Such Sweet Thunder (43 page)

“Ol’ man Grey’s leavin’. That’s what you said it said in the
Voice
, didn’ it, Rutherford?”

“Yeah, that’s right, Pr’fessor John D. Powell from Atlanta, Georgia! Hey! hey! A real distinguished-lookin’ cat! Looks like a whitie. There was a picture of ’im in the papers. An’ a young ’un, too!”

“It’s about time some of them old diehards got out a the way,” said Miss Lucille, “an’ let some a the young ’uns have a chance!”

“He must be a hell of a educator,” said Rutherford, “with all them degrees he got behind his name!”

“An’ old Amerigo’s in the fifth grade!” T. C. exclaimed. “M-a-n, don’ seem like
no
time since that little joker was born. I usta throw ’im up in the air like a rubber ball! First thing we know we’ll look up an’ he’ll be comin’ out a one a these high-powered colleges! A big shot! An’ gittin’ married to one a them pretty little society gals!”

“Yeah!” said Rutherford.

“Won’ even speak to us no more!” T. C. grinned.

“We’ll have to come around to the side door then!” said Rutherford.

“Don’ start that stuff!” said Viola.

“Old Vi’d be s-a-l-t-a-y!” said Miss Lucille.

“Hey! hey!” T. C. exclaimed. “He’s got the makin’s of a great man, too!
He
got a
head
on
his
shoulders! Rutherford, he don’ think like you an’ me, man!” He slapped Rutherford on the back. “He don’ think like none a these jokers ’round here. He wants what the white man wants — already! You know? Ain’ nobody in the whole North End that don’ know that little joker! An’ I mean, respect him, too! Momma said she heard him teachin’ Sund’y school last Sund’y. He didn’ know she was
listenin’ an’ he was bringin’ that jive
home
to them little jokers! An’ when the gen’ral assembly time came, he stood up an’ spoke before the whole Sund’y school! Had old rev. grinnin’ an’ scratchin’ his head! Yes sir! Momma goes to church e-v-e-r-y Sund’y an’
she
said she ain’ never heard nothin’ like that!”

“Unh!” Viola exclaimed, “he didn’ tell me nothin’ ’bout that!”

“If you’d go to church sometimes yourself,” Rutherford grinned, “you’d see what your son’s doin’! Ha!”

“Now don’ start that stuff, Rutherford Jones! I believe in the church as much as anybody!”

“Why don’t you join up, then?”

“Ain’ no sense in joinin’ the church till you ready to do right, an’ know you ready, an’ kin live like the Good Book says! Just joinin’ the church to be joinin’ don’ cut no ice.”

“You ain’ fixin’ to start givin’ up dancin’ an’ beer an’ havin’ fun, are you, Vi?” said Miss Lucille. “You know you don’ have to lie to me!”

“Naw, girl!”

“That woman,” said Rutherford, “kin drink more beer — unh-unh! — more beer’n the breweries in Milwaukee kin brew!”

“Oooooooo,” Viola cried, her laughter infecting the others.

“You ain’ exactly no amateur yourself there, brother!” said T. C. “Don’ do as
I
do, do as I
say
do!” said Rutherford. “That’s what Momma usta tell us!”

“Well,” said Viola, “when the time comes to join the church, an —”

“When she gits old an’ fat an’ evil!” said Miss Lucille. “Tee! hee! An’ then she’ll sit around an’ give the young ’uns hell, like all them old sancty sisters up at Saint Johns!”

“At least I try to see that Amerigo goes an’ learns what’s right!”

“Yeah,” said Rutherford, “when old Vi gits old, see, with one foot in the grave and the other’n on a banana peel an’ can’t party down to the bricks no more an’ done spent all my money on clothes —”

“What you got, Vi?” said Miss Lucille, but Viola pretended not to hear.

“She’s gonna git eeeee-vil!”

“Aw, Rutherford!” said T. C.

“An’ righteous, Jack!”

“What
you
talkin’ about, Rutherford Jones,” said Viola. “I don’ see you breakin’ your neck to join no church!”

“Don’ need to, I’m good enough already.”

“Ain’ that a killer!” Viola said.

“Rutherford Jones!” said Miss Lucille, “if they didn’ already have a president in hell, I’d sure vote for you!”

When he threw his head back to laugh, he caught sight of Miss Jenny’s silhouette, rocking quietly, calmly, to and fro.

“Naw, but seriously!” Rutherford was saying: “I try to treat
ever’
body right! Like I like to be treated. I believe in the
sense
of the Bible … in the meanin’ underneath. An’ I don’ need
nobody
to read it for me!”

“Look out, there, Jack!” said T. C.

“That’s right!” Rutherford insisted, “an’ goin’ to church ever’ Sund’y — givin’ all my money that I done slaved for all week to some jackleg preacher to ride around in a Cadillac an’ wearin’ twenty-dollar ’dos an’ di’mond rings an’ all that crap! That ain’ gonna make me git to heaven— if it is a heaven — no faster! An’ you, neither!”

Mrs. Derby shook her head with a serious air and said:

“I agree, Mister Jones, they’s a powerful lot a sinnin’ goin’ on in the world. Always have been. But the way I heard it is that the people ain’ the church!”

“Tell ’im, Mrs. Derby!” said Viola.

“Tell ’im
what!
” Rutherford exclaimed.

“Let ’er talk!” said Miss Lucille. Mrs. Derby cleared her throat:

“If all the peoples was good they wouldn’a had to build no church. Our Lord an’ Savior, Jesus Christ, wouldn’a had to die on no cross. They is —”

“But —” Rutherford tried to interrupt, but the others shushed him down.

“They is sinners! The world was
born
in sin. Some a the biggest sinners is sittin’ right up there in the church. But that’s — that’s why we
need
a church!”

“A-men!” said Miss Jenny.

“That’s all well an’ good, Mrs. Derby,” said Rutherford, “I ain’ disputin’ that. An’ I believe that every man — e-v-e-r-y man — got the right to worship like he believes. But let me ask you somethin’: What do you think was happenin’ before there ever was a church?”

“You gittin’ deep now, Jack!” said T. C.

“That’s dangerous talk, Rutherford,” said Viola seriously.

“Life
is
dangerous! An’ the truth is dangerous! That’s why ever’body’s sayin’ one thing an’ doin’ somethin’ else!”

“How does he know?”

“But they is a church!” Mrs. Derby was saying: “Man is born in darkness, an’ the Good Book brought the light!”

“There was people before there was a Bible!”

“But there wasn’
nobody
before the Lord!” said Miss Jenny.

“Goddamn! She got you there, Rutherford!” T. C. shouted. “Aw … excuse me, Miss Jenny.”

“Got who?” Rutherford retaliated: “What about all them Cath’lics an’-an’ Jews! People in Africa — an’ China an’ them. They goin’ to hell just ’cause they ain’ Baptists? Now, I don’ care what other people think. The church is a good thing — if a man believe in it — an’ try hard to do the right thing. But I don’ believe that no man kin be saved by just goin’ to church! An’-an’ if God
is
God, He gotta be God for ever’body! E-v-e-r’-b-o-d-y! An’ to tell you the honest truth, I don’ know — don’ nobody actually know — what really happened before man came to the earth. You know they got people — scientists an’ stuff like that — that don’ do nothin’ but dig up old bones an’ rocks an’ things tryin’ to find out what happened. An’ they say that man comes from a monkey!”

“I knowed you wasn’ nothin’ but a monkey all the time, Jonsie!” said Miss Lucille. “An’ I know what you gonna do when the deal goes down. Just like ever’body else! You gonna fall down on your black knees an’ ask that jackleg preacher to pray for your black soul!”

“I’ll go to hell first!”

“Don’ talk like that, Rutherford!” said Viola in a frightened voice.

“You gittin’ too deep now, man!” said T. C.

“If I don’ mean it,” Rutherford declared,
“I’ll take a bloody oath on my momma!”

“Rutherford!” Viola cried.

Sea-song poured into the gulf of silence.

“Fourth!” Amerigo said absentmindedly.

“What
you
talkin’ about, li’l niggah?” said Rutherford.

“T. C. said I’ll be in the fifth grade next year. I’ll be in the fourth!”

“What’s that got to do with the price of tamadas!”

The fourth grade, he thought, embarrassed by the upsurgence of a wave of pride in and love for his father.

“I took ever’thin’ apart …”
he heard him say,
“an’ I remembered where it went. An’ then I cleaned what was dirty, an’ replaced what was worn out. An’ then I put it all back together agin. An’ I polished it till it looked like new!”

“It’s about your bedtime, ain’ it?” said Viola. “You have to git up early in the mornin’. Tamarra’s your big day!”

“What’s happenin’?” T. C. asked.

“He’s goin’ to the art gallery to git some art appreciation!” Rutherford said mockingly.

“Art what?” said Miss Lucille. He could see her grinning in the dark.

“They didn’ have jive like that when
we
was in school,” said T. C. “Ain’ that somethin’! Well, I know my boy here’s gonna learn it, if they’s somethin’ to learn. Walk away with a-l-l that high-powered stuff! Mingle among the best of ’um, Jack! Show the whities who we are. What we kin do if we have half a chance!”

“Better teach that little darkie to earn a loaf a bread!” said Miss Lucille tartly. “Fill his head up with all that kind a stuff an’ then send him back down here to this slum to hustle pennies on street corners!”

An unspeakable rage filled his consciousness while familiar voices now filled the channels of his ears:

“What you gonna be?” Tommy asked. “You’re so smart!”

A prince! he thought, A king! The smartest man in the w-h-o-l-e world! The president of the United States of America. A preacher, teacher. He looked at the sky, and then at the trees: “I’m gonna be a symphony leader! With a hundred — two hundred — with a million trumpets an’ things! — with
me
doin’ the leadin’.”

“Aw man — you crazy!” Turner exclaimed.

“Haw! haw! haw!” Lem laughed so hard he almost fell off the porch banister.

“I’m gonna do it, too!”

“Yeah —” Tommy said, “in the municipal auditorium! Downtown, Jack!”

“Aw naw! I’m gonna go in France an’ places like that, like Ira Eldridge an’ —”

“Who’s that?” Tommy asked.

“Don’t you know who that is, man? You don’ know nothin’!”

“Who was he, smarty!” Tommy asked.

“He was a Negro! A actor! An’ he never was no slave, neither! An’ he went all over the world actin’ on the stage — an’ ate with kings an’ queens an’ princes an’ things like that!”

“When was that?” Turner asked.

“In slavery time.”

“How could he be doin’ it in
slavery time
— an’ not be no
slave
hisself
, niggah! Ho! ho! I got you! You kin sure tell ’um! A spook — actin’ — in
slavery
time — gittin’ booty from queens!”

“Tee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!” Willie Joe squealed.

“Yeah, he did, too! Niggah! It was Ne-groes that was free when all the other Ne-groes in the South was slaves! An’-an’ he was like that. An’
I’m
gonna be one,
too!
Like old Paul Robeson, man! Only
I’m
gonna be the biggest! I’m gonna stand up there on that stage in a real tux, like Duke Ellington, with that little old white stick in my hand directin ’um
down!
Man, let my hair grow reeeeeeal long! So it kin fall in my face, like it does old Chikoffski in the show!”

“How your nappy hair gonna fall in your face, niggah?” Turner shouted. “You better slick that moss down with some Murray’s!”

“I don’ care. An’-an’ the people — big shots! — all over the whole world! — millions of ’um’ll be clappin’ an’ clappin’!”

“Let’s give ’im the claps, men!” cried Turner:

Clap! clap! clap! clap! clap! clap! They laughed and yelled, while he bowed deeply, again and again, his hair falling into his face, like Chikoffski in the show.

“…  hustlin’ pennies on street corners!” Miss Lucille was saying. “You ain’
my
momma!” he cried, surprised by the tears that filled his eyes.

“That’s right, ’Mer’go!” cried T. C. “Look out, Lucille! This boy’s your even change! He’s got more brains than you, me, an’ his momma an’ poppa put together! Don’ let ’um hold you back, Amerigo. You go on out there an’ look at them pictures like the rest of ’um. That’s where the white man’s gittin’ his. Yes, sir! Mister Charlie don’ like to see you readin’, or sittin’ quiet-like, thinkin’ about somethin’. He likes to see you laughin’ an’ full a booze! ’Fraid you might learn somethin’
he
don’ know! Them high-society niggahs know it! They sendin’ they kids to learn all that stuff … all that high-powered music. Like — what’s ’er name? What’s the name a that
tough
little girl — s-m-a-r-t! always givin’ ’em piana recitals all the time.… Ain’ no older’n Amerigo.…”

C-O-S-I-M-A, he thought. Funny name.

“You mean Cosima Thornton,” said Viola.

“I guess that’s her. Her old man’s got that photography shop over on Eighteenth Street. Looks like a whitie. The momma t —”

“Cosima Thornton,” said Viola. “Allie knows ’um. Doris has been dancin’ with ’um a long time.”