“But the people kain’t understand what you’re preaching to them, since you don’t talk French,” said Goosey.
“What you know ’bout understanding reeligion, yal’ boy?” demanded Sister Geter. “I belongs to the Pentecostal Fire Baptized Believers and I ain’t studying no lang-idge but the lang-idge of faith. I was fire-baptized in the gift of tongues and when I deliver this heah Gawd’s message” (she tapped nervously on the bible and humped herself up, while the boys glanced apprehensively at one another, thinking “Black Bottom”) “people heahs what I say and jest gotta understand no matter what lang-idge they speaks.”
“Funny I didn’t run into you again,” said Ray. “I was away for a little over a month at the vintage, but I’ve been a long time back.”
“Yo’-all don’t see me, mah chilluns, ’causen you don’t want to. For yo’-all know prexactly what’s holding you heah in this mahvelous poht, and that Ise a-preaching against all the most deadliest sins, and theah’s none moh deadly than fohnication. Ise warning you’-all now and straight that Gawd’s sure agwina git you for all them sins youse sweetening on and looking so good on it.”
“We ain’t so bad as you thinking, ma,” said Banjo. “Wese a hard-hustling bunch a regular fellahs. It’s them sweetmens back down in the Ditch you should go preaching to.”
“Yo’-all needs it, too. Mah message is foh you to take it and use. Git converted, git salvation, change you’ ways a living in sweet sin. For if you don’t the Lawd him will git hold a you and wrastle with you and throw you down on a bed a tribulation and give you the biggest shaking you evah did get.”
Banjo began softly whistling, “Shake That Thing.”
They had arrived in the Place de la Joliette before the Seamen’s Bar.
“Let’s go in here for a drink a soda-pop,” said Banjo.
Goosey and Ray grinned.
“Take a glass with us, ma?” Banjo asked.
“No. I ain’t putting mah feets in no gin shop with Gawd’s Wohd in mah hand. I sweahs off gin and any drink that’s sold in a bottle evah since I was fire-baptized, and tha’s seven years gone now.”
“But there might be a sinner in here needing conversion, ma,” said Ray. “The Salvation Army folk don’t mind going into a saloon.”
“Maybe it’s because they loves the smell a the gin they done sweahs off,” replied Sister Geter, “but I doesn’t.”
She waddled away.
The boys went into the Seamen’s Bar and there was Home to Harlem Jake drinking with a seaman pal at the bar. He and Ray embraced and kissed.
“The fust time I evah French-kiss a he, chappie, but Ise so tearing mad and glad and crazy to meet you this-away again.”
“That’s all right, Jakie, he-men and all. Stay long enough in any country and you’ll get on to the ways and find them natural.”
Ray introduced Banjo and Goosey.
“I guess youse the two gwine back home with us,” said Jake. “I heard the skipper say some’n’ about it when he got back from the consulate.”
“Well, chappie,” Jake said to Ray, “we just got in last night and wese pulling out tomorrow, so wese all gwina get together and spread some moh joy in this heah sweet poht tonight. What it takes to pay I’ve got, and I’m gwina blow mahself big foh this hallelujah meeting-up. Whachyu say?”
“I say OK,” replied Ray. “But how come you here? You remember you told me you were never going to fool with the sea again?”
“I did say that, yes. But some moh things done happen to me after you quit Harlem, chappie.”
Jake told Ray of his picking up Felice again and their leaving Harlem for Chicago. After two years there they had had a baby boy. And then they decided to get married. Two years of married life passed and he could no longer stick to Chicago, so he returned to Harlem. But he soon found that it was not just a change of place that was worrying him.
“I soon finds out,” he said, “that it was no joymaking business for a fellah like you’ same old Jake, chappie, to go to work reg’lar ehvery day and come home ehvery night to the same ole pillow. Not to say that Felice hadn’t kep’ it freshen’ up and sweet-smelling all along. She’s one sweet chile that sure knows how to make a li’l’ home feel good to a fellah. But it was too much home stuff, chappie. So it done gone a year now I think that I just stahted up one day and got me a broad. And now it’s bettah. I don’t feel like running away from Felice no moh. Whenevah I get home Ise always happy to be with her and feel that Ise doing mah duty by Ray.”
“Ray?” exclaimed Ray.
“Sure, the kid. I done name him after you. Not that I want him to be like you in many ways. But Ise gwina give him what I neveh had and tha’s an edjucation. And p’raps he’ll learn to write pohms like you. He’s a smart-looking kid.”
“You’re a thousand times a better man than me, Jake. Finding a way to carry on with a family and knuckling down to it. I just ran away from the thing.”
“You! You din’t leave Agatha a li’l’ one, did you?”
“I leave more things than I want to remember,” replied Ray. “Come on, let’s have another drink and get outa here.”
Banjo and Goosey hurried off to the consulate to see what orders were there for them and Jake and Ray were left alone to gab about Harlem before and after Prohibition. Jake had found Harlem wonderfully changed when he returned from Chicago. The Block Beautiful had gone black and brown. One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street was besieged and bravely holding out for business’ sake, but the invaders,
