Richardson wants to tell these days. Lay his life across those empty pages. Record this event like he records everything else. He knows readers will come along later, wondering. But he knows just as surely that his answers will never add up. They’ll be stretched taut as a tanning hide over the vast confusion of this time he’s living through. No matter what words he finds for what’s happening to him, he knows his truth will never reach these readers. Not without Nero’s hands around their necks. But he wants to write it down, whether it creates any clarity or not, if only so he can leave it here. Close it up in this book and then walk out into some new day clearer and more manageable than this one.
He dips his pen in the ink and brings it to the page but he pauses there for so long the ink beads up and rolls off the nib to land in a tiny juicy globe. Dark rich brown hovering against the pale expanse. Richardson curses as he tries to blot it but in his haste, he makes a deep spreading stain which fills the space of all the words he could have used.
In the end he writes Sent the new negro Nero away for burial.
He reminds himself to put someone his people trust in charge of the burial so they won’t get wound up from worrying about him selling the body to the new medical school over in Knoxville. Since stories get passed from hand to mouth until they are forged into something stronger and more alluring than facts, whatever few facts there are can act like kerosene on a hay fire.
The sky outside the window pales from black to deep purple and the birds start to stir. There is too much to keep track of and no rest for the weary, Richardson thinks, as he pushes back his chair and heads down to the kitchen for some of Emmaline’s coffee before everyone else is up.
Richardson
I’m not sure what I thought about Nero. I’m not sure what I thought about any of it. What I know is that I took one step and then the next. Each step I took ruled out the one I did not take. Wiped it clean off the slate and there was no going back.
But I also know I never could see clearly from where I was standing. It was all a mist and I kept stepping forward into it, trying to see through to the other side. Then that became the road I went down.
I’m not certain about choosing. There are so many parts I would not have chosen. Most in fact. It seems a waste of time and breath to lay out the ones I very much regret, separate and distinct from the ones I only partially regret. What good will that do?
We knew what was happening from the very beginning. We saw the snag, fighting to free ourselves from slavery to England while continually hitching negroes to our wagons. I was young and flush with my own power but I caught glimpses even then, thanks to Virgil and Albert. Those first two men I hadn’t wanted to buy showed me everything I didn’t want to see.
You can’t work alongside a man all day, raising the roof of your house, and not know what he’s made of. Certainly, there were some whose eyes were dull and flat as fish, too beaten down or confused or plain simpleminded to lay claim to much of anything. But there were always those few who looked at you in such a way that you knew you were seeing another human soul in those eyes. Those few rendered knowing inescapable.
I’d bought Virgil and Albert for that look in their eye, and Nero and Mena too for that matter, whether I should have or not, and they were full of thoughts of their own. There were plenty of moments when the veil between us thinned and I could see right through it. It was these moments you tried to shake loose from your mind and forget about, because it could confuse you when you looked in there and saw somebody.
Didn’t happen very often. Most of them learned to close their faces right up. It took them a while, and some growing up, but they’d get to where they’d do it before you had a chance to see much.
It was the little ones who had not yet learned how to make themselves unavailable. They’d stare right at you, open as a flower. And I have to say, it felt good, even if it was unsettling, looking into a pair of negro eyes that weren’t slammed shut like a good strong door.
I always had the sense some few other men out here felt as I did. Not that anyone had articulated it or ever would. Just that there were times, near the end of a gathering, when this room full of men standing around smoking and drinking would fall silent. So quiet and still, with the blue of our smoke muscling through the lamplight as slow and sure as a big king snake. And whenever the fire crackled unexpectedly and quite loud, not one of us even flinched.
It was as if we felt, at some very basic level, beyond calamity. Those of us who were honest surely knew that our work and our lives had carried us far beyond the bosom of any family, and we knew just as surely that there was nothing for it. We built a dam and spent our days watching for seep. Forever writing laws designed to patch things up. But there are laws and there are people and between them there will always lie a gap.
I often thought the only thing that gave us strength was the simple fact that there was no other way to be. I never did understand those who tried to soften the blow. What was the point of that?
We all knew the arrangement and we were each set on our respective course. The die was cast. Emmaline knew the truth of this as well as I did, whether she would ever admit it or not.
Part Four
High summer, 1819
Pallas
Just from them telling me about Wash, I knew what the problem was right away. All that putting him on other folks’ people, he’s bound to pick up something and this one was bad.
Thick set, bandy legged man named Quinn stops by Miller’s place, looking for me. He steps right inside my cabin and starts talking. Telling me what the man’s privates look like and how he won’t heal. How he and Richardson need this trouble sorted out because they’ve got dates booked. Commitments to meet. Says they are losing money every day this thing drags on.
I’m looking at the floor to keep anything from showing on my face. I’m thinking of that first time I saw Wash. How he was sitting in that stall where they kept him. How he ran his eyes over me like all I was was parts, just his road to get somewhere, and no me there anywhere.
I was tempted to leave him to wallow in it or else give him something I knew wouldn’t work. But Phoebe always warned me be careful. Told me doing like that would come back around and slap me in the face, even with white folks. She kept telling me let God decide. Said God takes care of most things. If not now, then later. Take this medicine just as far as you feel guided and don’t go no further. No matter what.
Once Quinn started in again, I heard Phoebe saying we got to look out for each other because Lord knows, nobody else will. I started to collect my things and told the man to go on home, I’d be there by late afternoon. That would have to be soon enough because I had some gathering to do.
Soon as he left, I went down by the creek and pulled bunches of prickly ash. Boil the bark for a tea with some left over for Wash to chew. Give him a new stinging to take his mind off that other burning. I had some bloodroot from when I last collected with Phoebe. I can still see her showing me how that thick veined leaf wraps right around its flower standing so straight, like a woman wearing a cape.
As I came back around the side of the hill, there was a patch of goldenseal growing knee high. Same kind of root with a strong dye but yellow. I always kept some of both those roots with me. Ever since Phoebe used that same red and yellow on me when she was bringing me back into this world, they stayed two of my steadies.
I figured I’d have a fever to break so I found some pale pink rocket flowers growing tall by the roadside on my way home. Grabbed hold down low and took the whole thing since greens can’t do nothing but help.
I made it to Richardson’s right at suppertime, handing the reins to Ben, knowing he’d get my horse cooled down good before letting him eat anything. They took me to the cabin where they had put Wash. I paused with my hand on the latch to pull myself together before I swung the door open.
Once I got inside, I couldn’t see how I’d been thinking of not bringing him some relief. He was sunk way down into the middle of himself,
like he was trying to curl his spirit around him, even though he was laying flat out on his back. Wouldn’t look at me.
It was hot and he was hotter and smelled. Sweating. With flies moving over him, adding stinging bites to the deep burning I knew he was already feeling. That fever ran high, trying to kill the sickness, and the two heats fought each other, sapping his strength.
There were a few folks in there with him but they weren’t doing much. Hovering just like the flies, seemed to me. I pointed towards the door with my eyes. Watching them filing out, I kissed Phoebe in heaven for giving me this medicine that made people listen to me.
Told Wash first thing we do is break that fever. I had two boys tote his pallet into the shade behind the springhouse. They jostled him hard and liked seeing him weak. They were just coming into manhood and I could tell what they thought of Wash. How they thought they would be so different from this. Lord help em is all I could think.
They set him down rough and I got them gone soon as I could. Told em to bring me one of those water troughs from where I saw it laying empty behind the barn. Clean it out good and bring it as full as you can carry it. It came back teetering but more than halfway full.
I used those same two boys to help me get Wash off the pallet and into the trough. I knew he didn’t like them touching him, but once he was laying inside that trough of cool water, with his arms hanging over the sides, his hands splayed on the grass and his head resting back, he felt better. Looked like Moses in the rushes but bigger.
I sent those two boys away and called over two others. One small and one bigger. Both nice and quiet. I gave my bucket to the little one and walked them around to the front of the springhouse. It was cool and dark inside. I lifted the containers of butter and milk and set them on the thin flat stones laid in real smooth around where the springwater wells up.
The little one’s eyes near about popped and I knew I’d cursed him by letting him see all that butter and cream. He’d be dreaming about it for a long time. I just hoped he wasn’t going to try to sneak some on his own and get his behind torn up. Sure enough, Emmaline sent Chatty to sit by the springhouse door making sure nothing snuck off while I was in and out of there. Fine, just leave me be.
I showed those boys how to dip the cool water. Tote it to the trough and pour it in real careful. Don’t let the lip of the bucket touch the water Wash was laying in. Pretty soon, I had cool springhouse water rising around him, hot water boiling for his tea and him chewing those rocket flowers. He heated that water faster than the boys could cool it, so I’d just pull the plug to drain it and start over. Each time we drained the trough, I could see some of his heat going with it. He was feeling better just being out of that cabin and having the flies off him.
My hands on him was helping too. Always seemed to. My hands felt good on a body. They stayed cool, no matter how warm I got. Sometimes I’d lay one on the small of my back and one on my belly. Calmed me right down.
After a long while, we stood Wash up and draped him across our shoulders to get him back in the cabin. He was real glad to be laying flat again. But I could tell it was hard on him being in the quarters. Looked like it hurt him to have folks so close, with him not able to get away. Sick as he was, he was always straining towards the door. And he wouldn’t look at me with his eyes open or slammed shut, either way. Acting just like a baby child does, thinking if they don’t look at you then you can’t see them. His eyes stayed hard on the ceiling, like he was waiting on it to do something.
Wash
Maybe I did like being a big man. I know I did. At first, I went after it like I was going to break through to some other side. And they did fall away. Most times, all those women fell away. Like they were veils between this world and the next and I stayed steady trying to break through. I knew where the hell I was headed and I kept trying to push past em. Never did get there though. Caught some glimpses, but I never did get there.
Each time I went after it, I felt it coming nearer and nearer to me, opening up and opening out, and I’d think I might make it across. But then that feeling good way down in my low belly would always bloom and there I’d be, like a fish flopping in my coming, with that whole other world I kept trying to reach fading away from me, drifting like leftover storm clouds.
It was only when I didn’t push and didn’t get out ahead of myself that I ever got anywhere. Pallas was the one who showed me. I guess I thought she was so thin and almost see through, maybe she’d be the one where I could finally make my way over to that other side. Even laying there sick as a dog with my parts on fire, I still thought about getting up on her. Like that was the only way I could see a woman.
But Pallas came and she sat by my bed. Laid that cool hand on my forehead, gave me some bitter tea to drink. Laid another hand on my belly, telling me I was getting better, even though all I felt was burning from my chest down to my legs with roots running up the small of my back.
But even then, even when I couldn’t picture getting up on her without it feeling like a heavy weight was falling on my bare foot, I wanted to grab her. Even then, I saw myself leaving marks on that pale thin arm from taking too tight a hold and her trying to pull away.
But I didn’t. Something about the way she looked at me told me I could reach right through her and she’d still be standing there staring at me. She wasn’t just some place to walk through to get from one side to another. She was a whole new place and her knowing mocked me.
Looked like she was telling me, fine, go ahead and grab at that if you think you need to, but you won’t never reach it. And meanwhile, there’s a whole world over here, passing you right by. But go on ahead, running after whatever you think it is you need and don’t worry about it none. Most people never see what’s right under their nose anyhow.
And smiling. Watching me wanting to reach right through her and then laughing at me. That’s when I thought maybe she has some knowing I don’t. By this time, I’m laying there looking at her, and she knows I’m seeing the way she’s reading me.
All I said was, maybe you might show me something sometime. And she just looked at me. Didn’t say yes, didn’t say no, so I knew she was at least considering it.
Pallas
I had to stay over at Richardson’s for a couple of days, seeing about Wash, which was fine by me. I liked staying with the old women and having children around me.
While I was over there, Richardson had me clear up all the other ailments. Some coughs and colds and worms but nothing too bad. It’s usually the little ones and I want to say give em more than that shirt to wear and they won’t stay so sick. Spend your money on clothes and shoes and you won’t have to spend it on me.
At least Richardson saw this. He kept his people fed and clothed so there wasn’t too much else for me to do at his place except some odds and ends. But he always wanted to know what I was doing and why. Lord that man could lurk. He’d step so quiet and stand in the doorway while I was seeing about somebody, but I felt his eyes on me from the beginning.
Sometimes he’d just stand there. Other times, he’d come real close and peer over my shoulder. Whenever I was at his place, I had to remember to close my satchel and keep it between my feet or else he’d be poking into it. Reaching in, picking up my medicine, looking at it, smelling it. Asking me what was this root and that one. Most times I’d make up a word, except for the real easy to find plants. Call me selfish, but I didn’t feel like giving him my every little thing.
I stayed at Richardson’s for several days, pulling Wash into the clear. I hoped Elsie’s baby might come while I was there and save me a trip back but she kept swelling with that baby not even thinking about coming.
But it was just as well since I needed to do some collecting. Wash turned out to be a bigger man than I remembered and thick. The dose Phoebe had said to use on somebody his size didn’t do nothing. I kept having to add more and more till I’d used most of my stores.
I was glad to get out of those quarters and I hoped their woods m
ight have some medicine that was hard for me to find at home. Went to ask some of the women where was a south facing hill sloping to some water and most of them looked at me with their eyes wide like they were scared to go off the place. I kissed Phoebe in my mind’s eye again for making sure I didn’t end up like that. Afraid to go anywhere or even be alone.
I went in to see what Wash knew about plants and where to find them. I sat by him and laid my hand on his forehead. Lifted his cover to look and laid it back down. His fever had broken with his sores drying to crusty. Told him most times, the worse it looks, the better it’s getting.
We hadn’t talked much except for me telling him, I’m laying this on you now. Letting him know where to expect a touch and what kind. Hot or cold, sharp or smooth. I figured a surprise was not what he needed. He never said anything but he had started looking at me. Once he took his eyes off the ceiling, he’d watch my hands first, then he’d watch my face.
Sometimes when I’d be sitting by him, staring out the window, waiting for him to wake up, I’d feel something on me and I’d realize he wasn’t asleep after all. He’d been watching me. But it was hard to catch him looking at you even when you felt it.
And there he was, even as sick as he was, still looking at me like I was a piece of something. Right from when I walked through the door. Almost made me glad to see him baking in that fever.
But I’d learned to keep myself wrapped clear around myself, just like those bloodroot leaves wrap around that flower standing so straight. And I remember doing just like that, standing way back inside myself, watching him trying to look at me.
And sure enough, after a while, he started to shift and soften, just as sure as if he was cooking. Pot gone to bubbling on the stove, and he’s sinking down into that boiling water, softening like a big bunch of stiff squeaky greens. Not all at once but in bits and snatches.
I’d catch him looking at me and I’d hold his eyes with mine till I felt the air between us buckle and waver and I felt him starting to see me. And maybe I did know something after all. Made me smile. That big man staying so sure he was all alone in the world and ain’t nobody ever thought his thoughts. And then there I was. I think I drew him up short for once. I did.
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