Their Eyes Were Watching God

She knew now that marriage did not make love. Janie’s first dream was dead, so she became a woman.

The house was absent of flavor, too. But anyhow Janie went on inside to wait for love to begin.

us colored folks is branches without roots and that makes things come round in queer ways.

You ain’t got no papa, you might jus’ as well say no mama, for de good she do yuh. You ain’t got nobody but me. And mah head is ole and tilted towards de grave. Neither can you stand alone by yo’self.

De nigger woman is de mule uh de world so far as Ah can see.

She bolted upright and peered out of the window and saw Johnny Taylor lacerating her Janie with a kiss.

“Janie!”

The old woman’s voice was so lacking in command and reproof, so full of crumbling dissolution,—that Janie half believed that Nanny had not seen her. So she extended herself outside of her dream and went inside of the house. That was the end of her childhood.

She was stretched on her back beneath the pear tree soaking in the alto chant of the visiting bees, the gold of the sun and the panting breath of the breeze when the inaudible voice of it all came to her.

Now, women forget all those things they don’t want to remember, and remember everything they don’t want to forget. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly.

“If you so desire Ah’ll tell ‘em what you tell me to tell ‘em.”