A Death in the Family - James Agee [34]
“Blow,” he said. “You know your mamma don’t like you to swallah that stuff.” He felt the hand strong beneath his head and a sob overtook him as he blew.
“Why, what’s wrong?” his father exclaimed; and now his voice was entirely kind. He lifted the child’s head a little more, knelt and looked carefully into his eyes; the child felt the strength of the other hand, covering his chest, patting gently. He endeavored to make a little more of his sobbing than came out, but the moment had departed.
“Bad dream?”
He shook his head, no.
“Then what’s the trouble?”
He looked at his father.
“Feared a—fraid of the dark?”
He nodded; he felt tears on his eyes.
“Noooooooo,” his father said, pronouncing it like do. “You’re a big boy now. Big boys don’t get skeered of a little dark. Big boys don’t cry. Where’s the dark that skeered you? Is it over here?” With his head he indicated the darkest corner. The child nodded. He strode over, struck a match on the seat of his pants.
Nothing there.
“Nothing there that oughtn’t to be.... Under here?” He indicated the bureau. The child nodded, and began to suck at his lower lip. He struck another match, and held it under the bureau, then under the washstand.
Nothing there. There either.
“Nothing there but an old piece of baby-soap. See?” He held the soap close where the child could smell it; it made him feel much younger. He nodded. “Any place else?”
The child turned and looked through the head of the crib; his father struck a match. “Why, there’s poor ole Jackie, ” he said. And sure enough, there he was, deep in the corner.
He blew dust from the cloth dog and offered it to the child. “You want Jackie?”
He shook his head.
“You don’t want poor little ole Jackie ? So lonesome? Alayin back there in the corner all this time?”
He shook his head.
“Gettin too big for Jackie?”
He nodded, uncertain that his father would believe him.
“Then you’re gettin too big to cry.”
Poor ole Jackie.
“Pore ole jackie. ”
“Pore little ole Jackie, so lonesome.”
He reached up for him and took him, and faintly recalled, as he gave him comfort, a multitude of fire-tipped candles (and bristling needles) and a strong green smell, a dog more gaily colored and much larger, over which he puzzled, and his fathers huge face, smiling, saying, “It’s a dog.” “His father too remembered how he had picked out the dog with great pleasure and had given it too soon, and here it was now too late. Comforting gave him comfort and a deep yawn, taking him by surprise, was half out of him before he could try to hide it. He glanced anxiously at his father.
“Gettin sleepy, uh?” his father said; it was hardly even a question.
He shook his head.
“Time you did. Time we all got to sleep. ”
He shook his head.
“You’re not skeered any more are you?”
He considered lying, and shook his head.
“Boogee man, all gone, scared away, huh?”
He nodded.
“Now go on to sleep then, son, ”his father said. He saw that the child very badly did not want him to go away, and realized suddenly that he might have lied about being scared, and he was touched, and put his hand on his son’s forehead. “You just don’t want to be lonesome, ”he said tenderly, “just like little ole Jackie. You just don’t want to be left alone.” The child lay still.
“Tell you what I’ll do, ”his father said, “I’ll sing you one song, and then you be a good boy and go on to sleep. Will you do that?” The child pressed his forehead upward against the strong warm hand and nodded.
“What’ll we sing?” his father asked.
“Froggy would a wooin go, ”said the child; it was the longest.
“At’s a long one, ”his father said, “at’s a long old song. You won’t ever be awake that long, will you?”
He nodded.
“Ah right,” said his father; and the child took a fresh hold on Jackie and settled back looking up at him. He sang very low and very quietly: Frog he would a wooln’go uh-hooooo!, Frog he would go wooin’ go uh-hooooo, uh-hoooooo, and all about the courting-clothes