“I’m tellin you de Gawd’s truth,” Mary declared seriously. “Auntie is gwine to school. E ain’ told you?” Mary could not help grinning in spite of the black frown on Ben’s face. “You ain’ heard about a new law de white folks is made?”
Ben had not heard, and Mary tried to explain to him that the new law said people must no longer birth children like they used to. The white folks had a new way to do it now, and Maum Hannah and all the plantation midwives had to go to the midwife class at Heaven’s Gate Church for ten Monday mornings while a lady from up-north tried to make them understand all about the new style. “Great Gawd, ain’ it de funniest ting you ever did hear?” Mary laughed so that the thick piece of wood she sat on suddenly slipped.
“Do Jedus,” she cried out in alarm, “don’ le me fall an’ broke my leg today. I got some birthin to do my own sef before long.”
Budda Ben did not turn his head. He sat glum and downhearted and silent while she chattered on trying to cheer him up. White people are curious things. They pass laws no matter how fool the laws are, and put people in jail if those laws are not kept. People had come into the world over the same old road ever since Eve birthed Cain and Abel, and now everybody had to learn how to birth children a new way. It was enough to upset the whole world.
White people try to be too smart. If they keep on messing in God’s business and trying to change things from the way He meant them to be, the first thing they knew, He would get cross and make Judgment Day wipe the whole world clean of them. It would be too late then for them to cry and holler and be sorry. They ought to be careful with their laws and projects. The old way to birth children has its drawbacks, but it is plenty good enough. They had better leave it alone.
“How you b’lieve chillen’ll get into de world dis new way, Budda?” she asked presently.
Ben didn’t know. He didn’t care. All the children in the world could die and go to Hell so far as he was concerned. These damned children of Andrew were the cause of all his troubles, the cause of his getting turned out of the church yesterday. They teased him, tormented him, made their dogs nip at his heels, the dirty, low-down, potbellied—Budda Ben spluttered with such fury Mary laid her hand on his arm. “Hush, Budda. Don’ cuss now. Auntie’ll hear you, and it hurts her awful bad when you have sin. Look at em. Poor old soul, hoppin along. I don’ see how e can walk all de way to Heaven’s Gate Church wid dat cripple knee painin em so.”
“What you chillen duh talk ’bout?” Maum Hannah called cheerfully to them. “I hear-ed Mary’s mout’ a-runnin all de way down de street, and I said to mysef, dat gal sho must be a-feelin good dis momin.”
“I been tryin to cheer Budda Ben up some, but I can’ do em so save my life. You better take em wid you to de school at Heaven’s Gate an’ train em to be a midwife. Ben would make such a fine one. E would scare de women so bad dey couldn’ crack dey teeth, to holler.”
Before Ben could retort Maum Hannah held up her stick and shook it at Mary. “Shut you mout’, gal. Dat ain’ no decent talk for you to talk. You make me feel pure shame o you.”
Mary’s boisterous laughter faded. “I was just a-playin, Auntie. I wouldn’ hurt Budda’s feelins, not for gold. E knows I’m just a-plaguin him.”
“I know, honey, but you must have respect for mid-wifin too. Dat is Jedus’ business. You ain’ to make sport of it. I b’lieve you’d crack a joke ’bout death, Si May-e. You ain’ sensible. You better quit you wicked ways. You joke about birthin when you got to face em yousef, soon as dis same moon changes.”
Mary became serious. “I’m sorry, Auntie, I ain’ gwine joke bout em no more. I was just a-talkin fool tryin to make Budda laugh. E was lookin so awful doleful.”
Maum Hannah shook her head sadly. “Budda ought to look doleful. E don’ need to laugh. E needs to pray an’ ask God to give em long patience, den e wouldn’ be so quick to get vexed an’ cuss. Short patience’ll make anybody have sin. But, gal, if I was wicked as you an’ as sho fo Hell as you is, I wouldn’ stop prayin day or night. Not me.”
This stern talk hurt, for Mary loved Maum Hannah dearly and liked to win her praise.
“You is too hard on me, Auntie. You makes me feel awful downhearted.”
“Honey,” Maum Hannah changed to a gentle tone, “I don’ aim to talk hard at you, but when I look at you so, I feel dat sorry fo you I could cry.”
“Sorry for me, Auntie? How-come so? I’m heavy fo-true, but I’m well. I don’ mean to brag, but birthin a baby ain’ no trouble to me. It don’ even gi me a backache. My chillen has plenty to eat an’ wear; Budda cuts wood to keep my fire goin day an’ night. Why be sorry fo me?”
“Honey, sinners is all pitiful. As nigh as you is to gwinen down, you ought to be prayin to Gawd to forgive all dat sin you been havin. Ask Him to help you thu you trouble. E would do it. Gawd is a merciful Gawd.”
“Gwinen down don’ worry me none ’t all,” Mary boasted. “I can birth a child easy as I can pop my finger. You know dat, Auntie. How-come you tryin to scare me so dis momin?”
“I ain’ tryin to scare you, gal, but nobody, excusin Gawd, knows what’s ahead o
