happy in the world Tall John came from. I realized that it must have all been a dream. John never put the plantation to sleep and we didn't play with Tobias's vicious bloodhounds. The strange boy never told me about some crazy faraway home. I was just dreaming.
Tall John was still asleep but when I looked at him he opened his eyes.
He smiled broadly and asked, "How are your hands?"
I looked down at my clenched fists. They were closed around something that was like melted candle wax, only softer and much cooler. I had to pull hard to get my hands open but then I could see that my wounds were healed.
The swelling was gone and there weren't even any scabs or scars. A scar in the shape of the Number forty-seven was still stitched in my skin, but it too had healed com pletely.
I felt a shock all the way down into my chest. Maybe it had all been true: the sleeping plantation, the bloodhounds licking my hands, the faraway home of Tall John and his rainbow people.
"Get up from there, Forty-seven," Mud Albert growled. "You too, Twelve. Them cotton balls ain't gonna fall off into yo sacks."
John and I got up with the rest of the men and went out into the fields. On the way Mud Albert called to us. We slowed down. Mud Albert was old and walked with a limp. "How's yo hands, Forty-seven?" Albert asked me. Instead of answering I held both palms out to show him. "What?" he said, stopping there in the middle of the stony path.
He took my hands in his and rubbed his thumbs over the palms that were red and bleeding the night before. "What happened to them cuts?" "I dunno," I said.
I didn't want to lie to Albert. He was a good man and I trusted him. But I feared that if anybody found out about Tall John's yellow sack and healing waxes that he'd be punished. Because no matter how much he claimed that no one could own another person, the Master didn't agree. And it was law on the Corinthian Plantation that anything
coming into the hands of a slave was then the property of the Master and had to be turned over to him.
Albert looked into my eyes suspiciously.
"Did Johnny here have somethin' to do with this?" he asked me.
"Wit' what?"
"All right," Albert said on a sigh. "I can see you ain't talkin'. But since you all healed I want you to go down to the east field an' take Twelve wit' ya. I want you t'pick cot ton wit' Johnny here the first few days or so. Make sure he know what's what."
"But that's where Eighty-four workin'," I protested.
I still remembered the painful pinch she gave me.
"Since when did a slave get to pick who he work wit'?" Albert asked.
"Since nevah," I said with my head hanging down.
"Den you bettah git ovah theah an' take this joker wit' ya."
"Yes, suh," I said. "Come on, John."
My new friend and I ran quickly from the scowling Albert. I knew that he wasn't really all that mad at me, it was just that he had to show who was boss in front of the new slave.
When I got out to the cotton fields I realized that it wasn't only my hands that felt healed. My whole body felt renewed that morning.
"Don't tell me I gots ta put up wit' you two lazy niggahs this mornin','' were the first words from Eighty-four's an gry mouth when we got to her row.
"Yes'm," I said politely, having no desire to receive an other pinch.
I ducked my head and grabbed a burlap sack from the ground. I wanted to start picking cotton quickly so that Eighty-four didn't have a reason to be angry.
"Get you a sack too," I said to Tall John.
But instead of getting right to work my friend stood there staring at Eighty-four.
"What you lookin' at, fool?" Eighty-four said.
She wore a faded and torn blue dress that had seen lots of sweat and dirt, little water, and no soap at all. She had probably worn that same garment since she was small and so the hemline was way up past her knees.
"You, ma'am," the skinny jokester, Tall John, said.
"Me? You needs t'be eyeballin' dat cotton."
"I s'pose," John said easily. "It's true that cotton is tall and
Tall John was still asleep but when I looked at him he opened his eyes.
He smiled broadly and asked, "How are your hands?"
I looked down at my clenched fists. They were closed around something that was like melted candle wax, only softer and much cooler. I had to pull hard to get my hands open but then I could see that my wounds were healed.
The swelling was gone and there weren't even any scabs or scars. A scar in the shape of the Number forty-seven was still stitched in my skin, but it too had healed com pletely.
I felt a shock all the way down into my chest. Maybe it had all been true: the sleeping plantation, the bloodhounds licking my hands, the faraway home of Tall John and his rainbow people.
"Get up from there, Forty-seven," Mud Albert growled. "You too, Twelve. Them cotton balls ain't gonna fall off into yo sacks."
John and I got up with the rest of the men and went out into the fields. On the way Mud Albert called to us. We slowed down. Mud Albert was old and walked with a limp. "How's yo hands, Forty-seven?" Albert asked me. Instead of answering I held both palms out to show him. "What?" he said, stopping there in the middle of the stony path.
He took my hands in his and rubbed his thumbs over the palms that were red and bleeding the night before. "What happened to them cuts?" "I dunno," I said.
I didn't want to lie to Albert. He was a good man and I trusted him. But I feared that if anybody found out about Tall John's yellow sack and healing waxes that he'd be punished. Because no matter how much he claimed that no one could own another person, the Master didn't agree. And it was law on the Corinthian Plantation that anything
coming into the hands of a slave was then the property of the Master and had to be turned over to him.
Albert looked into my eyes suspiciously.
"Did Johnny here have somethin' to do with this?" he asked me.
"Wit' what?"
"All right," Albert said on a sigh. "I can see you ain't talkin'. But since you all healed I want you to go down to the east field an' take Twelve wit' ya. I want you t'pick cot ton wit' Johnny here the first few days or so. Make sure he know what's what."
"But that's where Eighty-four workin'," I protested.
I still remembered the painful pinch she gave me.
"Since when did a slave get to pick who he work wit'?" Albert asked.
"Since nevah," I said with my head hanging down.
"Den you bettah git ovah theah an' take this joker wit' ya."
"Yes, suh," I said. "Come on, John."
My new friend and I ran quickly from the scowling Albert. I knew that he wasn't really all that mad at me, it was just that he had to show who was boss in front of the new slave.
When I got out to the cotton fields I realized that it wasn't only my hands that felt healed. My whole body felt renewed that morning.
"Don't tell me I gots ta put up wit' you two lazy niggahs this mornin','' were the first words from Eighty-four's an gry mouth when we got to her row.
"Yes'm," I said politely, having no desire to receive an other pinch.
I ducked my head and grabbed a burlap sack from the ground. I wanted to start picking cotton quickly so that Eighty-four didn't have a reason to be angry.
"Get you a sack too," I said to Tall John.
But instead of getting right to work my friend stood there staring at Eighty-four.
"What you lookin' at, fool?" Eighty-four said.
She wore a faded and torn blue dress that had seen lots of sweat and dirt, little water, and no soap at all. She had probably worn that same garment since she was small and so the hemline was way up past her knees.
"You, ma'am," the skinny jokester, Tall John, said.
"Me? You needs t'be eyeballin' dat cotton."
"I s'pose," John said easily. "It's true that cotton is tall and
Similar Books
