She bowed her head, folded the money, and placin it discreetly in a drawer, said, “Well suh! I surely hope everything goes well for you all. We may be havin a weddin someday soon ourselves. My two lovely daughters, you know.”
He bowed his head and smiled as a southern gentleman would. “Yes mam, I seen em. They be right lovely beautiful young ladies.”
Young Mistress stood as she said, “They have so many suitors, they just haven’t decided which to choose. But if I had known such a handsome and worthy gentleman was just down the road from us, we would have included you in some of our functions here at SwallowLand.”
Doak perked up. Thought, “Oh! I am a gentleman! It showed, did it?” He brightened, thinkin of Loretta momentarily. “Yes mam!”
Young Mistress called a house slave, old Dora, and sent her for Always, and ordered lemonade for Doak. All the slaves knew somebody was goin that day. They’d been goin so reglar. One or two when different kinds of white men try to look them over.
The mood, the atmosphere of the slave quarters was sad and gray and blue. Deep sighs, hand clasps, tender touches, tired walks off a space or so, then a return to sit and handle old belongins what wasn’t nothin but just dear to someone who ain’t had nothin else.
The house what wasn’t never their home was now home in a different way. The real old ones, or sick ones was only a little better off, cause sometime they would be gotten rid of. They was only takin up space and food sorely needed now and they couldn’t work as hard for their upkeep. Slave dealers can do a whoppin lot to a old slave to spruce him up for a week or so. Til they gray hair start showin again and the shiny grease wears off.
These old ones loved each other, most of em, as family. And you know it don’t feel good, not knowin where you goin and who you goin to and if you can make a new family feelin without the time to give it. And this old work may be hard, but the beatins was fewer now, cept for that Virginia when she had stole some liquor and drinked it and come out afta em to “play.” So … all of em was nervous and scared. Even the animals acted like they felt it. Even some of them slaves went to hug a cow or a mule good-by, cause they had tended it or worked with it all its life.
But … Always was called. Folks not off workin on jobs hustled into their broken-down shacks … gladly. Always looked round for Plum, but Plum was off somewhere, probly pullin weeds or some small job. So Always dried her hands, smoothed her apron, straightened her back, took a scared swallow, and went to the big house to the Mistress. She was newly sixteen years old with the heart and backbone of a woman, but no new wisdom to help her face this life. To get her ready for whatever might come.
She finally stood before Young Mistress, who was writing on a sheet of one of the papers scattered on her little desk and did not look up at first.
The Mistress was not soft-hearted, but she was not truly hard-hearted. She was doing what she had to do for her own survival. She was human and she felt a few pangs of sorrow for this girl she had known since she was a baby. She spoke in a hushed voice, avoidin Always’s eyes. “You have been sold to Mr. Doak Butler. He’s gonna be takin you with him today. Get yourself ready. Just leave your job as it is.”
Then Mistress forgot her small sorrow and wondered who else she would get to do the good job that Always did, not always playin but really workin hard.
Always’s face just sorta turned to wood or stone as all kinds of thoughts scrambled through her mind. But she said a automatic “Yes’m.”
Young Mistress gave Always her attention again, cause she really did need that money. “Go on, hurry now, the gentleman is waitin.”
Always asked gently, “Scuse me, mam, want I go find Plum?”
The Mistress thinked on the fact that Plum and Always was sisters. Underneath her upbringin she did feel sad again for a minute. She said, “No, we will take care of that.” Then, she thought a minute, and said quickly, “You have been in this house … You been born here. Your pappy and your mammy was raised here … died here. At any rate, this has always been your home. You have been well fed and cared for. You are young and strong. You have been taught to do all kinds of work that will help you get along in the world and please your new owners. You are … not … pretty, but that is not necessary in your life and I don’t think you need to be very smart to do the work you will do. Simply do what you are told to do, as well as you possibly can, as we have tried to teach you. Are you a virgin?” She knew she had no sons, but slaves were savages no matter how meek they looked. She also thought of her husband and disease.
Always nodded.
The Mistress continued. “Good! Now, I have told your new owner you are very good in the kitchen and laundry and you sew … some.”
Always still thought of Plum. “And I takes care of my little sister, Plum, mam. I can get her ready.”
Young Mistress stood and said firmly, “I told you, we will take care of that.”
Always thought she meant they would get ole Miz Elliz to get Plum ready. After all, they knew Plum was sickly, and all she had. Surely they would not separate them. She left.
As she went down the steps to the path runnin through the tall trees to the slave quarters, she hated the Master and Mistress with a full heart. But it was a useless hate, like a raindrop hatin a tornado, just worthless and useless to itself even. When she got to her shack she stood on the dirt floor in a blur of tears … and fear. Useless.
She had shared that shack with two others, but they were not there now. One sold last month, one in the field somewhere. She stopped dead still, heavin her breath, hands at her side, feelin the thump, hearin the beat, of her heart. She looked round the shack … her home. Now, now, there was things she loved in it.
She finally went and rolled her few nothins in a old rag. Her main piece was a head scarf she had made out of scraps left over from sewin for Loretta and Virginia and some of the slave things at Christmas. It only took a minute to get her things.
Then, she moved in the dead silence to the square cut out in the wall for air. There she had stood many times lookin out toward where freedom might be. Where Sun might be. Where peace might be. The day was already hot with the late morning sun, when the heat thickens, grows heavy, and everything is caught in it. Through her tears and the hole-window, everything looked like it was burnt in the minute, like time was standin still. Trees, bushes, vines could be seen through that hole back of the shack. A bush with flower buds grew up and through the crooked-cut window-hole, comin between some of the loose boards of the wall.
Always’s eyes filled with tears. Silent hard tears that did not roll nor move. She put out her arm and her hand sought a leaf, a little flower bud and pressed it to her nose. The smell was free. It moved gently from her nose down through her whole body—she felt hollow. Then … then her tears moved, flowed, and the trees and bushes, buds, seemed to wave and drown like in a dream. Everything ran together. A bird my baby threw crumbs to, from her own crumbs, flew up and landed in that budded bush. He chirped for his crumbs. There was none.
Always lifted the crushed flower bud in her hand, said, “I don’t have no food to give you today, but I’ll give you some love, little bird,” and dropped the young petals down to the free bird. “Take good care yoself.” Then she turned, picked up her rags, left her home of sixteen years. Sobs now findin their way out, tears droppin all over that shack’s dirt floor, runnin through whatever there is of me, leavin pain everywhere I am, into the still, hot air, lingerin in the dust that floated in the rays of hot sunlight. The bird turned his head sideways, so to see better, and watched her go through the door for the last time, out into the world. And she didn’t know a bit more bout where she was goin than that bird did! Left, not to seek a future, but to bow down to whatever future was comin to her. And I feel now as if I could KILL whoever thought of all this, such a horror mess, again and again. But I done felt this many times, again and again.
As Always walked toward her future down that time-worn path to the buggy waitin to carry her aw
ay, she wondered if Brother Sun and Peach were alive or dead. She did not know Sun had tried to buy her through Loretta, but that Loretta never told anyone because she did not want Always to go. She, Loretta, wanted to go. And Always was a kinda insurance that Sun would be where she, Loretta, could somehow reach him, and if he never sent for her, then Always had no right to get away. This … and still Loretta had kindness in her heart for many other things. But, I guess all these things led somehow back to herself.
I watched all these things. I knew things, and then again, I didn’t know things. This bein here and not bein here all at the same time was a hard thing to be. I couldn’t help nobody or nothin! It is surely a hard thing to be. And not know why … or even how. I only knew I couldn’t help my babies. None.
ALWAYS REACHED THAT buggy-wagon standin in front of the Big House, lookin for Plum. Plum was not there. Truth is, Plum was stealin time playin in round that ole broke-down chicken house she and Always set in sometimes to be alone together.
They told Always Plum was not goin with her and Doak, seein the look on her face, took her arm to push her up on the wagon bed. Always struggled away, cryin for Plum. Plum heard her and came runnin on her weak, little thin legs fast as them legs could carry her. An instant’s look and everything was clear to even my little five-year-old Plum. She started screamin too. The yard was empty of slaves cept for those who were sposed to be out there, like the horse-handler and the buggy-man.
Young Mistress was standin in the window watchin through the curtains. Always raised such a fuss, long with my little Plum, that the mistress moved way from the window. My children cried and screamed and reached out for each other, both held back by unfeelin arms. Ahhhh, my children, my children.
Loretta continued watchin from her window, thinkin how far Always would be away when she, herself, laughed in Sun’s face for leavin her behind so long. Virginia watched, then decided to run outside and help em with the black bitch.
It was when Virginia ran out the front door and all hands holdin Always turned their eyes to her, that Plum pulled away and ran around and under the wagon. Pullin herself up on a bar that fit under the seat and crossed from each wheel, Plum lay there with the stirred dust and old dirt flyin round her, into her nose and mouth as she breathed heavy and as quiet as she could. I don’t know what they call it, but she lay stuck in that place til they finally brought Always down, tied her hands behind her and chained one of her feet to the sideboard … and drove away.
Oh Lord, I could not reach my child Plum.
As they drove along, she began to slide and somethin that damn man did drivin cause the rod to move and press into my baby child. She was too stunned and afraid to scream, thinkin too, she would be taken away from her sister, her family. She never did cry out then. She didn’t feel the pain after awhile. When it gradually took over her whole little body and she couldn’t hold it in anymore, her voice was weak and small and the wagon made so much noise they couldn’t hear her crys and moans.
But … I did. I felt them too. Ohhhh, I felt them moans and her pain as she slid and the bar tore into my little child’s arms and legs as she tried to hold tight to it … for life. Then her dear, sweet little body was held stuck as she bled to death all those long eighteen miles to where her new home would be in a grove, in the ground, in a grave. But, she did not die right away. She was unconscious, near death, when the wagon stopped and the new master got out and pulled Always, on her back, to the ground. God … why ain’t you helpin them? Helpin me? What good is what you have let me do, if I can’t do nothin for nobody? But who can know Your reasons?
It was broad daylight, round bout leven or twelve o’clock. Hot! Hot! Mosquitos squitin, flys flyin, birds flyin and screamin. Always screamin, bein pulled by the feet, she could see into the thickets, through the bushes on the damp, gravelly ground to the stream that all of a sudden looked like it was made of cracked glass. She had been hungry and very thirsty and thought maybe he was going to get some water. But … no, now she felt the damp dirt stickin to her, the gravel diggin into her skin as he drug her across it. She smelled the dirt, the clay, indeed, it was in her nose, her mouth, her eyes. Tied arms bled. Tied arms could not fight. She could not understand what and why he had to do this, this way. She had been goin to wait to see how it all turned out before she would hate him, but now … she hated him now. The pimply rough skin, the broken ragged fingernails, his rough hands and ways, he had hidden at the Big House. The handsome face with glittery, small eyes the color of the sky, now was ugly, ugly and hateful. She hated him NOW!
Then the sound came. A laugh of happy madness, possession. He was laughin! Stretchin her legs open wide and lookin and laughin as he dug his fingers into the tender flesh. She was beautiful … and she was his, his slave, his body to do with as he liked, at any time, in any place, and none to say nay.
He took her. Like the savage he and his kind accused her of bein. The hot sun shone through the tree leaves into her face. She never blinked her eyes. I felt twisted, grieved, memory, pain … worse than death. See … I couldn’t help her. She looked through the leaves to the sky and wondered, between the pain, why she could not die. When could she die? Time trudged on slow, slow feet, til it was over.
When he was finished, spent, he moved off from her, lookin at her with smilin eyes, proud and satisfied. How can a man be satisfied with what he takes, somethin not given to him? I don’t know. He moved off from her, fixed himself up, then took handfuls of water and threw them between her legs. Jerked her up. Then, tried to kiss her! Kiss her! She struggled and he laughed. Then half-drug and carried her back to the wagon, left her in a heap.
They had both seen the puddle of blood under the wagon, and when he had her safely on the wagon, he stooped down and pulled at the bloody rag hangin there … what was left of my baby. He held it up to Always and said, seriously, “Was this that cute little nigga-gal, your sister?”
Always looked, the scream started and stopped in the same instant. There was no sound for this new pain added to so many others. Her heart just cried for this child she loved, silently. “Please Master, can we put her in the wagon? I’ll clean it up. I’ll bury her. That’s my sister.”
Doak held the bloody body bundle away from him, said, “Hell, you don’t know if that’s your sister nor not. Even live. Who knows what a slave does when they makin babies!?”
Always did cry a little sound then. Said, “Master, sir, that’s my sister. I knows it. Can I have her, please?”
Doak pulled straw and whatsomever together on the wagon bed and put the body on it. “You sure betta clean this wagon up, sure nuff, cause blood is hard to come out and it looks ugly. Wonder what your old Mistress is goin to say bout this slave bein gone and dyin.”
From her own bloody body and clothes, Always said, “I’ll clean it up good, Master.” Then he got in the wagon and finished them few miles home. Her new home.
Always bowed her head, and heaved them sobs inside her body that millions of people what was slaves to other human people have heaved down through all these centuries I feel in this huge space round me. All kinds of people. All kinds.
ALWAYS HAD, from her first walkin and seein times, loved trees and flowers, sunshine and birds and things. Now, lookin at the yard and shabby fence of her new home, she felt nothin but a weary emptiness. The trees looked mean and broodin. The yard was like a empty, dead desert full of death. There was no comfort in the huge trees full of birds. They looked stiff, unreal and unfriendly, like the whole place had been lost and was just standin there to become her grave, not her home. She looked at the land where it stretched out, tryin to see the end of life.
Doak was proud of his nigger-slave and now he looked at his land and felt himself to be almost rich gentry. He grinned, stretched out his arm, pointin, wavin at his land. “This here is all mine! Thirty-five acres! Good soil! And we gonna fix this house up too! I got a new wife comin! Your Mistress!”
Always looked at the land through pain and hooded eyes a
nd hate. Doak said on, “Right now it don’t show up so good, just two men and,” his voice hardened, “one of them a useless cripple.”
He looked at Always thoughtfully. “But with a wife, and you, a sturdy slave with a lotta good years and strong suckers in you, we gonna one day stretch out to far as you can see!”
Always looked down to her sister Plum, dead. What did she care where land reached to. She hated that Plum had to be buried in this bastard’s land, but it would only have been a little better back at SwallowLand where she had come from.
New thoughts was new things to my Always, but now she had some. She raised her eyes, again, to the land. A place, a secret place, she would find to bury her little sister, the end of her family. And that secret piece of land she would make hers. She’d steal it!
And she thought, “I won’t work these fields. They can kill me, but I won’t work these fields. I want to die anyway. I hate this man, I hate his wife, I hate his land and I will hate his children and all they children too.” Then, a even newer thought struck her. “I will live. I will live to destroy them like they’s destroyed me and my mama and my family.” She looked at the land again. “I’m gonna destroy you too.” The gust of power from the hate left her as sudden as it had come. She felt her emptiness, her bein without any power … and she bowed her gritty, bloody head over toward her bloody baby sister and cried all over again, inside her soul, not with her eyes.
The wagon pulled into the yard, the man, Doak called out “Poon!”, and soon a older black woman came limpin down the backsteps through the yard to the wagon. She was lookin at Always, to see was this new thing come to make life harder or better.
Poon was bout thirty-five years old, lookin fifty. Nineteen children born and sold to buy most of the land the Butlers had. Scars showed for the minutes she hadn’t been useful or been tryin to fight off her Masters. Lines, deep lines, from the times she had given birth to her babies, alone. Her babies?! No, just babies. No, was her babies. With no help. Hemorrangin, goin back to work in the kitchen, or the field, cause there was nobody else to do the work. There wasn’t one soft line in her gray old face with the droopin, sad, dark round eyes filled with sad memories and questions. Where was them babies?
Family Page 5
