Part II, Chapter 3: "Spunk" by Zora Neale Hurston

A giant of a brown-skinned man sauntered up the one street of the village and out into the palmetto thickets with a small pretty woman clinging lovingly to his arm.

All the loungers in the store tried to walk to the door with an air of nonchalance but with small success.

Elijah nudged Walter and turned with mock gravity to the newcomer.

One could actually see the pain he was suffering, his eyes, his face, his hands, and even the dejected slump of his shoulders.

The men laughed boisterously behind Joe's back as they watched him shamble woodward.

The men laughed boisterously behind Joe's back as they watched him shamble woodward.

"You oughtn't to said whut you said to him, 'Lige—look how it worked him up," Walter chided.

Tain't 'cause Joe's timid at all, it's 'cause Spunk wants Lena. If Joe was a passle of wile cats Spunk would tackle the job just the same.

From now on Ah works for you an' fights for you an' Ah never wants you to look to nobody for a crumb of bread, a stitch of close or a shingle to go over yo' head, but me long as Ah live.

The men in the store heard the sharp report of a pistol somewhere distant in the palmetto thicket and soon Spunk came walking leisurely, with his big black Stetson set at the same rakish angle and Lena clinging to his arm, came walking right into the general store.

Spunk turned on his heel and sauntered away to where he knew his love wept in fear for him and no man stopped him.

There was a general shout of derision from the group.

Lookit whut he done; took a razor an' went out to fight a man he knowed toted a gun an' wuz a crack shot, too; 'nother thing he wuz skeered of Spunk, skeered plumb stiff!

The men gathered the next evening in a different mood, no laughter. No badinage this time.

Tell yuh the truth, Ah'm a li'l bit skittish.

"If spirits kin fight, there's a powerful tussle goin' on somewhere ovah Jordan, cause Ah b'leeve Joe's ready for Spunk an' ain't skeered any more—yas, Ah b'leeve Joe pushed 'im mahself."

Lena's lamentations were deep and loud.

Everyone in the village was there, even old Jeff Kanty, Joe's father, who a few hours before would have been afraid to come within ten feet of him, stood leering triumphantly down upon the fallen giant as if his fingers had been the teeth of steel that laid him low.

The cooling board consisted of three sixteen-inch boards on saw horses, a dingy sheet was his shroud.

The women ate heartily of the funeral baked meats and wondered who would be Lena's next. The men whispered coarse conjectures...