“I tried to do something bout my children after you left me. But by that time it was too late. Bub come with me for two weeks, stole all my money, laid up on the porch drunk. My girls so far off into mens and religion they can’t hardly talk. Everytime they open they mouth some kind of plea come out. Near bout to broke my sorry heart.
If you know your heart sorry, I say, that mean it not quite spoilt as you think.
Anyhow, he say, you know how it is. You ast yourself one question, it lead to fifteen. I start to wonder why us need love. Why us suffer. Why us black. Why us men and women. Where do children really come from. It didn’t take long to realize I didn’t hardly know nothing. And that if you ast yourself why you black or a man or a woman or a bush it don’t mean nothing if you don’t ast why you here, period.
So what you think? I ast.
I think us here to wonder, myself. To wonder. To ast. And that in wondering bout the big things and asting bout the big things, you learn more about the little ones, almost by accident. But you never know nothing more about the big things than you start out with. The more I wonder, he say, the more I love.”
Thursday, January 05, 2006
wondering bout the big things
Beautiful, heart-rending reading – The Color Purple. I have to thank our friend Rachel in London for insisting on this one. Deeply moved, I finished it in the wee hours this morning. The book offers a poignant portrayal of segregation, rape, family ties, loss, exploitation of the weak, and the cost of slavery. And yet it allows for the hope of redemption in much of it. A highly recommended book…here is one small excerpt at the end of the story from a conversation between Celie (the narrator) and the husband that abused her for years: