Miss Emma Raises Beans

A Short Work of Fiction

Jules Bastien-Lepage, At Harvest Time

Well, I’ve got a good thing goin’, but I’m about to mess things up real good.  Out in the fields, the rows of beans seem to go on forever.  But they’re just babies now.  They’ll be growin’ right up real soon.  And then they’ll be coverin’ up everythin’. I won’t even know myself by then.  I’ll lose myself in them bean fields.  They’ll swallow me up, just a-grabbin’ at me.  But I’ll keep doin’ it, keep tendin’ to them beans.  Because I know that’s what I’m s’posed to do.

But I’m about to mess things up.  Mess ‘em up so bad, no one ‘ill believe it.  I’m so good with them beans.  They always grow up juss right when Miss Emma tends to them fields, they say.  Miss Emma always does what she s’posed to do; it’s like she knows just what them beans want even though they can’t say.  She’ll get ‘em up juss right.  Juss you wait an’ see.

My hands are tired as I work on in the bean field.  My fingers are curlin’ up and stickin’ that way.  They’re brown and black, stained from the dirt.  They look like the roots I pull from the ground, and I hardly know where the ground ends and my hands begin.  The sun is so hot, too, I got sweat pourin’ off me like I was cryin’.  But I ain’t cryin’.

I could just stop waterin’ ‘em and tendin’ to ‘em.  Oh yes, sho’ I could!  I could just turn right in an’ say no, that’s enough fo’ today.  Y’all just gon’ have to wait ‘til I’m good an’ ready.  Y’all just gon’ have to wait for Miss Emma.  But I push my hands into the dirt again and again.

I stick my hands in there real deep, but somethin’s hurtin’.  ’Course I’m used to it.  Got so much dirt under my nails, they startin’ to bleed.  I stand up and wipe my hands on my skirt.  It’s so dirty already it don’t even matter.  Years of dirt and blood mixed into the fibers, there ain’t no way it’s comin’ out.  My stomach turns.  Feels like my belly’s just gonna fall right out or twist into a knot so tight, it ain’t never gonna get loose.  I know there’s another one inside me, and I sho’ am hungry.  But there ain’t no break for me today.  This work’s gotta get done, I know.  But I’m about to mess things up real good.

I see Miss Lena out in her field, too.  She waves to me, and I can see her hands are just as curled and ugly as mine.  She’s real nice.  I start walkin’ over to her, steppin’ over the rows of beans, one-by-one, leavin’ them behin’.  She’s far away, but she smilin’.  So I keep walkin’.  She wipes her hands on her skirt just like me, and my stomach stops churnin’.

Sometimes Miss Lena comes to visit while the men are out, doin’ the stuff that men do.  We like to sit on the porch together and drink lemonade, the kind that ain’t very sweet and it makes your lips pucker.  That’s our favorite.  I sometimes imagine us doin’ that every night when the sun goes down and the world gets juss a lil’ bit cooler.  Juss Miss Lena an’ me.  She’s real nice.

I know if I keep walkin’, I’m gonn’ mess things up real good.  But I keep on walkin’.  The heat keeps pressin’ on me, I feel like I can hardly breathe, but at least my durn stomach stopped it’s mess.  I keep on walkin’, hopin’ we can share some lemonade together an’ cool down for a bit.  The beans can wait, I say out loud, and she smiles again.

I step over the bean rows, almost two at a time now, almost runnin’ to Miss Lena.  But I trip and fall over.  A root got my foot caught up in my step, an’ it sent me sailin’ to the ground.  I hear Miss Lena call out to me.  I want to get up and keep on over to her, but somethin’ stops me.  I hear a rustlin’ not too far from where I am, back on the ground, buried in the beans.  I see it’s a big ol’ snake, all brown and black, just a-hissin’ away.  I imagine it wrappin’ around me real tight, and I cough to try to keep on breathin’, but it’s hard with this heat and this sweat pourin’ off me like I’m cryin’.  But I ain’t cryin’.  So I get up, the snake hissin’ between me and Miss Lena, an’ I wave to her an’ start walkin’ away.

I see the man drive up back at the house, an’ I get back to my work, raisin’ his beans.  I’ll try to go over to Miss Lena’s again tomorrow.  And tomorrow, I’ll be sho’ to bring the shovel.