English, AAVE, 1920's Harlem accents, Audiobook
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Vocal Characteristics
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (US General American - GenAM) US African AmericanTranscript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Drenched in light. This short story about the adventures of a young girl named Isis Watts was one of the first published pieces by Zora Neil Hurston, a black American author and playwright Hurston was an influential figure during the Harlem Renaissance. She wrote and published novels, essays, plays, articles, and autobiography and books of folklore. One of Hurston's most well known works is her novel. Their eyes were watching God. You Izzy Watts get on off of that gate post and rake up this yard. The little brown figure perched upon the gatepost looked yearningly at the gleaming shell road that led to Orlando and down the road that led to Sanford and shrugged her thin shoulders. This heaped kindling on grandma pots already burning ire Lord and messy. She screamed enraged here, Joel, give me that wash stick. I'll show that limb of Satan. She can't shake herself at me if she ain't down. By the time I get there, I'll break her down in the lines. Oh, grandma, I see, Miss George and Jim Robinson coming and I wanted to wave at them. The child said petulantly, you just wave that rake at this here yard, madam else, I'll take you down a button hole. Loa, you too. Um, is jumping up in everybody's face that pass. This struck the child in a very sore spot but nothing pleased her so much as to sit atop of the gate post and hail the passing vehicles on their way south to Orlando or north to Sandford. That white shell road was her great attraction. She raced up and down the stretch of it that lay before her gate like a round eyed puppy. Hailing gleefully all travelers. Everybody in the country, white and colored knew little Isis Watts, the joyful. The Robinson brothers, white cattlemen were particularly fond of her and always extended a stir for her to climb up behind one of them for a short ride. Or let her try to crack the long bull whips in ye woo at the cows, grandma pots went inside and Isis literally waved the rake at the jaws of ripping cane that lay so bountifully about the yard in company with the knots in peelings with a thick sprinkling of peanut halls. The herd of cattle in their envelope of gray dust came alongside and Isis dashed out to the nearest stir and was lifted up. Hello there. Snit Litz. I was wondering where you was, said, Jim Robinson as she snuggled down behind in the saddle, they were almost out of the danger zone. When grandma emerged you is this? She bawled, the child slid down on the opposite side from the house and executed a flank movement through the corn patch that brought her into the yard from behind the privy. You little you where you been out in the backyard. Isis lied and did a cartwheel and a few fancy steps on her way to the front again. If you don't get to that yard, I'm gonna make a mum of you. Isis observed that grandma was cutting a fancy assortment of switches from peach guana and cherry trees. She finished the yard by raking everything under the edge of the porch and began a romp with the dogs, those lean floppy eared **** hounds that all country folks keep. But grandma vetoed this also, Izzy. You sat on, on that porch a great big 11 year old gal racing and romping like that set on Isis impatiently flung herself upon the steps. Get up off of them steps. You aggravate and limb for. I get them hickories to you and set yourself on a chair. Isis petulantly arose and sat down as violently as possible in a chair but slid down until she all but sat upon her shoulder blades. Now, look at your grandma screamed, put your knees together and get up off of your backbone. Lord. You know this Hellen is gonna make me stomp her insides out. Isis sat bolt upright as if she wore a ram rod down her back and began to whistle. Now, there are certain things that grandma pots felt. No one of this female persuasion should do. One was to sit with the knee separated, set in brazen. She called it another was whistling another playing with boys. Neither must the lady cross her legs up. She jumped from her seat to get the switches. So you was whistling in my face, huh? She glared till her eyes were beady and ISIS bolted for safety. But the noon hour brought John Watts, the widowed father and this excused the child from sitting for criticism being the only girl in the family. Of course, she must wash the dishes which she did in intervals between frolics with the dogs. She even gave Jake the puppy a swim in the dish pan by holding him suspended above the water that reeked of pot liquor just high enough so that his feet would be immersed. The deluded puppy swam and swam without ever crossing the pan. Much to his annoyance hearing grandma, she hurriedly dropped him on the floor which he tracked up with feet wet with dishwater. Grandma took her patching and settled down in the front room to sew. She did this every afternoon and invariably slept in the big red rocker with her head lulled back over the back. The sewing falling from her hand, Isis had crawled under the center table with its red plush cover with little round balls for fringe. She was lying on her back, imagining herself various personages. She wore trailing robes. Golden slippers with blue bottoms. She rode white horses with flaring pink nostrils to the horizon for she still believed that to be land's end. She was picturing herself gazing over the edge of the world into the abyss. When the spool of cotton fell from grandma's lap and rolled away under the whatnot. Isis drew back from her contemplation of the nothingness at the horizon and glanced up at the sleeping woman. Her head had fallen back. She breathed with a regular snark intake and soft pua exhaust. But Isis was a visual minded child. She heard the snores only subconsciously but she saw straggling beard on grandma's chin trembling a little with every snark in Pua. They were long gray hairs curled here and there against the dark brown skin. Isis was moved with pity for her mother's mother. Po grandma needs a shave. She murmured and said about it just then Joelle next older than Isis entered with a can of bait. Come on, Izzy. Lest we all go fishing. The perch is bit him fine in blue sink cautioned his sister. I got to shave grandma who say so. Joel acts surprised. Nobody don't have to tell me. Look at her chin. No ladies don't wear no whiskers if they can help it. But grandma getting old and she don't know how to shave like me. The conference adjourned to the back porch. Let's grab my wake. A Izzy. You don't know nothing about shaving at all but a man like me. I do so. No, you don't not. I'm gonna shave her myself. Now you won't neither. Smartie. I saw her first and thought it all up first. Isis declared and ran to the calico covered box on the wall above the wash basin and seized her father's razor. Joel was quick and seized the mug and brush. Now, Isis cried defiantly. I got the razor. Goody, goody, goody ***** cat. I got the brush and you can't shave that lather. See, I know more than you, Joel retorted. Uh who don't know that Isis pretended to scorn but seeing her progress blocked for lack of lather, she compromised. I know lest we all shave her. You lather and I shave. This was agreeable to Joel. He made mountains of lather and anointed his own chin and the chin of Isis and the dogs splashed the walls and at last was persuaded to Lather, grandma's chin, not that he was loathe, but he wanted his new play thing to last as long as possible. Isis stood on one side of the chair with the razor clutched cleaver fashion. The niceties of razor handling had passed over her head. The thing with her was to hold the razor sufficient in itself. Joel splashed on the lather and great gobs and grandma awoke for one bewildered moment. She stared at the grinning boy with the brush and mug but sensing another presence, she turned to behold the business face of Isis and the razor clutching hand. Her jaw dropped and grandma forget years in rheumatism bolted from the chair and fled from the house screaming. She's gone to tell Papa Izzy you didn't have no business with his razor and he's going to lick your hide. Joelle cried, running to replace the mug and brush. You too. Chucklehead. You too. Retorted Isis. You was playing with his brush and put it all over the dogs. I seen you put it on. Ned Imbula Isis shaved some slivers from the door jam with the razor and replaced it in the box. Joel took his bait and pole and hurried to Blue Sink. Isis crawled under the house to brood over the whipping she knew would come. She had mint well, but sounding brass and tinkling symbol drew her forth. The local lodge of the Grand United Order of odd fellows led by a braying thudding band was marching in full regalia down the road. She had forgotten the barbecue and log rolling to be held today for the benefit of the new hall. Music to Isis meant motion in a minute, razor and whipping forgotten. She was doing a fair imitation of the Spanish dancer she had seen in a medicine show some time before Isa's feet were gifted. She could dance most anything she saw up, up went her spirits, her brown little feet doing all sorts of intricate things and her body and rhythm hand curving above her head. But the music was growing faint, grandma was nowhere in sight. She stole out of the gate running and dancing after the band. Then she stopped. She couldn't dance at the carnival. Her dress was torn and dirty. She picked a long stemmed daisy and thrusted behind her ear. But the dress no better o an idea. And the battered round topped trunk in the bedroom. She raced back to the house. Then happier. Raced down the white dusty road to the picnic grove, gorgeously clad people laughed good naturedly at her. The band played and Isis danced because she couldn't help it. A crowd of Children gathered admiringly about her as she wheeled lightly about hand on hip flower between her teeth with the red and white fringe of the table cloth. Grandma's new red table cloth that she wore in lieu of a Spanish shawl trailing in the dust. It was too ample for her meager form but she wore it like a gypsy. Her brown feet twinkled in and out of the fringe. Some grown people joined the Children about her. The grand exalted ruler rose to speak. The band was hushed but Isis danced on the crowd clapping their hands for her. No one listened to the exulted one for little by little. The multitude had surrounded the brown dancer. An automobile drove up to the crown and halted two white men and a lady got out and pushed into the crowd suppressing mirth discreetly behind gloved hands. Isis looked up and waved them a magnificent hail and went on dancing until grandma had returned to the house and missed Isis and straight away saw her at the festivities expecting to find her in her soiled dress shoeless, gaping at the crowd. But what she saw drove her frantic here was her granddaughter dancing before a gaping crowd in her brand new red tablecloth and reeking of lemon extract for Isis had added the final touch to her costume. She must have perfume, Isis saw grandma and bolted. She heard her cry. My God, my brand new table cloth I just bought from Alanda as she fled through the crowd and on into the woods, two, she followed the little creek until she came to the fort in a ruddy wagon road that led to Apopka and laid down on the cool grass at the roadside. The April Sun was quite hot. Misery, misery and woe settled down upon her and the child wept. She knew another weapon was in store for her. Oh, I wish I could die. Then grandma and Papa would be sorry. They beat me so much. I believe I'll run away and never go home no more. I'm gonna drown myself in the creek. Her woe grew attractive, Isis got up and waded into the water. She routed out a tiny gator and a huge bullfrog. She splashed and sang. Enjoying herself immensely. The pearl of a motor struck her ear and she saw a large powerful car jolting along the ruddy road toward her. It stopped at the water's edge. Well, I declare it's our little Gypsy exclaimed the man at the wheel. What are you doing here? Now? I'm killing myself. Isis declared dramatically because grandma beats me too much. And there was a hearty burst of laughter from the machine. You'll last some time the way you're going about it. Is this the way to Malin? We want to go to the Park Hotel. Isis saw no longer any reason to die. She came up out of the water, holding up the dripping fringe of the table cloth. No, indeed. You go to Maitland by the shell road. It goes by my house and turn off at Lake Sibilia to the clay road that takes you right to the dough. Well, went on the driver smiling furtively. Could you quit dying long enough to go with us? Yes, sir. She said thoughtfully. I I want to go with you. The door of the car swung open. She was invited to a seat beside the driver. She had often dreamed of riding in one of these heavenly chariots but never thought she would actually jump in. Then madam tragedy and show us we lost ourselves after we left your barbecue during the drive. Isis explained to the kind lady who smelled faintly of violets and to the indifferent men that she was really a princess. She told them about her trips to the horizon, about the trailing gowns, the gold shoes with blue bottoms. She insisted on the blue bottoms. The white Charger. The time when she was Hercules and had slain numerous dragons and sundry giants. At last, the car approached her gate over which stood the umbrella China berry tree. The car was abreast of the gate and had all but passed when grandma spied her glorious tablecloth, lying back against the upholstery of the Packard. You, Izzy. She bawled you little wretch. You come here this instant. That's me. The child confessed, mortified to the lady on the rear seat. Oh, so well, stop the car. This is where the child lives. I hate to give her up though. Do you want to keep me? Ices brightened? Oh, I wish I could you shining little morsel. Wait, I'll try to save you a whipping this time. She dismounted with the gaudy lemon flavored culprit and advanced to the gate where grandma stood glowering switches in hand. You're going to catch it from your head to your heels. My lady just come in here. Why? Good afternoon. She accosted the furious grandparent. You're not going to whip this poor thing. Are you? The lady asked in conciliatory tones. Yes, ma'am. She's the wettest little limb that ever drawed breath. Just look at my new table cloth that ain't never been washed. She done draped all over the woods, a dancing and a prancing in it. She done took a razor to me today and Lord knows what Mo Isis clung to the white hand fearfully. I wasn't going to hurt grandma, Miss, I was just going to shave her whiskers for her because she old and came the white hand closed tightly over the little brown one that was quite soiled. She could understand a voluntary act of love even though it miscarried. Now, Mrs. Uh, er, I didn't get the name. How much did your table cloth cost? One whole big silver dollar down at Olinda. Ain't had it a week yet now he has $5 to get another one. The little thing loves laughter. I want her to go on to the hotel and dance in that table cloth for me. I can stand a little light today. Oh, yes. Yes. Grandma cut in. Everything's all right. So she can go. Yes. The lady went on. I want brightness and this ISIS is joy itself. Why she's drenched in light isis for the first time in her life, felt appreciated and danced up and down in an ecstasy of joy for a minute. Now, behave yourself. Izzy. Over at the hotel with the white folks. Grandma cautioned pride in her voice though. She strove to hide it. Lord ma'am keeps me so fractious. I don't know my hair from my feet. I order comb her hair too before she go with you all. No, no, don't bother. I like her as she is. I don't think she'd like it either. Being combed and scrubbed. Come on, Isis feeling that grandma had been somewhat squelched did not detract from ISIS spirit at all. She pranced over to the waiting motor and this time seated herself on the rear seat between the sweet smiling lady and the rather aloof man in gray. I'm going to stay with you all. She said with a great deal of warmth and snuggled up to her benefactress. Want me to sing a song for you there, Helen. You've been adopted, said the man with a short harsh laugh. Oh, I hope so. Harry, she put an arm around the red draped figure at her side and drew it close until she felt the warm puffs of the child's breath against her side. She looked hungrily ahead of her and spoke into space rather than to anyone in the car. I want a little of her sunshine to soak into my soul. I need it.