Wanton Splendor

by Bobbi Smith

  Now, here he stood, his back a mass of seeping sores, waiting for the auction to begin. A surge of pride swelled within him. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Lifting his head, he met the eyes of the nearest guard without fear.

  "Who you lookin' at, boy?" the short, wiry man challenged.

  "Nuthin'," the tone of Joel's deep voice was flat as he looked at the filthy little man with open contempt.

  The guard's face turned red at the insult and he lashed out with his whip, the stinging leather drawing blood as it cut Joel across the side of the face.

  "Keep yore eyes down, nigger!" he ordered and strutted like a bantam rooster in front of the big, bound black. "I hope the man who buys you beats some sense into yore thick skull."

  He would have continued to taunt Joel, but another guard called him away as a crowd of well-dressed buyers gathered by the fence to view the "merchandise." Joel eyed the eager group of potential bidders with nothing short of disgust. He straightened his shoulders as best he could and tried to ignore the comments of the white men. It was only when one of the guards and a customer took a young girl into the shack for "a closer inspection" that Joel made a move. He knew by the leering faces and the snide remarks what was about to happen to her, but before he could reach them to help, the vicious guard stopped him.

  "Stop where you are, boy," he sneered, unrolling his whip for effect. "That gentleman wanted a look at what he might buy. You jes' stand back and mind yore own business."

  Had Joel been free of his bonds, he would have taken the whip from the little man and used it on him. But as it was, he was helpless to aid anyone... even himself. Frustrated and furious, he moved back, the clanking of his chains once again drawing all attention to him.

  "See, folks. This big buck ain't near as mean as you heard tell," the guard smiled as he walked triumphantly away.

  Joel's hate-glazed eyes followed him to the fence where three young men had stopped to watch.

  "Is that buck Montard's?"

  "Yes, suh. That's him all right. Montard's slave," he answered. Then noting their interest, he confided, "Looks meaner than he really is."

  "If he's not dangerous, why is he chained?" Christopher put forth the question in earnest. He'd been there just long enough to see Joel's reaction to the young slave girl being taken into the seclusion of the hut. James and Edward had not noticed Joel's protectiveness, but Christopher had. Across the width of the pen, his eyes met Joel's in understanding and he knew what he had to do.

  "I can tell by the sound of you that you ain't from around here," the guard spoke smugly and spit a wad of tobacco juice out the side of his mouth to emphasize his opinion of Northerners. "So I'll explain all this to you real careful. That buck's a runaway, so his master had him sent down here to be sold. I don't know why anyone would want him, though, 'cause he ain't no damn good."

  "He looks like a healthy specimen, except of course where you've beaten him..." Christopher took note of Joel's powerful shoulders, now sagging slightly in pain.

  "Damn fool black deserved it. He ran away. They oughta do more than flog 'em. They oughta-"

  "Never mind. I get the idea..." Christopher cut him off and somehow managed to maintain an expression of complete indifference. Turning away from Joel, he spoke to James and Edward. "I've seen enough. Let's go."

  "Aren't there any you want to look at more closely?" Edward asked almost eagerly.

  "No." Christopher was certain. "Where does the actual auction take place?"

  "Over here." Edward led them off.

  Their voices faded as they moved toward the block to await the beginning of the sale, leaving Joel puzzled by the question that the Yankee had asked.

  It was near noon and high overhead the sun continued to beat down relentlessly. As the morning wore on, the crowd had increased and at times the bidding had grown quite spirited. Strong young field hands were bringing top dollar-some as much as $3,000- and women of breeding age were selling well too. Wells, the auctioneer, was having such a good day that he held Joel back, knowing that a troublemaker never went for much.

  Alone in the pen, sweat glistening on his bare, tortured torso, Joel waited. He was last and he had expected as much. The guards had been enjoying themselves at his expense, taunting him with the knowledge that he'd probably bring in less money than the little pickaninny who'd just been sold away from her mama. Joel gritted his teeth as he remembered the anguish of the mother begging her new master to buy her young daughter. But the master had had no use for a child and had roughly booted the mother aside, instructing his overseer to take charge of the screaming woman. Joel realized that Dee would probably have behaved the same way if someone had sold their son away from them. Anger blazed anew within him. He knew that he would never see his wife and child again unless he could somehow break free. Surveying the pen for what must have been the hundredth time, Joel realized it was all but hopeless. There was no way to escape; guards were everywhere. Resignedly, he turned his attention back to the auctioneer who was finally instructing one of the men to bring him out.

  "At last!" James murmured to Edward and Christopher as the guard prodded Joel from the enclosure. "I wonder why they waited so long?"

  "They always save the low bidders until last," Edward responded. "Who'd want to buy him anyway?"

  Christopher remained steadfastly silent as he watched Joel, awkward in his bonds, climb the few stairs and stand on the block. He admired the way the slave stood proudly before the bidders, ignoring the ribald comments and the racial slurs.

  "What's he really worth?" Christopher asked casually.

  "If he hadn't run away and had a reputation as a good, hard worker, he'd be worth about $2,000 or $3,000. As it is...he'll be lucky to go for half that," Edward answered.

  "No one wants to buy trouble," James added.

  Christopher nodded his understanding and fell silent as the bidding was opened.

  "What am I offered for this strong, healthy male? I've been told that he's a potent stud and is experienced in handling horses," Wells shouted. "Let's open the bidding at $1,500."

  Silence reigned and Wells searched the sea of faces before him for an interested party. He had had great hopes of getting more than usual for this one because of his size... chains or not. Quickly recognizing his error, he dropped the opening bid.

  "Let's make it $1,000 then. Do I have any takers?"

  "I'll give you $750," a gruff voice called from the back. "No runaway is worth more than that."

  "I've got $750! Do I hear $800?" Wells bellowed. When it grew quiet again, he spoke, "Surely you realize what a prime piece of flesh this buck is. Look at the size of his shoulders... Turn around, boy."

  Joel glared up at the auctioneer and didn't move. He was through trying to please these men.

  The auctioneer was aghast when the slave didn't move on command.

  "I rescind my bid!" the lone bidder shouted. "He must be deaf and dumb, too!"

  "Turn him around," Wells ordered and the guards moved menacingly toward Joel.

  Christopher almost felt Joel's desperation and he spoke out for the first time that day. "I bid $4,000 for him."

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  "You what?" James and Edward chorused in shocked surprise.

  Coolly, Christopher glanced at his friends, "I believe I've just bid on a slave."

  "I realize that, but why?" Edward pushed for some explanation but Christopher only smiled slightly and turned his attention back to the auctioneer.

  "I don't need to see any more of him," he informed Wells. "So there's no need for than." He indicated the advancing guards.

  Wells stared at Christopher, momentarily dumbfounded, and then as an afterthought waved the men away from Joel.

  "Suh, did you say $4,000?" the auctioneer questioned.

  "I did," Christopher confirmed, ignoring the consternation of his companions.

  "Are there any other bids?" he asked quickly. Then banging his gavel, "Sold to the Northern gentleman for
$4,000."

  Joel remained expressionless through the whole exchange, but his mind was racing. What manner of white man was this who would pay so much for him when he could have gotten him so cheaply?

  Christopher approached the block and stood before Joel. His eyes met and challenged the slave's, but Joel looked away, startled by the perceptiveness in his new owner's gaze. Abruptly, Christopher turned and moved off to speak to Wells.

  "I'm Christopher Fletcher and I'm staying at the Williams's home. Have him delivered there at three this afternoon. I'll arrange payment for you then."

  "That'll be jes' fine, suh." Wells could hardly believe his good fortune.

  "And Wells..."

  "Yes, sub?"

  "Just be certain that there are no new marks on him. Is that understood?" Christopher's bearing was arrogant and the intimidated auctioneer nodded hurriedly. "Also, strike those chains. There will be no need for them now."

  "But, suh! He might try to run..."

  "Do as I say, is that clear?"

  "Yes, suh."

  "Fine. Until this afternoon, then."

  And as Christopher strode confidently away, Wells glared at his back, muttering, "Damn fool Yankee!" under his breath.

  James and Edward were astonished by their friend's surprise bid and were still trying to make sense of it when he rejoined them.

  "But why, Chris?" James questioned.

  "Because I wanted to." His answer was as cryptic as his bid.

  "You could have had him for less than a thousand. Why in the world did you pay $4,000 for him?" Edward was at a loss to understand.

  Christopher sighed, "I don't really know why. I just know that the man deserved better than the fate Montard had arranged for him. Besides, it's a matter of pride."

  "Pride?" They were confused. "Whose?"

  Glancing at his friends he was jolted by their naivete. All their lives they'd been taught the "Great Southern Myth": that the white race was superior and that by putting the "wild blacks" into bondage they had civilized them. And sadly, Christopher thought, they believed it. Edward and James gave little credence to any other way of life. Their methods for dealing with their world worked, so why change. The thought that blacks might have feelings never occurred to them. To them, the slaves were only property, much like horseflesh. As long as they did what they were supposed to do things went smoothly. But let them get out of line and...

  "Never mind..." Christopher dismissed the thought and smiled cordially. "Let's go back to the house."

  "What about him?" Edward gestured toward Joel who still stood on the block.

  "They're going to bring him out late this after noon," he answered easily. "Let's go get something cool to drink, the heat is really getting terrible."

  Following Christopher's lead back to the waiting carriage, Edward and James looked at each other in bewilderment. They had always known that Christopher could be unpredictable, for he had proven that often enough during their "Tour." Realizing that there was really no way to understand him, they gave up trying and set about enjoying the rest of the day.

  The full moon was struggling to be free of the tenacious grasp of the fading storm and all was still. The heat wave that had been broiling the city by both day and night had finally broken. Standing alone at the open French doors in the Williams's study, Christopher watched as the last of the lightning played itself out in the distance. All that remained were mere wisps of clouds that gave the moon a muted, softly hazy appearance as they skimmed before it borne onward by the cool, damp breeze.

  Rubbing his neck in a weary motion, Christopher moved to the liquor cabinet to freshen his drink. James and Edward had gone out for the evening leaving him alone to enjoy the solitude. It gave him time to think-and that was something he hadn't done much of the last few months. The endless, purposeless carousing had made him weary and he was glad for this time of peace and quiet.

  Lounging in a leather wing chair, newly refilled bourbon in hand, he reflected on his interview with Joel that afternoon. It hadn't gone well; the black man had been sullen and uncommunicative. Taking a stiff drink, Christopher wondered how to break through the "master-slave" mentality. Joel had been born and raised on the Montard Plantation. How could he convince this man that he was not going to abuse him? Christopher knew without a doubt that it was going to be a long hard struggle overcoming what Montard had done to him.

  Stretching his long legs out before him, Christopher sighed deeply and rested back against the cool, smooth leather. He found it very relaxing to sit alone in the dim light of this study. An easy feeling of languor stole over him and for a moment he allowed himself the ecstasy of closing his eyes.

  The sudden banging at the study door brought Christopher to his feet.

  "Master Christopher!" the loud voice of Elroy, James's most trusted servant, sounded in the hall. "Master Christopher, please. It's important!"

  Hurrying to the door, Christopher threw it open to confront the distraught slave.

  "Elroy, what is it?" he was confused; how long had he been asleep? "What's wrong?"

  "It's your new nigger, suh!"

  "What about Joel? Is he all right?"

  "No, suh...He done run away and been caught already. Dey's outside. Hurry," Elroy rushed ahead of Christopher to lead the way.

  Christopher followed, still trying to make some sense out of the situation.

  "How long was he missing?" he questioned.

  "I doan know, suh. I jes' went out to the quarters and dey was tellin' me dat he was gone. Dat's when I heard the horses ...Dey already done dragged the fool back here!"

  Stepping out onto the front veranda, Christopher was confronted immediately by three white men on horseback. They stared smugly up at him.

  "This here your buck?"

  "I can't see him. Bring him closer so I can get a look at him." Picking up a lantern, Christopher moved to the steps to get a better look at the black man whom they were leading by a rope around his neck.

  Christopher stared at Joel's defeated face for a moment in mute surprise, but quickly masked the emotion.

  "Yes. This is my trusted servant. Why have you accosted him?" he demanded.

  "Don't you know niggers have to have papers if they're going to be out on the streets at night?"

  "I'm new here and I didn't realize..." Christopher lied. "I've only been in town for a short time."

  "Oh." They sounded skeptical.

  "You haven't injured him in any way, have you?" He took the offensive, hoping to distract them.

  "No, sir."

  `Then untie that rope and let me get him inside. I can see that he didn't have time to take care of the business I sent him on," Christopher complained.

  "Yes, sir. If you're sure..."

  "I'm positive," he insisted. Then to Elroy, "Take Joel inside and fix him some dinner. I'll join you shortly."

  Thus dismissed, Elroy led a tired, frightened Joel off to the kitchen.

  "Now, gentlemen," Christopher turned his attention back to the three unsavory characters before him. "I appreciate that you were doing your job and in the future I will make certain that my slaves carry papers with them at all times when they are out without me."

  They grunted in disgust at his pretty speech and rode off, disappointed that they hadn't received something more tangible for their efforts.

  Christopher entered the kitchen quietly and stood there just inside the doorway watching Joel wolf down the hot food that Elroy had just set before him.

  "Hungry, are you?" His voice was soft, but there was a steely quality to it and Joel quickly looked up. "Answer me."

  "Yes, suh. Ah's hungry," Joel forced the confession.

  "Then eat. Well talk when you're finished." Then turning to Elroy, "You may go. I'll take care of things from here."

  "Yes, suh." Elroy was decidedly upset with this crazy Northerner. What he had just done outside was unheard of in the South. This white man had lied to protect a slave. Shaking his head and muttering t
o himself, he headed off once again to the quarters to get some sleep.

  Christopher didn't speak the whole time Joel was eating. He merely sat patiently at the table with him and waited.

  "Ah's done," Joel admitted grudgingly, pushing his plate away. He knew he owed a show of respect for this new owner of his who had just rescued him from another flogging.

  "Good." Christopher paused, taking time to phrase his thoughts correctly. "I think you should tell me where you were going tonight."

  Joel looked nervously about the room. "Ali was goin' home."

  "Home? To Montard's plantation?"

  "Yes, suh. To Greenwood."

  "But for God's sake man, why? That fool just beat you within an inch of your life and you want to go back?!"

  "Yes, sub. Ali cain't leave Dee and Jebediah behind..." his voice was fierce, yet anguished.

  "Dee? Jebediah? Who are they?"

  "My family.. .my wife and son..." Joel fought to control the desperation that gripped him.

  Finally, Christopher was beginning to understand, "So Andre sold you downriver away from your wife?"

  "Yes, suh."

  "But that still doesn't explain why you ran away from Greenwood originally."

  "No, suh."

  "Well, why Joel?" Christopher persisted. "You were willing to leave Greenwood then, why not now?"

  "Ali had Dee and the baby with me. We was running from Montard." Joel shook with the force of his emotions. "He took a liking to Dee and she couldn't stand him touchin' her and all..."

  "Montard took your wife?" He was outraged.

  Joel nodded, his misery clearly evident.

  "Where is Dee now?" Christopher was pensive.

  "Still at Greenwood."

  There was a long pause as Christopher debated his choices.

  "Joel, I want you to go back to the quarters and stay there until morning. Will you do that?"

  Joel searched his new owner's face for a long moment.

  "Yes, suh. Ah'll stay there."

  "Good. I'l see you some time tomorrow morning."

  Joel nodded and left the room, thoroughly confused.