Juneteenth by Ralph Ellison Page B

alone. They drank elderberry wine beneath the trees together, discussing the Word; me with a mug of milk and a buttered slice of homemade bread .
    It was Waycross.
    I came down the plank walk past the Bull Durham sign where a white, black-spotted dog raised his leg against the weeds and saw them. They were squatting in the dust along the curb, pushing trucks made of wood blocks with snuffbox tops for wheels. Garrets and Tube Rose but all the same size. Then I was there and one turned, fingering for a bugger in his nose, saying:
    Look here, y’all, here’s Bliss. Says he’s a preacher.
    They stood, looking with disbelieving eyes, dust on their knees, making me like Jesus among the Philistines.
    Who, him? One of them pointed. A preacher?
    Yeah, man.
    Hi, I, Bliss said.
    He looked at me, one eyebrow raised, his lips protruding. A dark, half-moon-shaped scar showed beneath his left cheekbone. The others were ganging up on me, their faces closing in.
    What he doing all dressed up like Sunday for? he said.
    Who?
    Him.
    ’Cause he’s a preacher, fool.
    Heck, he don’t look like no preacher to me. Just looks like another li’l ole hi-yaller. What you say’s his name?
    Bliss . They swear he’s a preacher.
    Sho do, the bow-legged one said. My mama heard him preach.Grown folks talking ’bout him all over town. He real notoriety, man.
    Shucks! Y’all know grown folks is crazy. What can this here li’l ole jaybird preach? A.B.C.? Hell, I can preach that just like ole Revum McDuffie does and he’s the best.
    I watched his hands go behind his back, his chin drawing down and his eyes looking up, as though peering over the rims of spectacles as he frowned.
    Brothers and sisters, ladies and what comes with you, my text this mawning is A.B.C. Y’all don’t like to think about such stuff as that but you better lissen to me. I said A —whew, Lord! I says A! Just lissen, just think about it. A! A! Aaaay! In the beginnin’ there was A. B. and C. The Father, the son, and the son-of-a-gun! I want you to think about it. Git in it and git out of it. I said A.B.C., Lawd.…
    He shook his head grimly, his mouth turning down at the corners, his tone becoming soft then rising as he hammered his palm with his fist. A.B.C.—double-down D! Think about the righteous Word. Where would we be without A? Nowhere ’cause it’s the start. Turn b around and what you got? I’ll tell you what you got, you got a doggone d! Y’all better mind! I say you sinners better mind y’all’s Abc’s and zees!
    He grinned. If I had me a Bible and a pulpit I could really lay that stuff, he said. Is that the kind of preachin’ he does?
    And one in a blue suit and tettered head defended me on heard words.
    You crazy, man. ’Cause he really preaches.… Any of us can do what you doing.
    That’s what you say. So what do he preach?
    Salvation. What all the grown preachers preach.
    Sali vation? Hey, that’s when your mouth gits sore and your teeth fall out, ain’t it? Don’t he want folks to have no teeth?
    I said sal -va tion. You heard me.
    Oh! Well tell a poor fool!
    Don’t you min’ him, Bliss. He’s just acting a clown.
    He grinned and picked up a pebble with his toes.
    No I ain’t neither, I just ain’t never seen no half-pint preacher before. Hey, Bliss, say “when.”
    “When” what?
    Just “when.”
    Why?
    Just ’cause. Go head on, do like I tole you; say “when.”
    So maybe I wouldn’t have to fight him—And blessed are the peacemakers—“When,” I said.
    Aw come on; if you a preacher say it strong.
    WHEN!
    WHEN THE HEN BREAKS WIND—See, I got you!
    They laughed. I tried to grin. My lip wouldn’t hold.
    I sho got you that time, Bliss. Hell, you can’t be no preacher, ’cause a preacher’d know better than to git caught that easy. You all right though. You want to shoot some marbles? Man, dressed up the way you is, you ought to be a real gambler.
    Not now, I have to go to the store. Maybe I can tomorrow.
    Say, Rev, if you so