Mandingo

by Kyle Onstott

  ‘Papa! Papa!’ Hammond threw himself at his father’s feet and embraced his legs. ‘ ’Tain’t a-goin’ to be right—me in the Texies an’ you here.’

  ‘Falconhurst always here fer you to come back,’ the father said. He paused before he went on. ‘Me? I belong here, seem like. My bones an’ the meat on ’em are made of Falconhurst dirt. Born here, growed here, lived here all my life a-knowin’ ever’body. Reckon it’s fittin’ I die here an’ rot back into the groun’ I come from, rest me alongside your mamma on the hill. You gone, Son, I got to throw to one side this rheumatiz, I reckon, an’ take aholt.’

  THE END