times, and tried to be duly grateful when Zeke offered him the job of helper, working under Zeke's own expert guidance. "You do a good job, Li'l Joe," Zeke said, "maybe you can stay on permanent. That man I got ain't a bit of good no more. Shucks, he's taken to drinking so bad I even watches the embalming fluid. You dependable, Li'l Joe; you always been dependable." With an unspoken prayer to the Almighty not to hold it against him if he didn't stay permanent, what with the various unpleasantnesses of the job, Li'l Joe agreed. "Times is bad," said Zeke. "Still, folks keeps on dying. Seems like there's more dying now than ever. Most folks got a little piece of insurance to bury theirselves with. I'll be fair with you, Li'l Joe. You knows that."
"Lawd!" he said to Geneva, a few nights after he started the job. "Anyone told me a while back I'd be helping an undertaker lay out co'pses, I'd have said they was crazy. It's going to take a heap of getting used to."
"You got a lot to be thankful for," said Geneva sternly.
"You think Zeke's any prize to work for, you got another think coming, woman."
"He ain't white," said Geneva. "He ain't white. That's the main thing."
Her husband did not answer. Didn't do any good with Geneva to point out that their own people could cheat and chisel and underpay and overwork their help as bad as any white. Didn't matter to Neva. She'd rather get a bad deal from one of her own people any day than say "thank you" to a white. He understood and sympathized and, in principle, agreed. It just wasn't practical, that was all.
Didn't do any good either to try and make Neva admit that there were a lot of colored wouldn't stack up so good come Judgment Day. She knew as well as he did that there was a whole different world of Negro life from the one they lived in, a world of violence and drinking and bad things happening all the time, but she would push the knowledge to the back of her mind. When word came to them of bad things happening in the Quarter or over on the other side of town, her lips would set tight and she'd shake her head, but she never got self-righteous about it the way most did. Once when a friend of his had been knifed by a jealous woman in a barroom fight, he'd said, "Scum—" and she'd jumped him.
"Ain't no one born bad," she'd said. "Man or woman. But they's some as goes bad under trouble. It's the way they's made, but it don't mean they was born plumb bad clear through."
Li'l Joe didn't agree with her, but he always kept his arguments to himself on a point like this there wasn't any proving of. Instead he had teased her.
"Whites, too?" he said.
"Don't ask me nothing 'bout no whites. I ain't studying 'bout no whites. I ain't even trying to figure out if they bad or what. Don't matter, do it?"
Almost immediately after he went to work for Zeke, Geneva decided their grandson would do well to go to embalming college. "That way he ain't ever going to have to work for whites," she said. "He gets his education and he goes to embalming college, and he ain't never going to be broke. Right now everyone's out of work, everyone's broke, and Zeke Jones, he's doing so well he can hire hisself a helper when he gets hurt."
"Time enough to worry about that when the chile gets his education. That's the first thing, that's the very first thing," said Li'l Joe, but he had to admit there was merit in her idea. There sure as the devil was security in the funeral business. There wasn't any worry about supply and demand. Competition was the only menace.
When the WPA began putting people to work as laborers, Li'l Joe augmented what he made at Zeke's with pick-and-shovel work when things were slow at the funeral home, and occasionally with a "little piece of change" from a music gig or parade when there was one to be played. Everything that he and Geneva made, over and above what they needed for themselves and their grandson, was carefully saved. Never overly trustful of banks, and with the memory of the
"Lawd!" he said to Geneva, a few nights after he started the job. "Anyone told me a while back I'd be helping an undertaker lay out co'pses, I'd have said they was crazy. It's going to take a heap of getting used to."
"You got a lot to be thankful for," said Geneva sternly.
"You think Zeke's any prize to work for, you got another think coming, woman."
"He ain't white," said Geneva. "He ain't white. That's the main thing."
Her husband did not answer. Didn't do any good with Geneva to point out that their own people could cheat and chisel and underpay and overwork their help as bad as any white. Didn't matter to Neva. She'd rather get a bad deal from one of her own people any day than say "thank you" to a white. He understood and sympathized and, in principle, agreed. It just wasn't practical, that was all.
Didn't do any good either to try and make Neva admit that there were a lot of colored wouldn't stack up so good come Judgment Day. She knew as well as he did that there was a whole different world of Negro life from the one they lived in, a world of violence and drinking and bad things happening all the time, but she would push the knowledge to the back of her mind. When word came to them of bad things happening in the Quarter or over on the other side of town, her lips would set tight and she'd shake her head, but she never got self-righteous about it the way most did. Once when a friend of his had been knifed by a jealous woman in a barroom fight, he'd said, "Scum—" and she'd jumped him.
"Ain't no one born bad," she'd said. "Man or woman. But they's some as goes bad under trouble. It's the way they's made, but it don't mean they was born plumb bad clear through."
Li'l Joe didn't agree with her, but he always kept his arguments to himself on a point like this there wasn't any proving of. Instead he had teased her.
"Whites, too?" he said.
"Don't ask me nothing 'bout no whites. I ain't studying 'bout no whites. I ain't even trying to figure out if they bad or what. Don't matter, do it?"
Almost immediately after he went to work for Zeke, Geneva decided their grandson would do well to go to embalming college. "That way he ain't ever going to have to work for whites," she said. "He gets his education and he goes to embalming college, and he ain't never going to be broke. Right now everyone's out of work, everyone's broke, and Zeke Jones, he's doing so well he can hire hisself a helper when he gets hurt."
"Time enough to worry about that when the chile gets his education. That's the first thing, that's the very first thing," said Li'l Joe, but he had to admit there was merit in her idea. There sure as the devil was security in the funeral business. There wasn't any worry about supply and demand. Competition was the only menace.
When the WPA began putting people to work as laborers, Li'l Joe augmented what he made at Zeke's with pick-and-shovel work when things were slow at the funeral home, and occasionally with a "little piece of change" from a music gig or parade when there was one to be played. Everything that he and Geneva made, over and above what they needed for themselves and their grandson, was carefully saved. Never overly trustful of banks, and with the memory of the
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