Part 7 (2/2)
Philomene sat in one of the cane-bottom chairs, her feet swinging free, not reaching the floor. ”On wash day, Maman Maman was telling me the story of her white dress and St. Augustine. I heard her voice, I saw the steam from the washtub, but all of a sudden there was a different picture in my head. It was like floating, being in two places at once. I was the one in the white dress, with flowers in my hair, and Clement and I were in front of a priest, grown. Heavy drops ran down the side of Clement's face, as if he just came in from working bareheaded in the sun. I thought maybe we were taking first communion, the way that was telling me the story of her white dress and St. Augustine. I heard her voice, I saw the steam from the washtub, but all of a sudden there was a different picture in my head. It was like floating, being in two places at once. I was the one in the white dress, with flowers in my hair, and Clement and I were in front of a priest, grown. Heavy drops ran down the side of Clement's face, as if he just came in from working bareheaded in the sun. I thought maybe we were taking first communion, the way that Maman Maman did, but then this morning, the second picture came.” did, but then this morning, the second picture came.”
”Go on,” Elisabeth urged.
”Clement and I are sitting inside a cabin, and each of us is holding a baby. Both the babies are the same size, and they are ours. I know this.”
Elisabeth allowed herself to grin. ”That gives you meaning, bringing a child into life. It looks like you're glimpsing yourself some good.”
”Both of the pictures feel happy, Memere, Memere,” Philomene went on, ”but in the first glimpsing, Clement's hands are too big, thick and rough and bright white, and he has a long split up his back.”
”Were the pictures clear or dim?” Elisabeth asked.
”They came to me for a long time, Memere Memere Elisabeth, long enough for me to study. Clement has those big white hands, and he looks scared. And I don't know why he is in two pieces up the back. What could it mean? Should I tell Clement?” Elisabeth, long enough for me to study. Clement has those big white hands, and he looks scared. And I don't know why he is in two pieces up the back. What could it mean? Should I tell Clement?”
”I don't know what each part means, Philomene, but at the heart, it seems you and Clement are going to have some life together. The rest will come to you in time, if it's meant. Store away what you don't understand for now. As for Clement, what do you think will happen if you tell him?”
”He might turn scared of me, the way some people are, or nervous, the way Maman Maman gets.” gets.”
”Have you told him about the other things you've seen?”
”Always. He listens, and asks me questions, like you. He hasn't been scared yet. But this time, he is in the glimpsing. That never happened before.” Philomene pulled at her hair, coiling the tip of one braid around her finger. ”You know Maman Maman doesn't like me to talk too much about Clement.” doesn't like me to talk too much about Clement.”
”Philomene, sometimes Suzette gets beside herself over color. His brown doesn't make him bad, and your yellow doesn't make you good. Your mama follows her road, your path may be different. You go on and tell Clement everything you can, for as long as you can. See what he's made of. There are things so hard that they refuse telling. Not this.”
”What hard things, Memere Memere?”
Elisabeth shook her head. ”You glimpse the best that can happen to a woman, and it takes me back to the worst.”
”The worst?” Philomene asked.
Elisabeth looked beyond her granddaughter's young face into the depths of her old-soul eyes. She judged Philomene strong enough. ”Other people can tell you that you're nothing, that you have nothing, not even your own flesh and blood.”
”Like Aunt Palmire's children?”
”Yes.” The shrill wind dared Elisabeth forward. ”Before I came to Louisiana, I lived on a big plantation in Virginia, working in the big house there, too. I wasn't long past girlhood when the young Ma.r.s.e got to pestering me. He was older, and whenever his mother wasn't around he came after me. I didn't want him fooling with me, but there was no need fighting. There's no winning against what white men take into their heads to do on their own place.
”So I became his thing when he wanted. And it wasn't so long before I had a boy-child.
”I named him John and just kept on. The boy had light eyes from the beginning, even when he was struggling just to keep them open. They made me laugh at this little person I had made. He was mine. Wasn't n.o.body else going to claim a blood tie.
”The Mistress turned against me then and whipped me for dropping the bread, for looking at her wrong, for anything that came into her head, but I still had my John. I loved that little baby, and at first I kept him with me whenever I could. It didn't take long to figure out that whenever she saw me with him it put her in the mind to reach out and hurt me, or worse, John. It made the Mistress a little crazy to see that pale baby peeking out of those blankets, or in my arms.
”I started to leave him down in the quarter then, looked after along with the rest of the babies by whoever could tend him. I got down there when I could, especially to nurse him. I got whipped for that, too, when I wasn't where they wanted me to be.
”The young Ma.r.s.e kept away from me for a while, and his mother got him married, but he still looked to me when he was feeling a certain way. I nursed John as often and for as long as I could. They said in the quarter that nursing kept you from the next baby. It worked. I didn't come up caught again until after John finished nursing. He was almost two. I had another boy, and this time the Mistress and the new wife got together and said they were going to remove temptation. They sold me away from both of my boys. I didn't have much time to get to know the second one. I named him Jacob. That name was in the Bible, too.
”John and Jacob.”
Elisabeth moved stiffly to the fireplace to put another log under the kettle. Philomene sat quietly until her grandmother started talking again.
”They sent me straight to Cane River from there, without giving me a chance to say good-bye, not even to my babies, although Lord knows they wouldn't remember me. They put me on a boat in the hands of a friend of the family, and sent me to New Orleans. I had already been sold to someone they knew here, to Louis Derbanne's father, Pierre Derbanne. Both of those were French Creole men you never knew, here and gone before you were born. I didn't know any French at all, and that's all they spoke. They put me in the kitchen because of my baking in Virginia, and when old Pierre died, I got pa.s.sed around to his son, Louis, and came on here to Rosedew. I was blessed to meet up with your grandfather Gerasime. Lord, that man had to be patient, I was so torn up. When the babies started coming again, I thought I couldn't have any more boys. But I loved my girls and watched them grow. First Palmire, deaf and dumb from the birth and special, then Apphia, and your mother, Suzette. And finally a boy, Solataire. I got to be grateful for every season that pa.s.sed and we were still together. I saw them all grow up, and now there are grandchildren. The Lord gives us what we need sometimes.”
Elisabeth managed a fragile smile. It never went beyond her mouth.
”I don't know what happened to either one of my boys I left in Virginia. They would be your kin, your uncles.
”You find all the happiness you can with Clement, Philomene, and you bring us children when the time comes. Family stays family no matter where they are or who they are. I can see the truth of your glimpsings. Go find the boy. Talk to him as straight as you talk to me.”
The a.s.sessors arrived in waves over the course of the next two weeks. They set about with great purpose, never alone. They came on horseback, riding the length and breadth of Rosedew on both sides of the Cane River, first looking in this direction or that, taking out some metal instrument, consulting one another, checking and rechecking. Then, seemingly satisfied, they made marks in their books. They visited all of the structures on the plantation, the smokehouse, cookhouse, barns, springhouse, toolsheds, corncribs, quarter cabins, marking them off one by one. They handled each piece of equipment from the large to the small, inspecting the condition of the cotton gin and the gristmill or the balance of the weighing scales. They ran their colorless hands over the tools and harnesses as if they were getting ready to use them, but they never did. Inside the main house they went from room to room as if they were in pursuit of a secret, their boots tracking in mud from outside that Elisabeth knew either she or Suzette would have to clean. She watched them feel the smooth dark mahogany of the armoire, count the bedsteads, eye the silver, and finger the intricate patterns of the fireplace mantels, all the while scribbling notes in their journals.
They left the slaves for last, as they tallied up the life of Louis and Francoise Derbanne, gathering them in early from the field one day, before twilight, and instructing them to wait under the ancient oak at the edge of the big house. The spread and grandeur of the tree made them look small, old and young huddled together. They had been given double rations for the last few weeks, and the overseer had been ordered not to mete out any fresh lashes before the sale.
The a.s.sessors worked from the inventory that had been taken ten years before, after Louis Derbanne pa.s.sed away. All they had to do was add the names of those who had been born in the last decade and subtract those of the ones who had died or been sold since. They didn't have to guess at the slaves' ages again or the spelling of names. Not one new slave had been bought in the last ten years. Times had been too lean.
The a.s.sessors sat behind a makes.h.i.+ft table, four grim-faced white men selected with great care, whose job it was to estimate where the bidding should start for each of the lives pa.s.sing in front of them.
The slaves cl.u.s.tered together in their family groups, glancing over at the a.s.sessors behind the table with the big journal. Elisabeth and Gerasime formed the center of one of the groups, their children fanned out around them. Suzette brought out Gerant and Philomene from the big house and took her place with her mother and father as they waited. Elisabeth's second daughter, Apphia, held tightly to all three of her children. Laide clung to her mother's dress, too old at eleven to suck her thumb but mouthing the back of her hand. Apphia carried infant Florenal high on her hip and with her free hand held on to three-year-old Euphemie. Solataire, Elisabeth's youngest, talked quietly to those around him. His wife and children were on the Greneaux plantation, and Elisabeth knew he was praying to be sold there. Palmire had come alone in silent surrender. Her three children had already been taken from her. What difference could it make what they did to her now?
The a.s.sessors were ready. After conferring among themselves, they nodded to the overseer to begin.
”Get yourselves old to young. First men, and then women. Old to young,” the overseer called out loudly from behind the table.
There was confusion, as if they had been torn apart from each other already. They looked to one another for understanding. This wasn't even auction day yet.
The overseer moved menacingly toward the clumps of families under the oak tree. He caressed the coiled whip at his hip next to his flask but did not remove it from its place.
”Are you deaf? Line up old to young. Don't force me to put you in line myself.”
Gerasime was the first to understand. Elisabeth watched her husband as he moved quickly toward Old Bertram, whose clouded eyes and swollen leg made it difficult for him to move. Gerasime led him slowly by the arm to the a.s.sessors' table and then plunged back into the knotted group to find Athenase, the next oldest man on the plantation.
”It's just getting into a line for today,” he said under his breath to everyone he pa.s.sed, ”and then you go back to your families.”
They sorted themselves by looks and by remembrance.
”I was picking a hundred pounds a day when he was still sweeping cow paddies out the road,” said one.
”I'm older. I remember the drought of '22,” said another.
All of the men went first, oldest to youngest.
Then it was the women's turn. Only mothers with babies in their arms were allowed to come before the a.s.sessors' table as a family group. The process went smoothly, carefully, once everyone understood what was expected. A dollar figure was suggested and debated among the a.s.sessors. When they came to agreement they marked it down in the book. A special notation was made for any defect, physical or mental. On auction day it was honorable to provide full disclosure among gentlemen, seller to buyer, of any damaged merchandise.
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