Entertaining Angels
It was fifty years ago, on a hot summer day, in the deep
south. We lived on a dirt road, on a sand lot. We were, what
was known as "dirt poor". I had been playing outside all
morning in the sand. Suddenly, I heard a sharp clanking
sound behind me and looking over my shoulder, my eyes were
drawn to a strange sight!
Across the dirt road were two rows of men, dressed in black
and white, striped, baggy uniforms. Their faces were covered
with dust and sweat. They looked so weary, and they were
chained together with huge, black, iron chains. Hanging from
the end of each chained row was a big, black, iron ball.
They were, as polite people said in those days, a "Chain
Gang," guarded by two, heavily armed, white guards.
I stared at the prisoners as they settled uncomfortably down
in the dirt, under the shade of some straggly trees. One of
the guards walked towards me. Nodding as he passed, he went
up to our front door and knocked. My mother appeared at the
door, and I heard the guard ask if he could have permission
to get water from the pump, in the backyard, so that "his
men" could "have a drink". My mother agreed, but I saw a
look of concern on her face, as she called me inside.
I stared through the window as each prisoner was unchained
from the line, to hobble over to the pump and drink his fill
from a small tin cup, while a guard watched vigilantly. It
wasn't long before they were all chained back up again, with
prisoners and guards retreating into the shade, away from an
unrelenting sun.
I heard my mother call me into the kitchen, and I entered,
to see her bustling around with tins of tuna fish,
mayonnaise, our last loaf of bread, and two, big, pitchers
of lemonade. In what seemed "a blink of an eye", she had
made a tray of sandwiches using all the tuna we were to have
had for that night's supper.
My mother was smiling as she handed me one of the pitchers
of lemonade, cautioning me to carry it "carefully" and to
"not spill a drop." Then, lifting the tray in one hand and
holding a pitcher in her other hand, she marched me to the
door, deftly opening it with her foot, and trotted me across
the street.
She approached the guards, flashing them with a brilliant
smile. "We had some leftovers from lunch," she said, "and I
was wondering if we could share with you and your men." She
smiled at each of the men, searching their dark eyes with
her own eyes of "robin's egg blue."
Everyone started to their feet. "Oh no!" she said. "Stay
where you are! I'll just serve you!"
Calling me to her side, she went from guard to guard, then
from prisoner to prisoner -- filling each tin cup with
lemonade, and giving each man a sandwich. It was very quiet,
except for a "thank you, ma'am," and the clanking of the
chains. Very soon we were at the end of the line, my
mother's eyes softly scanning each face.
The last prisoner was a big man, his dark skin pouring with
sweat, and streaked with dust. Suddenly, his face broke into
a wonderful smile, as he looked up into my mother's eyes,
and he said, "Ma'am, I've wondered all my life if I'd ever
see an angel, and now I have! Thank you!"
Again, my mother's smile took in the whole group. "You're
all welcome!" she said. "God bless you." Then we walked
across to the house, with empty tray and pitchers, and back
inside. Soon, the men moved on, and I never saw them again.
The only explanation my mother ever gave me, for that
strange and wonderful day, was that I "remember, always, to
entertain strangers, for by doing so, you may entertain
angels, without knowing." Then, with a mysterious smile, she
went about the rest of the day.
I don't remember what we ate for supper, that night. I just
know it was served by an angel.
Jaye Lewis jayelewis@comcast.net