Chapter XXXVII: The Green-Eyed Monster in a Black Heart

Yes, the two household-servants at Arnold’s farm breakfasted lovingly together, there is no doubt of that. But when the green-eyed monster once gets possession of a man, it is not to be drawn out with a few soft words and a comfortable breakfast. These things may hold the fiend at abeyance, but he is sure to be found couchant somewhere in the soul, ready for a spring on the first provocation.

So it was with Dan. No sooner had he accepted Hagar’s submission than thoughts of Peter’s letter came back with bitter force. What right had that city-negro to correspond with the betrothed of his own sable bosom? What did that letter contain? If Hagar had allowed the city exquisite to commit himself in writing, what tender words, what perfidious encouragement must have preceded it? Oh, if he had not burned the letter, but carried it in his trowsers-pocket till some kind white man might have been found to read it for him!

Thus reflected poor Othello, and the thought burned darkly within him while he wandered around the farm, or sat on a broken cart whittling an eyelet-pin for Hagar, which he in the end threw away. Dismounting from the cart he wandered moodily across the yard, picking up corn-cobs and jerking them right and left as he moved along. For once jealousy made the lazy negro almost energetic. A fence was broken back of the house, and in his desperation he resolved to mend it. With his ponderous step a little quickened, he moved across the garden through a side-gate into a pasture-lot blooming thickly with white clover. His great feet crushed down the fragrant blossoms, leaving clouds of perfume behind them. He heeded nothing of this, but lumbered on, swinging his long arms and frowning gloomily.

All at once Dan paused, for in a corner of the lot, sheltered by an angle of the stone wall, something whiter than the clover attracted his attention,—something that looked like little patches and handfuls of snow, left to melt in the grass.

Dan was a curious negro, and at any time would have paused to satisfy himself about this unusual appearance. He wheeled about, took a cross-cut, wading ankle-deep through the tangled grass and blossoms, till he came out close by the white mystery. Here he paused, his great eyes rolling fearfully, and his thick lips parted. He took off his hat by the torn brim, and after bending his head in deep reflection a moment, grasped one hand into his wool, and gave it a fierce tug that brought the water into his eyes.

Dan’s emotions were beyond his strength to bear. He looked wildly around for some place of rest, made a fierce dive at the stone wall, and scrambled up it. Once on the top, he sat down, with both great feet swinging loose and both long arms folded despondingly on his breast. The little garments which Hagar had spread out to whiten among the pure clover tops lay an accusing evidence at his feet.

What he saw was enough. The whole force of human desolation fell upon him. Here lay the hideous secret. This was why he had been driven from the kitchen so persistently on one particular washing-day. Here, in this snug corner, thinking that the masses of white clover would conceal the iniquitous secret, Hagar had spread the evidence of her faithlessness. No doubt she was married to that infamous Peter. His Hagar—the fair hand which had worked corn-bread for him and broken it, too, that very morning—was given to another.

Dan’s head reeled and his heart ached. In the desperation of his anguish, he flung up both arms, lost his balance, and rolled down into the clover, grinding his teeth as he went. He made no effort to gather himself up, but lay prone upon the earth, grasping out with his hands. In their writhing his long fingers clutched what seemed to be a cobweb. He lifted the object up between his eyes and the sun. A mite of a cap, frosted with fairy-like work, trembled like foam in his black clutch. Dan clenched the bit of lace in his fist and shook the fist fiercely at the sky in general: then in a paroxysm of jealous rage he dashed at the filmy morsel like a hungry cur, and began to tear it with his white teeth. In the midst of this savage onset he flung the fragments away, and turning upon his face began to cry.

“Oh, Hagar, Hagar, how could you serbe a poor feller so! Did not yer know how I lubed yer? Oh, golly, golly, I only wish I could die right off, I’se so miserable, I is. Lord a massy, what has I done, what has I done dat de gal I lubed should sarve me so?”

After this tender outburst Dan spread himself dolefully on the grass and subsided into a tropical gust of tears.

As he lay with his face downwards and his broad shoulders heaving with sobs, Hagar came across the field, with a wooden pail in one hand and a square of hard soap in the other. Dan lay within the shadow of the wall, and she did not see him at first, but set her pail down, dropped the piece of soap into the water it contained, and began at once to splash up a foam of suds that soon creamed over its sides.

As the commotion of the water reached Dan’s ears, he held his breath and glanced cautiously up. How innocent Hagar looked at her genial work! A smile stirred her thick lips, her sharp black eyes danced pleasantly as she watched the foaming suds. Then a fragment of song broke forth:

“Can’t yer heel that, can’t yer toe that,
The deck a dora can’t you step that?”

Stirred to the depths of his soul, Dan sat upright. Hagar saw him; flashed her hands out of the suds and shook a rain of drops into the sunshine.

“Why, Dan! Dan, am dat you, or am it yer ghost? I ’care to man, yer scares me a’most ter death. What am de matter? what ’stresses yer now? Den, agin, how comes yer here in de crook of dis farm, where you hasn’t no business to be no how? Dan, I say what am de meanin’ ob dis ourdacous freaking, I wants ter know now right off?”

Dan’s face still bore evidence of his grief; tears rolled down his cheeks like drops of water on a seal’s back; his wool stood out torn and fleecy as his frenzied fingers had left it. His eyes were turned upon Hagar, full of reproachful misery.

“Oh, Hagar, Hagar, how could yer? How could yer?”

Hagar gave him a long glance, gathered up a handful of the little garments and thrust them into the pail with warning emphasis. Then dripping the suds from her arms, first with one hand then with the other, she stood upright confronting him.

“Now look a-here, Dan, these ere tantrums is beginnin’ to rile me up, and I won’t stand ’em. What on yearth are yer doin’? How comed yer here? What has yer been boo-hooing ’bout thar in the grass?—found a hen’s nest with the eggs spiled, or what?”

“Hagar,” answered Dan, shaking his head and wiping the tears from his face with a sweep of his shirt sleeve, but shrinking within himself all the time. “Oh, Hagar!”

“Well, what am it?”

“Oh, Hagar, how can yer look in dis face wid dem perfiderous eyes,—how can yer?”

Hagar put a hand on each side her trim waist and made one step forward.

Dan commenced shrinking into himself like a turtle drawing itself into its shell.

“What am it yer drivin’ at? Why shouldn’t I look at yer face jist as much as I likes? dat am de question for us two at dis time, so speak up. What’s der trouble,—am yer under convection, Dan? Hab der ’vival catched yer black heart at last? Yer looks like it, kinder skeered and kinder I don’t know what.”

Dan gathered himself up from the ground and supported his heavy body by the wall, looking as if he would have drawn back through the stones had that been possible.

“No, Hagar,” he said, “I isn’t under ’viction. Der ’vival hasn’t catched dis chile, but yit I’se on der anxious-seat; and it’s yerself, Hagar, as has put me thar.”

“What, I, I! Dan, didn’t we make up dis berry mornin’? Didn’t yer leave yer Hagar as happy as a bumble-bee on a thistle? Now du tell me what am it as sets heavy on dat heart.”

“I will,” said Dan, pointing to the grass with tragic dignity. “Hagar, it am them.”

Hagar made a sweep at the little garments and huddled them into the pail. Her cheeks grew blacker, her teeth gleamed. What did Dan mean? How dared he?

“Dan,” she said, “yer am der audaceousest nigger dat ever did live.”

“No wonder yer scrouge ’em inter dat pail—no wonder yer eyes doesn’t look straight inter mine. Oh, Hagar! Hagar! own up to once, and let dis heart bust.”

“It ed sarve it right if it war busted now,” answered Hagar, indignantly. “Jest say what I’m ter own up to, dat’s all.”

“Jest say out, fair an square, ‘I lub Peter.’”

“Pete,” exclaimed Hagar, “I’d jest a leave say it as not, if it was only to torment yer. But it aint true, and so I won’t.”

“Say dat yer married to him,” cried Dan, wringing his hands at the thought.

“I won’t, Dan, ’cause I isn’t. Thar.”

“You ain’t?”

“No, I isn’t.”

“Oh, Hagar!”

“Oh, Dan, how could yer tink sech a ting ’bout me?”

“Say it agin, Hagar. Say as you isn’t married to him, and neber was, and ain’t a-goin’ to be, foreber and eber.”

“Wal, Dan, I says dat.”

“Yer duz?”

“Yes, I duz, ober and ober again.”

“Come ter my bussum,—no, no, I darsn’t mean it,—dat is jest now, fore dat ’spicious minute arrives. I jest want ter know de meaning ob dis camp-meeting ob tings. Am dey yours?”

“What! dese, Dan? Duz yer mean ter ’sult me?”

“’Sult yer? No; but if de tings ain’t yours, whose am dey?”

“Daniel,” cried Hagar, going close to the wall and touching the jealous negro with her hand, “Daniel, am yer a gemman?”

“Wal, I reckon I is.”

“Den don’t ax me any more questions.”

“I won’t, Hagar. Only tell me one ting.”

“Well, say ’em quick.”

“If yer ain’t goin’ ter marry nobody else, and if yer lub dis chil’ as yer ought ter, jest set de happy day, Hagar You and I is bound ter set a sample ob lovable ferlicity ter dis household.”

“No,” said Hagar, gathering herself up with dignity, “not so long as you can ’spect de ’tegrity ob dis indiwidual.”

“Hagar, I doesn’t ’spect yer.”

“But yer will.”

“Neber, neber, lubly one.”

“But you’ll ask questions.”

“Jest try me, dat’s all.”

“Well, Dan, take up dat pail and bring it inter de kitchen.”

Dan took up the pail with touching humility, and Hagar walked triumphantly by his side, with her head uplifted, and her active feet scarcely bending the clover tops in her path. This time the reconciliation was complete.