isn’t an authentic Chitterling Switch but an imitation 1. It is what some of the New Negroes would imagine to be a Rent Party given, to meet the 1st of the month, by newly arrived immigrants from the South. In fact there is nowhere in evidence a delegate from the “brother-on-the-street.” A man is pounding out some blues on the piano. Once in a while he sips from a cup of King Kong Korn that someone has placed on its top. People are moving from room to room; some of them are passing drinks. Ladies are wearing richly colored dresses, earrings, bracelets, brooches and beads and are well-plumed in a style that neuter-living Protestants would call “garish.” 1 woman dressed in an exotic high-gypsy is taking in cash at the door, cash used to supply funds to anti-lynching campaigns.
61 lynchings occurred in 1920 alone. In 1921, 62, some of the victims, soldiers returning from the Great War who after fighting and winning significant victories—just as they had fought in the Revolutionary and Civil wars and the wars against the Indians—thought that America would repay them for the generosity of putting their lives on the line, for aiding in salvaging their hides from the Kaiser who had been tagged “enemy” this time. Instead, a Protestant country ignorant even of Western mysteries executes soldiers after a manner of punishments dealt to witches in the “Middle Ages.” Europe and the Catholic Church are horrified but not surprised at this “tough guy” across the waters whose horrendous murders in Salem led Europe to reform its witch laws.” Until Marcus Garvey came along to rescue the American Negro he was basking in his lethargy like a crocodile sleeping in the sun. The man the Guianese art critic is directing his comments to mutters something about “ringtail” or “monkey chaser”; LaBas and Earline move on to avoid the ensuing conflict this exchange usually brings.
They see Berbelang and a well-dressed young blond White man whom they recognize from the society pages as Thor Wintergreen, the son of a famous tycoon.
O hello…Berbelang greets PaPa LaBas and Earline. Berbelang, what are you doing here?
No time to explain. We’re leaving. I’ll be home later on.
Berbelang and his friend move toward the door.
But…but what time are you going to be home?
I’ll call you, Berbelang says, edging toward the exit.
Come up to the Kathedral sometime, Berbelang; I’d like to talk to you, LaBas calls after Berbelang.
He and his companion are putting on their coats which have been handed to them by the Hostess.
Yes I will…maybe 1 day next week. I’d like to talk to you too.
You see, pop? He doesn’t seem to have any time for me at all.
This unhappy plea from Earline is a contrast to the gay laughter, the couples dancing, and the sound of glasses touching in the many rooms.
I think I’m going to leave, PaPa.
But we just got here, Earline. It looks interesting.
You stay. I’m going to go home to wait for him. Maybe we can have a talk.
PaPa LaBas helps Earline with her coat. No sooner does she have it on than she rushes from the house, almost tearfully.
Shaking his head, LaBas turns around. Nothing like an affair of the heart, LaBas thinks, remembering the bittersweet days of his youth. They’ll work it out. They’re beautiful
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