Sweetsmoke (6 page)

    "She
was… she was a damned annoying woman, a prickly, frustrating woman, oh how she
could make my life miserable," said Hoke, and Cassius's shoulders
straightened to hear her spoken of in such a way, but then he recognized the
shiver in Hoke's voice and saw that Hoke had turned toward the window, perhaps
to allow himself the indulgence of speaking openly of his grief, for he could
do no such thing in front of his wife. Perhaps he could do no such thing in
front of anyone else. "She tutored me as a boy, she was of course older,
and such a bright and lively creature for a negro. My mother saw it first, saw
that certain something in her, and Mother went against everyone and taught her
to read. She learned well, so well that Mother had Emoline teach me. You would
think she would have been grateful to be treated with such regard, but even
then she could be so willful! It shocked me in those days, a slave with such
strong opinions, I worried even then that she would go too far. I had… I had
feelings for her, you may think it impossible, but that is the truth of it. I
can still feel her in my arms, so tiny, so tiny."

    Cassius
did not care to hear about Hoke's affection for Emoline Justice. She was dead,
that difficult and extraordinary woman, a free woman, freed by Hoke himself, a
woman who still taught when she could, a woman who sewed for the blacks and
told fortunes to whites and had already bought her son's freedom and was
striving to buy the freedom of her two daughters. Now they would never go free.
Cassius knew her son well enough to know he would not work to free his sisters.
But Hoke was correct about her certain something, and Cassius remembered the
way a room lit up when she entered, even when she was stern and demanding. Or
perhaps it was he who lit up to see her. He thought back on her face, and
realized that in his memory she never appeared to be afraid.

    "I
was so young then, and unsure, and you can imagine my amazement, my true
amazement when she came to me, it being my first time. It was as if I was being
bestowed with a great honor."

    Cassius
took a step backward. Hoke was lying, he knew that for a fact. Emoline had told
him about the times Hoke Howard had come to her bed and how they had made a son
against her will. He crushed Hoke's words inside him, Hoke had no right to
redefine her memory in that way.

    "She
did me a great service. She lied to my mother about the identity of the baby's
father. Mother was anything but unintelligent, but Emoline created just enough
doubt."

    Cassius
thought with disgust that Hoke still would not mention his own son's name, and
his thoughts must have played out on his face because Hoke said, "But I go
on too long." Hoke brought a sleeve to his cheek, composing himself. His
next words were uttered with renewed strength, charged with his significance.

    "Now,
Cassius. You tell me how you are with this. I would not like to put you in the
tobacco shed again."

    Cassius
remembered her small home in town with the two rooms. One wall was taken up
with a large hearth that housed a living fire and the smell of the room came to
him and he nearly lost his balance.

    If
there is a funeral, I would like to attend, said Cassius.

    Hoke
considered the request.

    "Depending
on how you behave the next few days, I shall write you a pass when the time
comes."

    Cassius
nodded. He knew that Hoke would wait until after Emoline was in the ground and
then he would tell Cassius it was too late. That did not matter. The living
mattered. The dead were the dead. He endured Hoke's examining eyes as to his
state of mind. This was his unspoken warning, Hoke would be watching, and then
he remembered Ellen and young Charles, and Otis Bornock going first to Mr.
Nettle in the fields, and Weyman looking away. He thought of the field hands
and their song, and the whispering planter's family. The news had shaken them
because of what she had once meant to the plantation, as a former house
servant, in her relations with Hoke, and because of what she had once done for
Cassius. Now they would all be watching. Cassius scanned the desk for the note
delivered by Otis Bornock. He did not see it.

    Cassius
left by the front door, but went around the side to the kitchen. Mam Rosie was
outside; she had not gone in to her pallet yet. She looked thinner and more taut
than she had in the afternoon with Andrew and Charles, if that was possible.

    All I
got, said Mam Rosie, is pot likker.

    Pot
likker, said Cassius.

    You
heard what I say.

    She
stepped inside and came back with a deep pan. Cassius took it and touched the
pan's side and it was lukewarm. He drank.

    That
almost remembers being warm, Rose, he said.

    He
didn't look up as he said it, just lifted the pan back to his lips and drank
more. But he felt her eyes on him. No one called her Rose. Only her husband
Darby ever called her Rose, and he had been sold more than twenty years ago and
never heard from again. She had not even been allowed to say good-bye. Only
Cassius had said good-bye.

    I
s'pose there might be somethin else, said Mam Rosie.

    She
moved into the kitchen and came back with a small pan of spoon bread.

    As
Cassius took it, he said: Not like you owe me.

    Cassius
ate quickly as Mam Rosie watched him.

    What
you be plannin? said Mam Rosie coldly.

    Planning?

    I know
you, Cassius, don't you even think 'bout sassin your Mam Rosie, you know what
I'm talkin 'bout.

    You
mean with young Master Charles? Guess I'll just have to hope he forgets all
about it.

    You
are a damned sight too smart for your own good, said Mam Rosie.

    Cassius
looked at her.

    And
then he spoke: She was a prickly, frustrating old woman who took care of me
once. I am sad to hear that she's dead. But nothing I can do about that now.

    Cassius
tasted Hoke's words in his own mouth, surprised that they had come out.

    She
took real good care of you, Cassius, don't you be forgettin that. And she was a
good friend to me too, said Mam Rosie.

    Cassius
would never forget how Emoline Justice had helped him. But he was not
interested in saying so to Mam Rosie. He knew that Mam Rosie collected secrets.
More than once, people around her found themselves in trouble with the Masters
who seemed to know things they should not have known, but Mam Rosie was never
in trouble.

    This
spoon bread is fine, said Cassius. Just the right amount of molasses.

    He
handed her back the empty pan and sucked crumbs off his fingers. He turned and
walked down the dark path to the slave quarters.

    Wooden
crosses had been erected haphazardly along the path through the quarters. Tallow—dripping
wicks were tied to the arms, spaced evenly and hung long to dry, as if
crucified angels had been left to decay, leaving only their shattered skeletal
wings. The wicks were now being rolled in partially cooled tallow to add
thickness. Savilla had claimed the task of candle-making. She liked her candles
thick and no one else had the patience or was willing to devote the time.
Unfortunately, the Confederate quartermasters had thinned the herd of
livestock, thereby reducing the supply of heavy animal fat, and Savilla had
been forced to rein in her enthusiasm. Savilla experimented with the tallow by
adding fragrant items to disguise the smell; tonight the lane smelled of animal
death and anise. Her sons had been enlisted to help her, but one by one they
had slipped away, starting with Joseph, the oldest. Joseph was eighteen,
independent and smart, and could appear enthusiastic while doing the least
possible amount of work. He had a distinctive tuft of white hair that grew just
off-center on his head, which set him apart and gave him a dashing look. He
played on his uniqueness and got away with more than his brothers. He was gone
before anyone realized it. The next oldest was Sammy and he had stayed longer,
but now only young Andrew remained. Andrew maintained a respectful distance so
as not to lard his new trousers, his new shoes, or his new hat, all of which he
would wear tomorrow for his first day in the fields. And so Savilla worked
alone.

    Personal
chores were performed at night as daytime was for the Master. The hornworm
blight had forced them to spend every daylight hour in the fields and they were
worn senseless, performing their tasks in a trance.

    Heat
lingered and cabin doors stood open. The lane was lit by heavy iron frying pans
burning grease set on stumps, while a few small fires burned in shallow pits,
green logs spraying frequent sparks. Smoke burned eyes and throats, and no one
lingered near the flames in the heat.

    Cassius
approached from the big house, the path barely visible as the moon was setting,
a sliver in the sky. He passed Mr. Nettle's home, the Overseer's place, set
between the big house and the quarters, visible to neither, so that on this
side of the bend he could just make out the glow from the lane above hedges and
between trees. Inside, Mr. Nettle's wife shrieked at her children and Cassius
knew Mr. Nettle would escape early to patrol the grounds and slave cabins.
Cassius rounded the bend and approached yellow firelight and the path went
black under his feet. He entered the smoke bloat and identified silhouettes,
marking the occasional face lit by low greasy flames. Cassius walked the center
of the lane by the gully, named by some previous wit Suetsmoke Run, which was
known to swell to a river when it rained and where the women dumped bathwater
and other things. His cabin was the last before a cleared area and the woods,
and he hoped to pass through unnoticed. To his surprise, they looked at him
only to pretend not to see him. He flinched after the third time and examined
the ground. To be shunned was worse than to be ignored. Cassius preferred
isolation; it served as his cloak and allowed him to pretend to be unaffected
by the capricious wisdom of the masters or those in the quarters who schemed
for power. But as their eyes brushed off him, Cassius knew that isolation was
desirable only when it was by choice. He was surprised to find himself wounded.

    He
heard their talk in snatches—don' know why Massa ain't clear out a new field
this year, I could'a tol' him that one be played out—

    —got
that thing happenin in my lung, ev'y time I breathe I be suckin through a muddy
spiderweb—

    —pity
'bout that old woman, used to get potions from her—The voices dimly competed
with the unpleasant chatter in his head. The sharp plunk of a homemade banjo
cut into his thoughts, George playing a riff as he spoke: You got to practice,
Joseph, I can't be playin so much no more, my fingers givin me fits, and this
thing on my shoulder hurts bad.

    Joseph
replying: When freedom comes, it'll all get better, George, everything better
under freedom, and didn't I see you do your shoulder with your own knife?

    Don't
make it hurt no less. You got to learn to endure pain, boy, and don't give me
no sass mouth 'bout no freedom.

    Banjo
George played a song, and Cassius walked on, listening with his head down so
that he did not see Shedd. The Little Angry Man commandeered a wide alley in
his walk, expecting all hands to make way. Cassius ran directly into him and
the little man stumbled for balance. Shedd found his feet and sprang at
Cassius, Shedd's good eye boring in while his other eye wandered off to look at
something to the side. Cassius was mesmerized by Shedd's loose eye, as if
Shedd's words were aimed not at him but at some unseen other standing near him.

    God
damn son of a roach! said Little Angry Man, stabbing a thumb at Cassius's face.
Starin at your toes like they stuck with diamonds. I been walkin here since
before you shit solid, you yellowjack big house whoremonger. Maybe if I seen
you
out bustin your teats squeezin worms off smokeweed, then maybe you see
me
back off!

    An
ember of fury flamed inside Cassius. He had kept Emoline Justice packed down
tight in his chest, but now things churned inside and he was dangerously close
to liberating his grief at this pointless little man. At that moment, he
disliked Shedd unspeakably, Shedd who held no more claim to injustice than
anyone else in the quarters, yet he and his wandering eye wore temper like a
skin. Cassius knew he would have a pass from the quarters if he chose this
moment to punish Shedd. But Emoline's memory brushed against him and allowed
him a breath, and after that breath, another. Emoline had taught him to look
for another way to get back his own. Cassius stared at Shedd as all eyes
watched.