say, ‘I see you!’ What’d that old tar baby say that time? Children: ‘Nothing.’ Old Brer Fox and Brer Bear, they just laaay loooow.
Rabbit say, ‘Can you hear me? No, looks like you cain’t!’ Did he say anything then? No, didn’t say nothin’. Old Brer Fox and Brer Bear, they just laaaay looow.
Rabbit say, ‘Wait. Now don’t you know how to SPEAK? Round here we all speaks to one another.’ Did the tar baby say anythin’? No, didn’t say NOTHIN! Old Brer Fox and Brer Bear, they just laaaaay loooow.
Rabbit says, ‘Wait. Now, if you don’t take that hat off and tell me ‘Hi!’ by the time I count THREE, I’m gonna blip you on the nose!’ Was the tar baby scared? Children: ‘Noooo.’ Did he say anything? No, he didn’t say nothin’. Old Brer Fox and Brer Bear, they just laaaay loooow.
Brer Rabbit was serious. Rabbit say, ‘One. Two. Two and a half. Three! Eeeeeeh … Blip!’ (Rabbit tries to free himself) ‘Unh! Unh! Unh!’ Right there’s where things got sticky, didn’t it? Cause his fist stuck. He says, ‘Hey! Let go! Let go! Let go right now, before I hit you with this one, and … Blip! Unh! Unh! Unh!.’ That one stuck. He says, ‘Hey! Let go! Let go! Let go before I kick the natural stuffin’ outta you! And, Unh! Unh! Unh!’ Did any stuffin’ come outta that tar baby? Children (sounding superior): ‘Nooo.’ ‘Let go! Let go! Let go! Let go right now, before I butt you with my head. And … Blip! Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!’ I think we know what happened to the head, now don’t we?
Well, old Rabbit looked up and he was stuck completely to the tar baby. Old Fox and Bear, they peek out of the bushes and see that old Rabbit was stuck. They eased up behind him and old Brer Fox, he say, Mornin’, Brer Rabbit, don’t you look kinda stuck up this mornin’? Ha, ha, ha! We’ve been lyin’ here for a mighty long time, but we got ya now. This is gonna be the last day that you see!
Bear looked at him and said, Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, I’m gonna nuggie yo’ head clean off.
Fox say, Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah. Quick! We gotta make him suffer. Let’s start us up a FIRE. Let it get good and hot, drop old Rabbit in it and let him BAR-BEEE-CUE for a while.
Well now, Brer Rabbit, you know he was stuck. But two things about this Brer Rabbit I want us to never forget. Number one, even though he was stuck, he didn’t lose his head. And number two, he never ever, never ever, never ever gave up. And out of the corner of his eye he saw that old thorny briar patch, and … Bing bing bing bing! BING! What’ja think happened? Children: ‘He had an idea!’ He had an idea. He knew what to say to old Fox and Bear, didn’t he? He say, Brer Fox, I don’t care what you do to me. Just don’t fling me into that, ah, briar patch. Go ahead, BAR-beee-cue me, just don’t fling me in that, uh, briar patch …
Bear say, Wait a minute, wait a minute. If we start a fire, we gotta make sure it don’t get outta hand. Ain’t that true? Won’t you let me knock that here rabbit head off now?
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah. I want to hear him holler! I’m gonna haaaang you rabbit. Brer Rabbit say, Oh hang me, Brer Fox, hang me, please hang me, ooh please, don’t fling me in the, briar patch!
Hanging you a bit too nice a thing to do. Ought to just drag you down to the creek and drown you, Brer Rabbit. Old Rabbit say, drown me, Brer Fox. Won’t you just drown me? Oh please, please, just don’t fling me in the briar patch!
Think about it now. Think. What’s the worst thing I could do to a rabbit? Uh! I know. I’m gonna get my knife, then I’m just gonna peeeeeel you hide off right here. Old Rabbit say, Skin me, Brer Fox, pull mah eyes out, pull mah ears out by the roots, cut mah legs off! Boo hoo hoo hoo! Oh please, don’t fling me in the BRIAR PATCH!!
Well, after old Rabbit went on and on and on and on about not flinging him in the briar patch, old Fox looked over there to see what in the world he was talkin’ about. Ah ha! He saw him some thorns stickin’ up and twistin’ round every which-a-way, and he figured the worst thing he could do to that rabbit would be to fling him where he didn’t want to go. Do y’all think that was a good idea? Most of children: ‘Yes!’ The rest of them, ‘No!’
OK, that’s about seventy-five – twenty-five here. Let’s see what we got?
Fox grabbed him, and he gave him a great big old swing, and he just fling him, Woooooooooooooooeeeee! Ow!! Oooo! Ow! Well, when old Rabbit fell into the briars, he did so much screamin’ and hollerin’ and carryin’ on, that old Fox and Bear thought he was just about dead. And they all commenced to celebrating. But they couldn’t celebrate long. Um un, um un, um un.
After a while, way up on the hill, up popped old Rabbit. And when Rabbit come up out of the briars, he had a little piece of one of em, that he was using to comb the rest of the tar outta his hair. And he had to look back. He saw old Fox and Bear back there, shakin’ their fists and stompin’ and carryin’ on. Old Rabbit hollered back like this, Brer Fox! Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee! Didn’t I tell you not to fling me in the briar patch? Hee, hee, hee hee, hee! I was bred and born in the BRIAR PATCH! Didn’t you know I was born and bred in the BRIAR PATCH? And that old Rabbit skipped off to live almost happily ever after.
Akbar, the heat and I sat together in an improvised little amphitheater behind the Wren’s Nest. Beneath an canopy of mature trees, the late morning still smelled new as the vegetable scent of condensation evaporated slowly and sweetly. He told me that he’d got his start as a storyteller, by working as a travelling puppeteer. He used to set up a special suitcase as a stage from which he would manipulate his puppets. One day in the middle of a performance the legs he had rigged on the case had fallen off, and he wound up having to tell the story he’d intended to perform. And that was that.
I asked him if Atlanta ever played a role in his tales. ‘Not really,’ said Akbar, ‘but it keeps me from telling some.’ He explained that he was in the process of learning a new story called The Man Who Knew Too Much. I thought he meant the Hitchcock movie, but he was referring to an African tale that had been adapted into a short story by Julius Lester. Akbar condensed it for me. A woman works daily in the field, stopping now and then to nurse her baby. One day as she’s nursing an eagle appears, watching her closely. The next day after she’s finished nursing she leaves the baby in the shade of a large tree; the eagle reappears and to her horror heads straight for the child. But instead of killing him, the eagle strokes the boy gently with his wing. The woman is amazed, and tells her husband. He refuses to believe in the kindness of eagles, claiming he knows their ways, but agrees to accompany the woman the following day. When the eagle comes and begins stroking the baby, the man shoots an arrow at the bird, who quickly moves away. The arrow kills his son instead, and the eagle tells the man, ‘You are responsible. Now all men on earth will mistrust each other and fight because of you. Because you knew too much.’
How nice to know that in other cultures Eve was a man. I secretly felt sorry for the husband.
‘I told that story to a men’s group, and man, they hated it. Their reaction was, “Well, the husband did probably know more about eagles than the wife.” Can you believe that? They refused to put any blame on the guy. It got to be real sexist.’ Akbar went on to explain that there had lately been a rash of baby killings in Atlanta, which was why he felt uncomfortable telling the tale right now. ‘A story’s only half the equation,’ he said. ‘The context you tell it in makes all the difference, twists the meaning. Ignore the context and you’re being irresponsible. Look, if I were to tell that story in this city right now, who knows what message people would hear. I don’t even know what it means. The context,’ reiterated Akbar Imhotep, in Joel Chandler Harris’ garden, ‘is everything.’
When a billboard on the way to Cyclorama, just south of downtown Atlanta, told me ‘Jesus Was A Vegetarian’,
