“Aunt Mary does some doctoring,” said Rufus. “She knows herbs. But
I thought you’d know more.”
I turned to look at him in disbelief. Sometimes the poor woman barely knew her name. Finally I shrugged. “Get me some brine.”
“But … that’s what Daddy uses on field hands,” he said. “It hurts them worse than the beating sometimes.”
“It won’t hurt her as badly as an infection would later.”
He frowned, came to stand protectively close to the girl. “Who fixed up your back?”
“I did. No one else was around.” “What did you do?”
“I washed it with plenty of soap and water, and I put medicine on it. Here, brine will have to be my medicine. It should be just as good.” Please, heaven, let it be as good. I only half knew what I was doing. Maybe old Mary and her herbs weren’t such a bad idea after all—if I could be sure of catching her in one of her saner moments. But no. Igno- rant as I knew I was, I trusted myself more than I trusted her. Even if I couldn’t do any more good than she could, I was at least less likely to do harm.
“Let me see your back,” said Rufus.
I hesitated, swallowed a few indignant words. He spoke out of love for the girl—a destructive love, but a love, nevertheless. He needed to know that it was necessary to hurt her more and that I had some idea what I was
148
KINDRED
doing. I turned my back to him and raised my shirt a little. My cuts were healed or nearly healed.
He didn’t speak or touch me. After a moment, I put my shirt down. “You didn’t get the big thick scars some of the hands get,” he
observed.
“Keloids. No, thank God, I’m not subject to them. What I’ve got is bad enough.”
“Not as bad as she’ll have.” “Get the salt, Rufe.”
He nodded and went away.
8
I did my best for Alice, hurt her as little as possible, got her clean and bandaged the worst of her injuries—the dog bites.
“Looks like they just let the dogs chew on her,” said Rufus angrily. He had to hold her for me while I cleaned the bites, gave them special atten- tion. She struggled and wept and called for Isaac, until I was almost sick at having to cause her more pain. I swallowed and clenched my teeth against threatening nausea. When I spoke to Rufus, it was more to calm myself than to get information.
“What did they do with Isaac, Rufe? Give him back to the judge?” “Sold him to a trader—fellow taking slaves overland to Mississippi.” “Oh God.”
“He’d be dead if I’d spoken up.”
I shook my head, located another bite. I wanted Kevin. I wanted des- perately to go home and be out of this. “Did you mail my letter, Rufe?”
“Yeah.”
Good. Now if only Kevin would come quickly.
I finished with Alice and gave her, not aspirins, but sleeping pills. She needed rest after days of running, after the dogs and the whipping. After Isaac.
Rufus left her in his bed. He simply climbed in beside her. “Rufe, for Godsake!”
He looked at me, then at her. “Don’t talk foolishness. I’m not going to
put her on the floor.” “But …”
THE FIGHT 149
“And I’m sure not going to bother her while she’s hurt like this.” “Good,” I said relieved, believing him. “Don’t even touch her if you
can help it.” “All right.”
I cleaned up the mess I had made and left them. Finally, I made my way to my pallet in the attic, and lay down wearily.
But tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep. I thought of Alice, and then of Rufus, and I realized that Rufus had done exactly what I had said he would do: Gotten possession of the woman without having to bother with her husband. Now, somehow, Alice would have to accept not only the loss of her husband, but her own enslavement. Rufus had caused her trouble, and now he had been rewarded for it. It made no sense. No mat- ter how kindly he treated her now that he had destroyed her, it made no sense.
I lay turning, twisting, holding my eyes closed and trying first to think, then not to think. I was tempted to squander two more of my sleeping pills to buy myself relief.
Then Sarah came in. I could see her vaguely outlined in the moonlight that came through the window. I whispered her name, trying not to awaken anyone.
She stepped over the two children who slept nearest to me and made her way over to my corner. “How’s Alice?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know. She’ll probably be all right. Her body will anyway.” Sarah sat down on the end of my pallet. “I’d have come in to see her,”
she said, “but then I’d have to see Marse Rufe too. Don’t want to see him for a while.”
“Yeah.”
“They cut off the boy’s ears.” I jumped. “Isaac?”
“Yeah. Cut them both off. He fought. Strong boy, even if he didn’t show much sense. The judge’s son hit him, and he struck back. And he said some things he shouldn’t have said.”
“Rufus said they sold him to a Mississippi trader.”
“Did. After they got through with him. Nigel told me ’bout it—how they cut him, beat him. He’ll have to do some healing ’fore he can go to Mississippi or anywhere else.”
150
KINDRED
“Oh God. All because our little jackass here drank too much and decided to rape somebody!”
She hushed me with a sharp hiss. “You got to learn to watch what you say! Don’t you know there’s folks in this house who love to carry tales?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“You ain’t no field nigger, but you still a nigger. Marse Rufe can get mad and make things mighty hard for you.”
“I know. All right.” Luke’s being sold must have frightened her badly. He used to be the one who hushed her.
“Marse Rufe keeping Alice in his room?” “Yes.”
“Lord, I hope he’ll let her ’lone. Tonight, anyway.”
“I think he will. Hell, I think he’ll be gentle and patient with her now that he’s got her.”
“Huh!” A sound of disgust. “What’ll you do now?”
“Me? Try to keep the girl clean and comfortable until she gets well.” “I don’t mean that.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?” “She’ll be in. You’ll be out.”
I stared at her, tried to see her expression. I couldn’t, but I decided she was serious. “It’s not like that, Sarah. She’s the only one he seems to want. And me, I’m content with my husband.”
There was a long silence. “Your husband … was that Mister Kevin?” “Yes.”
“Nigel said you and him was married. I didn’t believe it.” “We kept quiet about it because it’s not legal here.”
“Legal!” Another sound of disgust. “I guess what Marse Rufe done to that girl is legal.”
I shrugged.
“Your husband … he’d get in trouble every now and then ’cause he couldn’t tell the difference ’tween black and white. Guess now I know why.”
I grinned. “I’m not why. He was like that when I married him—or I wouldn’t have married him. Rufus just sent him a letter telling him to come back and get me.”
She hesitated. “You sure Marse Rufe sent it?” “He said he did.”
“Ask Nigel.” She lowered her voice. “Sometimes Marse Rufe says
THE FIGHT 151
what will make you feel good—not what’s true.” “But … he’d have no reason to lie about it.” “Didn’t say he was lyin.’ Just said ask Nigel.” “All right.”
She was silent for a moment, then, “You think he’ll come back for you, Dana, your … husband?”
“I know he will.” He would. Surely he would. “He ever beat you?”
“No! Of course not!”
“My man used to. He’d tell me I was the only one he cared about. Then, next thing I knew, he’d say I was looking at some other man, and he’d go to hittin’.”
“Ca
rrie’s father?”
“No … my oldest boy’s father. Miss Hannah, her father. He always said he’d free me in his will, but he didn’t. It was just another lie.” She stood up, joints creaking. “Got to get some rest.” She started away. “Don’t you forget now, Dana. Ask Nigel.”
“Yes.”
9
I asked Nigel the next day, but he didn’t know. Rufus had sent him on an errand. When Nigel saw Rufus again, it was at the jail where Rufus had just bought Alice.
“She was standing up then,” he said remembering. “I don’t know how. When Marse Rufe was ready to go, he took her by the arm, and she fell over and everybody around laughed. He had paid way too much for her and anybody could see she was more dead than alive. Folks figured he didn’t have much sense.”
“Nigel, do you know how long it would take a letter to reach Boston?” I asked.
He looked up from the silver he was polishing. “How would I know that?” He began rubbing again. “Like to find out though—follow it and see.” He spoke very softly.
He said things like that now and then when Weylin gave him a hard
152
KINDRED
time, or when the overseer, Edwards, tried to order him around. This time, I thought it was Edwards. The man had stomped out of the cook- house as I was going in. He would have knocked me down if I hadn’t jumped out of his way. Nigel was a house servant and Edwards wasn’t supposed to bother him, but he did.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Old bastard swears he’ll have me out in the field. Says I think too much of myself.”
I thought of Luke and shuddered. “Maybe you’d better take off some time soon.”
“Carrie.” “Yes.”
“Tried to run once. Followed the Star. If not for Marse Rufe, I would have been sold South when they caught me.” He shook his head. “I’d probably be dead by now.”
I went away from him not wanting to hear any more about running away—and being caught. It was pouring rain outside, but before I reached the house I saw that the hands were still in the fields, still hoe- ing corn.
I found Rufus in the library going over some papers with his father. I
swept the hall until his father left the room. Then I went in to see Rufus.
Before I could open my mouth, he said, “Have you been up to check on Alice?”
“I’ll go in a moment. Rufe, how long does it take for a letter to go from here to Boston?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Someday, you’re going to call me Rufe down here and Daddy is going to be standing right behind you.”
I looked back in sudden apprehension and Rufus laughed. “Not today,”
he said. “But someday, if you don’t remember.” “Hell,” I muttered. “How long?”
He laughed again. “I don’t know, Dana. A few days, a week, two weeks, three …” He shrugged.
“His letters were dated,” I said. “Can you remember when you received the one from Boston?”
He thought about it, finally shook his head. “No, Dana, I just didn’t pay any attention. You better go look in on Alice.”
I went, annoyed, but silent. I thought he could have given me a decent estimate if he had wanted to. But it didn’t really matter. Kevin would
THE FIGHT 153
receive the letter and he could come to get me. I couldn’t really doubt that Rufus had sent it. He didn’t want to lose my good will anymore than I wanted to lose his. And this was such a small thing.
Alice became a part of my work—an important part. Rufus had Nigel and a young field hand move another bed into Rufus’s room—a small low bed that could be pushed under Rufus’s bed. We had to move Alice from Rufus’s bed for his comfort as well as hers, because for a while, Alice was a very young child again, incontinent, barely aware of us unless we hurt her or fed her. And she did have to be fed—spoonful by spoonful.
Weylin came in to look at her once, while I was feeding her.
“Damn!” he said to Rufus. “Kindest thing you could do for her would be to shoot her.”
I think the look Rufus gave him scared him a little. He went away without saying anything else.
I changed Alice’s bandages, always checking for signs of infection, always hoping not to find any. I wondered what the incubation period was for tetanus or—or for rabies. Then I tried to make myself stop won- dering. The girl’s body seemed to be healing slowly, but cleanly. I felt superstitious about even thinking about diseases that would surely kill her. Besides, I had enough real worries just keeping her clean and help- ing her grow up all over again. She called me Mama for a while.
“Mama, it hurts.”
She knew Rufus, though. Mister Rufus. Her friend. He said she crawled into his bed at night.
In one way, that was all right. She was using the pot again. But in another …
“Don’t look at me like that,” said Rufus when he told me. “I wouldn’t bother her. It would be like hurting a baby.”
Later it would be like hurting a woman. I suspected that wouldn’t bother him at all.
As Alice progressed, she became a little more reserved with him. He was still her friend, but she slept in her trundle bed all night. And I ceased to be “Mama.”
One morning when I brought her breakfast, she looked at me and said, “Who are you?”
“I’m Dana,” I said. “Remember?” I always answered her questions. “No.”
154
“How do you feel?”
KINDRED
“Kind of stiff and sore.” She put a hand down to her thigh where a dog had literally torn away a mouthful. “My leg hurts.”
I looked at the wound. She would have a big ugly scar there for the rest of her life, but the wound still seemed to be healing all right—no unusual darkening or swelling. It was as though she had just noticed this specific pain in the same way she had just noticed me.
“Where is this?” she asked.
The way she was just really noticing a lot of things. “This is the
Weylin house,” I said. “Mister Rufus’s room.”
“Oh.” She seemed to relax, content, no longer curious. I didn’t push her. I had already decided I wouldn’t. I thought she would return to real- ity when she was strong enough to face it. Tom Weylin, in his loud silence, clearly thought she was hopeless. Rufus never said what he thought. But like me, he didn’t push her.
“I almost don’t want her to remember,” he said once. “She could be like she was before Isaac. Then maybe …” He shrugged.
“She remembers more every day,” I said. “And she asks questions.” “Don’t answer her!”
“If I don’t, someone else will. She’ll be up and around soon.” He swallowed. “All this time, it’s been so good …”
“Good?”
“She hasn’t hated me!”
10
Alice continued to heal and to grow. She came down to the cookhouse with me for the first time on the day Carrie had her baby.
Alice had been with us for three weeks. She might have been twelve or thirteen mentally now. That morning, she had told Rufus she wanted to sleep in the attic with me. To my surprise, Rufus had agreed. He hadn’t wanted to, but he had done it. I thought, not for the first time, that if Alice could manage to go on not hating him, there would be very little she couldn’t ask of him. If.
Now, slowly, cautiously, she followed me down the stairs. She was
THE FIGHT 155
weak and thinner than ever, looking like a child in one of Margaret
Weylin’s old dresses. But boredom had driven her from her bed.
“I’ll be glad when I get well,” she muttered as she paused on a step. “I hate to be like this.”
“You’re getting well,” I said. I was a little ahead of her, watching to see that she did not stumble. I had taken her arm at the top of the stairs, but she had tried to pull away.
“I can walk.”
I let her walk.
We got to th
e cookhouse just as Nigel did, but he was in a bigger hurry. We stood aside and let him rush through the door ahead of us.
“Huh!” said Alice as he went by. “’Scuse me!”
He ignored her. “Aunt Sarah,” he called, “Aunt Sarah, Carrie’s having pains!”
Kindred Page 19