“Right smart, I thank yuh!” as they passed.
Once Annjee spoke to her son. “Evening’s the only time we niggers have to ourselves!” she said. “Thank God for night … ’cause all day you gives to white folks.”
VII
White Folks
When they got home, Aunt Hager was sitting in the cool of the evening on her new porch, which had been rebuilt for thirty-five dollars added to the mortgage. The old woman was in her rocking-chair, with Jimboy, one foot on the ground and his back against a pillar, lounging at her feet. The two were quarrelling amicably over nothing as Annjee and Sandy approached.
“Good-evenin’, you-all,” said Annjee. “I brought you a nice piece o’ steak, Jimboy-sugar, and some biscuits to go with it. Come on in and eat while I get dressed to go to the drill practice. I got to hurry.”
“We don’t want no steak now,” Jimboy answered without moving. “Aunt Hager and me had fresh fish for supper and egg-corn-bread and we’re full. We don’t need nothin’ more.”
“Oh! …” said Annjee disappointedly. “Well, come on in anyhow, honey, and talk while I get dressed.” So he rose lazily and followed his wife into the house.
Shortly, Sister Johnson, pursued by the ever-present Willie-Mae, came through the blue-grey darkness from next door. “Good-evenin’, Sister Williams; how you been today?”
“Tolable,” answered Hager, “ ’ceptin’ I’s tired out from washin’ an’ rinsin’. Have a seat. … You Sandy, go in de house an’ get Sister Johnson a settin’-chair. … Where’s Tom?”
“Lawd, chile, he done gone to bed long ago. That there sewer-diggin’ job ain’t so good fer a man old as Tom. He ’bout played out. … I done washed fer Mis’ Cohn maself today. … Umh! dis cheer feels good! … Looked like to me she had near ’bout fifty babies’ diddies in de wash. You know she done got twins, ’sides dat young-’un born last year.”
The conversation of the two old women rambled on as their grandchildren ran across the front yard laughing, shrieking, wrestling; catching fireflies and watching them glow in closed fists, then releasing them to twinkle in the sultry night-air.
Harriett came singing out of the house and sat down on the edge of the porch. “Lord, it’s hot! … How are you, Mis’ Johnson? I didn’t see you in the dark.”
“Jest tolable, chile,” said the old woman, “but I can’t kick. Honey, when you gits old as I is, you’ll be doin’ well if you’s livin’ a-tall, de way you chillens runs round now’days! How come you ain’t out to some party dis evenin’?”
“O, there’s no party tonight,” said Harriett laughing. “Besides, this new job of mine’s a heartbreaker, Mis’ Johnson. I got to stay home and rest now. I’m kitchen-girl at that New Albert Restaurant, and time you get through wrestling with pots and arguing with white waitresses and colored cooks, you don’t feel much like running out at night. But the shifts aren’t bad, though, food’s good, and—well, you can’t expect everything.” She shrugged her shoulders against the two-by-four pillar on which her back rested.
“Long’s it keeps you off de streets, I’s glad,” said Hager, rocking contentedly. “Maybe I can git you goin’ to church agin now.”
“Aw, I don’t like church,” the girl replied.
“An’, chile, I can’t blame you much,” said Sister Johnson, fumbling in the pocket of her apron. “De way dese churches done got now’days. … Sandy, run in de house an’ ask yo’ pappy fo’ a match to light ma pipe. … It ain’t ‘Come to Jesus’ no mo’ a-tall. Ministers dese days an’ times don’t care nothin’ ’bout po’ Jesus. ’Stead o’ dat it’s rally dis an’ collection dat, an’ de aisle wants a new carpet, an’ de pastor needs a ’lectric fan fer his red-hot self.” The old sister spat into the yard. “Money! That’s all ’tis! An’ white folkses’ religion—Lawd help! ’Taint no use in mentionin’ them.”
“True,” agreed Hager.
“ ’Cause if de gates o’ heaven shuts in white folkses’ faces like de do’s o’ dey church in us niggers’ faces, it’ll be too bad! Yes, sir! One thing sho, de Lawd ain’t prejudiced!”
“No,” said Hager; “but He don’t love ugly, neither in niggers nor in white folks.”
“Now, talking about white folks’ religion,” said Annjee, emerging from the house with a fresh white dress on, “why, Mis’ Rice where I work don’t think no more about playing bridge on Sunday than she does about praying—and I ain’t never seen her pray yet.”
“You’re nuts,” said Jimboy behind her. “People’s due to have a little fun on Sundays. That’s what’s the matter with colored folks now—work all week and then set up in church all day Sunday, and don’t even know what’s goin’ on in the rest of the world.”
“Huh!” grunted Hager.
“Well, we won’t argue, daddy.” Annjee smiled. “Come on and walk a piece with me, sweetness. Here ’tis nearly nine and I should a been at the hall at eight, but colored folks are always behind the clock. Come on, Jimboy.”
“Goodbye, mama,” yelled Sandy from the lawn as his parents strolled up the street together.
“Jimboy’s right,” said Harriett. “Darkies do like the church too much, but white folks don’t care nothing about it at all. They’re too busy getting theirs out of this world, not from God. And I don’t blame ’em, except that they’re so mean to niggers. They’re right, though, looking out for themselves … and yet I hate ’em for it. They don’t have to mistreat us besides, do they?”
“Honey, don’t talk that way,” broke in Hager. “It ain’t Christian, chile. If you don’t like ’em, pray for ’em, but don’t feel evil against ’em. I was in slavery, Harrie, an’ I been knowin’ white folks all ma life, an’ they’s good as far as they can see—but when it comes to po’ niggers, they just can’t see far, that’s all.”
Harriett opened her mouth to reply, but Jimboy, who left Annjee at the corner and had returned to the porch, beat her to it. “We too dark for ’em, ma,” he laughed. “How they
