Butler, Octavia - Kindred

“I just hope he hasn’t already taken off for Maine.”

Weylin opened the door before I could answer. He brought in another man who turned out to be the doctor, and my leisure time was over. I put Kevin’s letters back into Rufus’s desk—that seemed the best place to keep them—took away the breakfast tray, brought the doctor the empty basin he asked for, stood by while the doctor asked Weylin whether I had any sense or not and whether I could be trusted to answer simple ques-

tions accurately.

THE FIGHT 137

Weylin said yes twice without looking at me, and the doctor asked his questions. Was I sure Rufus had had a fever? How did I know? Had he been delirious? Did I know what delirious meant? Smart nigger, wasn’t I?

I hated the man. He was short and slight, black-haired and black-eyed, pompous, condescending, and almost as ignorant medically as I was. He guessed he wouldn’t bleed Rufus since the fever seemed to be gone— bleed him! He guessed a couple of ribs were broken, yes. He rebandaged them sloppily. He guessed I could go now; he had no more use for me.

I escaped to the cookhouse.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Sarah when she saw me.

I shook my head. “Nothing important. Just a stupid little man who may be one step up from spells and good luck charms.”

“What?”

“Don’t pay any attention to me, Sarah. Do you have anything for me to do out here? I’d like to stay out of the house for a while.”

“Always something to do out here. You have anything to eat?” I nodded.

She lifted her head and gave me one of her down-the-nose looks. “Well, I put enough on his tray. Here. Knead this dough.”

She gave me a bowl of bread dough that had risen and was ready to be kneaded down. “He all right?” she asked.

“He’s healing.”

“Was Isaac all right?”

I glanced at her. “Yes.”

“Nigel said he didn’t think Marse Rufe told what happened.” “He didn’t. I managed to talk him out of it.”

She laid a hand on my shoulder for a moment. “I hope you stay around for a while, girl. Even his daddy can’t talk him out of much these days.” “Well, I’m glad I was able to. But look, you promised to tell me about

his mother.”

“Not much to tell. She had two more babies—twins. Sickly little things. They lingered awhile, then died one after the other. She almost died too. She went kind of crazy. The birth had left her pretty bad off any- how—sick, hurt inside. She fought with Marse Tom, got so she’d scream at him every time she saw him—cussin’ and goin’ on. She was hurtin’ most of the time, couldn’t get out of bed. Finally, her sister came and got

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her, took her to Baltimore.” “And she’s still there?”

KINDRED

“Still there, still sick. Still crazy, for all I know. I just hope she stays there. That overseer, Jake Edwards, he’s a cousin of hers, and he’s all the mean low white trash we need around here.”

Jake Edwards was the overseer then. Weylin had begun hiring over- seers. I wondered why. But before I could ask, two house servants came in and Sarah deliberately turned her back to me, ending the conversation. I began to understand what had happened later, though, when I asked Nigel where Luke was.

“Sold,” said Nigel quietly. And he wouldn’t say anything more. Rufus told me the rest.

“You shouldn’t have asked Nigel about that,” he told me when I men- tioned the incident.

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d known.” Rufus was still in bed. The doctor had given him a purgative and left. Rufus had poured the purgative into his chamber pot and ordered me to tell his father he’d taken it. He had had his father send me back to him so that I could write my letter to Kevin. “Luke did his work,” I said. “How could your father sell him?”

“He worked all right. And the hands would work hard for him— mostly without the cowhide. But sometimes he didn’t show much sense.” Rufus stopped, began a deep breath, caught himself and grimaced in pain. “You’re like Luke in some ways,” he continued. “So you’d better show some sense yourself, Dana. You’re on your own this time.”

“But what did he do wrong? What am I doing wrong?”

“Luke … he would just go ahead and do what he wanted to no matter what Daddy said. Daddy always said he thought he was white. One day maybe two years after you left, Daddy got tired of it. New Orleans trader came through and Daddy said it would be better to sell Luke than to whip him until he ran away.”

I closed my eyes remembering the big man, hearing again his advice to Nigel on how to defy the whites. It had caught up with him. “Do you think the trader took him all the way to New Orleans?” I asked.

“Yeah. He was getting a load together to ship them down there.”

I shook my head. “Poor Luke. Are there cane fields in Louisiana now?”

“Cane, cotton, rice, they grow plenty down there.”

“My father’s parents worked in the cane fields there before they went

THE FIGHT 139

to California. Luke could be a relative of mine.” “Just make sure you don’t wind up like him.” “I haven’t done anything.”

“Don’t go teaching nobody else to read.” “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. I might not be able to stop Daddy if he decided to sell you.” “Sell me! He doesn’t own me. Not even by the law here. He doesn’t

have any papers saying he owns me.” “Dana, don’t talk stupid!”

“But …”

“In town, once, I heard a man brag how he and his friends had caught a free black, tore up his papers, and sold him to a trader.”

I said nothing. He was right, of course. I had no rights—not even any papers to be torn up.

“Just be careful,” he said quietly.

I nodded. I thought I could escape from Maryland if I had to. I didn’t think it would be easy, but I thought I could do it. On the other hand, I didn’t see how even someone much wiser than I was in the ways of the time could escape from Louisiana, surrounded as they would be by water and slave states. I would have to be careful, all right, and be ready to run if I seemed to be in any danger of being sold.

“I’m surprised Nigel is still here,” I said. Then I realized that might not be a very bright thing to say even to Rufus. I would have to learn to keep more of my thoughts to myself.

“Oh, Nigel ran away,” said Rufus. “Patrollers brought him back, though, hungry and sick. They had whipped him, and Daddy whipped him some more. Then Aunt Sarah doctored him and I talked Daddy into letting me keep him. I think my job was harder. I don’t think Daddy relaxed until Nigel married Carrie. Man marries, has children, he’s more likely to stay where he is.”

“You sound like a slaveholder already.” He shrugged.

“Would you have sold Luke?” “No! I liked him.”

“Would you sell anyone?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“I hope not,” I said watching him. “You don’t have to do that kind of thing. Not all slaveholders do it.”

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KINDRED

I took my denim bag from where I had hidden it under his bed, and sat down at his desk to write the letter, using one of his large sheets of paper with my pen. I didn’t want to bother dipping the quill and steel pen on his desk into ink.

“Dear Kevin, I’m back. And I want to go North too …” “Let me see your pen when you’re finished,” said Rufus. “All right.”

I went on writing, feeling myself strangely near tears. It was as though

I was really talking to Kevin. I began to believe I would see him again. “Let me see the other things you brought with you,” said Rufus.

I swung the bag onto his bed. “You can look,” I said, and continued writing. Not until I was finished with the letter did I look up to see what he was doing.