61 pages • 2 hours read
Paule MarshallA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Two hours later, Avey finds herself on the wharf instead of on her way to the airport as she had previously planned. The man from the rum shop had taken her to a taxi and back to her hotel to gather her things and rearrange her flight plans. Once back in the car, Avey finally introduces herself to the man—Lebert Joseph—laughing to herself about the absurdity of embarking on a trip with someone she does not know. When she gives him her name, though, it sounds strange and unfamiliar to her.
The wharf is exactly as Avey saw it yesterday: full of people dressed colorfully and the sound of Patois filling the air. Though Avey still feels ”dazed and confused” (197), she begins gaining some lucidity. The sights of the wharf remind her of a distant memory from her childhood: the summer trips her family would take (before she had to go to Tatem to see Cuney) to Bear Mountain Park. During those trips, her parents would get dressed up and prepare food for a reunion with her father’s people, the Gullahs. Seeing the throngs of people arrive, Avey feels as though hundreds of threads connected her to those around her. These threads, coming from her navel and heart, create a link so strong that she felt utterly safe, no matter what.
Avey stirs from her reverie to see Lebert Joseph running toward her, having found them an awfully old schooner. The sight of it worries Avey, and she begins to regret her decision. Though large, the deck of the schooner is packed with bodies standing together like sardines. Avey is pulled onto the boat and seated with three elderly women she recognizes. Seeing the presiding mothers of her mother’s former church, Avey loses all desire to flee.
The women take her items and look after her in silence. Listening to the Patois around her, Avey is reminded of how the language triggered her dream—how it stirred some great desire within her that had been gone for three decades. Avey becomes fitful, but the women soothe her in Patois, quieting all her thoughts. Free of her burdens, Avey feels she has left her body and begins “to hear—the sound reaching her clearly over the years—the inflammatory voice from the pulpit” (197).
The voice of a reverend from her childhood finds Avey’s ears from across the decades. She remembers the sermon he gave on Mary Magdalene and Mother Mary finding the empty tomb of Jesus. In her vision, Avey is a child “seated between her mother and older brother,” feeling the “church begin to tilt and rock ever so slightly around her” (199). The sermon ends with a call and response, the thrill of which overwhelms Avey and causes her to feel sick. She panics, not wanting to be sick in the pew or in the aisle and fearing the teasing she would earn from her youngest brother for vomiting in church. She feels the building begin to rock more violently and can no longer withstand it. She covers her mouth and looks around for help.
The women beside Avey act quickly to help her. With shocking strength, they pull her up and guide her to lean over the railing, swiftly moving her hat and pocketbook away first. Avey vomits violently for a long time. Throughout, the women soother her, offering comfort and “even seemed to approve of what was happening” (205). To her surprise, Avey realizes that others on the schooner echo the women: “Bon. Li bon, oui ” (206).
Eventually, the vomiting is replaced by painful retching. Vaguely, Avey registers her anger toward Lebert Joseph as he assures her they have passed the rough water. The women pull Avey back onto the bench, comforting her as she keels over from her contractions. Suddenly, the contractions change directions. Horror and pain overwhelm Avey as she feels the shift move downward into her bowels. The women detect her agony and, again, act quickly: they lead her away, wrapping a shawl around her waist and motioning for Lebert Joseph to clear a path. They take her into the deckhouse and lay her down, placing her pocketbook and hat beside her. They repeat their approval, despite the humiliation Avey feels.
Avey regains consciousness just as the schooner nears the port. She is alone beneath the boat but senses the “impression […] of other bodies lying crowded with her in the hot, airless dark”, sitting in their filth just as she is (209). However, she can tell their suffering “made her of no consequence” (209).
Chapter 4 of Part 3 begins the physical part of Avey’s journey towards her cultural regeneration. The chapter briefly covers her movement from one end of the beach to another, as well as the journey from her hotel back to the wharf, to demonstrate that by physically moving backwards, she can begin to emotionally and spiritually move forward. This is all done, though, with a tinge or irony. When Avey laughs about taking a trip with a stranger and realizes that her own name sounds “like someone else’s name” (186), the novel is pointedly demonstrating how Avey is as much a stranger to herself as anyone else around her.
The chapter also refocuses the cultural significance of language through the surrounding sounds of Patois. When Avey is on the boat, listening to the “odd cadence” of the language, she realizes how significant it is to her because it reminds her of the sounds of Tatem (196). Avey comprehends that this entire journey—the physical one as well as the search for self—was prompted by the sounds of Patois, which stirred her deeply buried obligation to her great-aunt Cuney.
The sounds and sights of the wharf also resurface a childhood memory that reveals the familial ties Avey forgot she has, further exhibiting the great loss she suffered. The power of these familial ties is represented by the threads Avey felt physically connect her to the other Gullahs visiting the park. These threads are a lifeline to Avey: though they were thin, she felt the threads were strong enough to be felt across the Hudson River—that she could swim to its deepest point and the “moment she began to founder those on shore would simply pull on the silken threads and haul her in” (191). Here, Avey remembers the bond she felt to near strangers because of its blatant absence in her adult life. However, her childhood thought of the threads’ ability to save her from drowning suggests a similar power saving her from what she suffers now. Over the last few decades, Avey drifted far from her familial and cultural ties, but the overpowering bond she shares has potential to pull her back in. Therefore, the chapter works to convey the isolation Avey feels in having these ties severed, and the comfort she may find in rediscovering them.
The dream-like church memory in Chapter 5 serves as an extended metaphor for the beginning of Avey’s cultural regeneration. Within it, she reverts to a child-like state, thrilled and terrified. The boat’s shaky movements are translated into the vision as the church begins moved by the excitement of the church goers. As they passionately perform the call and response, the emotion of the practice is taken on by Avey, who is stirred to sickness. The sudden intensity of her illness and its proximity to the call and response suggest that Avey’s sickness, though indeed very physical, represents the emotional and spiritual cleansing she must undergo. Whatever emotions or thoughts she must expel come without warning, and she, like a child, needs the care and protection of others when the feeling takes hold.
Chapter 6 expands on the purging Avey must undergo as she suffers unrelenting vomiting. As “her entire insides erupted” (204), Avey removes her old self to start anew. The women looking after her understand this; they console her and bestow encouragement through the repetition of “Bon” (205). Again, Patois becomes very present, particularly in relating the importance of Avey’s rebirth. The women, as church mothers, guide Avey through this painful experience. The most poignant image of the chapter comes after Avey soils herself and lays, surrounded by the smell of her filth, in the deckhouse. There, she feels she is not alone—instead surrounded by “[a] multitude […] packed around her” (209). Here, the novel positions Avey in a microcosm of what millions of slaves experienced while imprisoned on ships. Avey’s ability to sense these bodies around her—to sense the pain that greatly eclipses her own—is the first indication that she has tapped into a far-reaching connection with the past, specifically, her ancestral past. In this way, the chapter successfully embodies cultural memory by having Avey’s body communicate what she has conditioned her mind to ignore or forget: the far-reaching power of cultural memory.
By Paule Marshall