Ashford University Wars and Incarceration Essay

SCRATCHING THE SURFACE: SOME NOTES ON BARRIERS TO WOMEN AND LOVING
Author(s): Audre Lorde
Source: The Black Scholar, Vol. 9, No. 7, BLACKS & THE SEXUAL REVOLUTION (April 1978),
pp. 31-35
Published by: Taylor & Francis, Ltd.
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/41066481
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The Black Scholar
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SCRATCHING THE SURFACE:
SOME NOTES ON
BARRIERS TO WOMEN AND LOVING
by Audre Lorde
by others- for their use and to our detriRacism: The belief in the inherent superi-
ment. The development of self-defined
ority of one race over all others and thereblack women, ready to explore and purby the right to dominance.
sue our power and interests within our
Sexism: The belief in the inherent supericommunities,
is a vital component in the
ority of one sex and thereby the right to
war
for
black
liberation. The image of the
dominance.
Angolan woman with a baby on one arm
Heterosexism: The belief in the inherent
and a gun in the other is neither romantic
superiority of one pattern of loving and
thereby its right to dominance.
nor fanciful. Black women in this country
coming together to examine our sources
Homophobia: The fear of feelings of love
of strength and support, and to recognize
for members of one’s own sex and thereour common social, cultural, emotional,
fore the hatred of those feelings in others.
and political interests, is a development
which can only contribute to the power
above forms of human blindness
of the black community as a whole. For it
stem from the same root- the inis only through the coming together of
ability to recognize or tolerate the selfnotion
actualized individuals, female and
of difference as a beneficial and dynamic
male, that any real advances can be made.
human force, and one which is enriching
The old sexual power-relationships based
rather than threatening to the defined
on a dominant/subordinate model between unequals have not served us eis a
self.
To a large degree, at least verbally, the
black community has moved beyond the
“two steps behind her man” mode of
sexual relations sometimes mouthed as
people, nor as individuals.
Black women who define ourselves and
our goals beyond the sphere of a sexual
relationship can bring to any endeavor the
desirable during the sixties. This realized
was a focus of a completed and there-
time when the myth of the black matrifore empowered indivi dual. Black women
archy as a social disease was beingand
preblack men who recognize that the
sented by racist forces for an excuse
or
development
of their particular strengths
diversion, to redirect our attentionsand
away
interests does not diminish the other,
from the real sources of black oppression.
do not diffuse their energies fighting for
For black women as well as black control
men, over each other. We focus our
it is axiomatic that if we do not define
attentions against the real economic, poourselves for ourselves, we will be defined
litical and social forces at the heart of this
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society which are ripping ourselves and
our children and our worlds apart.
Increasingly, despite opposition, black
women are coming together to explore
and to alter those manifestations of our
each other as political or emotional support for each other, then the rule by terror can be expressed physically, as on the
campus of a New York college recently,
where black women sought to come to-
society which oppress us in ways different
gether around feminist concerns. Viofrom the oppression of black men. This
is threatening phone calls were made
lently
those black women who dared to exno threat to black men, and is onlyto
seen
as one by those black men who choose
to the possibilities of a feminist conplore
nection with non-black women. Some of
embody within themselves those same
manifestations of female oppression.
Forwomen, intimidated by these threats
these
instance, enforced sterilization and unand the withdrawal of male approval, did
available abortions are tools of oppression turn against their sisters. When threats did
against black women, as is rape. Only to not prevent the attempted coalition of
those black men who are unclear as to the
black feminists, the resulting hysteria left
paths of their own self-definition can some
the black women beaten and raped.
self-actualization and self-protective bondWhether the threats by black men actually
ing of black women be seen as a threatenled to these assaults, or merely encouring development.
aged the climate of hostility within which
they could occur, the results upon the
Today,and
thelesbian-baiting
red herring isofbeing
homophobia
used in the black community to obscure
the true double face of racism/sexism.
Black women sharing close ties with each
other, politically or emotionally, are not
the enemies of black men. Too fre-
women attacked were the same.
Wars and jails have decimated the ranks
of black males of marriageable age. The
fury of many black heterosexual women
against white women who date black men
is rooted in this unequal sexual equation,
since whatever threatens to widen that
equation
is deeply and articulately requently, however, an attempt to
rule by
sented.
But this is essentially unconstrucfear tactics is practiced by some
black
resentment
because it extends sidemen against those black womentive
who
are
ways, and
more ally than enemy. These tactics
arecan never result in true progress
issue, because it does not question
sometimes expressed as threats on
ofthe
emothe vertical
tional rejection: “Their poetry wasn’t
too lines of power or authority,
bad but I couldn’t take all those lezzies
nor the sexist assumptions which dictate
the is
terms of the competition. And the
(lesbians).” The man who says this
racism
of white women can be better adwarning every black woman present who
is interested in a relationship withdressed
men- where it is less complicated by
own sexual oppression. In this situaand most black women are- that (1)their
if she
wishes to have her work considered she
tion it is not the non-black woman who
calls the tune, but rather the black man
must eschew any other allegiance except
who turns away from himself in his sisto him and (2) any woman who wishes
ters, or who, through a fear borrowed
his friendship and/or support had better
not be “tainted” by woman-identified
from white men, reads her strength not as
interests.
a resource but as challenge.
All too often the message comes loud
If such threats of labelling, vilification
and/or emotioned isolation are not enoughand clear to black women from black
to bring black women docilely into camp men: “I am the prize and there are riot
as followers, or persuade them to avoidtoo many of me and remember I can
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1978
always go elsewhere. So if you want me
you’d better stay in your place which is
away from each other, or I will call you
aunt, childless or otherwise, whose home
and resources were often a welcome haven
for different members of the family, was a
lesbian and wipe you away.” Black
familiar figure in many of our childhoods.
And within the homes of our black comwomen are programmed to define themselves within this male attention and to
munities today, it is not the black lesbian
who is battering and raping our under-age
compete with each other for it, rather
than to recognize their common interests.
girl-children, out of displaced and sickenThe tactic of encouraging horizontal
ingorfrustration.
The black lesbian has come under inlateral hostility to becloud the real and
more pressing issues of oppression iscreasing
by
attack from both black men and
heterosexual black women. In the same
no means new, nor limited to relations
between women. The same tactic is used
way that the existence of the self-defined
black
to continue or exacerbate the separation woman is no threat to the selfbetween black women and black men. In
defined black man, the black lesbian is an
discussions around the hiring and firing
emotional
of
threat only to those black
women
who
are unsure of, or unable to,
black faculty at universities, the charge is
their feelings of kinship and love
frequently heard that black women express
are
for
other black women, in any meaningful
more easily hired than are black men.
For
way.
this reason, black women’s problems
of For so long, we have been encourpromotion and tenure are not to be aged
con- to view each other with suspicion, as
competitors, or as the visible face
sidered as important, since they are eternal
only
bur own self-rejection.
“taking jobs away from black men.” of
Here
But traditionally, black women have
again, energy is being wasted on battles
bonded together in support of
which extend horizontally, over the always
pitifully few crumbs allowed us, rather each
than other, however uneasily and in the
face of whatever other allegiances which
being used in a joining of forces to fight
militated
against that bonding. We have
for a more realistic representation
of
banded together with each other for wisblack faculty. This would be a vertical
battle against the racist policies ofdom
the and strength and support, even when
academic structure itself, one which it
could
was only in relationship to one man. We
result in real power and change. And
of only look at the close- although
need
course, it is the structure at the top which
highly complex and involved- relationship
between African co-wives; or at the
desires changelessness, and so profits from
these apparently endless kitchen wars. Amazon warriors of ancient Dahomey,
Instead
ofthe
keeping
our attentions
cused
upon
real enemies,
enormous foenergy is being wasted in the black community today by both black men and
heterosexual black women, in anti-lesbian
hysteria. Yet women-identified womenthose who sought their own destinies and
attempted to execute them in the absence
of male support- have been around in all
of our communities for a long time. As
Yvonne Flowers of York College pointed
out in a recent discussion, the unmarried
THE
BLACK
SCHOLAR
who fought together as the Kings’ main
and most ferocious bodyguard. We need
only look at the more promising power
wielded by the West African Market
Women Associations of today, and those
governments which have risen and fallen
at their pleasure.
In a verbatim retelling of her life, a
92-year-old Efik-Ibibio woman of Nigeria
recalls her love for another woman:
I had a woman friend to whom I revealed
my secrets. She was very fond of keeping
secrets to herself. We acted as husband and
APRH.
1978
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33
wife. We always moved hand in glove and
my husband and hers knew about our relationship. The villagers nicknamed us twin
sisters. When I was out of gear with my
husband, she would be the one to restore
peace. I often sent my children to go and
sexual contact between members of the
same sex (a contact existing for ages in
most of the female compounds across the
African continent, from reports) why
then is the idea of sexual contact between
work for her in return for her kindnesses to
me. My husband being more fortunate to black men so much more easily accepted,
get more pieces of land than her husband, or unremarked? Is the reality of the imagallowed some to her, even though she was ined threat the existence of a self-
not my co-wife.1
motivated, self-defined black woman who
will not fear nor suffer some terrible retriThe Fon of Dahomey still have 12 different kinds of marriage, one of which bution
is
from the gods because she does
known as “giving the goat to the buck,”
not necessarily seek her face in a man’s
where a woman of independent, means
eyes, even if he has fathered her children?
Female-headed households in the black
marries another woman who then may or
may not bear children, all of whom will
community are not always situations by
default.
belong to the blood line of the other
woman.2 Some marriages of this kind are The distortion of relationship which
arranged to provide heirs for women of
says “I disagree with you, or I do not
means who wish to remain “free,” and
share your lifestyle, so I must destroy
some are homosexual relationships. Mar- you” leaves black people with basically
riages of this kind occur throughout uncreative victories, defeated in any com-
Africa, in several different places among mon struggle. That is jugular vein psycholdifferent peoples.3
ogy, based on a fallacy which holds that
In all of these cases, the women inyour assertion or affirmation of your self
volved are recognized parts of their com-must mean an attack upon my self- or
munities, evaluated not by their sexuality that my defining myself will somehow
but by their respective places within the prevent or retard your self-definition. The
community.
supposition that one sex needs the other’s
While a piece of each black woman acquiescence in order to exist prevents
remembers the old ways of another placeboth from moving together as self-defined
and time, when we enjoyed each other in persons toward a common goal.
a sisterhood of work and play and power,
other pieces of us, less functional, eye
is a prevalent mistake among
each other with suspicion as we have been
oppressed peoples, and is based
programmed to do. In the interests ofupon the false notion that there is only a
separation, and to keep us out of touchlimited and particular amount of freedom
with our own power, black women have that must be divided up between us, with
been taught to view each other as always the largest and juiciest pieces going as
suspect, heartless competitors for the spoils to the victor or the stronger. So
scarce male, the all-important prize thatinstead of joining together to fight for
will legitimize our existence. This be-more, we quarrel between ourselves for a
comes an ultimate and dehumanizing larger slice of the one pie. Black women
denial of self, no less lethal than that
fight between ourselves over men instead
dehumanization of racism which is so
of pursuing and using who we are and our
closely allied to it.
strengths; black women and men fight be-
tween of
ourselves over who has more of a
If the recent hysterical rejection
lesbians in the black community is
based
right
to freedom, instead of seeing each
solely upon an aversion to the other’s
idea ofstruggles as part of our own; black
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1978
and white women fight between ourselves
over who is the more oppressed, instead
of seeing those areas in which our causes
are the same. (Of course, this last separa-
we choose, for both homosexual and
heterosexual black women today share a
history of bonding and strength that our
particular sexual preferences should not
tion is worsened by the intransigent
blind us too.
to, or cannot, address in themselves.)
Notes
racism that white women too often fail
As black women we have the right and
responsibility to define ourselves, and 1.toAndreski, Iris. Old Wives Tales: Life-
Stories of African Women. Schocken Books. New
York. 1970. p. 131.
black men against racism, and with white
2. Herskovits, Melville. Dahomey. North-
seek our allies in common cause with
women against sexism. But most of western
all as Univ. Press. Evanston.
i, pp. 320-321.
black women we have a right to recognize
3. Ibid., i, p. 322.
1967. 2 volumes,
each other without fear and to love where
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(per
PAGE
35
yea
Sweat
by Zora Neale Hurston
It was eleven o’clock of a Spring night in Florida. It was Sunday. Any other night, Delia Jones
would have been in bed for two hours by this time. But she was a wash-woman, and Monday
morning meant a great deal to her. So she collected the soiled clothes on Saturday when she
returned the clean things. Sunday night after church, she sorted them and put the white things to
soak. It saved her almost a half day’s start. A great hamper in the bedroom held the clothes that
she brought home. It was so much neater than a number of bundles lying around.
She squatted in the kitchen floor beside the great pile of clothes, sorting them into small heaps
according to color, and humming a song in a mournful key, but wondering through it all where
Sykes, her husband, had gone with her horse and buckboard.
Just then something long, round, limp and black fell upon her shoulders and slithered to the floor
beside her. A great terror took hold of her. It softened her knees and dried her mouth so that it
was a full minute before she could cry out or move. Then she saw that it was the big bull whip
her husband liked to carry when he drove.
She lifted her eyes to the door and saw him standing there bent over with laughter at her fright.
She screamed at him.
“Sykes, what you throw dat whip on me like dat? You know it would skeer me–looks just like a
snake, an’ you knows how skeered Ah is of snakes.”
“Course Ah knowed it! That’s how come Ah done it.” He slapped his leg with his hand and
almost rolled on the ground in his mirth. “If you such a big fool dat you got to have a fit over a
earth worm or a string, Ah don’t keer how bad Ah skeer you.”
“You aint got no business doing it. Gawd knows it’s a sin. Some day Ah’m goin’ tuh drop dead
from some of yo’ foolishness. ‘Nother thing, where you been wid mah rig? Ah feeds dat pony. He
aint fuh you to be drivin’ wid no bull whip.”
“You sho is one aggravatin’ nigger woman!” he declared and stepped into the room. She resumed
her work and did not answer him at once. “Ah done tole you time and again to keep them white
folks’ clothes outa dis house.”
He picked up the whip and glared down at her. Delia went on with her work. She went out into
the yard and returned with a galvanized tub and set it on the washbench. She saw that Sykes had
kicked all of the clothes together again, and now stood in her way truculently, his whole manner
hoping, praying, for an argument. But she walked calmly around him and commenced to re-sort
the things.
“Next time, Ah’m gointer kick ’em outdoors,” he threatened as he struck a match along the leg of
his corduroy breeches.
Delia never looked up from her work, and her thin, stooped shoulders sagged further.
“Ah aint for no fuss t’night Sykes. Ah just come from taking sacrament at the church house.”
2
He snorted scornfully. “Yeah, you just come from de church house on a Sunday night, but heah
you is gone to work on them clothes. You ain’t nothing but a hypocrite. One of them amencorner Christians–sing, whoop, and shout, then come home and wash white folks clothes on the
Sabbath.”
He stepped roughly upon the whitest pile of things, kicking them helter-skelter as he crossed the
room. His wife gave a little scream of dismay, and quickly gathered them together again.
“Sykes, you quit grindin’ dirt into these clothes! How can Ah git through by Sat’day if Ah don’t
start on Sunday?”
“Ah don’t keer if you never git through. Anyhow, Ah done promised Gawd and a couple of other
men, Ah aint gointer have it in mah house. Don’t gimme no lip neither, else Ah’ll throw ’em out
and put mah fist up side yo’ head to boot.”
Delia’s habitual meekness seemed to slip from her shoulders like a blown scarf. She was on her
feet; her poor little body, her bare knuckly hands bravely defying the strapping hulk before her.
“Looka heah, Sykes, you done gone too fur. Ah been married to you fur fifteen years, and Ah
been takin’ in washin’ for fifteen years. Sweat, sweat, sweat! Work and sweat, cry and sweat,
pray and sweat!”
“What’s that got to do with me?” he asked brutally.
“What’s it got to do with you, Sykes? Mah tub of suds is filled yo’ belly with vittles more times
than yo’ hands is filled it. Mah sweat is done paid for this house and Ah reckon Ah kin keep on
sweatin’ in it.”
She seized the iron skillet from the stove and struck a defensive pose, which act surprised him
greatly, coming from her. It cowed him and he did not strike her as he usually did.
“Naw you won’t,” she panted, “that ole snaggle-toothed black woman you runnin’ with aint
comin’ heah to pile up on mah sweat and blood. You aint paid for nothin’ on this place, and Ah’m
gointer stay right heah till Ah’m toted out foot foremost.”
“Well, you better quit gittin’ me riled up, else they’ll be totin’ you out sooner than you expect.
Ah’m so tired of you Ah don’t know whut to do. Gawd! how Ah hates skinny wimmen!”
A little awed by this new Delia, he sidled out of the door and slammed the back gate after him.
He did not say where he had gone, but she knew too well. She knew very well that he would not
return until nearly daybreak also. Her work over, she went on to bed but not to sleep at once.
Things had come to a pretty pass!
She lay awake, gazing upon the debris that cluttered their matrimonial trail. Not an image left
standing along the way. Anything like flowers had long ago been drowned in the salty stream
that had been pressed from her heart. Her tears, her sweat, her blood. She had brought love to the
union and he had brought a longing after the flesh. Two months after the wedding, he had given
her the first brutal beating. She had the memory of his numerous trips to Orlando with all of his
2
3
wages when he had returned to her penniless, even before the first year had passed. She was
young and soft then, but now she thought of her knotty, muscled limbs, her harsh knuckly hands,
and drew herself up into an unhappy little ball in the middle of the big feather bed. Too late now
to hope for love, even if it were not Bertha it would be someone else. This case differed from the
others only in that she was bolder than the others. Too late for everything except her little home.
She had built it for her old days, and planted one by one the trees and flowers there. It was lovely
to her, lovely.
Somehow, before sleep came, she found herself saying aloud: “Oh well, whatever goes over the
Devil’s back, is got to come under his belly. Sometime or ruther, Sykes, like everybody else, is
gointer reap his sowing.” After that she was able to build a spiritual earthworks against her
husband. His shells could no longer reach her. Amen. She went to sleep and slept until he
announced his presence in bed by kicking her feet and rudely snatching the covers away.
“Gimme some kivah heah, an’ git yo’ damn foots over on yo’ own side! Ah oughter mash you in
yo’ mouf fuh drawing dat skillet on me.”
Delia went clear to the rail without answering him. A triumphant indifference to all that he was
or did.
*****
The week was as full of work for Delia as all other weeks, and Saturday found her behind her
little pony, collecting and delivering clothes.
It was a hot, hot day near the end of July. The village men on Joe Clarke’s porch even chewed
cane listlessly. They did not hurl the cane-knots as usual. They let them dribble over the edge of
the porch. Even conversation had collapsed under the heat.
“Heah come Delia Jones,” Jim Merchant said, as the shaggy pony came ’round the bend of the
road toward them. The rusty buckboard was heaped with baskets of crisp, clean laundry.
“Yep,” Joe Lindsay agreed. “Hot or col’, rain or shine, jes ez reg’lar ez de weeks roll roun’ Delia
carries ’em an’ fetches ’em on Sat’day.”
“She better if she wanter eat,” said Moss. “Syke Jones aint wuth de shot an’ powder hit would tek
tuh kill ’em. Not to huh he aint. ”
“He sho’ aint,” Walter Thomas chimed in. “It’s too bad, too, cause she wuz a right pritty lil trick
when he got huh. Ah’d uh mah’ied huh mahseff if he hadnter beat me to it.”
Delia nodded briefly at the men as she drove past.
“Too much knockin’ will ruin any ‘oman. He done beat huh ‘nough tuh kill three women, let ‘lone
change they looks,” said Elijah Moseley. “How Syke kin stommuck dat big black greasy Mogul
he’s layin’ roun wid, gits me. Ah swear dat eight-rock couldn’t kiss a sardine can Ah done
throwed out de back do’ ‘way las’ yeah.”
3
4
“Aw, she’s fat, thass how come. He’s allus been crazy ’bout fat women,” put in Merchant. “He’d
a’ been tied up wid one long time ago if he could a’ found one tuh have him. Did Ah tell yuh
’bout him come sidlin’ roun’ mah wife–bringin’ her a basket uh pecans outa his yard fuh a
present? Yessir, mah wife! She tol’ him tuh take ’em right straight back home, cause Delia works
so hard ovah dat washtub she reckon everything on de place taste lak sweat an’ soapsuds. Ah jus’
wisht Ah’d a’ caught ‘im ‘dere! Ah’d a’ made his hips ketch on fiah down dat shell road.”
“Ah know he done it, too. Ah sees ‘im grinnin’ at every ‘oman dat passes,” Walter Thomas said.
“But even so, he useter eat some mighty big hunks uh humble pie tuh git dat lil ‘oman he got. She
wuz ez pritty ez a speckled pup! Dat wuz fifteen yeahs ago. He useter be so skeered uh losin’
huh, she could make him do some parts of a husband’s duty. Dey never wuz de same in de
mind.”
“There oughter be a law about him,” said Lindsay. “He aint fit tuh carry guts tuh a bear.”
Clarke spoke for the first time. “Taint no law on earth dat kin make a man be decent if it aint in
‘im. There’s plenty men dat takes a wife lak dey do a joint uh sugar-cane. It’s round, juicy an’
sweet when dey gits it. But dey squeeze an’ grind, squeeze an’ grind an’ wring tell dey wring
every drop uh pleasure dat’s in ’em out. When dey’s satisfied dat dey is wrung dry, dey treats ’em
jes lak dey do a cane-chew. Dey throws em away. Dey knows whut dey is doin’ while dey is at it,
an’ hates theirselves fuh it but they keeps on hangin’ after huh tell she’s empty. Den dey hates huh
fuh bein’ a cane-chew an’ in de way.”
“We oughter take Syke an’ dat stray ‘oman uh his’n down in Lake Howell swamp an’ lay on de
rawhide till they cain’t say Lawd a’ mussy.’ He allus wuz uh ovahbearin’ niggah, but since dat
white ‘oman from up north done teached ‘im how to run a automobile, he done got too biggety to
live–an’ we oughter kill ‘im,” Old Man Anderson advised.
A grunt of approval went around the porch. But the heat was melting their civic virtue, and
Elijah Moseley began to bait Joe Clarke.
“Come on, Joe, git a melon outa dere an’ slice it up for yo’ customers. We’se all sufferin’ wid de
heat. De bear’s done got me!”
“Thass right, Joe, a watermelon is jes’ whut Ah needs tuh cure de eppizudicks,” Walter Thomas
joined forces with Moseley. “Come on dere, Joe. We all is steady customers an’ you aint set us
up in a long time. Ah chooses dat long, bowlegged Floridy favorite.”
“A god, an’ be dough. You all gimme twenty cents and slice way,” Clarke retorted. “Ah needs a
col’ slice m’self. Heah, everybody chip in. Ah’ll lend y’ll mah meat knife.”
The money was quickly subscribed and the huge melon brought forth. At that moment, Sykes
and Bertha arrived. A determined silence fell on the porch and the melon was put away again.
Merchant snapped down the blade of his jackknife and moved toward the store door.
“Come on in, Joe, an’ gimme a slab uh sow belly an’ uh pound uh coffee–almost fuhgot ’twas
Sat’day. Got to git on home.” Most of the men left also.
4
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Just then Delia drove past on her way home, as Sykes was ordering magnificently for Bertha. It
pleased him for Delia to see.
“Git whutsoever yo’ heart desires, Honey. Wait a minute, Joe. Give huh two bottles uh
strawberry soda-water, uh quart uh parched ground-peas, an’ a block uh chewin’ gum.”
With all this they left the store, with Sykes reminding Bertha that this was his town and she
could have it if she wanted it.
The men returned soon after they left, and held their watermelon feast.
“Where did Syke Jones git da ‘oman from nohow?” Lindsay asked.
“Ovah Apopka. Guess dey musta been cleanin’ out de town when she lef’. She don’t look lak a
thing but a hunk uh liver wid hair on it.”
“Well, she sho’ kin squall,” Dave Carter contributed. “When she gits ready tuh laff, she jes’ opens
huh mouf an’ latches it back tuh de las’ notch. No ole grandpa alligator down in Lake Bell ain’t
got nothin’ on huh.”
*****
Bertha had been in town three months now. Sykes was still paying her room rent at Della Lewis’-the only house in town that would have taken her in. Sykes took her frequently to Winter Park
to “stomps.” He still assured her that he was the swellest man in the state.
“Sho’ you kin have dat lil’ ole house soon’s Ah kin git dat ‘oman outa dere. Everything b’longs
tuh me an’ you sho’ kin have it. Ah sho’ ‘bominates uh skinny ‘oman. Lawdy, you sho’ is got one
portly shape on you! You kin git anything you wants. Dis is mah town an’ you sho’ kin have it.”
Delia’s work-worn knees crawled over the earth in Gethsemane and up the rocks of Calvary
many, many times during these months. She avoided the villagers and meeting places in her
efforts to be blind and deaf. But Bertha nullified this to a degree, by coming to Delia’s house to
call Sykes out to her at the gate.
Delia and Sykes fought all the time now with no peaceful interludes. They slept and ate in
silence. Two or three times Delia had attempted a timid friendliness, but she was repulsed each
time. It was plain that the breaches must remain agape.
The sun had burned July to August. The heat streamed down like a million hot arrows, smiting
all things living upon the earth. Grass withered, leaves browned, snakes went blind in shedding
and men and dogs went mad. Dog days!
Delia came home one day and found Sykes there before her. She wondered, but started to go on
into the house without speaking, even though he was standing in the kitchen door and she must
either stoop under his arm or ask him to move. He made no room for her. She noticed a soap box
beside the steps, but paid no particular attention to it, knowing that he must have brought it there.
As she was stooping to pass under his outstretched arm, he suddenly pushed her backward,
laughingly.
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“Look in de box dere Delia, Ah done brung yuh somethin’!”
She nearly fell upon the box in her stumbling, and when she saw what it held, she all but fainted
outright.
“Syke! Syke, mah Gawd! You take dat rattlesnake ‘way from heah! You gottuh. Oh, Jesus, have
mussy!”
“Ah aint gut tuh do nuthin’ uh de kin’–fact is Ah aint got tuh do nothin’ but die. Taint no use uh
you puttin’ on airs makin’ out lak you skeered uh dat snake–he’s gointer stay right heah tell he
die. He wouldn’t bite me cause Ah knows how tuh handle ‘im. Nohow he wouldn’t risk breakin’
out his fangs ‘gin yo’ skinny laigs.”
“Naw, now Syke, don’t keep dat thing ‘roun’ heah tuh skeer me tuh death. You knows Ah’m even
feared uh earth worms. Thass de biggest snake Ah evah did see. Kill ‘im Syke, please.”
“Doan ast me tuh do nothin’ fuh yuh. Goin’ roun’ trying’ tuh be so damn asterperious. Naw, Ah
aint gonna kill it. Ah think uh damn sight mo’ uh him dan you! Dat’s a nice snake an’ anybody
doan lak ‘im kin jes’ hit de grit.”
The village soon heard that Sykes had the snake, and came to see and ask questions.
“How de hen-fire did you ketch dat six-foot rattler, Syke?” Thomas asked.
“He’s full uh frogs so he caint hardly move, thass how. Ah eased up on ‘m. But Ah’m a snake
charmer an’ knows how tuh handle ’em. Shux, dat aint nothin’. Ah could ketch one eve’y day if
Ah so wanted tuh.”
“Whut he needs is a heavy hick’ry club leaned real heavy on his head. Dat’s de bes ‘way tuh
charm a rattlesnake.”
“Naw, Walt, y’ll jes’ don’t understand dese diamon’ backs lak Ah do,” said Sykes in a superior
tone of voice.
The village agreed with Walter, but the snake stayed on. His box remained by the kitchen door
with its screen wire covering. Two or three days later it had digested its meal of frogs and
literally came to life. It rattled at every movement in the kitchen or the yard. One day as Delia
came down the kitchen steps she saw his chalky-white fangs curved like scimitars hung in the
wire meshes. This time she did not run away with averted eyes as usual. She stood for a long
time in the doorway in a red fury that grew bloodier for every second that she regarded the
creature that was her torment.
That night she broached the subject as soon as Sykes sat down to the table.
“Syke, Ah wants you tuh take dat snake ‘way fum heah. You done starved me an’ Ah put up
widcher, you done beat me an Ah took dat, but you done kilt all mah insides bringin’ dat varmint
heah.”
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Sykes poured out a saucer full of coffee and drank it deliberately before he answered her.
“A whole lot Ah keer ’bout how you feels inside uh out. Dat snake aint goin’ no damn wheah till
Ah gits ready fuh ‘im tuh go. So fur as beatin’ is concerned, yuh aint took near all dat you gointer
take ef yuh stay ‘roun’ me.”
Delia pushed back her plate and got up from the table. “Ah hates you, Sykes,” she said calmly.
“Ah hates you tuh de same degree dat Ah useter love yuh. Ah done took an’ took till mah belly is
full up tuh mah neck. Dat’s de reason Ah got mah letter fum de church an’ moved mah
membership tuh Woodbridge–so Ah don’t haf tuh take no sacrament wid yuh. Ah don’t wantuh
see yuh ‘roun’ me atall. Lay ‘roun’ wid dat ‘oman all yuh wants tuh, but gwan ‘way fum me an’
mah house. Ah hates yuh lak uh suck-egg dog.”
Sykes almost let the huge wad of corn bread and collard greens he was chewing fall out of his
mouth in amazement. He had a hard time whipping himself up to the proper fury to try to answer
Delia.
“Well, Ah’m glad you does hate me. Ah’m sho’ tiahed uh you hangin’ ontuh me. Ah don’t want
yuh. Look at yuh stringey ole neck! Yo’ rawbony laigs an’ arms is enough tuh cut uh man tuh
death. You looks jes’ lak de devvul’s doll-baby tuh me. You cain’t hate me no worse dan Ah hates
you. Ah been hatin’ you fuh years.”
“Yo’ ole black hide don’t look lak nothin’ tuh me, but uh passle uh wrinkled up rubber, wid yo’
big ole yeahs flappin’ on each side lak uh paih uh buzzard wings. Don’t think Ah’m gointuh be
run ‘way fum mah house neither. Ah’m goin’ tuh de white folks bout you, mah young man, de
very nex’ time you lay yo’ han’s on me. Mah cup is done run ovah.” Delia said this with no signs
of fear and Sykes departed from the house, threatening her, but made not the slightest move to
carry out any of them.
That night he did not return at all, and the next day being Sunday, Delia was glad she did not
have to quarrel before she hitched up her pony and drove the four miles to Woodbridge.
She stayed to the night service–“love feast”–which was very warm and full of spirit. In the
emotional winds her domestic trials were borne far and wide so that she sang as she drove
homeward.
“Jurden water, black an’ col’
Chills de body, not de soul
An’ Ah wantah cross Jurden in uh calm time.”
She came from the barn to the kitchen door and stopped.
“Whut’s de mattah, ol’ satan, you aint kickin’ up yo’ racket?” She addressed the snake’s box.
Complete silence. She went on into the house with a new hope in its birth struggles. Perhaps her
threat to go to the white folks had frightened Sykes! Perhaps he was sorry! Fifteen years of
misery and suppression had brought Delia to the place where she would hope anything that
looked towards a way over or through her wall of inhibitions.
She felt in the match safe behind the stove at once for a match. There was only one there.
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“Dat niggah wouldn’t fetch nothin’ heah tuh save his rotten neck, but he kin run thew whut Ah
brings quick enough. Now he done toted off nigh on tuh haff uh box uh matches. He done had
dat ‘oman heah in mah house, too.”
Nobody but a woman could tell how she knew this even before she struck the match. But she did
and it put her into a new fury.
Presently she brought in the tubs to put the white things to soak. This time she decided she need
not bring the hamper out of the bedroom; she would go in there and do the sorting. She picked up
the pot-bellied lamp and went in. The room was small and the hamper stood hard by the foot of
the white iron bed. She could sit and reach through the bedposts–resting as she worked.
“Ah wantah cross Jurden in uh calm time,” she was singing again. The mood of the “love feast”
had returned. She threw back the lid of the basket almost gaily. Then, moved by both horror and
terror, she sprang back toward the door. There lay the snake in the basket! He moved sluggishly
at first, but even as she turned round and round, jumped up and down in an insanity of fear, he
began to stir vigorously. She saw him pouring his awful beauty from the basket upon the bed,
then she seized the lamp and ran as fast as she could to the kitchen. The wind from the open door
blew out the light and the darkness added to her terror. She sped to the darkness of the yard,
slamming the door after her before she thought to set down the lamp. She did not feel safe even
on the ground, so she climbed up in the hay barn.
There for an hour or more she lay sprawled upon the hay a gibbering wreck.
Finally, she grew quiet, and after that, coherent thought. With this, stalked through her a cold,
bloody rage. Hours of this. A period of introspection, a space of retrospection, then a mixture of
both. Out of this an awful calm.
“Well, Ah done de bes’ Ah could. If things aint right, Gawd knows taint mah fault.”
She went to sleep–a twitch sleep–and woke up to a faint gray sky. There was a loud hollow
sound below. She peered out. Sykes was at the wood-pile, demolishing a wire-covered box.
He hurried to the kitchen door, but hung outside there some minutes before he entered, and stood
some minutes more inside before he closed it after him.
The gray in the sky was spreading. Delia descended without fear now, and crouched beneath the
low bedroom window. The drawn shade shut out the dawn, shut in the night. But the thin walls
held back no sound.
“Dat ol’ scratch is woke up now!” She mused at the tremendous whirr inside, which every
woodsman knows, is one of the sound illusions. The rattler is a ventriloquist. His whirr sounds to
the right, to the left, straight ahead, behind, close under foot–everywhere but where it is. Woe to
him who guesses wrong unless he is prepared to hold up his end of the argument! Sometimes he
strikes without rattling at all.
Inside, Sykes heard nothing until he knocked a pot lid off the stove while trying to reach the
match safe in the dark. He had emptied his pockets at Bertha’s.
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The snake seemed to wake up under the stove and Sykes made a quick leap into the bedroom. In
spite of the gin he had had, his head was clearing now.
“‘Mah Gawd!” he chattered, “ef Ah could on’y strack uh light!”
The rattling ceased for a moment as he stood paralyzed. He waited. It seemed that the snake
waited also.
“Oh, fuh de light! Ah thought he’d be too sick”–Sykes was muttering to himself when the whirr
began again, closer, right underfoot this time. Long before this, Sykes’ ability to think had been
flattened down to primitive instinct and he leaped–onto the bed.
Outside Delia heard a cry that might have come from a maddened chimpanzee, a stricken gorilla.
All the terror, all the horror, all the rage that man possibly could express, without a recognizable
human sound.
A tremendous stir inside there, another series of animal screams, the intermittent whirr of the
reptile. The shade torn violently down from the window, letting in the red dawn, a huge brown
hand seizing the window stick, great dull blows upon the wooden floor punctuating the gibberish
of sound long after the rattle of the snake had abruptly subsided. All this Delia could see and
hear from her place beneath the window, and it made her ill. She crept over to the four-o’clocks
and stretched herself on the cool earth to recover.
She lay there. “Delia. Delia!” She could hear Sykes calling in a most despairing tone as one who
expected no answer. The sun crept on up, and he called. Delia could not move–her legs were
gone flabby. She never moved, he called, and the sun kept rising.
“Mah Gawd!” She heard him moan, “Mah Gawd fum Heben!” She heard him stumbling about
and got up from her flower-bed. The sun was growing warm. As she approached the door she
heard him call out hopefully, “Delia, is dat you Ah heah?”
She saw him on his hands and knees as soon as she reached the door. He crept an inch or two
toward her–all that he was able, and she saw his horribly swollen neck and his one open eye
shining with hope. A surge of pity too strong to support bore her away from that eye that must,
could not, fail to see the tubs. He would see the lamp. Orlando with its doctors was too far. She
could scarcely reach the Chinaberry tree, where she waited in the growing heat while inside she
knew the cold river was creeping up and up to extinguish that eye which must know by now that
she knew.
1926
9
English 150
Critical Essay Prompt
In the essay “Scratching the Surface: Some Notes on Barriers to Women and Loving,” Audre
Lorde identifies “the vertical lines power or authority” (32). Drawing from Lorde’s argument,
what does she mean by this statement? How are “the vertical lines of power or authority”
portrayed the short story, “Sweat,” by Zora Neale Hurston and the essay, “Black Men in Public
Spaces,” by Brent Staples? Further, in what ways are the central characters/narrators in
Hurston’s and Staples’s essays impacted by “vertical” power and authority? In your response, be
sure to provide specific citations from ALL readings to support your discussion.

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