A Long Day in November by Ernest J. Gaines Page A

advice for seventy-five cents?” Daddy says. “Seventy-five cents worth? Maybe I can start from there and figure something out.”
    Madame Toussaint looks at me and looks at Daddy again.
    â€œYou say that’s your boy?” she says.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Daddy says.
    â€œNice-looking boy,” Madame Toussaint says.
    â€œHis name’s Sonny,” Daddy says.
    â€œHi, Sonny,” Madame Toussaint says.
    â€œSay ‘Hi’ to Madame Toussaint,” Daddy says. “Go on.”
    â€œHi,” I say, sticking close to Daddy.
    â€œWell, Madame Toussaint?” Daddy says.
    â€œGive me the money,” Madame Toussaint says. “Don’t complain to me if you not satisfied.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Daddy says. “I won’t complain. Anything to get her back home.”
    Daddy leans over the fire again and picks the money out of his hand. Then he reaches it to Madame Toussaint.
    â€œGive me that little piece of string,” Madame Toussaint says. “It might come in handy sometime in the future. Wait,” she says. “Run it ’cross the left side of the boy’s face three times, then pass it to me behind your back.”

    â€œWhat’s that for?” Daddy asks.
    â€œJust do like I say,” Madame Toussaint says.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Daddy says. Daddy turns to me. “Hold still, Sonny,” he says. He rubs the little old dirty piece of cord over my face, and then he sticks his hand behind his back.
    Madame Toussaint reaches in her pocket and takes out her pocketbook. She opens it and puts the money in. She opens another little compartment and stuffs the string down in it. Then she snaps the pocketbook and puts it back in her pocket. She picks up three little green sticks she got tied together and starts poking in the fire with them.
    â€œWhat’s the advice?” Daddy asks.
    Madame Toussaint don’t say nothing.
    â€œMadame Toussaint?” Daddy says.
    Madame Toussaint still don’t answer him, she just looks down in the fire. Her face is red from the fire. I get scared of Madame Toussaint. She can ride all over the plantation on her broom. Billy Joe Martin say he seen her one night riding ’cross the houses. She was whipping her broom with three switches.
    Madame Toussaint raises her head and looks at Daddy. Her eyes’s big and white, and I get scared of her. I hide my face ’side Daddy’s leg.
    â€œGive it up,” I hear her say.
    â€œGive what up?” Daddy says.

    â€œGive it up,” she says.
    â€œWhat?” Daddy says.
    â€œGive it up,” she says.
    â€œI don’t even know what you talking ’bout,” Daddy says. “How can I give up something and I don’t even know what it is?”
    â€œI said it three times,” Madame Toussaint says. “No more, no less. Up to you now to follow it through from there.”
    â€œFollow what from where?” Daddy says. “You said three little old words: ‘Give it up.’ I don’t know no more now than I knowed ’fore I got here.”
    â€œI told you you wasn’t go’n be satisfied,” Madame Toussaint says.
    â€œSatisfied?” Daddy says. “Satisfied for what? You gived me just three little old words and you want me to be satisfied?”
    â€œYou can leave,” Madame Toussaint says.
    â€œLeave?” Daddy says. “You mean I give you seventy-five cents for three words? A quarter a word? And I’m leaving? No, Lord.”
    â€œRollo?” Madame Toussaint says.
    I see Madame Toussaint’s big old black dog get up out of the corner and come where she is. Madame Toussaint pats the dog on the head with her hand.
    â€œTwo dollars and twenty-five cents more and you get all the advice you need,” Madame Toussaint says.

    â€œCan’t I get you a load of wood and fix your house for you or something?” Daddy says.
    â€œI don’t