strumming on his guitar, then suddenly he picked up the pace and broke into song:
“Got dem old sawmill blues
“De kind you just can’t lose
“Got sawdust in my clothes
“Got sawdust in my nose
“Sweat all in my eyes
“I ain’t telling no lies
“No time to drink no booze
“’Cause I got dem old sawmill blues . . .”
I sat there on that block of wood and was completely captured by the essence of the words, the sounds of the instrument and Jake’s voice. It was as if I could actually feel the music, an experience I had never had before. He went through the song four times and I had it memorized by the time he hit his last chord on his guitar. The sound and the wonder of the music lingered in my memory, and I was still tapping my toe, even after it was over.
We moved away from the heat of the sun and hot coals onto a bench in a spot of shade beside Jake’s shack. The bench was simply a scrap board resting on two more blocks of wood.
We sat in silence for a few moments before Jake said, “You got something else besides de blues on yo’ mind, don’t you?”
“Yeah, how you know?”
“You just quiet and thoughtful looking.”
I felt awkward and knew even at my young age that I was broaching a sensitive subject, but somehow I knew Jake would understand and explain things to me. I started slowly, reached a comfort level, then proceeded to tell him the entire story about the last part of the preacher’s sermon.
When I finished, once again, we sat in silence for a while until Jake asked, “So what you think about what yo’ preacher said?”
I had been waiting for him to tell me what he thought. Now he was asking me, so I told him. “I ain’t too sure that preacher was right at all.”
“You can bet yo’ bottom dollar on dat. He was right by saying a mark was put on Cain and he wuz sent off to de Land of Nod. But de next time you see dat preacher, tell him to read further and de Bible will say dat Cain and his family went on to be folks who lived in tents and raised livestock. Don’t sound like black folks to me. He just trying to stir up some hate. Proud to see it didn’t work on you.”
“You read the Bible?”
“Read it from cover to cover.”
“When did you do that?”
“When I was in de— While back when I had a little time on my hands.”
“How about that word, the one y’all don’t like to be called?” I didn’t want to say it.
“You means, nigger?”
“Yeah.”
“What about it?’
“Where did it come from and how come y’all don’t like it?”
“It come from back in the slave times when ignorant folks couldn’t pronounce Negro. I s’pose we don’t like it ’cause it reminds us of dat part of our past. Now, anything else bothering you today?”
Jake had awakened the music in my soul, erased the doubts in my mind, and added to my education that day. I still wasn’t sure what that preacher was up to. It was as if he had been preaching to Old Man Cliff Creel. I would have to ponder on that.
In the meantime, there was one more thing bothering me about Jake. “You ain’t got no garden and no chickens. You can’t live on flapjacks. What else do you eat?”
“I went to Miz Miss Lena’s after you left yesterday and bought myself some groceries.”
“What’d you buy?”
“I got me some tins of sardines, a few cans of pork ’n beans, box of soda crackers, sack of flour, and a bucket of lard.”
“My mother says you can’t live on stuff like that. You need fresh fruit and vegetables, eggs, and occasionally a piece of meat.”
“She absolutely right. Eggs is what I miss most. Dey would go mighty fine with my flapjacks in the mornings. But if worst comes to worst, I can always make myself some nail soup.”
“Nail soup—what in the world is that?”
“You never heard de story ’bout nail soup?”
“No, never did. Will you tell me?”
“I sho will. Can’t rightly say whether I read it or somebody told it to me, but it goes like dis:
“Dey was a gentlemen traveling by foot down a lonely road. It came on toward dinner time and a powerful hunger came upon him. A little farther down de road he came up on a farm house and dey was a lady in de front yard raking leaves. He decided to ask her for some food. Stopping at the front yard gate he spoke saying, ‘Top of the day to you, ma’am. I been traveling all day, I’m real hungry, and wondered if you might be able to spare a little food.’
“The woman replied, ‘I’m hungry myself, but I don’t have a scrap of food in the whole house.’
“De traveler said, ‘Well, in dat case, maybe I can help you. Do you happen to have some water and a cooking pot?’
“‘Why, yes, I do.’
“Reaching into his pocket, de traveler pulled out a shiny nail and said, ‘I have a magic nail here. If we put it into a pot of boiling water it will make a fine soup, den we both can eat.’
“‘Do tell,’ the lady said. ‘Come on in the house and let’s put a pot of water on the fire.’
“Once the water was boiling the traveler dropped the nail in the pot and said, ‘Now, pretty soon we’ll have us a fine bowl of soup, but, you know, if we just had a potato, den de soup would be outstanding.’
“Whereupon the lady said, ‘Well, I do happen to have just one potato in my pantry.’
“After adding the potato to the pot the traveler proclaimed, ‘Yes, ma’am, dis soup gon’ be mighty good, but, you know, if we just had a piece of meat, den it would be delicious.’
“The lady jumped to her feet and said, ‘Guess what, I do have one small piece of meat.’
“A little while later while dey both were sitting at the table enjoying de soup de lady said, ‘This is some very good soup. And just think, we made it from nothing but water and a magic nail.’”
Jake stopped talking and I realized the story was over. I also figured there was some kind of hidden meaning in it and he was waiting for me to tell him what I thought it was.
My feelings were confirmed when he asked, “All right, Mister Ted, what do you think dat story means?”
“That
