Song Yet Sung by James McBride

Author:James McBride
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2010-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

Inside the general store, Franz Mucheimmer was clearing stock from his shelves when a young Negro woman burst inside, grasping a note.

—Sir, this got to go to Mr. Beauford. It’s from the constable.

—Constable Travis’s out of town, ain’t he?

—Whoever’s over there sent it. It’s mighty urgent, sir. Got to go to Mr. Beauford right off.

Franz took the note and regarded the Negro woman. She was clearly distressed.

—Somebody in trouble?

—Jeff Boy, Missus Sullivan’s son Jeff Boy, he got snatched by the Devil!

Franz was a Jewish immigrant from Bavaria. He did not trust his English. He felt he often said the wrong thing, saying one thing when he meant another. He wanted badly to travel to Baltimore to study English at the synagogue there, but the distance made it impossible. There was a local woman who taught English at the local Presbyterian church every Tuesday night, but as a Jew, he was forbidden by Jewish law from entering the church. He had talked the woman into coming by the store once a week, but she was a volunteer and not always available. As a result, his English suffered. As he watched the sweating, nervous Negro in front of him, he decided to venture to the Presbyterian church next Tuesday and enter no matter what. It was the only way. Otherwise he would forever have this problem of misunderstanding, which he’d had last week when that crazy woman rough rider came by his store, by hollering about a saddle. When his friend Isaac came by the next day and told him who Patty was, Franz had nearly fainted. To travel so many thousands of miles to be shot by a woman in America is too much foolishness for you to bear, Isaac had insisted. Franz agreed. The problem of his not understanding English phrases, like the ones this colored woman was uttering just now, was a problem he aimed to fix. What she said about the Devil snatching someone, he was sure, was some kind of English expression.

—Stay here a minute, he said. He called to the back for Clarence, his store helper.

The old Negro, white-haired, serious, clad in an old tuxedo coat, and bent with age, emerged.

—What’s she saying? Franz asked.

From behind the counter, Clarence nodded at the nervous black woman, his eyes calm and alert.

—Ain’t you Junius’s little girl Ella? From out the Gables’ house?

—’Deed I am.

—What’s wrong? Clarence asked.

—Wrong? Miss Kathleen’s son got snatched in a hole by the Devil, that’s what’s wrong!

Clarence’s thick white eyebrows frowned. He asked dryly, Which son?

—Jeff Boy.

—That’s her oldest, ain’t it?

—God knows it is! Ella said, wringing her hands. And Wiley went to help him and he’s disappeared too.

Clarence nodded. He knew Wiley.

—Disappeared where, now? Clarence asked.

—Down a hole.

—Anybody seen it?

—Miss Kathleen. Dog’s dead too, to hear Mary tell it. Kilt!

—When?

—This afternoon.

—Where’s Amber?

—I don’t know, Ella said. He’s round here someplace, getting supplies and fetching the constable. But ain’t no constable, that’s what the deputy said. You got to hurry. Miss Kathleen’s touched. She’s touched.

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