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THE SLEEPER WAKES -- HARLEM RENAISSANCE STORIES BY WOMEN |
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The Foolish and the Wise Mrs. Maxwell Thoro (born Audrey Lembre) tiptoed down the spacious hall toward the kitchen of her dwelling whence issued sounds, not exactly of revelry but -- perhaps jubilation would be a better fit. For in a high soprano voice her colored maid-of-all-work, Sallie Runner, for the past half-hour had been informing to the accompaniment of energetic thumps of a flatiron, whomsoever it might concern that she had a robe, a crown, a harp and wings. Mrs. Thoro moved quietly for, enjoyable as was Sallie's repertoire, one could never tell when she would do some even more enjoyable improvising, and her employer knew from long experience that Sallie's flights were much freer and more artistic when she was unaware of an audience. Just as Mrs. Thoro reached the kitchen door the soloist started off on the verse, "I gotta shoes," so she stood quietly listening until the verse ended:
"I gotta shoes, yo' gotta shoes, As the singer ceased she whirled around upon her employer with a loud laugh. "Ha, ha, Miss Oddry!" cried she. "I knowed yo' was dere. I sho is glad yo' done come, 'cause I'se mighty lonesome an' powerful tired. Jes' was thinkin' to myseff dat I'se goin' to try to swade Brother Runner to move away from Starton. Nobuddy don't do nothin' here but git bornd, git married an' git daid, an' wurk, wurk, wurk! Miss Oddry, I'se goin' to tell yo' a secret." "What is it, Sallie?" inquired Mrs. Thoro. "I don't lak to wurk. Nuvver did." "Why, Sallie! That is a surprise," replied her employer. "I should never have guessed it, for there is not a more capable maid in town than you are." "Yasum, I guess dat's right. I wurks wid my might an' I does whut my hands finds to do, but tain't my nature doe. Muss be my Ma's trainin' an' mazin-grace-how-sweet-de-sound mixed togedder, I reckon. Miss Oddry, does yo' know whut I'd ruther do dan anything? I'd ruther know how to read an' write dan anything in de whole, wide world, an' den I'd nuvver do nothin' else but jes' dem two." "Well, Sallie, I'm sure you would get very tired of reading and writing all the time; but you're not too old to learn." "Nome, not too ole, mebbe, but too dumb an' too soft in de haid, I reckun. Miss Oddry, couldn't yo' read to me or talk to me on ironin' days 'bout sumpin' outside uv Starton? Cose I wouldn't want yo' round under my feet on wash-days, but ironin' days is fine fur lissening." "Why yes, Sallie, I'd love to do that. Why didn't you ask me before? Mr. Thoro and I are re-reading an old school course, just for the fun of it, and I'll share it with you. I'm sure you would enjoy hearing about some of earth's greatest characters. How would you like to have me tell you about Socrates?" "Sockertees? Huh! Funny name! Sockertees whut?" "Well, in his time men seldom had more than one name, Sallie. He was the son of Sophroniscus and Phaenarete. He was a sculptor and a philosopher." "Gosh!" cried Sallie. "A sculpture an' a lossipede! Wusser an' mo' uv it! But go on, Miss Oddry, tell me mo' 'bout him." "Socrates was born about 469 years before our Lord, and died at the age of seventy. He is said to have had thick lips, a flat nose, protruding eyes, bald head, a squat figure, and a shambling gait." "Why!" exclaimed Sallie. "He was a cullud gentmun, warn't he? Musta looked jes' lak Brudder Runner, 'cordin' to dat." "Oh no, Sallie, he wasn't colored." "Wal, ef he been daid all dat long time, Miss Oddry, how kin yo' tell his color?" "Why he was an Athenian, Sallie. He lived in Greece." "Dar now! Dat settles it! Ever'buddy knows dat my cullud folks sho do lak grease." "Oh Sallie! 'Greece' was the name of his country, just as 'America' is the name of ours." Sallie grunted. "Socrates," continued Mrs. Thoro, "was a very wise, just, and good man, and he loved his country and his countrymen very much. He used to delight in wandering through the streets of Athens, conversing with those whom he met, giving them the benefit of the truths he had discovered and seeking to obtain from each more truth or new light. He spent the whole day in public, in the walks, the workshops, the gymnasiums, the porticoes, the schools and the market place at the hour it was most crowded, talking with everyone without distinction of age, sex, rank or condition. It was said that 'as he talked the hearts of all who heard him leaped up and their tears gushed out.'" "Hole, on Miss Oddry," interrupted Sallie, "Jes' wanta ax yo' one queshun. While ole Sockertees was runnin' round the streets, shootin' off his lip an' makin' peepul cry, who was takin' keer uv his fambly? Sounds mo' an' mo' lak Brudder Runner to me." "Well, Sallie, he had a very capable wife who bore him three sons and whose name was Xanthippe. No doubt she managed the household. The only fault Socrates found with her was that she had a violent temper." Sallie slammed the flatiron down and braced herself against the board, arms akimbo, eyes flashing with indignation. "Vilent temper?" cried she. "Vilent temper? Whut 'oman wouldn't had a vilent temper in a fix lak dat? I sho do symperthize wid Zantipsy an' I doesn't blame her fur gittin' tipsy needer, pore thing. I betcha she was es sweet es a angel befo' she got mahred, 'cause whut it takes to change yo' disposition, a man lak dat sho is got. It's jes' es much es a 'oman kin do to take keer uv her house right an' raise her chillun right wen her husband is doin' all he kin to hepp her, less mo' wen he ain't doin' nothin' but goin' round runnin' he mouf. Dis ain't de fust time I'se met a gentmun who loves he kentry mo' dan he do he home folks. Go on, Miss Oddry, dear, tell me some mo' 'bout Reveral Eyesire Runner's twin brudder." "Of course, Sallie," said Mrs. Thoro laughing, "Socrates was human and had his faults, but all in all he was a noble character." "I hopes so Miss Oddry, but I'll have to hear mo' fo' I 'cide." "Socrates," resumed Mrs. Thoro, "believed in signs and omens and in following warnings received in his dreams; he also claimed that there was an inner voice which had guided him from childhood." "Miss Oddry," expostulated Sallie, "yo' keep on tellin' me Sockertees warn't cullud, but yo' keep on tellin' me cullud things 'bout him. Wen we all b'lieve in signs an' dreams yo' all allus says, 'It's jes' darky superstishun an' ignunce.' How yo' splain dat?" "Well, Sallie, in those days the most learned people were very superstitious. Of course we know better now." "How yo' know yo' knows better, Miss Oddry? How yo' know yo' don't know wusser? Dere's one thing I done found fur sho, an' dat is' dat de mo' folks knows de less dey knows. I b'lieves in dreams an' wen I follers dem I goes right. Cose I ain't nuvver heerd no cujjus voice, but ef ole Sockertees say he heard it I b'lieve he heerd it. Nobuddy can't prove he didn't." "Very true, Sallie, but, --" "Jes' one minute, Miss Oddry, please. Dere's sumpin' I been thinkin' a long time, an' now I knows it. An' dat is dat wen yo' come right down to de fack-trufe uv de inside feelin's, peepul is all alak; black ones is lak white ones an' dem ole ancienty ones lak Sockertees is jes' lak dese here ones right now." "I believe there is some truth in that, Sallie, but shall I go on about Socrates?" "Oh, yassum, Miss Oddry, I do love to hear 'bout him." "He tried most earnestly to make people think, to reason out what was right and what was wrong in their treatment of each other. He constantly repeated, 'Virtue is knowledge; Vice is ignorance,' while to the young his advice was always, 'Know thyself.''' "Humph!" interrupted Sallie. "Mighty good advice, Miss Oddry, but it's some job, b'lieve me. I'se es ole es Methusalum's billy goat now an' I ain't nuvver found myseff out yit. Dere's some new kink comin' out ev'ry day. How 'bout you, Miss Oddry?" "I think you are right, Sallie. But don't you think we are better off if we study ourselves than if we just blunder along blindly? "Oh, yasum, I guess so. But how did ole Sockertees come out wid all his runnin' round an' talkin'?" "Very sadly, I am sorry to say. Very sadly. Most of the Athenians entirely misunderstood him." "Bound to," said Sallie. "He made a great many unscrupulous enemies." "Bound to," said Sallie. "They accused him of being the very opposite of what he was." "Bound to," said Sallie. "And finally they tried him and condemned him to death." Sallie set down the flatiron and folded her arms, while her eyes flew wide open in astonishment. "What?" she exclaimed. "Jes' fur talkin'? Wal I-will-be-swijjled!" "Yes," continued Mrs. Thoro. "They imprisoned him and sent him a cup of hemlock, which is a deadly poison, to drink." "But he had mo' gumption dan to drink it, I hope?" "It was the law of his country, Sallie, and Socrates was always a law-abiding citizen." "Wal, fur gosh sake!" cried Sallie. "Whut in de world was de use uv him havin' all dat tongue ef he couldn't use it to show dem peepul wherein? He mouts well been es dumb es a doodlebug!" "But," explained Mrs. Thoro, "he had spent his whole life in trying to make the Athenians love and honor and obey their laws and he was willing to die for the same cause. He had many friends who loved him truly and they tried to persuade him to escape, but by unanswerable arguments he proved to them how wrong they were." "Humph!" grunted Sallie. "Tonguey to de last! An' in de wrong way to de wrong ones." "Plato, who was a friend as well as a pupil," continued Mrs. Thoro, "tells how beautifully Socrates died. He took the cup of hemlock quite calmly and cheerfully and drained it to the dregs. When his friends could not restrain their sorrow for the loss they were about to sustain, he reproved them and urged them to remember what they were about to bury, not Socrates, but the shell which had contained him, for he, himself, was about to enter the joys of the blessed. He tried to the last to make them see that unless they honored and obeyed all laws, their country could not long survive, because lawlessness was the same as suicide." "Miss Oddry," said Sallie, solemnly, "don't yo' wisht we had one million of dem Sockertees down here in ower sunny Soufland?" FROM THE CRISIS, MARCH I92I
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