dontravis.com blog post #549
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Several readers have asked me the status of Donald T. Morgan’s upcoming book, MIASMA. He tells me the book is complete now, and he’s beginning to look for a publisher. That prompted a discussion of another Guest Post. From previous guest posts, you may recall this is the story of a 10-year-old Black girl growing up in 1940’s Jim Crow Oklahoma. It deals with how an unexpected friendship between the girl and an elderly white man who lives on the hill on the way to downtown Horseshoe Bend begins to change the girl’s life. Miasma loves to sing, and he’s drawn to her voice as she walks past on the way to the post office every few days.
The following picks up the book at the beginning of Chapter 4. Mista Ace (as she calls Horace Parsley) has located the Bantu forbear of Miasma’s in genealogy records and explained to her that he was brought as a slave by his Cherokee owner over the Trail of Tears when Andrew Jackson expelled the Five Civilized Tribes from east of the Mississippi River. Miasma has just related what she learned to her mother, Willa.
****
MIASMA, a Novel
By Donald T Morgan
“Mista Ace knows lots about
things back then. He figures grandpa’s name was Bakari, not Baker. Says he
likely took his master’s name when he got free.”
“Mista Ace,
huh? That White man sure taken a lotta interest in a little Colored girl. I
asked Bessie about him, and she says he’s harmless. Still, y’all be careful ’round
him now. Hear?”
“Yes’um.”
It got quiet
in the house, making Miasma think her mother was cogitating on something. A small
twister outside the window stirred up dirt and leaves in the yard. Dust devil
they called it. Old Miz Carpole down the street claimed it was witches stirring
up trouble. Course, some a the kids figured she was one.
Her mama cupped
Miasma’s chin. “That Bakari… Josiah Elder weren’t your grandfather. He was a
coupla grandpas before that.”
“If he was
named Elder, how come we’re Elderberrys?”
“Dunno,
child. Somebody got it mixed up. But Dunbar’s grandma’s name was Berry. Hilda
Berry. She was a Chickasaw lady.” She glanced at the photograph on the side
table. “But your daddy’s name was Elderberry, sure enough.”
Miasma
screwed up her nose. “Chickasaw, I thought we was Cherokee.”
“That old
slave, he married up with a Cherokee woman right enough, but your daddy’s
grandma was Chickasaw. Guess y’all got two kinda Indians in you. Now go wash up
for dinner. Miz Willis give me her leftovers from yesterday. We got us some
fried chicken and brown gravy tonight.”
Miasma’s
stomach growled in anticipation as she scurried down to the privy before
washing up. Things couldn’t be better. Fried chicken tonight and next Sunday
she was gonna sing her first solo in church. Maybe she shoulda mentioned that
to Mista Ace.
****
But it was a
long way until Sunday. Her mother decided on some spring housecleaning, and put
Miasma to work. They hauled their mattresses outside for a good sunning, but
had to rush them back indoors when a rain squall blew in. Every pot and pan had
to be dragged out and washed, even if they’d just been washed the day before.
They even scrubbed down the walls, losing some more ugly wallpaper when they
done it.
Right in the
middle of all this work, a ripple of excitement swept Horseshoe Bend, including
Colored Town, as a scary, remote war came home to everybody. All the radio
stations talked about a big invasion of something they called the beaches of
Normandy. That was something Miasma would have to look up in the Geographic as
soon as she got a chance. As she and her mother cleaned, they listened to the
radio. Names they’d only heard of before became real people as William L.
Shirer and Eric Sevareid and Howard K. Smith reported on a desperate battle
halfway around the world
Miasma knew
Tizzie was worried because her daddy had been over in England where the
invasion set out from. Then came stories about Omaha Beach, a horrible place
where American soldiers took a beating and got killed left and right. After a
while, Miasma tried to blot out the deep somber voices of the invisible men on
the radio and concentrate on giving the place the best cleaning it ever had,
helped along by a song or two. Tizzie came around a couple of times—sometimes
bubbly and sometimes in tears over not knowing what was happening to her
daddy—but no matter her mood, she scooted right back down the street when she
found the cleaning was still going on.
Toward the
end of the week, everything they owned had been cleaned, dried, and ironed. And
Miasma figured she’d done more’n her share because Mama had gone to work at Miz
Willis’s every one of those days.
Friday,
Miasma headed for the post office where everybody was talking about the
invasion, some claiming it was foolishness to attack the invincible Germans on
their own ground, others figuring this was the beginning of the end for those
dirty Nazis. As she crossed Main Street, it seemed like the town was a little
quieter than usual.
On the return
trip—with the mail in her satchel—she spied Mista Ace on his front porch and
walked up to the fence without him calling her over.
“Good
afternoon, Miasma, what a pleasant surprise. I wondered what happened. I’ve
missed your singing.”
“Me and Mama
been housecleaning.” She shook the book bag he’d given her. “Whole week’s worth
of mail.”
“Now,
Miasma—” he started.
“I know. It’s
Mama and me… uh, I.”
“We’re all
victims of habit. How about a deal? When you’re in your environment, you speak
that language. When you’re talking to me, speak my language. Does that make
sense?”
“You mean
talk like White folks?”
He looked
startled. “Well, yes, I guess I do. Does that bother you?”
“No, sir. You’re
saying when I’m with you, I talk like my teacher wants me to. When I’m home, I
talk like everybody else.”
“Exactly. Do
we have a deal?”
“I
suppose. But it seems kinda one-sided. Where do you go to talk different?”
He laughed.
“You’ve got me there. It is lopsided, like most things in this world.”
“Anyway,” she
said. “I wanted to tell you I’m singing a solo in church on Sunday, in case you
wanna listen.”
“I’ll surely
do that, although usually all I hear is the entire choir. But I’ll put an ear
to the wind.”
“Can I ask
you something?”
Yes, you may
ask me anything you want.”
“This big
invasion they’re talking about. You know, on the radio?”
“You mean the
D-Day Invasion?”
“Yes, sir,
that’s the one I mean.”
“What about
it, child?”
“I hear some
folks say it’s a good thing, and I hear others say it’s foolishness.”
He bit his
lower lip for a moment. “I think it’s the beginning of the end of the war in
Europe. There’s lots of fighting with lots of blood yet to come, but I think we
can see the writing on the wall. That’s just my opinion, mind you.”
“Yessir, but
I set great store by what you think. The end. You mean like next week?”
“Oh no. We have
to fight our way clear across Europe over rivers and mountains. But I don’t
believe they can throw us back into the sea. We’ve got a foothold and won’t be
dislodged.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Can you imagine the suffering of
the people in those countries?”
“You mean the
French people?”
“I mean
everyone in Europe.”
“Even the
Germans?” she asked.
“Yes, even
the Germans.”
Miasma
blinked. “But they’re the bad people.”
“Some of them
are. A lot of them are. But most are folks like you and me who only want to be
left alone to live their lives. They’ve just simply followed the wrong
leaders.”
Miasma walked
on down the hill toward home deep in thought. That was the first time she’d
ever thought of German mamas and papas over there making do the best
they could while their men were off fighting. Besides that, they had all those
bombs falling down on their heads.
*****
Interesting, we are seeing the little girl’s interests grow in scope as Misa Ace expands her horizon beyond the here and now. Good luck with the book, Don.
Until next week.
Stay safe and stay strong.
Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!
A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:
https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0
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Email:
don.travis@aol.com.
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@dontravis3
See you next Thursday.
Don
New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.
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