Now the high voice broke into hysteria, the gabbling screams of a hyena, the thudding became louder. Voices cracked and broke, and then the whole chorus fell to a sobbing, grunting undertone, and the slap of flesh and the thuddings on the earth; and the sobbing changed to a little whining, like that of a litter of puppies at a food dish.
Rose of Sharon cried softly with nervousness. Granma kicked the curtain off her legs, which lay like gray, knotted sticks. And Granma whined with the whining in the distance. Ma pulled the curtain back in place. And then Granma sighed deeply and her breathing grew steady and easy, and her closed eyelids ceased their flicking. She slept deeply, and snored through her half-open mouth. The whining from the distance was softer and softer until it could not be heard at all any more.
Rose of Sharon looked at Ma, and her eyes were blank with tears. “It done good,” said Rose of Sharon. “It done Granma good. She’s a-sleepin’.”
Ma’s head was down, and she was ashamed. “Maybe I done them good people wrong. Granma is asleep.”
“Whyn’t you ast our preacher if you done a sin?” the girl asked.
“I will—but he’s a queer man. Maybe it’s him made me tell them people they couldn’ come here. That preacher, he’s gettin’ roun’ to thinkin’ that what people does is right to do.” Ma looked at her hands and then she said, “Rosasharn, we got to sleep. ’F we’re gonna go tonight, we got to sleep.” She stretched out on the ground beside the mattress.
Rose of Sharon asked, “How about fannin’ Granma?”
“She’s asleep now. You lay down an’ rest.”
“I wonder where at Connie is?” the girl complained. “I ain’t seen him around for a long time.”
Ma said, “Sh! Get some rest.”