Aggie had made sure her granddaughters knew that neither should take the same liberties as Susan. They were never to look any of their masters or mistresses in the eye. They were never to forget a “sir” or “ma’am.” They were never to take something that had not been offered first. They were never to touch anything in the rooms of the big house, unless they were ordered to do so first. Especially, they should never touch a book.
The twins worked in the House during the day. Eliza Two slept alone in the attic, in case Gloria needed her in the night, but Rabbit would return to her family’s cabin in the evenings. Their coverlets were child-size quilts that Aggie had made. Rabbit’s quilt was pieced together of red squares, with a few dark-blue scattered among the red. In the middle was a big five-pointed star made from yellow flowered gingham. Her sister’s quilt was pieced together of blue squares and a scattering of a few red. Her star was yellow as well.
The Death of the Young Friend
The year that the daughters of Tess and Nick turned ten marked a sad milestone: that was the year that the tenth victim to be imprisoned in the left cabin died. She had caught a fever, after walking in her sleep. It had not been the first time she’d been found by Pompey, standing next to the tall iron spokes of the left cabin’s gate, her eyes staring and vacant. Yet this time, the Young Friend’s fever would not chill, no matter how many bowls of hot soup or glasses of dark elderberry wine Venie fed her. It was a blow to Samuel, losing a Young Friend after only a few months of ownership. He’d planned on keeping her for three—maybe even four—more years before selling her back to Lancaster Polcott at a discounted rate. Other than Venie, the trader had always accepted Samuel’s merchandise cheerfully, as Samuel took great care of the little girls. And besides, there was a thriving market for child prostitutes down in New Orleans. But this time, Lancaster would not answer Samuel’s queries for four months, and finally Samuel would receive correspondence telling him Lancaster had been inconvenienced with a long illness and only had just recovered.
In the meantime, Samuel resorted to past behavior. He visited the yeoman farmers in the area, paying a dollar for two or three hours of time with a slave child. Yet he felt the same past dissatisfaction creep in. These little girls were not beautiful or cultivated. They had not been trained. They were rough-hewn, with lint in their hair and clothes in rags. They did not even know to curtsy in Samuel’s presence. And despite himself, Samuel found that a beautiful child in his own household had caught his eye: it was Eliza Two, the daughter of Nick.
Counter to Aggie’s assumption, Samuel did not consider this child to be his kin, no matter her connection to Nick. To himself, he denied that she was the progeny of his own action. She was light-brown-skinned, not white, and thus removed from him. This lack of filial consequence was normal to Samuel, for he did not even love his children by Lady; not only did Victor look like Samuel’s despised father, but also, Gloria was very odd, and this made her damaged in her father’s eyes.
Samuel only loved Nick. He only craved his return of affection. He did not know why, but it was so. And since he made his own rules and own shining moral circle to shield himself, he decided that Eliza Two was a random Negro child. Yet Samuel was not completely senseless: he knew that Nick would feel differently. Though he had the power over his son, he did not want to test Nick’s hand, for Samuel had seen his son and Tess and the little girls walking on Sundays. The way the girls ran and skipped before returning to the parents. Sometimes Nick would pick up the girls and carry one in each arm, no matter how large they were becoming, and kiss each child upon her cheek. And Samuel would smile, not at this show of paternal warmth, but rather marveling at the strength in Nick’s arms.
Samuel kept his intentions quiet: he didn’t move Eliza Two into the left cabin as his Young Friend. Rather, he kept her in the big house, sleeping under his own roof. Between this and the lies and manipulations he planned to use to control her, he believed that these things would maintain his secret. And he began stalking Eliza Two, coming upon her in the hallways, as she ran errands for her young mistress. She would curtsy and keep her eyes to the floor—as she had been taught—and Samuel would pull one of Eliza Two’s long braids in a teasing way. He gave her candy and each Saturday, a half dime to save, telling her she was born to greater things, for she was the most beautiful girl he ever had seen. After each compliment or gift, Samuel reminded Eliza Two not to tell anyone of their conversations. Because they weren’t as special as she was, no one would understand the bond that she shared with her master.
Eliza Two had been reminded by her grandmother to obey the white occupants in the big house, and so the child did not report their interactions. She’d heard that Samuel was a cruel man as well, so his behavior confused the child. He seemed so kind to her. So gentle, and he was very handsome. Up close, his resemblance to her father soothed her, and yet it was confusing, for she did not know that Samuel had sired Nick. Even more intoxicating than the gifts of food, candy, and money, Samuel dangled freedom above Eliza Two’s reach, promising her that if she served him well, and fulfilled all that he required of her, one day he not only would free her, but he would build a great house for her to live and raise her family in. He repeated, never tell anyone of his gifts, and especially, she should not tell her father; otherwise, Samuel would change his mind and Eliza Two would never be free. Eliza Two believed there would be happy endings for her, as in that book Gloria read aloud, showing her the tower where a girl with long hair lived. Her hair was even longer than Aggie’s, and Gloria would ask, “Do you see her hair? Do you see her hair? Do you see her hair? Do you see her hair?” And every time, Eliza Two would answer, “Yes, Missy. I sees it.”
Yet Samuel had not calculated the closeness between twins, that children who had shared a womb, had shared a unique language even before they were born, had a connection that others could not grasp. Thus, whenever Samuel caught Eliza Two in the hallway and plied her with candy and promises, Rabbit would have a stomachache, though she was a distance away that spanned the length of the big house, through the outside walkway, and into the kitchen house. And one Sunday evening when the twins were playing their hand games alone in the yard, Rabbit asked Eliza Two, did she have some secrets? It had been a common question between them, since they had been little. Remembering the warning of her master, Eliza Two tried to evade, but her twin pressed on, and soon, demanding Rabbit’s confidence, Eliza Two began to prattle about Samuel’s promises and her dreams for a better day.
And the next day, she came down to the kitchen house and motioned Rabbit into the pantry. She pulled Samuel’s candy from the pocket of her dress, offering it to Rabbit. Eliza Two told her there was a store of half dimes that she had buried, and these were Rabbit’s as well. As their grandmother had many times, Rabbit lectured Eliza Two about eating food that had been prepared by hands she did not know, hands that might have been unwashed or in service to the Devil, who knew many languages spoken in many tongues. Eliza Two laughed, insisting that she had eaten of Samuel’s candy many times and had not been struck ill or dead. Finally, Rabbit took the offered candy but protested that she was too full of the midday meal to eat it then. She said she would eat the candy later, when her appetite returned. When her sister left the kitchen house, Rabbit threw the candy in the scrap bucket that Venie kept for Pompey; the contents of this bucket was used to feed the hogs. Then Rabbit washed her hands several times in the bowl of clean water that Venie kept in the kitchen. Later, when Eliza Two would ask, had Samuel’s candy been to her liking? Rabbit would assure her how delicious it was and that she was grateful for Eliza Two’s kindness in sharing. She would rub her belly so that Eliza Two would believe she was telling her the truth. They would embrace and kiss cheeks, these little girls who had held hands in Tess’s womb.
Samuel put off his satisfaction with his granddaughter, letting it build. Then came the night when he visited Eliza Two in the big house attic, where she slept. Samuel brought his bottle of poppy syrup and fistful
of candy. He told her that she was pretty and that was why he loved her more than anyone else. Why she was so special. That is all she remembered when she awoke in the morning to find herself wounded and confused. After several of these visits, she reported her injuries to Rabbit, who, in turn, reported them to Aggie that next morning. The child did not know the implications of her sister’s injuries, only that when Eliza Two had spoken, Rabbit’s stomach was in agony, as if she had been stabbed repeatedly.
A Terrible Decision
When Rabbit came to her, Aggie was stricken with remorse and self-loathing. She awakened from the fog that had obscured her life. Not slowly, but as if someone tossed night water in her face. Or shouted at her in the middle of a meal. Or slapped her without warning after offering her a compliment. She had been warned, hadn’t she? For years, Samuel had announced his crimes in the open. Every adult on the premises knew about the Young Friends in the left cabin. Samuel was a monster, and Aggie knew that. Yet she had dropped her guard and placed prey right in front of him. She had thought herself and her family above harm. And more than that: she had borne witness to grievous sins against other children as well and turned her back. In exchange for the safety of her own progeny, and those of the Quarters-folks, she had ignored the suffering of the most helpless. Yet this safety was an illusion, for every Negro—in the big house, in the Quarters, and in the left cabin—was a slave. And all of them were at the mercy of a capricious, evil man. God was punishing Aggie; this she knew. And hopelessness tightened its grasp, until a message from above arrived.
It was a Tuesday evening when Rabbit came to her with the information about her twin. The next morning, Aggie put away her guilt and began to prepare. She only had five more days. She could not alert Samuel that anything was amiss. Though Rabbit was only a child, Aggie told her, do not tell anyone else about the injuries to her twin. Yet also, she told the girl that she could trust her grandmother. Aggie would ensure that all was well.
On Sunday afternoon, Aggie closed the door of her cabin after gathering her family. She told Nick it was time for him, Tess, and the children to leave Wood Place. She looked over at Pop George, who did not seem surprised. Nick was squatting on the braided rug; he only raised his eyebrows. Tess and her little girls were sitting at the table, and Tess began to weep. The twins were silent for different reasons. Eliza Two had been groggy for days, as Samuel had continued to ply her with his poppy syrup. As for Rabbit, in that same time, she had become steely and grim—too mature for a little girl of eleven.
“Mama, what happen?” Nick asked. “Why you done change your mind?”
Aggie lied, saying nothing had occurred. It was only time for his children and grandchildren to leave. Yet when Nick questioned her again, she relented, his girls didn’t need to be working in that house around that evil man. Nick’s eyes widened. He leapt up, and his mother blocked his way to the door. Pop George called his name. Sit down, boy, he said. Listen to your mama. It’s time for you to leave. It seemed when Pop George spoke, all sound stopped. Unless he was telling his stories, he was a man of few words. Perhaps this was why Nick turned from the door.
Time slowed as Pop George and Aggie prepared Nick. As they told him which star he should follow, that if he were in the right position the star would keep in front of him, and that the green moss needed to grow on the front side of the trees, too. If he had those two guides, that would serve him. But no, she did not know how this knowledge came about, only that she had been told by her grandmother Helen, and she had been told by somebody else, and so on, and yes, it might have been the star that came up the night Jesus was born, but then again, it might not have been, but that wasn’t important, and Nick should listen to what she was talking about, so he could remember. She didn’t see that her son was gulping down her words. They were keepsakes. Aggie gave him light and corn breads given to her by Venie, along with a large portion of a ham.
Pop George had joined into the preparations as well. He warned Nick to retain his wits, that when he heard wagons, he should keep to the trees, but if he kept his distance, he would be unnoticed even if seen. His white skin and his light eyes would be his protection so long as he made a shaving foam with a portion of his drinking water and soap and used his razor to keep the kinks on his head at bay. He needn’t worry about his beard, which was a vibrant, golden color and not that much differently textured from white men’s. He should be careful about talking, though: his speech would give him away. From afar, others would assume Tess and the twins were his property.
Then it was time. The plantation was asleep, and all lights in the Quarters and the big house were extinguished. Yet through the hours, Rabbit clung to her mother, and Eliza Two had shaken off her poppy fog. Both twins were weeping. Aggie hissed, hush that fuss now. They had to go. Aggie’s resolve was crumbling, but she knew if her son remained, Nick would kill Master, and then he would be killed in turn. And Eliza Two might be sold down the river to New Orleans for even more abuse.
Aggie could not bear such losses. She turned to Rabbit, telling her, go with Nick. Yet Rabbit said, if Eliza Two and Tess would not leave, then neither would she.
And so, that night, only a young father would leave the plantation. And Aggie would be forced to make a terrible decision.
The Power in the Field
Since Nick was a little boy, he had added stones to the grave site he’d made for his father. Even after he was old enough to understand that Midas had not died, rather he had been sold away, Nick would carry a handful of stones to the place he had chosen in the slave cemetery. In time, he made a pattern with these stones, a symbol of his loss.
The night that Nick escaped Wood Place, he crept to the cemetery and chose a stone. He placed it in his pocket. Then he began to walk the road that passed the big house, the left cabin, and further on, past the general store. At that point, the road narrowed to a path. After some distance, he saw the mound rising, and the ramshackle cabin where Carson Franklin lived with his family in its shadow.
Then someone called Nick’s name. He turned, and there was Pop George, saying he’d come to lead him awhile. He’d lived on the plantation for so long, he knew the place pretty good. Pop George’s back had straightened, and in the dark, he looked to be a much younger man. His hand was strong and sure as he touched Nick’s shoulder. When they passed closer to the Franklins’ cabin, Nick tensed, for someone was sitting on the porch of the cabin, smoking. The ember was flickering red. Pop George touched Nick again, and whispered, stop. As they waited, the figure on the porch walked down the steps. Closer, until Nick could see the cigar that he took from his mouth, and that the figure was a man, but no taller than Nick’s twin girls. He bowed to Pop George, who told Nick he would leave him here.
We don’t lose track of Nick at this point when he leaves our land, but this is where we will finish telling his story. There were others in the south who escaped from slavery, who wrote the tale of their triumph in books commissioned by their abolitionist friends. They would recount the fear of cramming into boxes, enfolded by their excrement, as in the instance of Mr. Henry “Box” Brown. Riding in trains, passing for the white owners of slaves, if they were light enough, as the fair-skinned Mrs. Ellen Craft did, accompanied by her much darker husband, William. Running through the woods, the North Star above and moss and grass and leaves, tiny apertures of the journey stuck in their hair. We won’t tell you whether Nick lived or died, or whether he learned to read, or if he knew about Mr. Frederick Douglass, a former slave who found power in a root, the magic dug up from dirt.
Back then, Mr. Douglass’s name was Fred, and that root allowed him to resist. There were such battles in the Bible, where a root was not solid, but made of Spirit, given by an old man who had learned of it in his dreams. Or in the stories told by a mother, when a prophet flung his stone at a monster’s forehead and the monster fell. And the Word was changed. And the Word was knowledge. And the knowledge was a sound within the flesh, which may have been the Good Lord, or may have
been dead ones in Africa talking across an ocean, or our people here on this side. Yet we know that in one of those tales, a man did rise tall in the field. And that man was renamed Mr. Frederick Douglass.
IX
It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness, an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.
—W. E. B. Du Bois, “Of Our Spiritual Strivings”
Which Negroes Do You Know?
I’d moved to the right side of a duplex, a place I’d rented sight-unseen in Acorn, North Carolina, when I decided to enroll in graduate school. The place was in the historic district of my university town, on a street of cozy, cute houses that approached shabby. My duplex was large, with tall ceilings, but with none of the bed-and-breakfast flavor I’d expected from the university mail-out I’d received before moving to town.
A few moments after I walked in, I realized that “historic location” meant “old as hell.” The kitchen had a stained porcelain sink and no dishwasher, and when I opened the top of the tiny gas stove, there appeared to be twenty years of grease caked on the burners. The hardwood floors were scarred, and there was only one tiny air-conditioning unit in the living room; it rattled and kicked out dust when I turned it on. When I saw the ancient radiators, I had a feeling it’d be bad in the wintertime. And to be on the safe side, I’d need to visit a hardware store and purchase boric acid to sweep in all the corners, before I was rewarded with roaches.
The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois Page 60