The black border

by Ambrose Elliott Gonzalez

JIM MOULTRIE’S DIVORCE

The tail of a cold, blustering February day. In the creeks and leads of the Jehossee marshes the ducks sought protection from the wind until flushed by the hunter. Since early morning he had successfully explored every promising hiding place in the great marsh, under the guidance of Jim Moultrie, a skilled negro hunter and paddler, who pushed the nose of his clumsy dugout canoe up every little run that looked like a likely shelter for the wary game. As the sun sank below the horizon, staining the sky a dull red, the hunter quitted the marshes, and the bow of the canoe was turned toward Willtown, five miles away. Crouching low in the stern, Jim paddled silently and strenuously against the current for an hour. Like birdshot “patterns” thrown against the red sky, flocks of belated blackbirds hurried to their roosts.

Gradually the shadowy mantle of the dusk shrouded marsh and headland and the shimmering waters that slid by the struggling canoe; then night fell and healed the blood-red wound in the West. The dugout crept along the shore where the current was less swift. Now and then a raccoon hunting in the marsh sprang away affrighted. The whistling wings of a swift-flying teal cut through the icy air. Far up the river, like low-hung stars, twinkled the watchfires of a great timber raft outward bound for the estuary of the North Edisto. From a distant plantation came the sweet lu-la-lu of a happy negro freed from work. The raft, borne upon the bosom of the strong ebb-tide, neared rapidly, and, around its fires built on earth-covered platforms, the negro raftsmen talked and laughed as they cooked their supper, and the flames lighted the face and magnified the figure of the black steersman who stood by the great sweep oar with which, at the stern of the raft, he guided its course down stream.

For an hour Jim had silently bucked the tide, impelling the boat under the powerful strokes of his paddle, alternately left and right.

“What are you thinking of, Jim?”

“Study ’bout ’ooman, suh.” (A short silence.)

“’Ooman shishuh cuntrady t’ing, dem nebbuh know w’en dem well off. You kin feed dem, you kin pit clo’es ’puntop dem back, you kin pit shoe ’puntop dem foot, you kin pit hat ’puntop dem head, you kin pit money een dem han’, en’ still yet oonuh nebbuh know de ’ooman, nebbuh know w’en dem min’ gwine sattify. Dem fuhrebbuh duh lookout fuh trubble. Ef dem ent meet trubble duh paat’, dem gwine hunt fuhr’um duh ’ood. I dunkyuh howsoeb’uh fudduh de trubble dey, dem gwine fin’um. Ef dem cyan’ see ’e track fuh trail’um, dem gwine pit dem nose een de du’t en’ try fuh smell’um, but dem gwine fin’um! I duh study ’pun dat wife I nyuse fuh hab, name Mary. Look how him done, w’en him hab no cajun! You yeddy ’bout me trubble, enty, suh? Lemme tell you. One Sat’d’y night I gone home frum de ribbuh. I tek two duck’, bakin, flour en’ sugar en’ tea, den I pit fibe dolluh’ een Mary’ lap. Enty you know, suh, dat is big money fuh t’row een nigguh’ lap? W’en I binnuh boy en’ you t’row uh ’ooman uh fifty cent, ’e t’ink ’e rich, but I bin all dat week wid one cump’ny uh dese yuh rich Nyankee buckruh’ dat Mr. FitzSimmun hab yuh fuh shoot, en’ dem buckruh’ t’row me fibe dolluh bill same lukkuh dem bin dime’! W’en I t’row de money in de ’ooman’ lap, en’ pit de todduh t’ing wuh I fetch ’pun de flo’, Mary nebbuh crack ’e teet’. I ax’um ’smattuh mek’um stan’ so? ’E mek ansuh, ’nutt’n’. Nex’ day de ’ooman keep on same fashi’n. ’E nebbuh crack ’e bre’t’. I quizzit’um ’gen. I ax’um ’smattuh ’long’um. Him say, ’nutt’n’. Den I say ’berry well den.’ Monday mawnin’ I tek me gun, I call me dog en’ den I talk to de ’ooman. I say, ’Mary, I gwine duh ribbuh, en’ I gwine come back Sat’d’y two week’. I dunno ’smattuh mek you stan’ so, but I know suh de debble dey een you. No ’ooman ’puntop dis ribbuh hab mo’ den you, no ’ooman got so much, but I yent able fuh lib dis way ’long no ’ooman wuh tie’up ’e mout’, en’, w’en I come back las’ Sat’d’y two week’, I gwine ’tarrygate you one mo’ time, en’ I gwine ax you ’smattuh mek you stan’ so, en’ ef oonuh still een de same min’ ez now, den me nuh you paa’t.’

“Well, suh, Sat’d’y two week’, I gone back en’ I say, ‘well, Mary, I come, how ’bout’um, wuh you got fuh say?’ Him mek ansuh: ‘Ent nutt’n’ ’bout’um. Yent got nutt’n’ fuh say.’ Den I tell’um ’berry well, den, I gone my way, en’ you tek you’n. Now, Mary, I yent no Wanderbilt fuh gi’ you fibe t’ousan’ dolluh’ allimunny fuh lib off, so you is free fuh lib ’cawd’n’ to yo’ own min’, en’ I is free fuh do ez I please.’ Den I tek me gun, I call me dog, en’ I gone!

“De nex’ week, I bin comin’ out de maa’sh on Mr. Rab’nel’ place, w’en I meet Mary. Him binnuh wait fuh me. I say ‘hello! dat duh you?’ Him say: ‘Jim, I come fuh tell you dat all dem t’ing I bin yeddy ’bout you, I fin’ out dem is lie, en’ I want you fuh come back to me.’ I say, ‘enty I tell you dat de finull wu’d would be talk w’en I come back fuh me ansuh Sat’d’y two week’, en’ ent dat time done pass? You bidness fuh fin’ out ’bout dat lie een dem twelbe day’ time wuh I done gib you. ’E too late now.’ En’ I walk off en’ lef’um!”

“Have you another wife, Jim?”

“I hab dat gal you see wid me dis mawnin’ een Mr. FitzSimmun’ yaa’d. Him ent wut’!”