TIRZAH POTTER EDGAR LEE MASTERS T IRZAH POTTER was an old widow who had a clock The clock had come from Hartford with a stock Of silver and watches to the jeweler Perry. Her widowhood, till she began to totter; In 1895 Tirzah Potter died, And all her things were sold at public sale. The nephew took the clock, as more befitting There amid shadows and sunlight flitting It ticked away in a mood unwitting, And half remembering the cattle and cows, Then after a time the nephew failed, and what He owned was sold. And Tirzah Potter went with the lot As a trifle with no tradition, although old. So to New York came Tirzah Potter and ticked Drowned out the chatter of book critiques, Drowned sneers and hisses, drowned the ticks The babblers heard the clock begin its "Tirzah Potter! Tirzah Potter!" They listened in a kind of dread; They ceased to munch Italian bread; But not into a single head Entered what Tirzah Potter said. H A PROUDFUL FELLOW The Black People Called Him Ut Wine Is name was Earth WineEarth for the earth itself, that he might have long life, and Wine for the family to which he belonged. His black mother and all the other black people on the plantation called him Ut Wine. He called himself that. Ut could not bear to live like the rest of his people. The climate was warm; most of the days were brilliant and fine; the tottering old Quarter houses which had sheltered Ut's black kin ever since the first of them were brought up the river, long ago, to work as slaves alongside the mules in the cotton and corn fields, gave shelter enough, all the shelter Ut ever needed from rain or sun or cold. Ut really loved the old houses and the great old moss-draped oaks that shaded them, but he wanted to own a piece of land and have a home of his own. This may have been because he was not altogether black. His mother was, but his father was white. White blood has a strange way of poisoning men so that they cannot rest unless they own things. Sometimes they crave land, sometimes houses, sometimes people. Ut craved all three, for he felt that Harpa, his young wife, was his the same as his faithful dog Sounder, or his cow, or his mule. His mother argued with him and tried to show him that he was foolish and proudful; that while men may think they own land because they pay taxes on it and plow it and salt it with sweat to make it give them grain or cotton, the truth is that the land owns them all the time; and when it has worn them out with struggling and striving, it takes them and turns them back into dust to feed its trees and grass and weeds. Ut was a fool to turn his back on things that were good enough. He had good clothes and a roof over his head; he could rest or pleasure himself from dusk until dawn every night God sent. He ought to thank God and be satisfied. In spite of her warning that he was tempting fate when he stepped out alone, for himself, Ut bought a piece of thick-wooded land some miles away where a lonely hill bulged out, making the sullen yellow river crook sharply into a bend that was called the Devil's Elbow. It had always been a bad-luck place, for the river swamp below it was filled with hootowls and barking snakes and spirit dogs and ugly things bred in slime and black moon-shadows. Ut's land was rich enough, but its richness fed weeds and grass as freely as it fed his crops, and it took a brave heart and tough sinews to rule it and keep it smooth and clean. If Ut had wanted to run a still and make corn whisky to sell, his mother would not have minded, for easy money can be made so, and no better place could be found for such work than the deep shady cove on the side of that hill where the great trees and thick undergrowth hide the sky from the earth. Or if Ut had done something wrong and wanted to hide from the law, she would have been glad for him to stay in the swamp below the hill, for it is a roadless jungle and the river's broad stream runs clear to the sea and could take him to safety without leaving a single telltale track behind. But Ut wanted only a bit of land and a home, and a chance to make something of himself. He built his house out of pine poles with the cracks carefully daubed with mud; and the chimney was made out of sticks and clay, but it was solid and strong, a good enough house for anybody to live in. Then he planted patches of peas and potatoes and vegetables, and got a cow, a flock of chickens, and put a shote into a pen to grow into a big hog by fall. He aimed to have plenty to eat, not only for himself and Harpa, but for Joe, his younger brother. Next to Harpa he loved Joe better than anybody in the world. All these things kept him working early and late, Saturdays the same as other days, although everybody else in the whole country rested from Friday night until Monday morning. Sometimes Harpa complained that Ut had forgotten all about pleasure; but he always claimed that he got his joy out of owning his home. He went hunting and fishing now and then. The river was full of fish to be had for the taking, the woods full of game; Sounder had a sure nose and Ut was a good shot. His old double-barreled gun was so well trained it could shoot straight and kill almost without his ever aiming it.' Ut had a tender heart and he hated to kill the free wild things; but he had hard strength-taxing work to do, and the flesh of the forest creatures makes food that hardens a man's sinews and reddens his blood far better than corn-meal and buttsbacon can ever do. Instead of taking a smart black wife from the Quarters, Ut had gone to the village, ten miles away, and married Harpa, a slender slim-footed girl, even lighter in color than himself. For in spite of his white blood, Ut was dark. He had his mother's crinkly hair and her stout stocky body, but instead of her wide flattened nostrils and thick lips he had his white father's straight mouth and narrow nose, and big soft eyes that were full of tawny light. Harpa's skin was warm yellow and her eyes blue-green, her straight black hair was shiny and her purple lips were made for laughing. To Ut she was everything lovely and sweet. Little slim yellow Harpa. She did not like work, but Ut felt that her slender body was not meant for work. One morning she tried jerking a hoe through the tough grass roots, and in no time both her palms were blistered. Her hands were too small and tender to stand the rasping of a rough hoe-handle. Harpa hated to cook. Greasy black pots and ugly dish-water made her feel sick. But Ut ate most of the victuals, and he had far rather cook them than to have Harpa scorching her face in front of the open fireplace where the cooking had to be done. One hot summer evening Ut came in from the field, weary and drenched with sweat. He found Harpa sitting on the door-step laughing and talking with Joe, and watching the full moon rise. She had on a cool white dress and a bow of red ribbon tied her hair at one side. When she drew her clean skirts aside to keep Ut from touching them, Joe grunted and frowned. "You don' jump up an' wait on you' husban', Harpa?" he asked. "After he works hard all day, you sets still when he comes home at night? Gal, you ought to be shame. If you was my wife, I declare to Gawd, I'd lick you 'til you would'n eenjoy settin' down." Ut stopped short in his tracks. "You hush, Joe. You ever did run you' mouth too fast." Joe got to his feet, talking faster than ever, protesting he had not meant to hurt Ut's feelings. That was the last thing he'd ever do in the world. Ut was the best old brother any man ever had, and the best husband any woman ever had, too. Harpa ought to be glad to wait on him and cook for him. If she would stick at the field work her hands would get tough and used to it. Ut listened gravely, but his tone was sharp when he answered that what Harpa did was none of Joe's business. Harpa was not a cook or a field hand. She washed and ironed and sewed and patched, and that was her full share of the work. Joe had better learn to keep his mouth out of other people's business. Joe grinned good-naturedly. He had not meant to meddle. But he would tell the world that when he took him a wife she would never spend his good money buying red stockings and shiny shoes. Those shoes Harpa had on must have cost as much as a whole week's rations. Instead of being vexed at what Joe said discounting her ways, Harpa's white teeth flashed in a laugh so bright, so lovely, that Ut's steady heart fairly turned over. Blessed little Harpa. When she looked like that Ut felt he would work his fingers to the very bone to buy her red stockings and shiny shoes, or anything else she wanted. Now she tilted her head sideways and with her soft husky voice full of teasing and bantering fun, she asked Joe: "How 'bout red ribbons, Joe? Would you buy you' wife a piece o’ red ribbon?” Instead of answering Harpa's question Joe's bold eyes looked up at the big white moon while his fingers softly stroked the strings of his battered guitar. Ut smiled. Harpa knew how to get the best of Joe. Precious little Harpa, so worthless and yet so merry. Always ready for a laugh or a dance or a song. New shoes never did hurt her feet. When his land was paid for she should have everything in the world she wanted. She should take a trip to town and buy cloth in the stores; and go on the train excursions to Charleston. If he got up a little earlier and worked a little harder and took less time at |