Mighty
Good To
Me
Lewis Fisher
W
WERE SPENDING
a few days in Warm Springs, Virginia,
and it seemed afterwards that the purpose of the trip had been to
hear her say it-'her' being an old Negress, and 'it' being to her
just a casual remark or question with which she finished out our
conversation. Or at least finished it so far as my memory goes.
But maybe I was a little stunned, as by a revelation.
They treat the Negroes very nicely in that neighborhood.
More than mere courtesy: they even take a great deal of pains to
train them for an occupation. Their darkies have been educated
into almost perfect servants, very kind, very thoughtful, anticipat·
ing every movement you might need to make, always pleased about
your tips-which anyway occur only on the last day. And per·
fectly harmless, we were assured. Our hostess herself walked
through their village without the least misgiving, as you might in
a kindergarten. I'm certain she found their silence, or soft brev·
ities, a relief from the conversation of her paying guests, who
were roughly from New York. The time I met her there she was
so relaxed and sad I hardly recognized her.
We had taken all the drives, had bathed in the springs, had
gone the shorter rambles, and I, who climb better than my wife,
had walked the ridge. I had looked down on the handsome wheel·
ing buzzards, or east and west at ridge after ridge disappearing
inaudibly into one blue trill. Their spring had begun in earnest,
and going shirt-off on those high paths I had a good start on my
summer's burn. We weren't far enough south for the citrus or the
sea shells; a sunburn was the one southern export we'd take home
with us.
So on this blue moist early-season Sunday the new thing left
for us was evidently to attend the Negro church. We hesitated
even to speak of the desire since we knew no objection would
be
made and we wanted not tq abuse our position.
If
religion was a
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