E. K. Means: Is This a Title? It Is Not. It Is the Name of a Writer of Negro Stories, Who Has Made Himself So Completely the Writer of Negro Stories That His Book Needs No TitleMeans, E. K. (Eldred Kurtz)
General
E. K. Means: Is This a Title? It Is Not. It Is the Name of a Writer of Negro Stories, Who Has Made Himself So Completely the Writer of Negro Stories That His Book Needs No Title
Means, E. K. (Eldred Kurtz)
African Americans -- Fiction; Short stories, American
Some young negro man quickly ceased his low-toned conversation and
watched her out of the corner of his eye. Presently the girl climbed
into the buggy and sat down. Promptly the young man left his companions
and went and sat beside her. That was the end of their interest in the
services to be conducted in the church that morning.
The young man had found the saint of his deepest devotion.
The Rev. Vinegar Atts came stalking across the churchyard like a turkey
walking through mud and dressed in all his Sunday finery. None of
the men seemed to be aware of his presence. Vinegar reflected on the
strangeness of this, and began to ponder uneasily on his chance of
retaining his job as the preacher at the Shoofly Church.
He bowed and spoke to all the men, and hardly one of them gave him a
nod of recognition in return.
Vinegar determined to find out the cause of this indifference, and he
chose for his informant a man named Pap Curtain--a tall, slim negro
with a yellow monkey face and an habitual sneer upon his lips.
“Whut ails you niggers to-day?” Vinegar demanded in a trembling voice.
“How come dis here awful silence aroun’ dis church?”
“Hoodoo gal!” Pap Curtain answered laconically, pointing across the
churchyard.
“Huh!” Vinegar grunted with popping eyes.
On the other side of the yard old Ginny Babe Chew, a woman of immense
size, was walking beside a slim young negress dressed in white and very
handsome.
“Huh,” Vinegar grunted again, unable to comprehend.
“How much will you gib me fer a piece of real news, Revun?” Pap
inquired.
“Ef you got any tales to tell, bawl out!” Vinegar snapped, for the
men’s actions were getting on his nerves.
“You remember hearin’ ’bout dat Dude Blackum whut got into trouble wid
de white folks at Sawtown las’ Monday night?” Pap asked. “Well, suh,
dat little gal wid Ginny Babe Chew is Dainty Blackum, Dude’s cote-house
wife!”
“My Lawd!” Vinegar growled as he sat down upon the ground under a tree
like a man suddenly overcome by weakness. He pulled out his corn-cob
pipe and gave himself up to troubled meditation as he filled and
lighted it. After a few moments he said:
“Pap, de niggers never will git over deir skeer ’bout dat little
entertainment wid Dude Blackum. I don’t b’lieve he done whut de white
folks said he done.”
“Hush!” Pap cautioned. Then he asked: “Whut diffunce do dat make now?
He’s done dead!”
There was a long silence while the two men watched the handsome,
graceful girl walking beside the elephantine form of Ginny Babe Chew.
Finally Pap Curtain said aloud as if to himself:
“She’s tall an’ wavy like a stalk of sugar-cane, an’ sweet plum down to
de groun’.”
“She ain’t mournin’ so powerful deep fer dat Dude Blackum,” Vinegar
remarked. “She’s dolled up in a white dress!”
“Dat Dude Blackum shore did lose somepin beside his life when he parted
wid dat female woman,” Pap said. “Ef I could hab a gal like dat keepin’
house fer me, I’d shore cut out all meanness ferever.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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