Juneteenth by Ralph Ellison

smart, what’s the name of that dog who licked those sores poor Lazarus had?
    He didn’t have a name, I said.
    Yes he did too. He name Mo’ Rover! Dam’, Rev, we got you agin!
    I said, you mean more -over.
    He said, Shucks, how can you have Mo’ Rover when he ain’t got no Rover?
    They laughed.
    He a nasty dog, licking blood, someone said.
    Sho, there’s a heap of nasty things in the Bible, man.
    Hey y’all, he said, even for a yella he’s a good fella. Let’s teach him a church song before he goes. They crowded around.
    Sing this with me, Rev, he said, beginning like Daddy Hickman lining out a hymn:
Well, ah-mazing grace
How sweet
The sound …
A bullfrog slapped
His grand-mammy
Down.…
    He watched me, grinning like an egg-sucking dog. I looked back, feeling my temper rise.
    Hey, whatsamatter, Rev, he said. Don’t you like my song?
    Man, Bowlegs said, you know don’t no preacher go for none of that mess. Bliss here is a real preacher and that stuff you singing is sinful.
    Oh, it is, he said. Then how come nobody never tole me? I guess I better hurry up and sing him a real church song so he’ll forgive me. What’s more, come Sunday I’m going to his church and do my righteous duty. Here’s a real righteous one, Rev!
Well, I’m going to the church house
And gon’ climb up to the steeple
Said I’m going to Rev’s little ole church house
Gon’ climb up on the steeple
Gon’ take down my britches, baby ,
And doo-doo—whew, Lawd!—
Straight down on the people!
    I looked at him and gritted my teeth. My face felt swollen. No bigger’n me and trying to be a great big sinner. I thought: SaintPeter bit off an ear but still got the keys. Amen! I looked on the ground, searching for a rock.
    Boy, I said, before you were just pranking with me; now you’re messing with the Lord. And just for that He’s going to turn you into a crow.
    Shoots, he said. Who? You can’t scair me. Less see you.
    I said He will do it, not me. You just wait and see.
    Hell, I can’t wait that long. Goin’ on a cotton-pick next month. Goin’ hear all those big guys tell all those good ole lies. See, he said bending over and patting his bottom. I ain’t no crow. Can’t see no feathers shooting outta my behind.…
    They laughed, watching me. I reproached him with all the four horses galloping in my eyes.
    Suddenly Bowlegs stepped close and looked him up and down, frowning.
    Yeah, man, you might be right about your behind, he said. But while I don’t see no feathers, your mouth is getting awful long and sharp. And while you always been black now I be dam’ if you ain’t begun to turn blue black!
    Man, he said, taking a swing at Bowlegs, you better watch that stuff ’cause I don’t play with no chillun.
    Hey, Rev, he said, here’s a church song my big brother taught me. He up in Chicago and this one’s really religious:
Well, the tomcat jumped the she-cat
By the bank of a stream
Started howling and begging for that
Natural cream .
Soon the she-cat was spitting and
A-scratching and a-kicking up sand
Then the he-cat up and farted
Like a natural man .
The she-cat she jumped salty, looked around
And screamed ,
Said, Hold it right there, daddy ,
Until your mama’s been redeemed .
    As they laughed he joined in with his juicy mouth, rearing back with his thumbs thrust in his suspenders.
    Hell, he said, I’m a poet and didn’t know it.
    He did a rooster strut, flapping his arms and scuffing up the dust.
    Hey, y’all, he said, listen to this:
Bliss, Bliss
Cat piss miss!
    He flicked his fingers at me like a magician, taking my name in vain.
    Man, you sho got a fine kinda name to put down a conjure with. If a man was to say your name at two dogs gitting they ashes hauled the he-dog’ll git a dog-knot in his peter as big as a baseball! They be hung up for ninety-nine days. That’s right y’all. You say ole Rev’s name to a guy throwing rocks at you and he couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a whiffletree!