Читать книгу Ole Mars an' Ole Miss - Edmund K. Goldsborough - Страница 7

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Ef’n uh man er woman hab salbation in deah hearts, will dey be feared ter babtiz wha’ shirks [sharks] is?

“Aunt Tillie, is de ’bate commence?”

“No, indeed, honey, but you almos’ late fuh de feas’—dar’s resins, ammons an’ dates lef’.”

“Is dem dates? Bless Gord, I tho’t dey wuz dried ’simmons; well, I’ll teck some resins an’ dates. How cum de ’bate not commence?”

“Why, Phillis, dey got word ter ’speck three loads ub people fum Kyarline County, an’ two loads fum Queen Anne’s an’ Kent.”

“Now, hush!”

“Y-a-s dey did! So dey’s waitin’; besides, dey ain’ got all de books outin de kyart. Uncle Reubin Viney fotch uh wheelbarr load hissef, an’ dey tell me Damon Mink is so ’thused fuh his side, dat fuh two weeks he has bin speakin’ ter hissef. How cum you so late, Phillis? We had uh lot ub plum-puddin’.”

“Well, dat lars chile ub Miss Mary’s is pow’ful hyard ter put ter sleep; when I commenc’ ter nuss de chile I had jes’ larnt dat new hym, “Git on board little chillun’”, an’ I am sut’ny sorry Pawson Demby fotch dat hym ter de chuch, kase dat chile mecks me sing it ober an’ ober, till I sho’ly ’spise de chune. Mon dat, de chile wuz bo’n on de fus’ ub de moon; lars yeah wuz leap yeah, an’ da wuz only three full moons, an’ dat chile wuz bo’n on one ub dem moons. ’Cose Miss Mary kyant help dat. Dey tells me cats bo’n on de full ub de moon neber mecks mousers, an’ chickens hatched on de full ub de moon is fussin’ all de time and neber mecks good layers.

“I lef’ home plenty time er nuff ter git ter de feas’. De moon wuz so bright I tuck de parf th’oo de peach archard, ’stead er gwine roun’ by de road; you see, it cuts orf erbout uh harf mile. When I wuz ’bout harf way th’oo de archard I saw in de parf uh hooppo-will singin’ fuh deah life, goin’ jes’ like uh pump handle; an’ wussa yit, when I look good da wuz two ub ’em. Dey say it’s bad luck fuh nine year ef’n you flush uh hooppo-will, so what mus’ it be ef’n you flush two? I wudn’ hab flushed dem two hooppo-wills fuh uh load ub watermillions—so I walked heah erlong de ribber sho’; den I wuz almos’ skeer’d stiff, fuh I recommember’d what I had fogot, an’ dat wuz, dat lars’ wintah Scipio Jones wuz mus’-rattin’ an’ uh Jack-uh-ma-lantern tuck an’ led him in de watah clean up ter his neck, jes’ erbout wha I wuz walkin’, kep him in de ribber fuh two hours, uh laffin’ at an’ sassin’ him.”

Aunt Tillie: “Served him right, fuh dem days he wuz al’ays trav’lin’ ’roun’ wid uh juice-hyarp in his mouf.”

“Aunt Tillie, dey tell me Mars George’s Bob is broke his erligion an’ tuck up his fiddle ergin. Howsome-eber, Mars Richard say de Bible tells all erbout trumpets, shams an’ flutes, but you see dem trumpets wuz made ub ram’s hohns; leas’wise de trumpets dat Gideon made de Pawsons play—so Uncle Reubin say, so ubcose, dey wan’t bad like brass hohns; nobody kin meck me bleebe dat playin’ on brass hohns wid keys an’ locks is right. I think Pawson Demby orter keep ev’y one outin de chuch dat plays de fiddle er hohns. John Poney’s son, Jim, is goin’ erstray; I hearn him walkin’ ’long de road lars nite sorter twankin er tryin’ ter twank uh cow’s hohn an’ singin’ loud ernuf futto almos’ bus’ hissef—

I ain’ no tukkey buzzard

I ain’ no saint,

I ain’ no tukkey buzzard,

So glad I ain’t.

“Now, wan’t dat scanlus? It’s jes’ ez bad ez fishin’ on Sunday. Dat’s what gib Jim Brooks de brake-bone fever, fishin’ on Sunday; but de doctor tole Kyarline, his wife, not ter be relarmed, but reposed; dat de bone-set tea he wuz ergibbin’ him would kow de wus kine ub brake-bone fever. Doctor Dawson is sut’ny uh pow’ful doctor. Fuh instinct, meh arms wuz all broke out. He say dey wuz too clean fum habin’ dem in soapsuds too much, so he tole me ter grease meh arms wid goose grease befo’ I commenc’ ter wash. Well, it made de skin sorf, kep’ de water outin de poors, an’ it sholy cured meh arms. Aunt Betsy wuz ’tirely mustakin; she say dat when I got het up washin’ da wuz uh checkeration ub pusspuration, an’ dat made it.

“I heah de bell ringin’, Aunt Tillie, so let’s go in, fuh dat mus’ mean de speechifyin’ gwine futto commence.”

Just as they entered Pawson Phil Demby said: “Sistus an’ brudders, de fus’ ter pester dis subjec’ will be Brer Frisby Jemes; den Brer Rasmus Jemes, den Brer Hesakiah Sprouts, an’ de gre’t speller an’ reader, Uncle Reubin Viney. Da ain’ no use ub interjuicin’ ’em, kase almos’ ev’ybody heah has kep’ company wid ’em.”

Frisby Jemes: “I wuz ’pinted on dis side, an’ de mo’ I think erbout it de mo’ I think hits de rong side; de fac’ is, meh mind is pow’ful ’stressed. You see, I bin rasslin’ wid bof sides ub de ’bate, an’ de consequation is, I is bin dreamin’ ’bout ole shirks an’ young shirks fuh two weeks, till I kyant res’; an’ I kyant see why dey tuck such uh fishy subjec’ ter ’bate erbout. Reposin’ on erligion, I shall res’ meh remarks on de salbation part ub dis ’bate, an’ I wan’ ter say rite heah dat salbation an’ de funnel-shape pen is all dat will preserb you fum dem shirks. We mus’ hab de pen, fuh ef’n da is anyone heah ornsartin erbout deah faith, an’ nach’ly timid like many ub de sistus (ub cose we men ain’ feard), dat pen mus’ be built an’ de rails kivvered wid tar, ter keep dem shirks fum chawin’ de rails. Now, we kin make uh funnel-shaped pen, an’ hab de mouf ub de funnel jes’ big ernuf fuh one at uh time ter go in; de shirks, ub cose, kyant git in.”

Wilson Small (interrupting): “Why kyant dey git in? Kyant dey jump same ez you? Dey kin chaw up de pen. Dey is monstus sens’ble, an’ ef’n dey raal hongry dey would jump in, tell dey fill dat pen an’ hab all ub dem moners in uh cluster.”

Damon Mink: “You kyant qualify what you say, an’ fum yo’ talk, uh pusson mite s’pose de shirks know’d deah A. B. C.’s. Mon dat, you ain’ in dis ’bate! Wha you cum fum, anyhow?”

“Fum Queen Anne’s County; I’m uh free pusson.”

Damon: “Well, we don’ ’low no free niggahs ter ’bate heah!”

“Suppose meh sistah ’longs ter Mars John Tilghman? What den?”

“Set down; we ain’ talkin’ ’bout yo’ sistah, an’ dis subjec’ is ’stressin’ ernuf ’doutin you breakin’ de hyarts ub dese po’ sistus talkin’ erbout jumpin’ shirks!”

Hesakiah Sprouts: “Fris, you ain’ got salbation nuff in yo’ heart, dat’s what’s de matter wid you! Ef’n you had uh bin wha Jona wuz, in de whale’s belly fuh three days, you’d uh had spavins an’ cramps, kase you wudn’ had any faith an’ condidence in de whale, but Jona did.”

Frisby Jemes: “Hessa, ef’n you had bin ris’ by de qual’ty you wudn’ say belly in de presence ub dese sistus; hits bad nuff in de presence ub shirks. Den ergin, da ain’ no whales in dis ’bate.”

Hessa: “Why, you don’ no nuffin erbout de Bible, Fris! Talkin’ ’bout qual’ty; I reckon de prodigal son ’longed ter de qual’ty, didn’t he? His father had plenty ub serbants, fuh de Bible say: ‘An’ when he cum ter hissef he said, “How many hired serbants ub meh father’s hab bread ter spare an’ I perish wid honger?”’ An’ now, lis’n to dis: ‘An’ he fain wud hab filled his belly wid de husks dat de swine did eat.’ Now, ef’n Jona, de prodigal son, St. Matthew, King Solomon, Jerry Myah, Genesis, an’ lars, but not leas’, John de Babtis, who all hab spoke on dis subjec’, didn’ cum fum de qual’ty, wha’ did de qual’ty cum fum? I will preserb de res’ ub meh remarks fuh de ’clusion.”

Aunt Kyarline (in a whisper): “Hes, don’ you mine Fris; his haid bin turnt since he bin drivin’ de coach fuh Ole Miss.”

Uncle Reubin Viney was Sir Oracle among the negroes. He was very pious and austere, looked like an old portrait, could read a little, and spent his Sundays in reading and memorizing verses from the Bible. If he talked to you five minutes he would quote something from the Bible. When he got up all ears were listening, and all mouths were open. He said:

“Sistus, brudders an’ chillun, I is bin readin’ an’ studdyin’ fuh three weeks on dis ’bate, an’ Becky say she is tired ub dippin’ candles fuh me ter read by. De young oxen I is brakin’ is de wus’ I eber han’led; so worryin’ wid dem in de day time an’ rasslin’ wid dis ’bate at night, mecks me truly glad dat de time is come ter arbiter. I shall try an’ confine mehsef ter one word—watah. You will see de application pres’ny. Sister Sue, meck dat boy teck his musrat gum of’n de pew; you kin set yo’ musrat gum in de mash ez much ez you want, but not on dese pews, kase dey’re sanctified.

“We read in de fus’ book ub Gensis, ’dat a ribber went out ub Edum ter watah de gyarden,’ an’ in Sams, ‘He maketh me ter lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside de still watahs.’ De still watah wuz de drink ub Mars Adum an’ Miss Eve in deah Edum home. Da wan’ no snakes, shirks, frogs, whales, er crockdiles in dat watah, fuh de Bible spressify hit wuz still watah. An’ mon dat, it mussa bin fresh, kase dey drunk it, an’ it mussa bin jes’ ez clare ez uh jewdrap, fuh I heah uh gre’t Meffodis’ preacher say: ‘It ’flected back de lubliness ub Miss Eve when she dress hersef.’”

Aunt Tillie: “Uncle Reubin, Miss Eve didn’ hab no clos’ ter dress wid!”

Uncle Reubin: “Well, I didn’ say what sort she put on; mout erbin crows-foot, spechly ef’n de fros’ had kilt de fig leaves, er it mout erbin Firginny Creeper, er she mout uh rap hersef in clusters ub grapevines; we all no dar wan’ no fashion in dem days.

“De Bible say: ‘Ez in water de face anserreth ter face, so de hart ub man ter man;’ so de water wuz Miss Eve’s lookin’ glass, dat’s what it mean; an’ all dat watah wuz fresh; de consequation wuz, da wuz no shirks in it.”

Jim Brooks, from Queen Anne’s County: “I rid 20 miles ter heah dis ’bate, an’ I wan’ ter no what watah got ter do wid it. Ev’body seems ter hab fogot de shirks.”

Uncle Reubin: “I has jes’ ’cited uh vus fum Sams, an’ I will ’cite an nerr fum Proberbs: ‘Tho’ thou shouldst bray uh fool in uh morter ’mong wheat wid uh pessal, yet will not his foolishness depart fum him.’ Why, Brer Brooks, ef’n it hadn’ bin fuh watah de twelve Petracks mout neber bin bo’n. De narration say dat Mars Jacob met Miss Rachael at de well, an’ ef’n de well had uh bin dry he mout neber hab met de mudder ub de Petracks.

“Now, what wud dat gyarden bin ’dout plenty watah? Dey wud uh lef’ it, an’ got an nerr gyarden; fuh not only Mars Adum an’ Miss Eve baved in dat Paradice watah, but de seeds an’ de vegetables sipped it, de flowers when deah faces got dusty, washed in it, de cups ub de blossoms hilt it, I specks, till de watah tu’n inter perfume, an’ I kin almos’ see de jewdraps hangin’ on ev’y leaf, mo’ lubly dan uh oyster pearl. It makes Uncle Reubin glad when he looks at watah, fuh it tu’ns our mills, gibs us cawn bred, brings de big schooners wid our boots, shoes, clothes an’ mullasses, an’ when de tide comes in, ’specially at sundown, when de birds is goin’ ter deah nesses, an’ de busy bees is wanderin’ home, da is nuffin I lubs mo’ ter look at, it’s so quiet an’ repose. No place kin be lonely ef’n watah is da; but it’s uh sad thing, too, fuh what is mo’ ’stressin’ dan eyes full ub tears. But mos’ ub all, young people ub dis chuch don’ fogit dat watah wash yo’ sins uh way, an’ meck you ez white ez de lam’. But I am condident da is only one kind fit fuh ’mersion, an’ dat’s fresh watah.”

Sister Sue: “Dat’s it; now yo’r climin’ dem golden stairs, Brer Viney!”

Sally Mink: “Blessid be his brow, he’s fairly chantin’ de songs ub de Sams.”

Mrs. Rodgers’ Ned: “I is convicted, Brer Viney, an’ I plays de fiddle no mo’!”

Uncle Reubin: “Now, you begin ter see de application. Jordan, wha’ John de Babtis, wuz ’mersed, is fresh watah. Not far fum Jordan is de dead sea, which has mo’ salt dan Miles Ribber, kase it will float uh man same ez uh egg; but de ’Postles tuck de fresh watah, kase I hab no doubt skirks wuz bad in dem days, an’ prob’ly wusser, ’speci’lly in de dead sea. Jes’ think ub our dear sistus, trem’lin’, soaked wid faith an’ salbation, speckin’ ev’y minit ter hab deah legs bit orf! Da ain’ uh sistuh in dis chuch dat ain’ had chills dis spring. De cold watah got nuffin ter do wid it; it’s shirk fright; dat’s what’s de matter wid ’em. But blessin’s cum in disguise, an’ Providence mus’ hab brought dis ’bate, fuh it sot me ter readin’, thinkin’ an’ prayin’, an’ I am confluent we will all hab ter be babtize a-fresh; den da will be mo’ moners, mo’ shoutin’, an’ bless Gord, no shirk fright. I shall hab mo’ ter say ef’n de application ain’ well ondastood.”

Hesakiah Sprouts (in a whisper): “Pawson Demby, uh young man jes’ cum in wants ter speak ter you. He is bashful; bin peepin’ an’ lis’nin’ at de do’. Mebby Uncle Reubin’s speechifyin’ hab made salbation in his heart.”

“Jes’ so! Young man, who you ’long ter? Mars John Skinner? Well, wispuh what’s in yo’ heart; don’ be feared, kase salbation’s free!”

“Pawson Demby, yo’ dogs is treed uh coon ’cross Peach Blossom Creek. Meh boat is on dis side.”

Pawson Demby: “Belubbed sistus, as Brer Viney’s gre’t an’ pow’ful speech has fuh ever ’cided dis question fuh fresh watah, it is move, secon’, an’ carried, dat dis meetin’ ’jurn.”