At the pavement’s edge Maria swung her victim around until his wandering and reluctant gaze met hers.
“De las’ time yuh wuz aroun’ hyuh, I ain’t hab nuttin’ on yuh but my eyes. Now I knows yuh--yuh damn, dirty, dope-peddler, wreckin’ de homes ob dese happy niggers!”
Her arms shot forward and back like locomotive pistons. The man’s head snapped to an acute angle, and righted itself with difficulty.
“Now, w’en I done flingin’ yuh out dis gate,” she proceeded, “it’s de las’ time yuh is goin’ tuh leabe it erlibe. Eberybody say I is er berry t’orough nigger, an’ ef yuh ebber comes roun’ hyuh agin, drunk or sobuh, I ain’t goin’ to be t’rough wid yuh carcase ontil I t’row yuh bones out tuh de buzza’d one by one.”
Abruptly she reversed the luckless man and placed a foot in the small of his back. Then with a heave that seemed to bring into play every muscle of her huge bulk, she catapulted him once and for all out of Catfish Row and the lives of its inhabitants.
“Fish runnin’ well outside de bar, dese days,” remarked Jake one evening to several of his seagoing companions.
A large, bronze-colored negro paused in his task of rigging a line, and cast an eye to sea through the driveway.
“An’ we mens bes’ make de mores ob it,” he observed. “Dem Septumbuh storm due soon, an’ fish ain’t likes eas’ win’ an’ muddy watuh.”
“Go ’long wid yuh. Ain’t yuh done know we hab one stiff gale las’ summer, an’ he nebber come two yeah han’ runnin’.”
His wife came toward him with a baby in her arms, and, giving him the child to hold, took up the mess of fish which he was cleaning in a leisurely fashion.
“Ef yuh ain’t mans enough tuh clean fish no fastuh dan dat, yuh bes’ min’ de baby, an’ gib um tuh a ’oman fuh clean!” she said scornfully, as she bore away the pan.
The group laughed at that, Jake’s somewhat shamefaced merriment rising above the others. He rocked the contented little negro in his strong arms, and followed the retreating figure of the mother with admiring eyes.
“All right, mens,” he said, returning to the matter in hand. “I’m all fuh ridin’ luck fer as he will tote me. Turn out at fo’ tuhmorruh mornin’, and we’ll push de ‘Seagull’ clean tuh de blackfish banks befo’ we wets de anchor. I gots er feelin’ in my bones dat we goin’ be gunnels undeh wid de pure fish when we comes in tuhmorruh night.”