SONG OF THE TREES _ Mildred D. Taylor ‘There is plenty of power in “Song of the Trees.” ‘Once you get into the story, you may find it hard to stop reading. ‘One source of the story’s power is our shared knowledge that some people are dealt with fairly because of the color of their skin. At this time (1930's) and in this place (rural Mississippi) some people of white skin could, and did, take cruel advantage of people with darker skin. There is also power in the hunger described in the story—this writer helps us feel how that strong demand of the stomach can rule our lives, Finally, there is power generated by the pride we fee the hero who arrives at the last minute—ike the good-guy-to-the-reseue in other stori What makes all these events so orable, though, is that we see the through the innocent eyes of Cassie, a child. Before you start to read, write in your journal your response to this problem: Suppose you need money for your family, but the only valuable thing you own is a beautiful piece of land that has heen home to the family for generations. Would sell this land fo get more money and be more comfortable for a time? assie, Cassie, child, wake up now,” Big C Ma called geal 3 che new son peaked ‘over the horizon. Hooked sleepily at my grandmother and closed my eyes again. “Cassie! Get up, gitl!"” This time the voice was not so gentle. 1 jumped out of the deep feathery bed as Big Ma climbed from the other side. The room was still dark, and 1 stubbed my toe while stumbling sleepily about looking for my clothes. ‘Shoot! Darn ole chair,” I fussed, rubbing my injured foot. “Hush, Cassie, and open them curtains if you can't see,"” Big Ma said. “Prop that window open, too, and let some of that fresh morning air in here.” I opened the window and looked outside. The earth was draped in a cloak of gray mist as the sun chased the night away. The cotton stalks, which in another hour would glisten greenly toward the sun, were gray. The ripening corm wrapped in jackets of emerald and gold, was gray. Even the rich brown Mississippi earth was gray. 104 characters Only the trees of the forest were not gray. They stood dark, almost black, across the dusty road, still holding the night. A soft breeze stirred, and their voices whispered down to me in a song of morning greeting “Cassie, gitl, I said open that window, not stand there gazing out all morning. Now, get mov- ing before I take something to you,” Big Ma threatened. I dashed to my clothes. Before Big Ma had unwoven her long braid of gray hair, my pants and shirt were on and I was hurrying into the kitehen A small kerosene lamp was burning in 2 comer as 1 entered. Its light reflected on seven-year-old Christopher-John, short, pudgy, and @ year younger than me, sitting sleepily upon a side bench drinking a large glass of clabber milk,’ Ma- ma’s back was to me. She was dipping flour from near-empty canister, while my older brother, Stacey, built a fire in the huge iron-bellied stove, "1 don't know what I’m going to do with you, 1. elabber mill: thickly curdled souChristopher-John,” Mama scolded. “Getting up in the middle of the night and eating all that corn- bread. Didn't you have enough to eat before you went to bed?" “Yes'm,"" Christopher-John murmured. “Lord knows I don't want any of my babies going hungry, but times are hard, honey. Don't you know folks all around here in Mississippi are Struggling? Children erying cause they got no food fo eat, and their daddies crying cause they can’t Bet jobs so they can feed their babies? And you Betting up in the middle of the night, stuffing your- self with cornbread!" Her voice softened as she looked at the sleepy Saturday Night Bath by Horace Pippin (1945). Oil on canvas, Private Coletion Courtesy Sid Deutsch Gallery, New York litle boy. “Baby, we're in a depression. Why do you think Papa’s way down in Louisiana laying tracks on the railroad? So his children can eat— but only when they're hungry, You understand?” “Yes'm,” Christopher-John murmured a his eyes slid blissfully shut ‘Morning, Mama,” 1 chimed. ‘Morning, baby,” Mama. said up yet?” “No'm. “Then go wash up and call Little Man again, Tell him he’s not dressing to meet President Roo. sevelt this morning. Hurry up now cause I want you to set the table.” “You wash Song of the Trees 105Little Man, a very small six-year-old and a mast finieky dresser, was brushing his hair when I en: tered the room he shared with Stacey and Chris- topher-John. His blue pants were faded, but except for a small grass stain on one knee, they were clean. Outside of his Sunday pants, these were the only pants he had, and he was always careful to keep them in the best condition possi- ble. But one look at him and | knew that he was far from pleased with their condition this morning. He frowned down at the spot for a moment, then continued brushing “Man, hurry up and get dressed,” I called Mama said you ain't dressing to meet the Pres- ident “See there,” he said, pointing at the stain, “You did that.” “T-did no such thing. You fell all by yourself.” “You tripped me!" “Didn't!” “Did, too!” “Hey, cut it out, you two!” ordered Stacey, entering the room, “You fought over that stupid stain yesterday. Now get moving, both of you. We gotta go pick blackberries before the sun gets (60 high. Little Man, you go gather the eggs while ChristopherJohn and me milk the cows.” Little Man and I decided to settle our dispute later when Stacey wasn’t around, With Papa away, eleven-year-old Stacey thought of himself as the man of the house, and Mara had instructed Je Man, Christopher-Jobn, and me to mind him, So, like it or not, we humored him. Besides, he was bigger than we were. Tran to the back porch to wash, When 1 returned to the kitchen, Mama was talking to Big Ma, “We got ubout enough flour for two more meals,” Mama said, cutting the biscuit dough. “Our salt and sugar are practically down to noth- ing and——" She stopped when she saw me. “Cassie, baby, go gather the exes for Mama.” “Little Man's gathering the eggs.” en go help him.” “But I ain't set the table yet.” “Set it when you come back."* I knew that I was not wanted in the kitchen. 1 looked suspiciously at my mother and grand 108 characters | | | | mother, then went to the back porch to get a basket Big Ma's voice drifted through the open win. dow. “Mary, you oughta write David and tell him somebody done opened his letter and stole that ten dollars he sent.” she said. “No, Mama, David's got enough on his mind, Besides, there’s enough garden foods so we won't go hungry.” “But what "bout your medicine? You're all out of it and the doctor told you good to— “Shhh!” Mama stared at the window. “Cas- sie, I thought I told you t go gather those eggs!” “I had to get a basket, Mama! [ hurried off the porch and ran to the barn. After breakfast when the sun was streaking red across the sky, my brothers and | ambled into the coolness of the forest leading our three cows and their calves down the narrow cow path to the pond. The morning was already muggy, but the trees closed out the heat as their leaves waved restlessly, high above our heads. Good morning, Mr. Trees,” I shouted. They answered me with a soft, swooshing sound, “Hear “em, Stacey’) Hear ‘em singing? ‘Ab, cut that out, Cassie. Them trees singing. How many times I gotta tell you that’s just the wind?" He stopped at « sweet alligator gum, pulled out his knife and scraped off a glob of gum that had seeped through its cracked bark, He handed me half As I stuffed the gooey wad into my mouth, 1 patted the tree and whispered, “hank you, Mr Gum Tree.” Stacey frowned at me, then looked back a Christopher-Jobo and Little Man walking far be- hind us, munching on their breakfast biscuits “Man! Christopher-John! Come on, now,” he yelled. “If we finish the berry picking early, we can go wading before we go back’ Christopher-John and Litt Man ran to catch up with us. Then, resuming their leisurely pace, they soon fell behind again. A large gray squitrel scurried across our path and up a walnut tree, I watched until it was settled amidst the tree’s featherlike leaves; then, poking one of the calves, I said, “Stacey, is Mama sick?” “Sick? Why you say that?"©. medicine she’s supposed to have. Stacey stopped, a worried look on his face. “IC she’s sick, she ain't bad sick.” he decided. “If she was bad sick, she'd been in bed.”” We left the cows at the pond and, king our berry baskets, delved deeper into the forest look ing for the wild blackberry bushes. “L see one!” I shouted “Where?” cried Christopher-John, eager for the sweet berries. “Over there! Last one to it's « rotten egg!” yelled, and off L ran Stacey and Little Man followed at my heels, se 1 heard Big Ma asking her “hout some Whamey by Sharon Walson (1990). Pastel But Christopher-John puffed far behind. “Hey, ‘wait for me,” he eried 's hide from Christopher-Jokn, Stacey suggested The three of us ran in different directions. 1 plunged behind a giant old pine and hugeed its ‘warm trunk as I waited for ChristopherJohn. Christopher-John puffed to stop; then, look- ing all around, called, “Hey, Stacey! Cassie! Hey Man! Yall cut that out!" 1 giggled and Christopher-John heard me. T see you, Cassie?” he shouted, starting to: ward me as fast as his chubby legs woud carry him, "You're it!” en Song of the Trees 107Not ‘til you tag me.” I laughed. As I waited for him to get eloser, I glanced up into the boughs ‘of my wintry-smelling hiding tree expecting a song of laughter. But the old pine only tapped me gently with one of its long, low branches. I turned from the tree and dashed away. You can't, you can’t, you can't catch me,” 1 taunted, dodging from one beloved tree to the next. Around shaggy-bark hickories and sharp- needled pines, past blue-gray beeches and sturdy black walnuts 1 sailed while my laughter re- sotinded through the ancient forest, filling every chink. Overhead, the boughs of the giant trees hovered protectively, but they did not join in my laughter. Deeper into the forest | plunged. Christopher-John, unable to keep up, plopped on the ground in & pant, Little Man and Stace! emerging from their hiding places, ran up to him, “Ain't you caught her yet?"’ Little Man de- manded, more than a little annoyed “He can’t catch the champ,” I boasted, stop- ping to rest against a hickory tree. I slid my back dowmn the tree's shaggy trunk and looked up at its ong branches, heavy with sweet nuts and slender green leaves, perfectly still. looked around at the leaves of the other trees. They were still also. I stared at the trees, aware of an eerie silence de- scending aver the forest Stacey walked toward me. “What's the matter with you, Cassie?” he asked. “The trees, Stacey,” I said soft 1g no more." 1s that all?” He looked up at the sky. “Come on, y'all. It's getting late, We'd better go pick them berries.”” He turned and walked on. “But, Stacey, listen. Little Man, Christopher John, listen.” ‘The forest echoed an uneasy silence. “The wind just stopped blowing, that’s all,” said Stacey, “Now stop fooling around and come on.” L jumped up (o follow Stacey, then cried, “Sta cey, look!" Ona black oak a few yards away was ‘a huge white X, “How did that get there?” I exclaimed, running to the tree. “There's another one!” Little Man screamed. , “they ain't 108 Characters I see one too!” shouted Christopher-Jobn, Stacey said nothing as Christopher-John, Little Man, and I ran wildly through the forest counting the ghostlike marks. ‘Stacey, they're on practically all of them,” T said when he called us back, “Why? Stacey studied the trees, then suddenly pushed us down, “My clothes?” Little Man wailed indignantly. ‘Hush, Man, and stay down,” Stacey warned. “Somebody’s coming.” Two white men emerged. We looked at each other, We knew to be silent “You mark them all down here?”” one of the men asked. “Not the younger ones, Mr. Andersen.” “We might need them, too," said Mr. Ander sen, counting the X's. “But don't worry “bout matking them now, Tom, We'll get them later Also them trees up past the pond toward the house.” ‘The old woman agree to you cutting these tees?” | ain't been down there yet,” Mr. Andersen said, “Mu, Andersen , ..° Tom hesitated a moment, looked up at the silent trees, then back at Mr ‘Andersen. “Maybe you should go easy with them,” he cautioned. “You know that David ean be as mean as an ole jackass when he wanna be “He's talking about Papa,” I whispered. “Shhh!” Stacey hissed, Mr, Andersen looked uneasy. gotta do with anything?” “Well, he just don’t take much to any dealings with white folks.” Again, Tom looked up at the trees, “He ain't afraid like some.” Mr. Andersen laughed weakly, “Don’t worry “pout that, Tom, The land belongs to his mama. He don't have no say in it. Besides, T guess 1 ‘oughta know how to handle David Logan, After all, there are ways. « “Now, you get on back to my place and get some boys and start chopping down these trees,” Mr, Andersen said. “I'll go talk to the old ‘woman."” He looked up at the sky, “We can almost get a full day's work in if we hurry.” ‘What's. thatMr. Andersen turned to walk away, but Tom stopped him. “Mr. Andersen, you really gonna chop all the trees?” “If I need to, These folks ain't got no call for them. I do. I got me a good contract for these trees and 1 aim to fulfill it.” ‘Tom watched Mr. Andersen walk away; then, looking sorrowfully up at the trees, he shook his head and disappeared into the depths of the forest "What we gonna do, Stacey?” I asked anx- iously. “They can’t just cut down our trees, can they?” “I don't know, Papa's gone . . .” Stacey mut- tered to himself, trying to decide what we should do next “Boy, if Papa was here, them ole white m wouldn't be messing with our trees,” Little Man declared. “Yeah!” Christopher-John agreed. “Just let Papa get hold of "em and he gonna turn ‘em every which way but loose."* “Christopher-lohn, Man,” Stacey said finally, 1 the cows and take them home.” “But we just brought them down here, Man protested. “And we gotta pick the berries for dinner,” said Christopher-John mournfully, “No time for that now. Hurry up. And stay clear of them white men. Cassie, you come with me.” We ran, brown legs and feet flying high through the still forest By the time Stacey and 1 arrived at the house, Mr. Andersen’s car was already parked in the dusty drive. Mr. Andersen himself was seated comfortably in Papa’s rocker on the front porch. Big Ma was seated foo, but Mama was standing Stacey and I eased quietly 10 the side of the porch, unnoticed. ‘Sixty-five dollars. ‘That's an awful money in these hard times, Aunt Caroline, Andersen was saying to Big Ma. I could see Mama’s thin face harden. “You know,” Mr. Andersen said, rocking fa- miliarly in Papa’s chair, “that’s more than David can send home in two months.” Little lot of Mr “We do quite well on what David sends home,” Mama said coldly. Mr. Andersen stopped rocking. “I suggest you ‘encourage Aunt Caroline to sell them trees, Mary. You know, David might not always be able to work so good. He could possibly have . . an accident,” Big Ma’s soft brown eyes clouded over with fear as she looked first at Mr. Andersen, then at Mama. But Mama clenched her fists and said, “In Mississippi, black men do not have accidents.” Hush, child, bust’* Big Ma said burriedly. “How many trees for the sixty-five dollars, Mr. Andersen?" “Enough ‘tl I figure 1 got my sixty-five dollars’ worth.” “And how many would that be?” Mama per- sisted Mr. Andersen looked haughtily at Mama. “I said I'd be the judge of that, Mary. 1 think not’: Mama said. Mr. Andersen stared at Mama, And Mama stared back at him, I knew Mr. Andersen didn’t like that, but Mama did it anyway. Mr. Andersen soon grew uneasy under that picrcing gaze, and when his eyes swiftly shifted from Mama to Big Ma, his face was beet-red. “Caroline,” he said, his voice low and menae. ing, “you're the head of this family and you've got a decision to make. Now, I need them trees, and 1 mean to have them. I’ve offered you a good price for them and I ain’t gonna haggle over it. 1 know y’all can use the money. Doc Thomas Lells, me that Mary's not well.” He hesitated moment, then hissed venomously, “And if something should happen to David . . All right,” Big Ma said, her voice trembling, All right, Mr, Andersen, “'No, Big Ma?" L cried, leaping onto the porch, "You can't let him cut our trees! Mr. Andersen grasped the arms of the rocker, his Knuckles chalk white, “You certainly ain't taught none of your younguns how to behave, Caroline.” he said curtly. “You children go on to the back," Mama sa shooing us away. ‘No, Mama,” Stacey said. “He's gonna cut Song of the Trees 109