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“I gots er feelin’ yistuhday,” announced Maria to Serena Robbins, as she took a batch of wet clothing from the latter’s tub, gave it one twist with her enormous hands, and set it aside to go upon the line.
“Wut yuh gots er feelin’ ’bout?”
“I gots er feelin’ w’en Porgy ’oman come out de wood on de picnic, she done been wid Crown.”
At the mention of the murderer’s name Serena stepped back, and her usual expression of sanctimonious complacency slowly changed. Her lower lip shot forward, and her face darkened.
“Yuh t’ink dat nigger on Kittiwar?” she asked.
“I allus figgered he bin dey in dem deep palmetters,” Maria replied. “But w’en I look in Bess’s eye las’ night, I sho ob two ting: one, dat he is dey, an’ two, dat she been wid um.”
“Yuh b’lieb she still ran wid dat nigger?”
“Dem sort ob mens ain’t need tuh worry ’bout habin’ ’omen,” Maria told her. “Dey kin lay de lash on um, an’ kick um in de street; den dey kin whistle w’en dey ready, an’ dere dey is ag’in lickin’ dey han’.”
“She goin’ stay wid Porgy, ef she know wut good fuh she.”
“She know all right, an’ she lub Porgy. But ef dat nigger come attuh she, dey ain’t goin’ tuh be noboddy roun’ hyuh but Porgy an’ de goat.”
A sudden dark flame blazed in Serena’s face, sweeping the acquired complacency before it, and changing it utterly. She leant forward, and spoke heavily:
“Dat nigger bes’ t’ank he Gawd dat I gots My Jedus now fuh hol’ back my han’!”
“Yuh ain’t means dat yuh is goin’ tuh gib um up tuh de w’ite folks ef he come back to town, ’stead ob settle wid um yu’self?’ Maria asked incredulously.
“I ain’t know wut fuh do,” the other replied, the hatred in her face giving way to a look of perplexity. “Ef dat nigger come tuh town he sho tuh git kill’ sooner er later. Den de w’ite folks goin’ lock me up. Dey gots it on de writin’s now dat I been Robbins’ wife; an’ dey goin’ figger I like as not kill um. I knows two people git lock up dat way, an’ dey ain’t do one Gawd t’ing.”
“Nigger sho’ gots fuh keep he eye open in dis worl’,” the big negress observed. “But we can’t turn no nigger ober tuh de police.”
A man paused before the entrance of the court, and looked in. To the two women he was only a silhouette standing under the arch against a dazzling expanse of bay; but the foppish outlines of the indolent, slender figure were unmistakable.
A smile of pleased anticipation grew about Maria’s wide mouth. She dried her hands upon her apron.
“Jus’ like I been tellin’ yuh!” she remarked to Serena. “T’ank Gawd, Jedus ain’t gots me yit wuh he gots you; an’ I still mens enough tuh straighten out a crooked nigger. See dat yalluh snake wrigglin’ in de do’way? He de one wut sell Bess dat happy-dus’.”
Drying her hands and bared forearms with ominous thoroughness, she crossed to her shop. The room was empty when she entered. She went at once to the stove which stood in its corner, with its legs set upon four bricks. She bent forward, placed a shoulder against one of its corners, gave a heave, and drew out a brick. Then she straightened up, spat first on one hand, then on the other, and, carrying the brick in her immense right, lightly, and with a certain awful fondness, stepped out of her door.
Sportin’ Life was now within the entrance, and presented an unsuspecting profile to the cook-shop.
With frightful deliberation, Maria swung her long arm back; then, like the stroke of a rattler, it shot forward. The brick caught the mulatto full on the side of the head. He crumpled among his gaudy habiliments like a stricken bird.
After a space of time the victim blinked feebly, then opened his eyes upon Maria’s face. She was mopping his head with a wet rag, and his first glance discovered an expression of gentleness on her heavy features. Reassured, he opened his eyes wide. But the gentleness was gone. He felt himself gripped by the shoulders, and suddenly snatched upward to be placed upon unsteady legs. Then he was propelled rapidly toward the gate.
At the pavement’s edge Maria swung her victim around until his wandering and reluctant gaze met hers.
“De las’ time yuh wuz aroun’ hyuh, I ain’t hab nuttin’ on yuh but my eyes. Now I knows yuh—yuh damn, dirty, dope-peddler, wreckin’ de homes ob dese happy niggers!”
Her arms shot forward and back like locomotive pistons. The man’s head snapped to an acute angle, and righted itself with difficulty.
“Now, w’en I done flingin’ yuh out dis gate,” she proceeded, “it’s de las’ time yuh is goin’ tuh leabe it erlibe. Eberybody say I is er berry t’orough nigger, an’ ef yuh ebber comes roun’ hyuh agin, drunk or sobuh, I ain’t goin’ to be t’rough wid yuh carcase ontil I t’row yuh bones out tuh de buzza’d one by one.”
Abruptly she reversed the luckless man and placed a foot in the small of his back. Then with a heave that seemed to bring into play every muscle of her huge bulk, she catapulted him once and for all out of Catfish Row and the lives of its inhabitants.
V
