Cultural and Ethnic Studies

Cultural and Ethnic Studies
Topic: Analyze what the title means and individuals in society’s responsibility to each other with examples
Style: MLA
Number of pages: 2 pages/double spaced (550 words)
PowerPoint slides: 0
Additional: None
Number of source/references: 1
Order instructions:
Please have more than two sentences in a paragraph. Analyze every quote necessary to prove the point. Say something crazy and a little bit of a reach to support towards the end. Transition sentences necessary.
Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird
Toni Cade Bambara
The puddle had frozen over, and me and Cathy went stompin in it.
The twins from next door, Tyrone and Terry, were swingin so high
out of sight we forgot we were waitin our turn on the tire. Cathy
jumped up and came down hard on her heels and started tapdancin.
And the frozen patch splinterin every which way
underneath kinda spooky. “Looks like a plastic spider web,” she
said. “A sort of weird spider, I guess, with many mental
problems.” But really it looked like the crystal paperweight
Granny kept in the parlor. She was on the back porch, Granny was,
making the cakes drunk. The old ladle drippin rum into the
Christmas tins, like it used to drip maple syrup into the pails when
we lived in the Judson’s woods, like it poured cider into the vats
when we were on the Cooper place, like it used to scoop buttermilk
and soft cheese when we lived at the dairy.
“Go tell that man we ain’t a bunch of trees.”
“Ma’am?”
“I said to tell that man to get away from here with that camera.”
Me and Cathy look over toward the meadow where the men with
the station wagon’d been roamin around all mornin. The tall man
with a huge camera lassoed to his shoulder was buzzin our way.
“They’re makin movie pictures,” yelled Tyrone, stiffenin his
legs and twistin so the tire’d come down slow so they could see.
“They’re makin movie pictures,” sang out Terry.
“That boy don’t never have anything original to say,” say
Cathy grown-up.
By the time the man with the camera had cut across our
neighbor’s yard, the twins were out of the trees swingin low and
Granny was onto the steps, the screen door bammin soft and
scratchy against her palms. “We thought we’d get a shot or two of
the house and everything and then—”
“Good mornin,” Granny cut him off. And smiled that smile.
________________________________________________________________________
1 © ScottForesman Custom Literature Database Toni Cade Bambara, “Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird” from
GORILLA, MY LOVE by Toni Cade Bambara. Copyright
© 1971 by Toni Cade Bambara. Used by permission of
Random House, Inc.
Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird
_______________________________________________________________________
“Good mornin,” he said, head all down the way Bingo does
when you yell at him about the bones on the kitchen floor. “Nice
place you got here, aunty. We thought we’d take a—”
“Did you?” said Granny with her eyebrows. Cathy pulled up
her socks and giggled.
“Nice things here,” said the man, buzzin his camera over the
yard. The pecan barrels, the sled, me and Cathy, the flowers, the
printed stones along the driveway, the trees, the twins, the toolshed.
“I don’t know about the thing, the it, and the stuff,” said
Granny, still talkin with her eyebrows. “Just people here is what I
tend to consider.”
Camera man stopped buzzin. Cathy giggled into her collar.
“Mornin, ladies,” a new man said. He had come up behind us
when we weren’t lookin. “And gents,” discoverin the twins givin
him a nasty look. “We’re filmin for the county,” he said with a
smile. “Mind if we shoot a bit around here?”
“I do indeed,” said Granny with no smile. Smilin man was
smilin up a storm. So was Cathy. But he didn’t seem to have
another word to say, so he and the camera man backed on out the
yard, but you could hear the camera buzzin still. “Suppose you
just shut that machine off,” said Granny real low through her teeth,
and took a step down off the porch and then another.
“Now, aunty,” Camera said, pointin the thing straight at her.
“Your mama and I are not related.”
Smilin man got his notebook out and a chewed-up pencil.
“Listen,” he said movin back into our yard, “we’d like to have a
statement from you . . . for the film. We’re filmin for the county,
see. Part of the food stamp campaign. You know about the food
stamps?”
Granny said nuthin.
“Maybe there’s somethin you want to say for the film. I see you
grow your own vegetables,” he smiled real nice. “If more folks did
that, see, there’d be no need—”
Granny wasn’t sayin nuthin. So they backed on out, buzzin at
our clothesline and the twins’ bicycles, then back on down to the
meadow. The twins were danglin in the tire, lookin at Granny. Me
and Cathy were waitin, too, cause Granny always got somethin to
________________________________________________________________________
2 © ScottForesman Custom Literature Database Toni Cade Bambara, “Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird” from
GORILLA, MY LOVE by Toni Cade Bambara. Copyright
© 1971 by Toni Cade Bambara. Used by permission of
Random House, Inc.
Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird
_______________________________________________________________________
say. She teaches steady with no letup. “I was on this bridge one
time,” she started off. “Was a crowd cause this man was goin to
jump, you understand. And a minister was there and the police and
some other folks. His woman was there, too.”
“What was they doin?” asked Tyrone.
“Tryin to talk him out of it was what they was doin. The minister
talkin about how it was a mortal sin, suicide. His woman takin bites
out of her own hand and not even knowin it, so nervous and cryin
and talkin fast.”
“So what happened?” asked Tyrone.
“So here comes . . . this person . . . with a camera, takin pictures
of the man and the minister and the woman. Takin pictures of the
man in his misery about to jump, cause life so bad and people been
messin with him so bad. This person takin up the whole roll of film
practically. But savin a few, of course.”
“Of course,” said Cathy, hatin the person. Me standin there
wonderin how Cathy knew it was “of course” when I didn’t and it
was my grandmother.
After a while Tyrone say, “Did he jump?”
“Yes, did he jump?” say Terry all eager.
And Granny just stared at the twins till their faces swallow up the
eager and they don’t even care any more about the man jumpin.
Then she goes back onto the porch and lets the screen door go for
itself. I’m lookin to Cathy to finish the story cause she knows
Granny’s whole story before me even. Like she knew how come we
move so much and Cathy ain’t but a third cousin we picked up on
the way last Thanksgivin visitin. But she knew it was on account of
people drivin Granny crazy till she’d get up in the night and start
packin. Mumblin and packin and wakin everybody up sayin,
“Let’s get on away from here before I kill me somebody.” Like
people wouldn’t pay her for things like they said they would. Or
Mr. Judson bringin us boxes of old clothes and raggedy
magazines. Or Mrs. Cooper comin in our kitchen and touchin
everything and sayin how clean it all was. Granny goin crazy, and
Granddaddy Cain pullin her off the people, sayin, “Now, now,
Cora.” But next day loadin up the truck, with rocks all in his jaw,
madder than Granny in the first place.
________________________________________________________________________
3 © ScottForesman Custom Literature Database Toni Cade Bambara, “Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird” from
GORILLA, MY LOVE by Toni Cade Bambara. Copyright
© 1971 by Toni Cade Bambara. Used by permission of
Random House, Inc.
Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird
_______________________________________________________________________
“I read a story once,” said Cathy soundin like Granny teacher.
“About this lady Goldilocks who barged into a house that wasn’t
even hers. And not invited, you understand. Messed over the
people’s groceries and broke up the people’s furniture. Had the
nerve to sleep in the folks’ bed.”
“Then what happened?” asked Tyrone. “What they do, the
folks, when they come in to all this mess?”
“Did they make her pay for it?” asked Terry, makin a fist.
“I’d’ve made her pay me.”
I didn’t even ask. I could see Cathy actress was very likely to just
walk away and leave us in mystery about this story which I heard
was about some bears.
“Did they throw her out?” asked Tyrone, like his father sounds
when he’s bein extra nastyplus to the washinmachine man.
“Woulda,” said Terry. “I woulda gone upside her head with my
fist and—”
“You woulda done whatcha always do—go cry to Mama, you
big baby,” said Tyrone. So naturally Terry starts hittin on Tyrone,
and next thing you know they tumblin out the tire and rollin on the
ground. But Granny didn’t say a thing or send the twins home or
step out on the steps to tell us about how we can’t afford to be
fightin amongst ourselves. She didn’t say nuthin. So I get into the
tire to take my turn. And I could see her leanin up against the
pantry table, starin at the cakes she was puttin up for the Christmas
sale, mumblin real low and grumpy and holdin her forehead like it
wanted to fall off and mess up the rum cakes.
Behind me I hear before I can see Granddaddy Cain comin
through the woods in his field boots. Then I twist around to see the
shiny black oilskin cuttin through what little left there was of
yellows, reds, and oranges. His great white head not quite round
cause of this bloody thing high on his shoulder, like he was wearin
a cap on sideways. He takes the shortcut through the pecan grove,
and the sound of twigs snappin overhead and underfoot travels
clear and cold all the way up to us. And here comes Smilin and
Camera up behind him like they was goin to do somethin. Folks
like to go for him sometimes. Cathy say it’s because he’s so tall
and quiet and like a king. And people just can’t stand it. But Smilin
________________________________________________________________________
4 © ScottForesman Custom Literature Database Toni Cade Bambara, “Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird” from
GORILLA, MY LOVE by Toni Cade Bambara. Copyright
© 1971 by Toni Cade Bambara. Used by permission of
Random House, Inc.
Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird
_______________________________________________________________________
and Camera don’t hit him in the head or nuthin. They just buzz on
him as he stalks by with the chicken hawk slung over his shoulder,
squawkin, drippin red down the back of the oilskin. He passes the
porch and stops a second for Granny to see he’s caught the hawk at
last, but she’s just starin and mumblin, and not at the hawk. So he
nails the bird to the toolshed door, the hammerin crackin through
the eardrums. And the bird flappin himself to death and droolin
down the door to paint the gravel in the driveway red, then brown,
then black. And the two men movin up on tiptoe like they was
invisible or we were blind, one.
“Get them persons out of my flower bed, Mister Cain,” say
Granny moanin real low like at a funeral.
“How come your grandmother calls her husband ‘Mister Cain’
all the time?” Tyrone whispers all loud and noisy and from the city
and don’t know no better. Like his mama, Miss Myrtle, tell us never
mind the formality as if we had no better breeding than to call her
Myrtle, plain. And then this awful thing—a giant hawk—come
wailin up over the meadow, flyin low and tilted and screamin,
zigzaggin through the pecan grove, breakin branches and hollerin,
snappin past the clothesline, flyin every which way, flyin into things
reckless with crazy.
“He’s come to claim his mate,” say Cathy fast, and ducks down.
We all fall quick and flat into the gravel driveway, stones scrapin
my face. I squinch my eyes open again at the hawk on the door,
tryin to fly up out of her death like it was just a sack flown into by
mistake. Her body holdin her there on that nail, though. The mate
beatin the air overhead and clutchin for hair, for heads, for landin
space.
The camera man duckin and bendin and runnin and fallin,
jigglin the camera and scared. And Smilin jumpin up and down
swipin at the huge bird, tryin to bring the hawk down with just his
raggedy ole cap. Granddaddy Cain straight up and silent, watchin
the circles of the hawk, then aimin the hammer off his wrist. The
giant bird fallin, silent and slow. Then here comes Camera and
Smilin all big and bad now that the awful screechin thing is on its
back and broken, here they come. And Granddaddy Cain looks up
at them like it was the first time noticin, but not payin them too
________________________________________________________________________
5 © ScottForesman Custom Literature Database Toni Cade Bambara, “Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird” from
GORILLA, MY LOVE by Toni Cade Bambara. Copyright
© 1971 by Toni Cade Bambara. Used by permission of
Random House, Inc.
Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird
_______________________________________________________________________
much mind cause he’s listenin, we all listenin, to that low groanin
music comin from the porch. And we figure any minute, somethin
in my back tells me any minute now, Granny gonna bust through
that screen with somethin in her hand and murder on her mind. So
Granddaddy say above the buzzin, but quiet, “Good day,
gentlemen.” Just like that. Like he’d invited them in to play cards
and they’d stayed too long and all the sandwiches were gone and
Reverend Webb was droppin by and it was time to go.
They didn’t know what to do. But like Cathy say, folks can’t
stand Granddaddy tall and silent and like a king. They can’t
neither. The smile the men smilin is pullin the mouth back and
showin the teeth. Lookin like the wolf man, both of them. Then
Granddaddy holds his hand out—this huge hand I used to sit in
when I was a baby and he’d carry me through the house to my
mother like I was a gift on a tray. Like he used to on the trains.
They called the other men just waiters. But they spoke of
Granddaddy separate and said, The Waiter. And said he had
engines in his feet and motors in his hands and couldn’t no train
throw him off and couldn’t nobody turn him round. They were big
enough for motors, his hands were. He held that one hand out all
still and it gettin to be not at all a hand but a person in itself.
“He wants you to hand him the camera,” Smilin whispers to
Camera, tiltin his head to talk secret like they was in the jungle or
somethin and come upon a native that don’t speak the language.
The men start untyin the straps, and they put the camera into that
great hand speckled with the hawk’s blood all black and crackly
now. And the hand don’t even drop with the weight, just the fingers
move, curl up around the machine. But Granddaddy lookin straight
at the men. They lookin at each other and everywhere but at
Granddaddy’s face.
“We filmin for the county, see,” say Smilin. “We puttin
together a movie for the food stamp program . . . filmin all around
these parts. Uhh, filmin for the county.”
“Can I have my camera back?” say the tall man with no
machine on his shoulder, but still keepin it high like the camera was
still there or needed to be. “Please, sir.”
________________________________________________________________________
6 © ScottForesman Custom Literature Database Toni Cade Bambara, “Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird” from
GORILLA, MY LOVE by Toni Cade Bambara. Copyright
© 1971 by Toni Cade Bambara. Used by permission of
Random House, Inc.
Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird
_______________________________________________________________________
Then Granddaddy’s other hand flies up like a sudden and gentle
bird, slaps down fast on top of the camera and lifts off half like it
was a calabash cut for sharing.
“Hey,” Camera jumps forward. He gathers up the parts into his
chest and everything unrollin and fallin all over. “Whatcha tryin to
do? You’ll ruin the film.” He looks down into his chest of metal
reels and things like he’s protectin a kitten from the cold.
“You standin in the misses’ flower bed,” say Granddaddy.
“This is our own place.”
The two men look at him, then at each other, then back at the
mess in the camera man’s chest, and they just back off. One sayin
over and over all the way down to the meadow, “Watch it, Bruno.
Keep ya fingers off the film.” Then Granddaddy picks up the
hammer and jams it into the oilskin pocket, scrapes his boots, and
goes into the house. And you can hear the squish of his boots
headin through the house. And you can see the funny shadow he
throws from the parlor window onto the ground by the stringbean
patch. The hammer draggin the pocket of the oilskin out so
Granddaddy looked even wider. Granny was hummin now—high,
not low and grumbly. And she was doin the cakes again, you could
smell the molasses from the rum.
“There’s this story I’m goin to write one day,” say Cathy
dreamer. “About the proper use of the hammer.”
“Can I be in it?” Tyrone say with his hand up like it was a
matter of first come, first served.
“Perhaps,” say Cathy, climbin onto the tire to pump us up. “If
you there and ready.”
________________________________________________________________________
7 © ScottForesman Custom Literature Database Toni Cade Bambara, “Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird” from
GORILLA, MY LOVE by Toni Cade Bambara. Copyright
© 1971 by Toni Cade Bambara. Used by permission of
Random House, Inc.

Order from us and get better grades. We are the service you have been looking for.