“Well, I’ll tell you the story if you don’t mind settin a spell. I know I don’t mind gittin a chance to stretch these ole bones. Jest as long as you don’t innerupt me, or say some nonsense. C’mon, I’ll tell you bout that ole gen’ral stow. What? You heard that one already? Well, son, you gone hear it agin. I remember that stow. Those that been there allus miss it, and those that ain’t been there miss it, though they ain’t never seen o’ heard bout it. . . .”

The Law Comes to Mister Cousins’ General Store

The law came to Mister Cousins’ gen’ral stow like a whisper through the wheat. Most folk slept quietly in they beds as it snuck cross the cornfields and stole up to that li’l shack that sat halfway between Birmin’ham and the land o’ shadows. Only two folks wuz up: Not-Penelope, who never slept, but wuz even then cookin in her pantry, fingertips stained violet from the beets she wuz cuttin. And Remus wuz awake. By now Remus wuz ancient, but jest as hardy as he ever wuz.

“Jim?” Like the sharpest axe, his voice cut the still spring night. “Jim?” Runnin out his cabin, Remus called fo’ his friend, but couldn’t see him nowhar. The new moon hung overhead, a bone-white sliver peekin out through the dark. Grabbin his wheat sickle, Remus stood on that road and faced down the law. Like the Reaper hisself, he slashed at wut cain’t be cut, stabbed at wut cain’t die. He battled it with his big, rough hands that had wrestled lion-men and Louisiana mudsharks, and far fiercer things. Remus gave all he had, but the law came, and the law won.

When it left, couldn’t nobody remember whether the gen’ral stow had stood at all. Folk drove by in they cars, and stopped. There they sat fo’ minutes, sometimes hours, rackin they brains tryin’a remember why this patch o’ overgrowed grass seemed so familiar. Fin’ly, they allus gave up and continued on they way.

The Right Way to Worship

It came to be, sometime in the year nineteen twenty-three, when Jim wuz wukkin the gen’ral stow one afternoon. Jim wuz a good sort, a skinny-bone fella with gray sidewhiskers and his apron allus dusted in flour. He carried on him the stow’s smell o’ wheat and garlik, so’s that evuhwhar he went he left a little scent o’ stow. Niggers round them parts said Jim had wukked there a hunnerd years. You would guess he’d never been young at all.

In fact, he hadn’t. Many years ago, he burst forth full-growed, right in the middle o’ the gen’ral stow, in a great sploshun o’ fire. It wuz a feat he’d grown tired o’ talkin bout, and, to evuhbody’s disappointment, the ole clerk never came close to doin it agin.

He wuz stackin bags o’ fertilizer when in come Miss Molly, all mad and fussed-like, draggin her son Jeremiah by the horns. Now, that boy was half-boy, half-bull: he had two giant horns curvin on top his head and hooves instead o’ hands. They said his mama wuz right awful to a tree witch one day, so she put a hex on her that made her baby come out with horns and hooves. His face wuz red from cryin so hard.

“Mawnin’, Miss Molly,” sez Jim. “Wut’choo need t’day?”

“I don’t know wut to git,” she said, slappin the boy’s behind. “This boy done embarrassed me at revival.”

“Now wut did he do?” Jim ast, smilin at the li’l fella.

“When it came time to give praise,” sez Molly, sez she, “this li’l heathen pulled down his pants. Then he starts gruntin like a pig. Then, in front o’ the whole congregation, he takes a piss. Then, he starts creepin round. But that ain’t the end of it! He starts screamin and throwin things at evuhbody, jumps up and lands right in the mud. He embarrassed me in front o’ Reverend Hawkins and the whole town! Lawd! Why wuz I cussed with such a wicked son?”

“Well,” said Jim, “that is a right strange way to worship. Why don’t you ’splain y’self, young man?”

The li’l half-bull boy sniffed, tuckin his cow-tail tween his legs. “That’s how you give praise, I swar! I wuz jest doin wut Mister Young over by the creek tole me to do.”

“Wut Mister Young tole you to do, huh?” Jim knew all about that sinner.

“I wuz fishin,” said Jeremiah, “and I sees him walk up to that yallah lady’s house, and knock on the doh’ and take his pants off. Then he goes inside and he starts gruntin. Then he comes out and pees on a tree. I knows I shouldna been so curious, mama, but I followed him back to his cabin. He’s creepin round, and Missus Young opens the doh’ and starts throwin things at him, and she’s screamin and hollerin. Then Mister Young runs away and falls right down in front o’ me in the mud. Then he tells me that evuhthin I jess saw was how he and his friends give the glory, and I shouldn’t tell nobody.”

Jim laughed. “Boy, I don’t think wut you saw wuz worshippin.”

“But that’s how you worship!” the boy insisted. “Cuz Misses Young got the spirit at revival. When I ’splained m’self to the reverend, I went to go talk to him by the Youngs, and when she heard me she started screamin and throwin things at Mister Young all over agin. So it must be the right way!”

Remus Returns

All kindsa folk used to come by Mister Cousins’ gen’ral stow back in them days. There wuz them no-good harpies allus flyin round, pickin up travelers off the road and killin ’em; there wuz the Fates takin the yarn strands that wuz folks’ lives and weavin ’em into quilts with they nimble fingers; the witch Ezra with her rattlin bracelets o’ bone and silver; Beelzebub hisself would come to play cards. But Jim liked none of ’em better than Remus.

Remus had died and escaped from Hell fo’ the second time. He came into that gen’ral stow lookin like a dog done chewed him up, arms covered up to the elbows in blood (most o’ which warn’t his own). The blackbirds in the rafters cawed and flapped they wings at the sight o’ him, rainin down feathers. When Remus sat, Jim saw the blood pourin from the cut on his cheek. Remus ast fo’ coffee with extra milk. And when a man like him ast fo’ extra milk, Jim damn well gave it to him.

“How you doin?” Jim ast him. “You need anythin else?”

“Kin I ax a favor?” Remus sez.

“Anythin.”

“Lemme use yo’ well out back. I know yo’ boss’ll be plenty mad, but I gots to get cleaned up.”

“Mister Cousins gone off to the bak’ry. He won’t be back fo’ while. Naw, take yo’ time.”

Remus smiled. “Thank you kindly. I’m goin wooin t’night!”

Jim scrunched up his face. “Addy May? Agin? Ain’t she turned you down twice?” If Remus had a weakness, Addy Mae Brewster wuz it. Jess the thought of her hit him like the bourbon in a mint julep, makin him all swoony and stupid.

“That she has,” sez Remus. “Twice she slammed the doh’ in my face. And all the heroic deeds in the world don’t mean nuthin to her. But I feel t’day’s my lucky day.”

“Well, you kin sho’ use the well.” And Remus did just that, scrubbin off every last bit o’ dirt and demon blood.

A week later, Jim heard Remus and Addy May wuz gittin married. He just had to ax her when she came in the stow. “Tell me, Addy May: Wut made you change yo’ mine?”

Addy May wuz pretty as a pitcher, and already looked a blushin bride with her flower basket. “It din’t mean much to me when Remus came by talkin bout killin giants and the like,” sez Addy May. “But I saw him come back on his way from Hell lookin all tow up. Then he came to my doh’ that same day lookin like he ready fo’ a high ’ciety party. I don’t care much fo’ great deeds, but any man who kin clean up that nice is a keeper.”

Why Alabama Has Winter Tornadoes

One winter, back when Remus wuz a younger man, he came to the gen’ral stow to see Brother Wind. Well, Remus went struttin right up to him like he owned the world and wuz out collectin rent from evuhbody in it. “I’ma challenge you, ole man!” sez Remus.

Brother Wind wuz older’n the ocean, with hair like a snow-capped peak and a whistle to his voice. “How, son?” he sez. “Wut kin you do that’s better’n me?”

“I’s a better dancer,” sez Remus. Well, Brother Wind’s eyes went wide like an owl’s! Even ole Jim, who had seen a lot, couldn’t believe wut he heard. Now, Brother Wind considered hisself the best dancer: he’d two-stepped all over the world. Every spring he wuz known to dance round the countryside. Seein fit to teach this upstart a lesson, he accepted the challenge.

Fo’ days they danced cross the cornfields. Remus did all the ole steps, jump-up, step-back, and made a few new steps. A li’l shuffle, a li’l hop-jig long the Mi’Sippy. Where Brother Wind danced, the land got stripped bare. Barns crushed flat neath his tappin feet. Cypress trees bent full back, and all the forest creechers ran fo’ they lives. Whole towns blew away. Some folk even died. Even as they ran, no one could deny the beauty o’ Brother Wind’s dancin as he spun cross the farmland, jugglin lightnin and wearin black sky fo’ a hat.

As the ole man got tired, he saw Remus had as much energy as ever, if not mo’. Nothin could stop that Remus’ long-legged hoppin. Brother Wind warn’t bout to be outlasted. The sun rose and set sebben times befo’, with a tired wheeze, the ole man collapsed right on his face. By then, the land had been torn up so bad it took half a year fo’ Alabama folk to get things straight. All the ole ladies who wuz judgin the contest agreed Remus wuz a better dancer, and much classier in his presentation.

Brother Wind felt so vexed he came back every year round Thankgs-given, challengin Remus, dancin so hard the mountains shook. City folk shut they windows o’ packed up they belongins and ran. The folk round Mister Cousins’ gen’ral stow knew it was jess Brother Wind showin off, and they paid it no mind. Remus ignored him completely. “A winner’s a winner,” he allus said.

Aunt Rose and the Harpies

Well, it came bout time that Remus completed six o’ the sebben tasks that ole sooth-sayer set befo’ him. He lassoed the Mi’sippy; he caught a herd o’ wild buffalo; he went down to Hell to prick the Devil’s tail; he fetched the ole king’s crown from the bottom o’ Martin Lake; he wrestled the troll unner the bridge fo’ a whole week til he won; he even outraced that demondog who lives up there in the foothills. His final task was fo’ to fetch a harpy’s egg from they nest. Now, them harpies caught word o’ this, and they ain’t like it one bit. So’s all five of ’em came down from the hills to give Remus what fo’.

A mile from the stow there lived Aunt Rose, a woman who wuz round like an apple. Aunt Rose wuz hangin her laundry outside her cabin, smokin a pipe and whistlin to herself, when she heard big feet flappin on the dusty road, and who come along but them harpies. Wings folded on they backs, they scales wuz shinin silvery. Aunt Rose liked ’em bout as much as she liked yeast stickin to her fingers. “Howdy, Aunty,” they shrieked at her.

Aunt Rose covered her ears. “I’ll say howdy to y’all, too, but I’d rather y’all din’t talk so loud.”

Bein mean sorts, the harpies jess laughed. “We lookin fo’ this nigger name o’ Remus,” they sez. “You know whar he be at?”

“And what do y’all want with Remus?” she ast, mighty spishus.

“Look here, woman,” one o’ them sez, “we’s here to give him a thrashin. And if’n you don’t tell his whar-bouts, we’ll thrash you, too.”

Aunt Rose felt right mizrable fo’ a second, then she tole ’em: “He over by the creek.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” they sez, and they gave her thirty cents jest to rub it in, that she betrayed him and all. Aunt Rose gave it right back to ’em.

“Why you give us our money back?” they ast, mighty vexed.

“Fo’ a coffee pot,” she sez.

“Wut’choo mean?” they ast.

Aunt Rose laughed a big ole laugh. “I don’t deserve that money, seein as I din’t help you none. If anythin, I helped Remus, since now he don’t gotta go look fo’ y’all. Take that thirty cents and buy y’self a coffee pot. Cause once Remus through wit’choo, that’s all they’ll need to bury you in, I swar to Gawd!”

Aunt Rose and the Pastor

One day Aunt Rose got right fed up with her shiftless son Jason. All day long he’d lay in the barn, snoozin. So she goes to Reverend Hawkins, and she sez, “What am I gone do bout Jason? He twenty-five years ole and all he do is lay bout.”

“Well,” the pastor says, “maybe he hasn’t found his callin yet. Our savior din’t start his ministry til he was thirty.”

“I knows that,” sez Aunt Rose. “The difference is, our savior wuz only born in the stable. After you reach a certain age, you gots to git out!”

How Jason Fleeced the Landlord

Jason took over his pa’s piece o’ sharecrop land once the ole man passed. In doin so, he also took up his pa’s debt to Mister Cousins fo’ all the tools and fertilizer they used over the years. Jason wuz a lazy sort, and din’t much care fo’ no one but hisself. He allus figgered his lucky break wuz waitin for him, like a ripe peach ready to fall off the branch into his hands.

Back bout nineteen fo’ty-six there wuz a bad crop. Still, Jason had to hitch up the wagon to go give half o’ it to the landlord, Mister Sims. He took the long way round through the woods, seein as how harpies wuz harryin folk on the main road, and down by the river the lion-men wuz feudin with Black Crow Injuns. While drivin that wagon, Jason saw a tree witch lyin in the road. He reached fo’ his double-barrel, but saw she warn’t no threat. Not carin a whit fo’ her, he tried to drive round, but this witch wuz a long woman and blocked the whole path.

“Help me,” sez the witch. “I feel so weak. While I wuz sleep, someone took me out my tree and left me here. Take me back, so I kin have my powers agin.”

With a groan, Jason picked up that long ole witch and took her to the woods; deep in the swamp, where the witches flew, black skirts flut’rin, through the green vapors. It wuz fall, and the oaks where them witches lived looked like some giant had took a bite from they boughs. Jason helped the witch climb back in the branches. “Thank you, young man,” sez the witch. “Fo’ yo’ kindness, I’ma give you this fleece.” And she dropped a dirty sheepskin full o’ flies right in front o’ him.

“Mmm. . . . Thanks,” sez Jason. You cain’t refuse nuthin from a witch once she gives it to you. So’s he went back to the path, threw that fleece on his mule, and all of a sudden that mule turned into a purr-bread mustang!

“Good Lawd!” he sez. “I sho’ is lucky with this magic fleece, here.” He put the fleece on the crop, and now he had enough pumkin and corn and squash to last the winter. Jason couldn’t believe his luck. With his new hoss, he kept on down the road to give the landlord his half.

Jason stopped at the gen’ral stow to see Mister Cousins, who he owed so much money. On the way in, he saw Remus carryin the bodies o’ two harpies he done kilt. He wuz gone bury ’em and pay proper respeks, holdin ’em like they wuz babies made o’ glass. “I’ma pay off my debts,” Jason proudly tole Remus. And Remus jess gave him a smile.

Mister Cousins liked to turn into a blackbird and fly round the stow, and cuz o’ this his face allus looked a li’l beakish. Jason took out wut change wuz in his pocket, dropped it on the counter, put the fleece over it, and when he took it off he had fifty dollars.

“Mebbe that kin pay off my family’s debt some,” he sez, and Mister Cousins’ eyes bout popped out his head. Jim whistled at Jason’s good fortune. Happy as a cat in milk, Jason rode his new hoss to the landlord’s, dropped off his half and went home.

Usin the fleece, Jason doubled wut he grew fo’ his next crop. Then he sold it, and boy! He made enough money to buy his own plot o’ land, with a nice big cabin on it. After while, his landlord Mister Sims learnt bout wut Jason done with his fleece. Well, he warn’t much fo’ lettin niggers have sum’n so nice, not when he wanted it fo’ hisself. He dreamed o’ keepin it and becomin rich, like them plantation owners in Mobile. So’s he went to see Jason at his cabin, and he sez: “You see here, nigger! Half o’ wut you got is mine. So I want that fleece right now!”

“Suh,” sez Jason, “I wants to show you sum’n.” He took Mister Sims out to the stables, pointed to his mustang. “Y’see that hoss? Right now he’s eatin wut I picked from my garden t’day. Now, I reckon in a few hours bout half o’ that’s gone come out his rear end. And you kin keep that, Mister Sims, cuz that’s the last half you gone get from me!”

Jason and the Pastor

With his magic fleece, Jason became the most successful colored man in town. He married well, and had a daughter name o’ Penelope. He built a cabin fo’ his mama to spend her ole age. He even bought a brand-new Buick.

In them days, niggers got strung up fo’ less uppity behavior than Jason wuz showin, but white folk like Mister Cousins knew better. The one time crackers tried to hang a nigger round the gen’ral stow, Remus sent ’em flyin so far they woke up in Georgia.

After all that prosperity, Jason started sinnin. Reverend Hawkins got tired o’ his puttin on airs. One night, the reverend relaxed in his favorite chair, the taste o’ his wife’s pork still on his tongue, but all he could think bout wuz Jason’s smug ole face. Throwin on his coat, he went right to Jason’s house to tell him wut’s wut.

“Jason!” he called, bangin on the doh’. “I’m gittin tired o’ yo’ backslidin. You allus gittin drunk and duckin on yo’ Gawd-blessed wife with them loose gals. Every time you sin, you allus come to revival cryin, and we allus forgive you, then you go and sin agin. I got a right mind to kick you out the chu’ch. Jason! Open yo’ doh’!”

The doh’ creaked open, and there stood Jason, cryin like a baby. “I din’t mean to do it! I don’t know wut I wuz thinkin!”

“Jason,” sez the reverend, dread scuttlin cross his spine, “wut you do?”

“I just wanted to make her prettier,” cried Jason. “Kin you change her back? Lawd, please change her back!”

They went into the big family room. Instead o’ Jason’s little pigtailed Penelope in the overstuffed armchair, there sat a full-growed young woman. She was stunnin, achin beautiful and dark-skinned, lookin at ’em with hazel eyes shaped like teardrops. But she warn’t Jason’s daughter. She wuz someone completely different. Jason fell in the reverend’s arms, weepin. And from then on he locked that fleece up and never touched it agin.

Not-Penelope

Jason called the changelin Not-Penelope. This gal wuz evuhthin Jason wanted when he used that fleece, but in a way he couldn’t unnerstand. Her skin wuz brown as an acorn, from the top o’ her hair to her tiny, perfik feet. She had a voice like water tricklin over mossy stones, but only spoke when she had to. This long gal moved dainty-like, and her smile curved at the ends, and her hands wuz stovepipe-hot to the touch. Instead o’ goin to chu’ch, she spent time listenin to tree witches, absorbin they teachins like a flower absorbs sunlight. Not-Penelope already knew how to clean and cook; she din’t need nobody’s help and din’t ask fo’ none.

Jason grew ’fraid o’ Not-Penelope. Her eyes wuz hazel mirrors, and every time he looked in ’em he saw hisself, small and gaunt. Sometimes he grew so ’fraid he beat her, but she never cried. When folk came over to see him, they wunnered where Jason went off to, only to find he’d been there all along, quiet as a ghost in his own family room, while from the pantry they heard the steady sound o’ Not-Penelope scrapin pans clean.

Most folk expected to one day wake up and find Not-Penelope gone, flown off like a bird in winter. Maybe she might have, if it warn’t for the day she wuz walkin through the woods, tripped and fell right in a giant briar patch. Hurtin from all the scratches, she looked up to find she wuz in a maze o’ thorns, the branches like high walls, the thorns theyselves long as a man’s arm and proddin her like spears.

Not-Penelope mighta found her way out that briar maze; she had instinks most other folks din’t. But, with them same instinks, she sensed someone else in there, and followed the feelin o’ melancholy as she wound her way through the maze. The full moon wuz a beacon in the sky by the time she reached the center, whar she saw Jeremiah Half-Bull sittin statue-still on a bench.

“Oh!” He looked up in surprise. “Not-Penelope! Wut is you doin here?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I do wut I do. Other people discuss why I do it.”

The half-bull, half-man tried to brush off his overalls, but couldn’t hide the fact he’d been wukkin the fields. “Well, I come here sometimes jest to git away from things.” He patted his hoof on the seat beside him. “Would you mine settin? Even if you gotta leave, it’d be good to have yo’ company jest a li’l while.” To him, she looked like she jess stepped out a sweet dream. Seein her in his secret place—the queenly way she wore the moonlight as it bathed her top to bottom—gave him a courage he hardly never found round wimmen.

Not-Penelope gave him that witchy smile, cuz she knew she’d found a truly gentle soul. She took a seat beside him and watched the stars awhile. From then on, they met in the briar patch every evenin. In time they married, and had a smat’rin o’ chilluns, with horns like they daddy and they mama’s glidin step.

The Beginning of the World

December came round, and Ole Man Winter come marchin through, turnin the cornfields to a forest o’ ice. As they did every year, a group came up from the land o’ shadows: folk havin no color, neither man nor woman, movin they shapeless bodies through the pasture. Cross the cane and corn they went, pickin sunshine off the leaves, puttin the light in they satchels fo’ when they went home. When they walked, all the farmers stayed indoh’s, and even the folk in Birmin’ham felt a chill they couldna said wuz entirely from the cold.

Jim sat playin cards with two young’uns inside the gen’ral stow. One was Jeremiah Half-Bull, the other was this half-harpy boy from up in the hills. The Devil wuz there doin a li’l shoppin, but he din’t join in the game; bein a lordly type, he hardly never played with common Negroes. “Lemme tell y’all bout the beginnin o’ the world,” Jim sez.

“There wuz two god brothers walkin round the heavens. And between ’em they had just one mule. And these brothers needed to git from one star to the other. The one brother, name o’ Desire, sez if they jest push the mule they kin make it in time. The other brother, Law, wanted to rest the mule and make it some hoss-shoes from star stuff, thinkin that would make the ride easier. Well, they argued bout this fo’ ages, til the two decided to jess split up.

”Law made one world. In that world, the people had control o’ evuhthin that’s possible. They could learn all the secrets o’ the universe if they just wukked and studied. The problem wuz, they’d never be satisfied, allus dreamin o’ things they cain’t see.

“Desire made a world where people controlled the impossible. They could wave a hand and make dreams come true. They called it magic. The problem wuz, its real dangerous to live somewhar anythin kin happen. Folk wuz allus livin in fear o’ wut some magic person might do.

”Desire had to stay in his own world, and his brother in his. Two worlds, and never will one meet the other. That’s the law.“

”His brother found ways round that, though,“ said Jeremiah Half-Bull.

”That the law don’t know bout,“ said the half-harpy boy.

”Yep,“ Jim said. ”All over a mule.“ And he emptied his pipe ash in the spittoon.

Aunt Rose’s Sewing Circle

It came to be the middle o’ the nineteen-fifties, and Aunt Rose, now goin on a hunnerd years ole, took a walk round the fields like she did now and then. A plane flew overhead, trailin exhaust so thick it looked like a white bridge cross the sky, and Aunt Rose could only shake her head at all these things she could never unnerstand. Why would you wanna fly when you got two good feet?

”Ain’t you Jason’s mama?“ ast a rickety voice. She saw the Fates sittin on they porch: two ole wimmen, with skin like clay left to harden in the sun. One of ’em spun threads on her loom, the other measured ’em.

”Y’all got sum’n to say bout Jason, you better come out and say it,“ sez Aunt Rose, givin ’em a look harder’n day-old biscuits. She well knew Jason warn’t perfik, but she grew tired o’ folk gittin in his business.

”Now, calm down, Sister Rose,“ said the one doin the measurin, name o’ Lacky. ”We’s jess bein frenly.“

”Ain’t there s’posed to be three o’ y’all?“ ast Aunt Rose. She tried not to look at the strings, figgerin she had no right knowin how long someone’s life wuz.

”Our sister Atta retired,“ said Clotho, the spinnin one. ”Moved in with her son. Lacky been weavin the quilt and cuttin the threads, but it’s a lotta wuk to do all that.“

Aunt Rose took a look at their quilt o’ evuh-changin colors: a million tiny fibers wove into a blanket so big it took up the whole porch. Sometimes the threads wuz the color o’ milk, and sometimes they wuz so bright you couldn’t look at ’em. She saw the pitcher on the quilt shift from a cabin in winter to cowboys shootin at Injuns to white folks drinkin wine at a fancy party. Every few seconds a new image appeared, jest as dazzlin as the last. Lovely as it wuz, she couldn’t deny it looked a li’l shabby with all them loose threads.

”Let me help,“ sez Aunt Rose, takin a seat in the empty rockin chair, pickin up the sewin needles. If you gone make a quilt outta folk’s lives, she figgered, you better do it right.

So Aunt Rose, in her ole age, became one o’ the Fates, jess like she always knew she would. Her grand- and great-grandchilluns loved to sit round her as she wove that quilt from folks’ life-threads. For every thread they sewed in, she removed another. You could hear a sigh whenever she pulled it out and cut it with her rusty scissors.

The Devil and the Twins

There wuz two twins by the name o’ Freeman. One of ’em was cop’ry, like he jess stepped off a penny, and the other was shiny-black. Other’n that, they talked the same, dressed the same. They mighta been the same person and din’t even know it.

One day the copper one came home cryin. ”I done it this time!“ he cries to his brother. ”I lost my soul to the Devil in a card game.“ And he fell on the flow, screamin.

Well, the black one warn’t gone see his brother in no pain. He went straight to that gen’ral stow, where Beelzebub sat playin cards with Mister Cousins and Ole Man Winter.

”Wut’choo up to, you?“ ast the Devil. ”You wanna play some cards?“

”You bastard!“ sez Freeman. ”You took my brother’s soul!“ And he balled his fists, ready to punch Beelzebub.

Lucifer looked him up and down, impressed. ”Oh, so you came to fight, huh?“

”If I has to. You took his soul, and now he cain’t git to Heaven.“

”Nigger,“ sez the Devil, ”wut makes you think he woulda gone to Heaven anyway? Evuhbody just assumes they’ll get there, like it’s a done deal. I like yo’ gumption, son, but fightin me ain’t a good idea.“

”Cain’t you at least shorten the time he’ll spend in Hell? If you do, I’ll wuk fo’ you. I’ll bring half o’ my crops every harvest, after I’s done with my landlord’s half.“

”You’d do that?“ sez Lucifer. ”Son, even if I wanted to do wut you s’jest, I cain’t. There ain’t no such thing as time in Hell, so I sho’ cain’t take o’ add away from it.“

”Fine!“ sez Freeman. ”I’ll play you! If I win, I gits the soul. If you win, you gits mine’s, too. Double o’ nuthin!“

Ole Scratch thought a moment at this show o’ brotherly fekshun. Now, he allus wuz a gamblin man. If they played, he had no doubt he’d win. No man born o’ woman could beat him at cards. But Brother Freeman wuz earnest, and the Devil wuz swayed.

”I’ma make you a deal,“ sez the Devil. ”I’ll give you the soul. Thing is, you cain’t give it back to yo’ brother. It’s yours. Yo’ ’sponsibilty. Yo’ brother has to go through life thinkin he damned. And if it gets lost o’ destroyed, that’s yo’ fault. You hold onto that soul, and when you o’ he dies it’ll go back to him.“

With that, Beelzebub grabbed a mason jar from the stow and put the soul inside. The soul still sits there in Mister Freeman’s cupboard, by the jars o’ honey and jam. He still ain’t tole his brother he has it, though he’s got it labeled soul so no one tries to spread it on toast by mistake.

Stay Positive

Sister Autumn settled in, spreadin her skirts o’ russet and gold over the land, and Remus moved his creaky bones to the stow fo’ to buy some bread. ”How you holdin up?“ Jim ast him while he cleaned the shelves, as if he din’t know every thought in Remus’ head.

Now, Remus allus had the power o’ Talkin. That’s how he won so many fights. If you wuz in his way, he’d sing plantation songs til you couldn’t think fo’ y’self no mo’ and you’d do whatever he sez. When he got mad, his voice could knock down small hills. And if you really annoyed him, he’d start spoutin so many stories bout foxes and rabbits and terrapins yo’ mine would go mushy. That din’t stop him from takin his blows. It had been ten years since he defeated the Swamp Lord, bringin peace to the countryside, and the scars on his wrinkled face showed every battle.

”It’s hard,“ sez Remus. ”Some days I feel good, some days I feel like Jesus callin me. And Addy May’s still gittin over that sickness. But I feel grateful. Every day I see my grandchilluns I feel grateful. You gotta be positive.“

”Amen to that.“ Jim din’t wanna worry his friend no way, but he felt he had to say sum’n. ”Remus, I heard there’s a young harpy comin fo’ you. He sez you murdered his daddy and granddaddy.“

”And prob’ly his great-granddaddy!“ sez Remus. ”I ain’t up fo’ no long fight. I figger I’ll jess toss him in the river and drown him.“ And Remus threw his arms wide. ”No worries. Hey, does that TV wuk?“

”Nope,“ sez Jim, tuggin on its rabbit-ears. ”I wish it did. I wanna watch that ballgame t’night.“

”It’s no big deal.“

”I tell you though,“ said Jim, ”Mobile’s team ain’t lookin too good.“

”They in a rebuildin season,“ Remus snapped at him. ”Let’s not talk like that. I wanna stay positive, now.“

”Alright. I’s jess sayin, they. . . .“

”There you go agin, tryin’a upset me when I’m in such a good mood!“

”But—“

”Naw, nigger! Don’t you got wuk to do? Take that somewhar else, if you gone be negative.“

With a sigh, Jim went back to dustin shelves. ”I wuz gone tell him that harpies kin swim,“ he sez to hisself, ”but since we stayin positive I best keep my mouth shut.¢?¢?¢?¢?¢

When the Law Came

The law came fo’ the gen’ral stow cuz it warn’t s’posed to be there in the first place. On that night, Not-Penelope looked up from her well-worn cuttin board, noticed the law, and kept choppin jest as she pleased. It came quiet as an indrawn breath, but that sound had Remus up and on full alert. Steppin outside, he looked round fo’ the cause o’ his dread: at the Mi’sippy, and the land o’ shadows, and the crabapple trees, and the fields and the red-brick path to Hell. He din’t see the law til it wuz on him. Remus planted hisself in front o’ that law, and went at it with scythe and shotgun. But he fell, along with the stow and evuhthin round it.

In the morn, a roadwork crew set up they orange cones, and set to fixin a power line that fell. A schoolbus came to pick up the chilluns and drive ’em to the colored school. George Wallace won his guvner campaign. Police hosed niggers down the street and sicked German Shepherds on chilluns, fillin the streets with screams and terror.

Sometime durin that, o’ maybe after, a man came fallin out a hole in the air. Buck nekkid, he brushed the fire out his hair, took a look at the swayin corn. A great laugh burst from his throat. He stepped onto the gen’ral stow porch, and there he sat, quiet-like, bidin his time til wuk, makin cabins and farms with his thoughts, and people to live in them cabins and farms, and dreamed up they tales as he wove straw from the sunlight.