Free Barracoon by Zora Neale Hurston

mo’.
    â€œWell, after while, you unnerstand me, one day he say he go ketchee some fish. Somebody see him go t’wards de Twelve Mile Creek. Lor’, Lor’! He never come back.”
    There was a muted mournful pause, in which I could do nothing but wait with my eyes in the China-berry tree lest I appear indecently intrusive. Finally he came back to me.
    â€œExcuse me I cain help it I cry. I lonesome for my boy. Cudjo know dey doan do in de Americky soil lak dey do cross de water, but I cain help dat. My boy gone. He ain’ in de house and he ain’ on de hill wid his mama. We bothmissee him. I doan know. Maybe dey kill my boy. It a hidden mystery. So many de folks dey hate my boy ’cause he lak his brothers. Dey doan let nobody ’buse dem lak dey dogs. Maybe he in de Afficky soil lak somebody say. Po’ Cudjo lonesome for him, but Cudjo doan know.
    â€œI try be very nice to Seely. She de mama, you unnerstand me, and derefo’, you know she grieve so hard ’bout her chillun. I always try please her, you unnerstand me, but when we ain’ got but two our chillun wid us, I cain stand see her look so lak she want cry all de time. We ain’ got but one chile in de house wid us, ’cause Aleck, dat de oldest one, you unnerstand me, he married and live wid his wife. We buildee him a house right in de yard, jes lak in de Afficky soil.
    â€œLook lak we ain’ cry enough. We ain’ through cryin. In de November our Jimmy come home and set round lak he doan feel good so I astee him, ‘Son, you gittee sick? I doan want you runnin’ to work when you doan feel good.’ He say, ‘Papa, tain nothin’ wrong wid me. I doan feel so good.’ But de nexy day, he come home sick and we putee him in de bed. I do all I kin and his mama stay up wid him all night long. We gittee de doctor and do whut he say, but our boy die. Oh Lor’! I good to my chillun! I want dey comp’ny, but looky lak dey lonesome for one ’nother. So dey hurry go sleep together in de graveyard. He die holdin’ my hand.
    â€œWhen we gittee back from de funeral, tain nobody in de house but me and Seely. De house was full, but now it empty. We old folks now and we know we ain’ going have no mo’ chillun. We so lonesome, but we know we caingittee back de dead. When de spit goes from de mouf, it doan come back. When de earth eats, it doan give back. So we try to keep one ’nother comp’ny and be happy.
    â€œI still sexton of de church. It growing to be a big church now. We call it de Old Landmark Baptis’ Church, ’cause it de first one in Afficky Town. Dey done build mo’ Baptis’ churches now, but ours, it de first.
    â€œMy wife she help me all she kin. She doan lemme strain myself so I hurtee de side where de train hittee me.
    â€œOne day we plant, de nexy we reap so we go on.”
    Before I left I had Kossula’s permission to photograph him. 1 But he forbade my coming back within three days. A cow had broken in his fence and was eating his potato-vines.
    It was on a hot Saturday afternoon that I came to photograph Kossula.
    â€œI’m glad you takee my picture. I want see how I look. Once long time ago somebody come take my picture but they never give me one. You give me one.”
    I agreed. He went inside to dress for the picture. When he came out I saw that he had put on his best suit but removed his shoes. “I want to look lak I in Affica, ’cause dat where I want to be,” he explained.
    He also asked to be photographed in the cemetery among the graves of his family.

XII
Alone
    O ne night Seely wake up in de night and say, ‘Cudjo wake up. I dream about our chillun. Look lak dey cold.’ I tell her she think too much. Go back to sleep. It hurtee me, ’cause it a cold night in November in de 1908 and I ’member how Seely used to visit de chillun when dey was little to see dey got plenty quilts, so dey