13 Drought (1925 New Age Version) – Side-By-Side Comparison
Compare the two editions paragraph by paragraph.
| From New Age (1925) | From Tropic Death (1926) |
| I | |
| The whistle blew for eleven o’clock. As if under the hypnosis of a magic wand, all life at the quarry came to a standstill. Throats parched, grim, sun-crazed, blacks cutting stone on the white, burning hill-side dropt with a clang the hot, dust-powdered drills and flew up over the rugged edges of the horizon to descent into a dry, waterless gut. Hunger–pricks at stomachs inured to brackish coffee and cassava pone–pressed on folk, joyful as rabbits in a grassy ravine, wrenching themselves free of the lure of the white earth. Helter-skelter dark, brilliant, black faces of West Indian peasants moved along, in pain–the stiff tails of blue coats, the hobble of chigger-cracked heels, the rhythm of a stride—dissipating into the sun-stuffed void the radiant forces on the incline. | THE whistle blew for eleven o’clock. Throats parched, grim, sun-crazed blacks cutting stone on the white burning hillside dropped with a clang the hot, dust-powdered drills and flew up over the rugged edges of the horizon to descent into a dry, waterless gut. Hunger–pricks at stomachs inured to brackish coffee and cassava pone–pressed on folk, joyful as rabbits in a grassy ravine, wrenching themselves free of the lure of the white earth. Helter-skelter dark, brilliant, black faces of West Indian peasants moved along, in pain–the stiff tails of blue denim coats, the hobble of chigger-cracked heels, the rhythm of a stride . . . dissipating into the sun-stuffed void the radiant forces of the incline. |
| The broad road–a boon to constables moping through the dusk, or on hot, bright mornings, ploughing up the thick, adhesive marl on some seasonal chore, was distinguished by a black, animate dot upon it. | The broad road–a boon to constables moping through the dusk or on hot, bright mornings plowing up the thick, adhesive marl on some seasonal chore, was distinguished by a black, animate dot upon it. |
| It was Coggins Rum. On the way down he had stopt for a tot–zigaboo word for skillet–of water by the rock engine. The driver, a buckra johnny–English white–sat on the waste box digging the meat out of a young water cocoanut. An old straw hat, black, and its rim saggy by virtue of the moisture of sweating sun-fingers, served as a calabash for a “ball“ of cuckoo–corn meal, okras, and butter boiled and mixed and stirred and served in “balls”–roundly poised in its crown. By the buckra’s side, a black girl stood, lips pursed in an indifferent frown, inert in the heat. | It was Coggins Rum. On the way down he had stopped for a tot–zigaboo word for tin cup–of water by the rock engine. The driver, a buckra johnny–English white–sat on the waste box scooping with a fork handle the meat out of a young water cocoanut. An old straw hat, black, and its rim saggy by virtue of the moisture of sweating sun-fingers, served as a calabash for a ball of “cookoo“–corn meal, okras and butter stewed–roundly poised in its crown. By the buckra’s side, a black girl stood, her lips pursed in an indifferent frown, paralyzed in the intense heat. |
| Passing by them, Coggins’s bare feet kicked up a gust of the white marl dust, and the girl shouted to him, “Mistah Rum, you gwine play de guitah tee nite, no?” | Passing by them Coggins’ bare feet kicked up a cloud of the white marl dust and the girl shouted, “Mistah Rum, you gwine play de guitah tee nite, no?” Visions of Coggins–the sky a vivid crimson or blackly star-gemmed–on the stone step picking the guitar, picking it “with all his hand. . . .” |
| Promptly, Coggins answered, “Come down and dance de fango–dance de fango fo’ Coggins Rum, and he are play for you.” | Promptly Coggins answered, “Come down and dance de fango fo’ Coggins Rum and he are play for you.” |
|
Bajan gal don’t wash ‘ar skin |
Bajan gal don’t wash ‘ar skin |
| Grumblings. Pitch-black, she, to the “washed-out” buckra, was more than a bringer of victuals. The buckra’s girl. It wasn’t Sepia, Georgia, but a backwoods village in Barbados. “Didn’t you bring me no molasses to pour in the rain-water?” the buckra asked; and the girl, sucking in her mouth, brought an ungovernable eye back to him. | Grumblings. Pitch-black, to the “washed-out” buckra she was more than a bringer of victuals. The buckra’s girl. It wasn’t Sepia, Georgia, but a backwoods village in Barbadoes. “Didn’t you bring me no molasses to pour in the rain-water?” the buckra asked, and the girl, sucking in her mouth, brought an ungovernable eye back to him. |
| Upon which, Coggins, swallowing a hint, kept on his journey–noon-day pilgrimage–through the hot, creeping marl. | Upon which Coggins, swallowing a hint, kept on his journey — noon-day pilgrimage — through the hot creeping marl. |
| Scorching–yet Coggins gayly sang | Scorching–yet Coggins gayly sang: |
|
O! you come with yo’ cakes |
O! you come with yo’ cakes |
| “It are funny,” Coggins murmured, clearing his throat, “Massa Braffit and dat chiggah-foot gal.” | “It are funny,” mused Coggins, clearing his throat, “Massa Braffit an’ dat chiggah-foot gal. . . .“ |
| He stooped and picked up a fern and pressed the back of it to his shiny ebon cheeks. It left a white—ferny imprint. Grown up, according to the ethics of the gap, yet Coggins, who, to it, was a “queer saht o’ man,” given to the picking of a guitar and to cogitations on the step after dark, indulged in an avowed juvenility. | He stopped and picked up a fern and pressed the back of it to his shiny ebon cheek. It left a white ferny imprint. Grown up, according to the ethics of the gap, Coggins was yet to it a “queer saht o’ man,” given to the picking of a guitar, and to cogitations, on the step after dark—indulging in an avowed juvenility. |
| Sun-drunk, Coggins carelessly swinging along cast an eye behind him–more of the boys from the quarry–overalled, shoeless, caps whose peaks wiggled on red, sun-red eyes—the eyes of black sun-burnt folk. | Drunk with the fury of the sun Coggins carelessly swinging along cast an eye behind him–more of the boys from the quarry–overalled, shoeless, caps whose peaks wiggled on red, sun-red eyes . . . the eyes of the black sunburnt folk. |
| He always cast an eye behind him before he ventured off the broad road into the gap. | He always cast an eye behind him before he turned off the broad road into the gap. |
| Flaring up in the sun were the new shingles on the Dutch-style cottage of some Antigua folk. Bordering theirs were the cherry trees in front of a mansion owned for Coggins scarcely knew how long by two English dowager maidens. In the gap, rocks, stones—shot up–obstacles for donkey carts to jarringly wrangle over at night. Flies and ringworms gathered in pools of muddy water forming about them. | Flaring up in the sun were the bright new shingles on the Dutch-style cottage of some Antigua folk. Away in a clump of hibiscus was a mansion, the color of bilgy water, owned by two English dowager maidens. In the gap rock–stones shot up–obstacles for donkey carts to wrestle over at dusk. Rain-worms and flies gathered in muddy water platoons beside them. |
| “Yo’ dam vagybond, yo’!” | “Yo’ dam vagabond yo’!” |
| Coggins cursed his big toe. His big toe was blind. Helpless thing—a blind big toe in broad daylight on a West Indian road gap. | Coggins cursed his big toe. His big toe was blind. Helpless thing . . . a blind big toe in broad daylight on a West Indian road gap. |
| He stopt, and jacked it up. “Isn’t this a hell of a case fo’ yo’, sah?” A curve of flesh began to peel from it. Pree–pree–pree. As if it were frying. Frying flesh. The nail was jostled, shaken out of place. Hot, bright blood began to stream from it. Paradox. Around the injury white marl dust clung in grainy cakes. Now, red, new blood squirted–spread over the whole toe–and the marl dust took on colour. | He paused, and gathered up the blind member. “Isn’t this a hell of a case fo’ yo’, sah?” A curve of flesh began to peel from it. Pree-pree-pree. As if it were frying. Frying flesh. The nail jerked out of place, hot, bright blood began to stream from it. Around the spot white marl dust clung in grainy cakes. Now, red, new blood squirted–spread over the whole toe–and the dust became crimson. |
| Gently easing the toe back to earth, Coggins avoided the grass sticking up along the road and slowly picked his way to the cabin. | Gently easing the toe back to the ground, Coggins avoided the grass sticking up in the road and slowly picked his way to the cabin. |
| “I got a lame toe,” he announced, “I got a lame toe—woy—woy—“ | “I stump me toe,” he announced, “I stump me toe … woy . . . woy.“ |
| “Go bring yo’ pappy a tot o’ water—Ada—quick—“ | “Go bring yo’ pappy a tot o’ water . . . Ada . . . quick.“ |
| A nut-brown Sissie took the gored member in her lap and began to wipe tenderly the blood from it. | Dusky brown Sissie took the gored member in her lap and began to wipe the blood from it. |
| “Pappy stump he toe—“ | “Pappy stump he toe.“ |
| “Dem rocks in de gap—“ | “Dem rocks in de gap . . .“ |
| “Mine ain’t got better yet, needer.“ | “Mine ain’t got better yet, needer . . .“ |
| “Hurry up, boy, and bring de lotion.” | “Hurry up, boy, and bring de lotion.” |
| “Bring me de scissors, an’ tek yo’ fingers out o’ yo’ mou’ like yo’ is starved out, sah!” | “Bring me de scissors, an’ tek yo’ fingers out o’ yo’ mout‘ like yo’ is starved out! Hey, yo’, sah!” |
| “–big boy like yo’ sucking yo’ fingers.” | “. . . speakin’ to you. Big boy lik‘ yo’ suckin’ yo’ fingers. . . .“ |
| Clip! Onion-coloured slip of flesh flew to the floor. Rattah Grinah, the half-dead dog, cold dribbling from his dazed, hungry eyes on to his freckled nose, moved inanimately towards it. Fox terrier—shaggy—bony—scarcely able to walk. |
Zip! Onion-colored slip of skin fluttered to the floor. Rattah Grinah, the half-dead dog, cold dribbling from his glassy blue eyes on to his freckled nose, moved inanimately towards it. Fox terrier . . . shaggy . . . bony . . . scarcely able to walk. |
| “Where is dat Beryl?” Coggins asked, one leg over the other, sitting on the floor—and pouring the salt water over the crimsoning wadding. |
“Where is dat Beryl?” Coggins asked, sitting on the floor with one leg over the other, and pouring the salt water over the crimsoning wadding. |
| “Outside.” | “Outside, sah.” |
| “Beryl!” | “Beryl!” |
| “Wha’ yo’?” | “Wha’ yo’ dey?” |
| “What yo’ doin’ outside?” | “Wha‘ yo’ doin’ outside?” |
| “Come in, miss!” | “Answer me, girl!” |
| “. . . Hey, yo’ miss, answer yo’ pappy!” | |
| “Hard-ears girl, she been eatin’ any mo’ marl, Sissie?” | “Hard-ears girl! She been eatin’ any mo’ marl, Sissie?” |
| “She, Ada?” | “She, Ada?” |
| “Sh, gal eatin’ marl all de haftahnoon—“ | “Sho’, gal eatin’ marl all de haftah–noon. . . .” |
| Pet, sugar–no more terms of endearment for Beryl. Impatient, Coggins, big toe stuck up cautiously in the air–inciting Rattah to a sleepy curiosity–moved past Sissie, past Ada, past Rufus, to the rear of the cabin. | Pet, sugar–no more terms of endearment for Beryl. Impatient, Coggins, his big toe stuck up cautiously in the air,–inciting Rattah to indolent curiosity–moved past Sissie, past Ada, past Rufus, to the rear of the cabin. |
| * * * * | II |
| Yesterday, at noon—a roasting sun smote Coggins. Liquid—fluid—drought. Solder. Heat and juice–exotic union. | Yesterday, at noon . . . a roasting sun smote Coggins. Liquid . . . fluid . . . drought. Solder. Heat and juice of fruit . . . juice of roasting cashews. |
| It smote Coggins. The dry season was at its height. Praying to the Lord to send rain, black peons gathered on the rumps of breadfruit or cherry tree in desolate supplication. | It whelmed Coggins. The dry season was at its height. Praying to the Lord to send rain, black peons gathered on the rumps of breadfruit or cherry trees in abject supplication. |
| Passing along the road to the gap Coggins gazed at the essence of the sun’s fury. There, where canes spread over into the road with their dark, rich foliage, the village dogs—hunting for eggs to suck, fowls to kill—paused amidst the yellow stalks of cork-dry canes to pant, and drop, sun-smitten. | Crawling along the road to the gap, Coggins gasped at the consequences of the sun’s wretched fury. There, where canes spread over with their dark rich foliage into the dust-laden road, the village dogs, hunting for eggs to suck, fowls to kill, paused amidst the yellow stalks of cork-dry canes to pant, or drop, exhausted, sun-smitten. |
| Of its moisture the sun had milked the land. Sucked it dry. Star apples, golden apples—husks—transparent on the empty trees. Savagely prowling through the orchards black birds stopt at nothing–gooseberries, sugar apples, mammie apples. And growing neurotic, turtle doves, leisurely hosts of the tropic earth, rifled the pods of green peas and purple beans. Yellow as the leaves of autumn, potato vines, severed from their roots by the parching of the sun, stood on the ground, the wind’s eager prey. Undug, stemless–peanuts, carrots–seeking balm, relief, the caress of a passing wind, shot dead, unlustered eyes up through cracks made by the sun in the shrunken earth. The sugar corn went to the birds. Ripening prematurely, breadfruits fell swiftly on the hard, dry soil, good only for fritters. | The sun had robbed the land of its juice, squeezed it dry. Star apples, sugar apples, husks, transparent on the dry sleepy trees. Savagely prowling through the orchards blackbirds stopped at nothing. . . . Turtle doves rifled the pods of green peas and purple beans and even the indigestible Brazilian bonavis. Potato vines, yellow as the leaves of autumn, severed from their roots by the pressure of the sun, stood on the ground, the wind’s eager prey. Undug, stemless–peanuts, carrots–seeking balm, relief, the caress of a passing wind, shot dead unlustered eyes up through sun-etched cracks in the hard, brittle soil. The sugar corn went to the birds. Ripening prematurely, breadfruits fell swiftly on the hard naked earth, half ripe, good only for fritters. . . . Fell in spatters . . . and the hungry dogs, elbowing the children, lapped up the yellow-mellow fruit. |
| Fell in spatters—and being yellow–a yellow-mellow fruit–the hungry dogs, anticipating the children, lapped it up. | |
| His sight curtailed by the very vividness of the sun, Coggins turned hungry eyes to the soil. Empty corn stalks—black birds at work— | His sight impaired by the livid sun, Coggins turned hungry eyes to the soil. Empty corn stalks . . . blackbirds at work. . . .. |
| Along the watercourse, umbrageous palms shading it, frogs cried for air, their white breasts like fowls, soft and white, giving the only moisture to their lives. The water in the drains dried up, they sprang at flies, mosquitoes—wrangled for a mite. | Along the water course, bushy palms shading it, frogs gasped for air, their white breasts like fowls, soft and palpitating. The water in the drains sopped up, they sprang at flies, mosquitoes … wrangled over a mite. |
| It was a dizzy spectacle. Coggins drew back— | It was a dizzy spectacle and the black peons were praying to God to send rain. Coggins drew back. . . . |
| Asking God to send rain—why? Where was the rain? Barrelled up there—in the clouds? Odd! Rivers, ponds, drains, upon drying up, asked of the sky–water. Odd—water in the sky. | Asking God to send rain . . . why? Where was the rain? Barreled up there in the clouds? Odd! Invariably, when the ponds and drains and rivers dried up they sank on their knees asking God to pour the water out of the sky. . . . Odd . . . water in the sky. . . . |
| The sun! It had its effect on Coggins. It wrung its toll out of the cosmos. It made the stone cutter’s face blacker. At the quarry—it was whiter. The quarry became whiter. The colour of dark things grew intensely darker. Similarly, with white ones–it gave them a whiter, glistening hue. Coggins and the quarry. Coggins and the marl. Coggins and the marl road. | The sun! It wrung toll of the earth. It had its effect on Coggins. It made the black stone cutter’s face blacker. Strong tropic suns make black skins blacker. . . .. |
| At the quarry it became whiter and the color of dark things generally grew darker. Similarly, with white ones–it gave them a whiter hue. Coggins and the quarry. Coggins and the marl. Coggins and the marl road. | |
| Upon the road his eyes experienced a change. The road was white–blazing white. It was difficult for him to see anything upon it. His eyes at best a vivid red due to the intense warmth of the sun, he was unable to keep them on any one spot upon it. | |
| About to switch off and go in to the gap, Coggins saw Beryl–in the marl road. | |
| Beryl in the marl road. Six years old; possessing a one-piece frock, no hat, no shoes. | Beryl in the marl road. Six years old; possessing a one-piece frock, no hat, no shoes. |
| Brown Beryl—the only one of the Rum children who wasn’t black as sin. Yellow Beryl. It happens that way sometimes. Both Coggins and Sissie–a comely black woman–were unrelievably black. Still Beryl—came a shade lighter. Light-skinner, Beryl. | Brown Beryl . . . the only one of the Rum children who wasn’t black as sin. Strange . . . Yellow Beryl. It happens that way sometimes. Both Coggins and Sissie were unrelievably black. Still Beryl came a shade lighter. “Dat am nuttin’,” Sissie had replied to Coggins’ intimately naïve query, “is yo’ drunk dat yo’ can’t fomembah me sistah-in-law what had a white picknee fo’ ‘ar naygeh man? Yo’ don’t fomembah, no?” Light-skinned Beryl. . . . |
| It happens that way sometimes. | It happens that way sometimes. |
| Victim of the sun–a bright spot under its singeing dome. Beryl drew back at Coggins’s approach. Her little hands flew behind her back. | Victim of the sun–a bright spot under its singeing mask–Beryl hesitated at Coggins’ approach. Her little brown hands flew behind her back. |
| “Eatin’ marl again,” Coggins admonished, “eatin’ marl again, you little vagybond!” | “Eatin’ marl again,” Coggins admonished, “eatin’ marl again, you little vagabon‘!” |
| Incredible imp! Only the day previous he had had to chastise her for it–sifting the stone dust and eating it. | Only the day before he had had to chastise her for sifting the stone dust and eating it. |
| “You’re too hard ears,” Coggins shouted, slapping her hands, “you are too hard ears.” | “You’re too hard ears,” Coggins shouted, slapping her hands, “you‘re too hard ears.” |
| Dragging her by the hand, Coggins started in the gap. He was too angry to speak—too concerned. | Coggins turned into the gap for home, dragging her by the hand. He was too angry to speak . . . too agitated. |
| Avoiding the jagged rocks in the gap—Beryl, her little body impressionless in the crocus bag frock dropping from her shoulders, began to weep. It was pitiful to Coggins to see Beryl cry. When Beryl cried he felt like crying, too. | Avoiding the jagged rocks in the gap, Beryl, her little body lost in the crocus bag frock jutting her skinny shoulders, began to cry. A gulping sensation came to Coggins when he saw Beryl crying. When Beryl cried, he felt like crying, too. . . . |
| But he sternly rejected the temptation and heaped invective upon her. “Marl’ll make yo’ sick—tie up yo’ guts, too. Tie up yo’ guts like green guavas. Don’t eat, it, yo’ hear, don’t eat no mo’ marl.” | But he sternly heaped invective upon her. “Marl’ll make yo’ sick … tie up yo’ guts, too. Tie up yo’ guts like green guavas. Don’t eat it, yo’ hear, don’t eat no mo’ marl. . . .“ |
| “Eatin’ marl again, like yo’ is starved out,” Sissie landed a clout on Beryl’s uncombed head, “Go under de bed an’ lay down befo’ I crack yo’ cocoanut.” | No sooner had they reached home than Sissie began. “Eatin’ marl again, like yo’ is starved out,” she landed a clout on Beryl’s uncombed head. “Go under de bed an’ lay down befo’ I crack yo’ cocoanut. . . .“ |
| Proud Bajan, Sissie; existing on a dry-rot herring bone—a pint of stale, yellowless corn-meal—a few spuds—yet thumping the children around for eating scraps, for eating food cooked by hands other than hers— | Running a house on a dry-rot herring bone, a pint of stale, yellowless corn meal, a few spuds, yet proud, thumping the children around for eating scraps, for eating food cooked by hands other than hers . . . Sissie. . . . |
| “Don’t talk to de child like dat, Sissie—“ | “Don’t talk to de child like dat, Sissie.“ |
| “Oh, go ‘long you, always tryin’ to prevent me from beatin’ them. When she get sick who gwine tend she? Me or you? Man, go ’bout yo’ business—“ | “Oh, go ‘long you, always tryin’ to prevent me from beatin’ them. When she get sick who gwine tend she? Me or you? Man, go ’bout yo’ business.“ |
| Beryl crawled meekly under the bed. Ada, a bigger girl–fourteen and “own–wayish”–shot a look of composed neutrality at Rufus, a sulky, cry-cry, suck-finger boy approaching twenty–Big Head Rufus. | Beryl crawled meekly under the bed. Ada, a bigger girl–fourteen and “ownwayish”–shot a look of composed neutrality at Rufus–a sulky, cry-cry, suck-finger boy nearing twenty–Big Head Rufus. |
| “Serve her right,” Rufus murmured. | “Serve she right,” Rufus murmured. |
| “Nobody ain’t gwine beat me with a hair brush—I know dat—” One leg on top of the other, Ada, down in the floor, grew impatient at Sissie’s languor in preparing the food. | “Nobody ain’t gwine beat me with a hairbrush. I know dat.” One leg on top of the other, Ada, down on the floor, grew impatient at Sissie’s languor in preparing the food. . . . |
| * * * | |
| Coggins came in at eleven to dinner. Ada, Rufus, did likewise. The rest of the day they spent killing birds with stones fired from the sling–shots; climbing neighbour’s trees in search of birds’ nests; going to the old French ruins to dig out, with the near-nebulous aid of Rattah Grinah, a stray mongoose or to rob of its prey a canary-conquering cat. Digging holes in the rocky gap—or on the brink of drains—and stuffing them with paper and gunpowder stolen from the Rum canister and lighting it with a match. Dynamiting! Picking up hollow pieces of iron pipe, scratching a hole on the top of it, towards one end, and ramming it with more gunpowder and stones and brown paper—and, with a pyramid of gunpowder moistened with spit, for a squib—-leyel it at a flock of snipes or sparrows. Touch–bams. | Coggins came in at eleven to dinner. Ada and Rufus did likewise. The rest of the day they spent killing birds with stones fired from slingshots; climbing neighbors’ trees in search of birds’ nests; going to the old French ruins to dig out, with the puny aid of Rattah Grinah, a stray mongoose or to rob of its prize some canary-catching cat; digging holes in the rocky gap or on the brink of drains and stuffing them with paper and gunpowder stolen from the Rum canister and lighting it with a match. Dynamiting! Picking up hollow pieces of iron pipe, scratching a hole on top of them, towards one end, and ramming them with more gunpowder and stones and brown paper, and with a pyramid of gunpowder moistened with spit for a squib, leveling them at snipes or sparrows. Touch bams. |
| “Well, Sissie, what yo’ got to eat to-day?” | “Well, Sissie, what yo’ got fo’ eat to-day?” |
| “Cuckoo—what yo’ tink yo’ are have?” | “Cookoo, what yo’ think Ah are have?” |
| “Lord, more cuckoo—“—a restless crossing of scaly, mud-white legs in the corner. | “Lawd, mo‘ o’ dat corn mash. Mo’ o’ dat prison gruel. People would t’ink a man is a horse!“ . . . a restless crossing of scaly, marl-white legs in the corner. |
| “Any salt fish?” | “Any salt fish?” |
| “Wha’ ah is to get it from?” | “Wha’ Ah is to get it from?” |
| “Herrin’?” | “Herrin’?” |
| “You tink I muss be pick up money. Wha’ you expect mah to get it from? With butter and lard so dear, and sugar four cents a pound, you must be expect me to steal—“ | “You t‘ink I muss be pick up money. Wha’ you expect mah to get it from, wit‘ butter an‘ lard so dear, an‘ sugar four cents a pound. Yo‘ must be expect me to steal.“ |
| “Well, I ain’t mean no harm—‘ | “Well, I ain’t mean no harm. . . .“ |
| “Hey, this man set me crazy. You forget I ain’t workin’ ni? Yo’ forget dat I can’t even get water to drink, much mo’ grow onions or green peas–look outside–look in the yard–look at the parsley even.” | “Hey, this man muss be crazy. You forget I ain’t workin’ ni, yo’ forget dat I can’t even get water to drink, much mo’ grow onions or green peas. Look outside. Look in the yard. Look at the parsley vines.” |
| Formerly, in places–under the window or near the tamarind trees—fed by the used water or the swill–things grew. Yams, potatoes, lettuce— | Formerly things grew under the window or near the tamarind trees, fed by the used water or the swill, yams, potatoes, lettuce. . . . |
| Going to the door Coggins paused. A “forty-leg”–centipede–was working its way into the craw of the last of the Rum hens. “Gawd—” Leaping to the rescue, Coggins slit the hen’s craw–undigested corn spilled out–and ground the surfeited vermin underfoot. | Going to the door, Coggins paused. A “forty-leg” was working its way into the craw of the last of the Rum hens. “Lahd ‘a’ massie. . . .” Leaping to the rescue, Coggins slit the hen’s craw–undigested corn spilled out–and ground the surfeited centipede underfoot. |
| “Now we got to eat this,” and he strung the hen up on a nail by the side of the door, out of poor Rattah Grinah’s reach— | “Now we got to eat this,” and he strung the bleeding hen up on a nail by the side of the door, out of poor Rattah Grinah’s blinking reach. … |
| Consummate rejoicing on the floor. | Unrestrained rejoicing on the floor. |
| Coggins ate. It was hot–– Hot food. It fused life into his body. It rammed the dust which had gathered in his throat at the quarry so far down in his stomach that he was unaware of its presence. And to eat food that had butter on it was a luxury. Coggins sucked up every grain of it. | Coggins ate. It was hot–hot food. It fused life into his body. It rammed the dust which had gathered in his throat at the quarry so far down into his stomach that he was unaware of its presence. And to eat food that had butter on it was a luxury. Coggins sucked up every grain of it. |
| “Hey, Ada.” | “Hey, Ada.” |
| “Rufus, tek this.” | “Rufus, tek this.” |
| “Where is dat Miss Beryl?” | “Where is dat Miss Beryl?” |
| “Under de bed, M‘m.” | “Under de bed, m‘m.” |
| “Beryl—“ | “Beryl. . . .“ |
| “Mam—“ | “Yassum. . . .“ |
| Unweeping, Beryl, barely saving her skull, shot up from under the bed. Over Ada’s obstreperous toes, over Rufus’s, by the side of Coggins, she had to pass to get the proffered dish. | Unweeping, Beryl, barely saving her skull, shot up from underneath the bed. Over Ada’s obstreperous toes, over Rufus’ by the side of Coggins, she had to pass to get the proffered dish. |
| “Take it, quick!” | “Take it quick!” |
| Saying not a word, Beryl took it, and, sliding down beside it, deposited it upon the floor near Coggins. | Saying not a word, Beryl took it and, sliding down beside it, deposited it upon the floor beside Coggins. |
| “Yo‘ mustn’t eat any more marl, yo’ hear?” he turned to her; “it will make yo’ belly hard.” | “You mustn’t eat any more marl, yo’ hear?” he turned to her. “It will make yo’ belly hard.” |
| “Yes—pappy.” | “Yes . . . pappy.” |
| Throwing up at him eyes–white, shiny, appealing–Beryl guided the food into her mouth. The hand that did the act was still white with the dust of the marl. All up along the elbow. Even around her little mouth, the white, tell–tale marks remained. | Throwing eyes up at him–white, shiny, appealing–Beryl guided the food into her mouth. The hand that did the act was still white with the dust of the marl. All up along the elbow. Even around her little mouth the white, telltale marks remained. |
| Drying the bowl of the most inconsiderate bit of grease, Coggins was completely absorbed in his task. He could hear Sissie scraping the iron pot and trying to fling from the spoon the stiff, over–cooked corn meal which had stuck to it. Scraping the pan of its very bottom, Ada and Rufus fought like two mad dogs. | Drying the bowl of the last bit of grease, Coggins was completely absorbed in his task. He could hear Sissie scraping the iron pot and trying to fling from the spoon the stiff, overcooked corn meal which had stuck to it. Scraping the pan of its very bottom, Ada and Rufus fought like two mad dogs. |
| “You, Miss Ada, yo’ better don’t bore a hole in dat pan, gimme heah!” | “You, Miss Ada, yo’ better don’t bore a hole in dat pan, gimme heah!” |
| “But, mammie, I ain’t finish.” | “But, Mahmie, I ain’t finish.” |
| Picking at her food, Beryl, the dainty one, ate sparingly— | Picking at her food, Beryl, the dainty one, ate sparingly. . . .. |
| * * * | |
| Once a day the Rums ate. At dusk—curve of crimson gold in the sensuous, tropic sky—they had tea. English to a degree, it was a rite absurdly ancestral. Pauperised native blacks clung to the utmost vestiges of the Crown. Against which, too, it was more than a notion for a black cane hole digger to face the turmoil of a hoe or fork or “bill”–zigaboo word for cutlass–on a bare cup of molasses coffee. | Once a day the Rums ate. At dusk, curve of crimson gold in the sensuous tropic sky, they had tea. English to a degree, it was a rite absurdly regal. Pauperized native blacks clung to the utmost vestiges of the Crown. Too, it was more than a notion for a black cane hole digger to face the turmoil of a hoe or fork or “bill”–zigaboo word for cutlass–on a bare cup of molasses coffee. |
| * * * | III |
| “Lawd ah massay—“ | “Lahd ‘a‘ massie. . . .“ |
| “What a mattah, Coggins?” | “Wha‘ a mattah, Coggins?” |
| “Say something, no?“ | “Say something, no!“ |
| “Lawd, com yah, an’ see de gall picknee—“ | “Massie, come hay, an’ see de gal picknee.“ |
| “–speak no, what a mattah?” | “. . . open yo’ mout’ no, what‘s a mattah?” |
| Coggins flew to the rain–water keg. Knocked the swizzle–stick–echo of Sissie’s pop manufactures–behind it, tilting the empty keg. | Coggins flew to the rainwater keg. Knocked the swizzle stick–relic of Sissie’s pop manufactures–behind it, tilting over the empty keg. |
| “Get up, Beryl—get up; what a mattah; sick?” | “Get up, Beryl, get up, wha‘ a mattah, sick?” |
| “Lif’ she up, pappy.” | “Lif’ she up, pappy.” |
| “You move out o’ de way, Mistah Rufus, before—“ | “Yo‘ move out o’ de way, Mistah Rufus, befo‘. . . .“ |
| “Don’t, Sissie—don’t lick she—“ | “Don’t, Sissie, don’t lick she!“ |
| “Gal only playin’, dat what de mattah wit’ she–gal only playin’ sick— Get up, yo’ miss!” | “Gal playin’ sick! Gal only playin’ sick, dat what de mattah wit’ she. Gal only playin’ sick. Get up, yo’ miss!” |
| “God–don’t, Sissie, leave ‘er alone.” | “God–don’t, Sissie, leave she alone.” |
| “Go back, every damn one o’ yo’, all yo’ gwine get in de way.” | “Go back, every dam one o’ yo’, all yo’ gwine get in de way.” |
| Used to be moist near the rain-water keg. Times past “seasoning”–onion, thyme–sprang up profusely along there. Swill–dog dung, crisp dog dung, bird dung–cow dung picked up by Ada and Rufus on the broad road–and potato peelings flung there used to grow and create a world of green–soft to the eyes–there. | |
| Hard, bare, virgin of growth–Beryl, little naked brown legs apart, was flat upon it. The dog, perhaps, or the skeleton of some fugitive wind, had blown up her little piqué dress. It formed a “cattah corner” shape on her stomach. | Beryl, little naked brown legs apart, was flat upon the hard, bare earth. The dog, perhaps, or the echo of some fugitive wind had blown up her little crocus bag dress. It lay like a cocoanut flap-jack on her stomach. . . . |
| “Bring ‘er inside, Coggins— Wait, I gwine fix de bed.” | “Bring she inside, Coggins, wait I gwine fix de bed.” |
| Mahogany bed. West Indian peasants–pirates of the black earth–sporting mahogany bed. Canopied mahogany bed. Dusty, grimy slice of cheese–cloth over it— | Mahogany bed . . . West Indian peasants sporting a mahogany bed; canopied with a dusty grimy slice of cheesecloth. . . . |
| Bleak, palsied, Coggins stood up by the lamp on the wall, looking on at Sissie prying up Beryl’s eyelids. | Coggins stood up by the lamp on the wall, looking on at Sissie prying up Beryl’s eyelids. |
| “Open yo’ eyes—open yo’ eyes—betcha the little vagybond is playin’ sick.” | “Open yo’ eyes . . . open yo’ eyes . . . betcha the little vagabon‘ is playin’ sick.” |
| Indolently Coggins stirred. “Move, Sissie, befo’ ah hit you.” Unexpectedly a woman’s shadow dropped away. Swept aside to the larder over the lamp. Soot black painted the bottom of it. | Indolently Coggins stirred. A fist shot up–then down. “Move, Sissie, befo’ Ah hit yo‘.” The woman dodged. |
| “Always wantin’ fo’ hit me fo’ nuttin’, like I is any picknee.” | |
| “. . . anybody hear this woman would think. . . .” | |
| “I ain’t gwine stand for it, yes, I ain’t gwine. . . .” |
|
| “Shut up, yo’ old hard-hearted wretch! Shut up befo’ I tump yo’ down!” . . . Swept aside, one arm in a parrying attitude . . . backing, backing toward the larder over the lamp. . . . |
|
| Out of it came a lump of assafetida, bits of red cloth— | Coggins peered back at the unbreathing child. A shade of compassion stole over Sissie. “Put dis to ‘er nose, Coggins, and see what’ll happen.” Assafetida, bits of red cloth. . . . |
| “Put dis to ‘er nose, Coggins, and see what’ll happen.” | |
| Last year Rufus, the sickliest of the lot, had had the whooping-cough, and the parish doctor had ordered her to tie a red piece of flannel around his neck. | Last year Rufus, the sickliest of the lot, had had the measles and the parish doctor had ordered her to tie a red piece of flannel around his neck. . . . |
| Into Coggins’s hand she stuffed the red flannel. “Try dat,” she avowed, and stept back. | She stuffed the red flannel into Coggins’ hand. “Try dat,” she said, and stepped back. |
| Brows rinkled in cogitation, Coggins–space cleared for action–denuded the child. | Brow wrinkled in cogitation, Coggins–space cleared for action–denuded the child. “How it ah rise! How ‘er belly a go up in de year!” |
| “How it a rise! How ‘er belly a–go up in de air!” | |
| Bright wood; bright, mahogany wood, expertly polished, and laid out in the sun to dry, approached it. Beryl’s stomach at best a light brown tint, grew bit by bit shiny— It rose; rose round and bright. It rose–higher and higher. Used to kites–pleasure star of the British tropics–none of them thought of wind–filling balloons. Beryl’s stomach resembled a wind-filling balloon. | Bright wood; bright mahogany wood, expertly shellacked and laid out in the sun to dry, not unlike it. Beryl’s stomach, a light brown tint, grew bit by bit shiny. It rose; round and bright, higher and higher. They had never seen one so none of them thought of wind filling balloons. Beryl’s stomach resembled a wind-filling balloon. |
| Then–– | Then– |
| “She too hard ears,” Sissie declared; “she won’t lissen to her pappy; she too hard ears.” | “She too hard ears,” Sissie declared, “she won’t lissen to she pappy, she too hard ears.” |
| * * * | . . . . . . . |
| Dusk came. Country folk, tired, drowsy, sleepy, staggering in from the city–depressed at the market quotations on bantam cocks–hollowed howdy-do to Coggins, on the stone step, waiting. | Dusk came. Country folk, tired, soggy, sleepy, staggering in from “town”–depressed by the market quotations on Bantam cocks–hollowed howdy-do to Coggins, on the stone step, waiting. |
| Night: and Rufus, Ada, strangely, forgot to go down to the hydrant to wash their feet. It was a rule of Coggins. “Nasty feet breed disease,” he had said. “You, Mistah Rufus, wash yo’ feet befo’ you go to sleep. And you, too, Miss Ada. I’m speaking to you, gal, you hear me? Take yo’ mouth off o’ yo‘ head, and hear what ah tell yo’!“ | Rufus and Ada strangely forgot to go down to the hydrant to bathe their feet. It had been a passion with Coggins. “Nasty feet breed disease,” he had said, “you Mistah Rufus, wash yo’ foots befo’ yo‘ go to sleep. An‘ yo‘, too, Miss Ada, I’m speaking to yo‘, gal, yo‘ hear me? Tak‘ yo’ mout‘ off o’ go ‘head, befo’ Ah box it off. . . .“ |
| Inwardly glad of the escape, Ada and Rufus sat, not by Coggins out on the stone step, but down below the cabin, on the edge of a stone overlooking an empty pond, pitching rocks at the frogs and crickets screaming in the early dusk. | Inwardly glad of the escape, Ada and Rufus sat, not by Coggins out on the stone step, but down below the cabin, on the edge of a stone overlooking an empty pond, pitching rocks at the frogs and crickets screaming in the early dusk. |
| The freckled-faced old buckra physician paused before the light and held up something to it. | The freckled-face old buckra physician paused before the light and held up something to it. . . . |
| “Marl—marl—“ | “Marl . . . marl . . . dust. . . .“ |
| It came to Coggins in swirls. Noise comes in swirls. Pounding, pounding–dry Indian corn pounding. Ginger. Ginger being pounded in a mortar with a bright, new pestle. Pa-pound, pa-pound. And. Sawing. Butcher shop. Cow foot is sawed that way. Stew–or tough, hard steak. Then the drilling–drilling–drilling to a stone–cutter’s ears! Ox grizzle. Drilling into ox grizzle— | It came to Coggins in swirls. Autopsy. Noise comes in swirls. Pounding, pounding–dry Indian corn pounding. Ginger. Ginger being pounded in a mortar with a bright, new pestle. Pound, pound. And. Sawing. Butcher shop. Cow foot is sawed that way. Stew–or tough hard steak. Then the drilling–drilling–drilling to a stone cutter’s ears! Ox grizzle. Drilling into ox grizzle. . . . |
| “Too bad, Coggins,” the doctor said, “too bad, to lose yo’ dawtah—“ | “Too bad, Coggins,” the doctor said, “too bad, to lose yo’ dawtah. . . .” |
| Hazily it came to Coggins. Inertia swept over him. He saw the old duffer climb into his buggy, tug at the reins of his sickly, old nag and slowly turn round the rocky gap and disappear into the night. | In a haze it came to Coggins. Inertia swept over him. He saw the old duffer climb into his buggy, tug at the reins of his sickly old nag and slowly drive down the rocky gap and disappear into the night. |
| Inside, Sissie, curious, held things up to the light. “Come,” she said to Coggins, “and see what ‘im take out ta ‘ar. Come an’ see de marl—“ | Inside, Sissie, curious, held things up to the light. “Come,” she said to Coggins, “and see what ‘im take out a‘ ar. Come an’ see de marl. . . .“ |
| And Coggins, slowly, answered, “Sissie, if you know what is good fo’ yo’self, you bes’ leave dem stones alone—“ | And Coggins slowly answered, “Sissie—if yo‘ know what is good fo’ yo’self, you bes’ leave dem stones alone.” |
