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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77621 ***


                            Magnolia Flower

                                   By

                           Zora Neale Hurston

                        The Spokesman July, 1925


The brook laughed and sang. When it encountered hard places in its bed,
it hurled its water in sparkling dance figures up into the moonlight.

It sang louder, louder; danced faster, faster, with a coquettish
splash! at the vegetation on its banks.

At last it danced boisterously into the bosom of the St. John’s,
upsetting the whispering hyacinths who shivered and blushed, drunk with
the delight of moon kisses.

The Mighty One turned peevishly in his bed and washed the feet of
the Palmetto palms so violently that they awoke and began again the
gossip they had left off when the Wind went to bed. A palm cannot speak
without wind. The river had startled it also, for the winds sleep on
the bosom of waters.

The palms murmured noisily of seasons and centuries, mating and birth
and the transplanting of life. Nature knows nothing of death.

The river spoke to the brook.

“Why, O Young Water, do you hurry and hurl yourself so riotously about
with your chatter and song? You disturb my sleep.”

“Because, O Venerable One,” replied the brook, “I am young. The flowers
bloom, the trees and wind say beautiful things to me: there are lovers
beneath the orange trees on my banks,--but most of all because the moon
shines upon me with a full face.”

“That is not sufficient reason for you to disturb my sleep,” the river
retorted. “I have cut down mountains and moved whole valleys into the
sea, and I am not so noisy as _you_ are.”

The river slapped its banks angrily.

“But,” added the brook diffidently, “I passed numbers of lovers as I
came on. There was also a sweet-voiced night-bird.”

“No matter, no matter!” scolded the river. “I have seen millions of
lovers, child. I have borne them up and down, listened to those things
that are uttered more with the breath than with the lips, gathered
infinite tears, and some lovers have even flung themselves upon the
soft couch I keep in my bosom, and slept.”

“Tell me about some of them!” eagerly begged the brook.

“Oh, well,” the river muttered, “I am wide awake now, and I suppose
brooks must be humored.”




                           THE RIVER’S STORY

“Long ago, as men count years, men who were pale of skin held a dark
race of men in a bondage. The dark ones cried out in sorrow and
travail,--not here in my country, but farther north. Many rivers
carried their tears to the sea and the tide would bring some of them to
me. The Wind brought cries without end.

“But there were some among the slaves who did not weep, but fled in the
night to safety,--some to the far north, some to the far south, for
here the red man, the panther, and the bear alone were to be feared.
One of them from the banks of the Savannah came here. He was large and
black and strong. His heart was strong and thudded with an iron sound
in his breast. The forest made way for him, the beasts were afraid of
him, and he built a house. He gathered stones and bits of metal, yellow
and white--such as men love and for which they die--and grew wealthy.
How? I do not know. Rivers take no notice of such things. We sweep men,
stones, metal--all, ALL to the sea. All are as grass; all must to the
sea in the end.

“He married Swift Deer, a Cherokee Maiden, and five years--as men love
to clip Time into bits--passed.

“They had now a daughter, Magnolia Flower they called her, for she came
at the time of their opening.

“When they had been married five years, she was four years old.

“Then the tide brought trouble rumors to me of hate, strife and
destruction,--war, war, war.

“The blood of those born in the North flowed to sea, mingled with that
of the southern-born. Bitter Waters, Troubled Winds. Rains that washed
the dust from Heaven but could not beat back the wails of anguish, the
thirst for blood and glory; the prayers for that which God gives not
into the hands of man--Vengeance,--fires of hate to sear and scorch the
ground: wells of acid tears to blight the leaf.

“Then all men walked free in the land, and Wind and Water again grew
sweet.

“The man-made time notches flew by, and Magnolia Flower was in
full-bloom. Her large eyes burned so brightly in her dark-brown face
that the Negroes trembled when she looked angrily upon them. ‘She
curses with her eyes,’ they said. ‘Some evil surely will follow.’

“Black men came and went now as they pleased and the father had many to
serve him, for now he had built a house such as white men owned when he
was in bondage.

“His heart, of the ex-slave Bentley, was iron to all but Magnolia
Flower. Swift Deer was no longer swift. Too many kicks and blows, too
many grim chokings had slowed her feet and heart.

“He had done violence to workmen. There was little law in this jungle,
and that was his,--‘Do as I bid you or suffer my punishment.’

“He was hated, but feared more.

“He hated anything that bore the slightest resemblance to his former
oppressors. His servants must be black, very black or Cherokee.

“The flower was seventeen and beautiful. Bentley thought often of a
mate for her now, but one that would not offend him either in spirit or
flesh. He must be full of humility, and black.

“One day, as the sun gave me a good-night kiss and the stars began
their revels, I bore a young Negro yet not a Negro, for his skin was
the color of freshly barked cypress, golden with the curly black hair
of the white man.

“There were many Negroes in Bentley’s Village and he wished to build a
school that would teach them useful things.

“Bentley hated him at once; but ordered a school-house to be built, for
he wished Magnolia to read and write.

“But before two weeks had passed, the teacher had taught the Flower to
read strange marvels with her dark eyes, and she had taught the teacher
to sing with his eyes, his hands, his whole body in her presence or
whenever he thought of her,--not in her father’s house, but beneath
that clump of palms, those three that bathe their toes eternally and
talk.

“They busied themselves with dreams of creation, while Bentley swore
the foundation of the school-room into place.

“‘Nothing remains for me to do, now that I have your consent, but to
ask your father for your sweet self. I know I am poor, but I have a
great Vision, a high purpose, and he shall not be ashamed of me!’

“She clung fearfully to him.

“‘No, don’t, John, don’t. He’ll say ‘Naw!’ and cuss. He--he don’t like
you at all. Youse too white.’

“‘I’ll get him out of that, just trust me, precious. Then I can just
_own_ you--just let me talk to him!’

“She wept and pleaded with him--told him of Bentley’s terrible anger
and his violence, begged him to take her away and send her father word;
but he refused to hear her, and walked up to her house and seated
himself upon the broad verandah to wait for the father of Magnolia
Flower.

“She flew to Swift Deer and begged her to persuade her lover not to
brave Bentley’s anger. The older woman crept out and tearfully implored
him to go. He stayed.

“At dusk Bentley came swearing in. It had been a hot day; the men had
cut several poor pieces of timber and seemed all bent on driving him to
the crazy-house, he complained.

“Swift Deer slunk into the house at his approach, dragging her daughter
after her.

“What followed was too violent for words to tell,--strength against
strength, steel against steel. Threats bellowed from Bentley’s bull
throat seemed no more than little puffs of air to the lover. Of course,
he would leave Bentley’s house; but he would stay in the vicinity
until he was told to leave by the Flower,--his Flower of sweetness and
purity--and he would marry her unless hell froze over.

“‘Better eat up dem words an’ git out whilst ah letcher,’ the old man
growled.

“Bentley drew up his lips in a great roll glare.

“‘No!’ John shouted, giving him glare for his rage boiling and tumbling
out from behind these ramparts, as it were. His eye reddened, a vessel
in the center of his forehead stood out, gorged with blood, and his
great hands twitched. For good or evil, Bentley was a strong man, mind
and body.

“Swift Deer could no longer restrain her daughter. Magnolia Flower
burst triumphantly upon the verandah.

“‘Well, papa, you don’t say that I haven’t picked a man. No one else in
forty miles round would stand up to you like John!’

“‘Ham! Jim! Israel!’ Bentley howled, on the verge of apoplexy. The men
appeared. ‘Take dis here yaller skunk an’ lock him in dat back-room.
I’m a gonna hang ’im high as Hamon come sun up, law uh no law.’

“A short struggle, and John was tied hand and foot.

“‘Stop!’ cried Magnolia Flower, fighting, clawing, biting, kicking like
a brown fiend for her lover. One brawny worker held her until John was
helplessly bound.

“But when she looked at all three of the men with her eye of fire, they
shook in superstitious fear.

“‘Oh, Moh Gawd!’ breathed Ham, terrified. ‘She’s cussing us, she’s
cussing us all wid her eyes. Sump’m sho gwine happen.’

“Her eye was indeed something to affright the timid and even give the
strong heart pause. A woman robbed of her love is more terrible than an
army with banners.

“‘Oh, I wish I could!’ she uttered in a voice flat with intensity.
‘You’d all drop dead on the spot.’

“Swift Deer had crept out and stood beside the child. She screamed and
clasped her hands over her daughter’s lips.

“‘Say not such words, Magnolia,’” she pleaded. ‘Take them back into
your bosom unsaid.’

“‘Leave her be,’ Bentley laughed acidly. ‘Ah got a dose uh mah medicine
ready for her too. Befo’ ah hangs dis yaller pole-cat ahm gwinter marry
her to crazy Joe, an’ John kin look on; den ah’ll hang _him_, and
she kin look on. Magnolia and Joe oughter have fine black chillen. Ha!
Ha!’

“The girl never uttered a sound. She smiled with her lips but her eyes
burned every bit of courage to cinders in those who saw her.

“John was locked in the stout back-room. The windows were guarded and
Ham sat with a loaded gun at the door.

“Magnolia was locked in the parlor where she ran up and down, tearing
her heavy black hair. She beat helplessly upon the doors, she hammered
the windows, making little mewing noises in her throat like a cat
deprived of her litter.

“The house grew grimly still. Bentley had forced his wife to accompany
him to their bedroom. She lay fearfully awake but he slept peacefully,
if noisily.

“‘Magnolia Flower!’ Ham called softly as he turned the key stealthily
in the lock of her prison. ‘Come on out. Ah caint stan’ dis here
weekedness uh yo pappy!’

“‘No thank you, Ham. I’ll stay right here and make him kill me long
with John, if you don’t let him out too.’

“‘Lawd a mussy knows ah wisht ah could, but de ole man’s got de key in
his britches.’

“‘I’m going and get it, Ham,’ she announced as she stepped over the
threshold to freedom.

“‘Lawd! He’ll kill me sho’s you born.’

“Her feet were already on the stairs.

“‘I’ll have that key or die. Ham, you put some victuals in that
rowboat.’

“Half for love, half for fear, Ham obeyed.

“No one but Magnolia Flower would have entered Bentley’s bed-room as
she did, under the circumstances but to her the circumstances were her
reasons for going. The big horse pistol under his pillow, the rack of
guns in the hall, and her father’s giant hands--none of these stopped
her. She knew three lives,--her own, her lover’s, and Ham’s--hung on
her success; but she went and returned with that key.

“One minute more and they flew down the path to the three leaning palms
into the boat away northward.

“The morning came. Bentley ate hugely. The new rope hung ominously
from the arm of the giant oak in the yard. Preacher Ike had eaten his
breakfast with Bentley and the idiot, Crazy Joe, had forced himself
into a pair of clean hickory pants.

“Bentley turned the key and flung open the door, stood still a moment
in a grey rage and stalked to the back-room door, feeling for the key
meanwhile.

“When he had fully convinced himself that the key was gone, he did not
bother to open the door.

“‘Ham, it pears dat Magnolia an’ dat yaller dog aint heah dis mawnin’,
so you an’ Swift Deer will hafta do, being ez y’all let ’em git away.’
He said this calmly and stalked toward the gun rack; but his anger was
too large to be contained in one human heart. His arteries corded his
face, his eyes popped, and he fell senseless as he stretched his hand
for the gun. Rage had burst his heart at being outwitted by a girl.

“This all happened more than forty years ago, as men reckon time. Soon
Swift Deer died, and the house built by strong Bentley fell to decay.
White men came and built a town and Magnolia Flower and her eyes passed
from the hearts of people who had known her.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The brook had listened, tensely thrilled to its very bottom at times.
The river flowed calmly on, shimmering under the moon as it moved
ceaselessly to the sea.

An old couple picked their way down to the water’s edge. He had once
been tall--he still bore himself well. The little old woman clung
lovingly to his arm.

“It’s been forty-seven years, John,” she said sweetly, her voice full
of fear. “Do you think we can find the place?”

“Why yes, Magnolia, my Flower, unless they have cut down our trees; but
if they are standing, we’ll know ’em--couldn’t help it.”

“Yes, sweetheart, there they are. Hurry and let’s sit on the roots like
we used to and trail our fingers in the water. Love is wonderful, isn’t
it, dear?”

They hugged the trunks of the three clustering palms lovingly; then
hugged each other and sat down shyly upon the heaped up roots.

“You never have regretted, Magnolia?”

“Of course not! But, John, listen, did you ever hear a river make such
a sound? Why it seems almost as if it were talking--that murmuring
noise, you know.”

“Maybe, it’s welcoming us back. I always felt that it loved you and me,
somehow.”




                          =Transcriber’s Notes=

 Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.

 New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
 public domain.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77621 ***