The birth-night supper had begun, and the big drum, answering licks that somebody laid on its head, called the people to come on. Louder and louder it boomed until the air itself was humming. Now and then when a rackety thump sounded in an unlooked for place Big Sue laughed. When the measure shortened beat by beat her fat toes made pats on the floor.
“Lawd, de drum’s got de people steppin’ light to-night. Is dey marchin’ or dancin’?”
“Marchin’. Dat’s Sherry a-beatin’ de drum, now. When de dancin’ starts Uncle Isaac beats de drum an’ Sherry squeezes de accordion.”
Big Sue got up and went to the door to hear better, and her thick stumpy body rocked softly from side to side. “Po’ ol’ Uncle! Most ready fo’ de grave an’ de biggest sinner roun’ here.” But the thought of Uncle’s sin made her laugh, as she swayed this way and that. “I feel light as a feather, Uncle Bill. Ain’ Sherry got dat drum talkin’ funny talk! E don’ sound noways sinful to me. You t’ink marchin’ is a sin?”
“No. It ain’ sinful to march. How ’bout walkin’ out an’ lookin’ at ’em a while.”
Breeze sat up. “Please lemme go too, Cousin Big Sue. I ain’ sleep. I too scared to stay by myself.” The corners of the room were full of darkness, the shed-room at the back was black, and the sea’s roar unsmothered by the drum-beats.
“How come you had you’ eyes shut, so? You been playin’ possum, enty? I caught you. I don’ like dat. No. Don’ you never make like you sleep if you ain’ sleep. No. But git up an’ dress. Me an’ Uncle Bill would walk on. You dress fast an’ catch up wid us.”
When Breeze overtook them, Uncle Bill, who walked in front, called back, “How you do, stranger? I glad to see you. Come shake han’s wid me.” Then he added, “A cowardly heart makes swift-runnin’ feet, enty?”
When Breeze answered promptly, “Yes suh,” Uncle Bill chuckled.
“You’s got manners, boy! Nice manners! I’m glad to see dat.”