Sugar

by Jewell Parker Rhodes

  “This is my plantation. Stop yakking, Tom, and do your job.”

  The Overseer stomps away to another row, hollering at Beau and Master Liu to work faster, harder.

  Billy’s face is hidden by the straw hat. He keeps working.

  Missus Wills goes inside the house; she’s gone for a good while. She returns with Manon and Annie, marching down the wide porch steps.

  It’s not even lunch! Not even ten in the morning! Missus Wills and the cooks are carrying pitchers of water and lemonade. They’ve got platters of biscuits stuffed with smoked ham.

  “Time for a break,” says Missus Wills firmly. “Come on, come eat.”

  Amazing.

  “Five minutes,” shouts the Overseer. But nobody is listening to him. The Chinese men are bowing, the River Road men are taking off their hats, and the River Road women are curtsying, saying, “Thank you, Missus Wills.”

  Billy’s dragging. I pull him by the hand and push him to the front. His ma gives him a glass of lemonade. His pa pats his back. Billy flinches, stretches his overworked back.

  He takes a biscuit.

  “Take another,” says his ma.

  “No, thank you. I’ll wait ’til everyone else has one.”

  His ma sighs, pitiful. “I don’t understand you, Billy.”

  “He takes after me,” says Mister Wills. “Times are changing.”

  Missus Wills hands me a biscuit, a cup of lemonade. “Here you go, Sugar.”

  I feel the imp inside me. I know I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut. I know Missus Beale is going to be mad at me, but I can’t help myself.

  I look straight into Missus Wills’s bright blue eyes and say, “I’m a child, too.”

  Nobody says nothin’. Nobody moves. Not Chinese men, not River Road folks, not even the Willses.

  Finally, Mister Wills says, “Times aren’t changing that much. Cane needs workers. Child or not.”

  “Biscuits. Lemonade,” Overseer Tom grumbles. “Spoiling them. This’ll come to no good end. You’re spoiling these workers. I won’t be responsible for it. I won’t.”

  Mister Tom is truly upset, stomping, his whip dragging dirt. For the first time ever, I feel sorry for him.

  “Mister Tom, I’ve got something special.” He looks at me like I’m a bug. I reach in my shift’s pocket. “Here,” I say. “You can play with it.”

  “Sugar, don’t—” yells Billy.

  But Mister Tom has already taken the pretty red-and-yellow tube. The Chinese men are talking excitedly in Chinese, and then—

  Mister Tom howls. “Get it off me! Get it off.”

  Mister Wills and the other grown-ups laugh while Billy shakes his head, covering his eyes. “Sugar, Sugar, Sugar.”

  Tom howls like a crazed hyena.

  “Let me show you, Mister Tom. Let me show you how to get it off.”

  The Overseer growls, scowling, pulling like a bear, and still, the finger trap doesn’t snap.

  Everyone keeps laughing. Mister Tom slams the tube over a machete’s edge, slicing the finger trap in two!

  Shredded twine unravels, falls to the ground.

  I cry out, fall to my knees, trying to collect the strands. Red, yellow. Maybe it can be fixed? Woven back together?

  A shadow, a flick of dust and dirt causes me to look up.

  The Overseer’s hand is high, the whip’s stretching like an S ready to slash my back.

  I scream, hands and knees tight, head down, protecting my face and arms.

  Trembling, I know what’s coming. I hear it—swoosh—but I don’t feel it.

  Instead, I feel a warm, heavy weight. Beau’s body covers me. He flinches, shudders, deep.

  “Get off my land,” shouts Mister Wills. “Get off, Tom. Go!”

  “You’ve gone soft, Wills. Yellow and black monkey men will ruin you.”

  “You’ll be the ruin. I need cane workers. Willing workers.”

  Mister Beale helps me up; his hand on my back stills my trembling. Master Liu helps Beau.

  “You’ve gotta keep a firm hand,” says Tom, slapping his whip handle into his hand. “Else the white man stands no chance.”

  Mister Wills stands close, face-to-face. Mister Tom is bigger, but Mister Wills doesn’t flinch.

  “Don’t come back, Tom. You don’t work for me anymore.”

  Mister Tom is shocked. “I’ve been your Overseer for twenty years.”

  “You were a good one. But times have changed; you haven’t.”

  Dazed, the Overseer looks at us workers. Like he can’t believe seeing African and Chinese folks together. His face tightens as he looks at Billy, at me. I think, He hates me. Fierce, Overseer Tom steadies his stance. With his whip and fists, he looks like he’d fight us all.

  “Wills, this isn’t the last you’ll hear from me. This doesn’t end it.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Tom.”

  But I am.

  Beau’s back drips with blood. Missus Beale and Master Liu care for him, cleaning his back, applying fatback and Chinese herbs.

  Mister Beale keeps murmuring, “I couldn’t move fast enough. Thank you, Beau. Thank you for getting to Sugar.”

  I pat Beau’s hand. He winces as Missus Beale lays thin cotton on his back. “When you’re better, I’ll tell you a story.”

  “Now. Please. Better soon.”

  I exhale, happy the Beales and Master Liu are caring for Beau.

  I tell them the funniest tale I know.

  Kite Day

  For two days, Billy doesn’t cut cane. He’s too sore.

  Mister Wills says Billy’s going to be Overseer. Mister Beale will teach him. I know Billy won’t just stand, walk, and see. He’ll work, cutting cane, making sure me and the women get help dumping stalks. He’s already promised “lemonade and biscuits twice a day.” Everybody’s happier, working harder.

  Even though it’s harvest, Mister Wills has given us a last half-day Sunday.

  I lie on my sack, staring at the ceiling. I’m bored. All the grown folks are resting. Even the Chinese are taking naps.

  I stare at my walls, counting spiderwebs covering the cracks between logs. I could watch steamboats on the river. Maybe look for a skunk? Chase Rooster Ugly when he pecks at the hens? But I’ve done this all before.

  Knock-knock.

  “Sugar, Sugar.”

  I scramble up. “Who’s there?”

  “Beau.”

  I fling open the door. Sunbeams glow behind Beau. He’s a shadow, but sparkling, dangling from his hand is a diamond-shaped cloth.

  “Kite,” Beau says. Light streams through the cloth; it’s been dyed a bright red. Sticks are like bones behind the cloth.

  “Tail,” says Beau, stretching a string of white ribbons dangling and touching the ground.

  Jade swats the ribbons. Beau rubs the cat’s head.

  “Good wind. Hurry.” He turns, running, and me and Jade follow.

  The kite drags in the dirt; still, Beau runs and runs, faster and faster toward the big house. Air catches the kite or the kite catches the air, I don’t know which. The kite swoops up then down, bounces on the ground, then it’s off… high, higher, it’s tail wiggling like a captured snake.

  I scream, “It’s flying.”

  Beau stops, and the kite sails in the air, dipping and diving. The cotton and sticks are alive, I think. Like a bird.

  Beau points. Billy’s window. How’d Beau know this was the perfect place to go?

  “Billy,” I shout. “Billy Wills.”

  His head pops out the window.

  “See.” I point up at the clouds, the sun, the great blue sky.

  Everyone quiets—even Mister and Missus Wills. The red kite is dancing, swirling and spiraling, and looking prettier than a flock of birds.

  Beau hands me the rope. I hold it, feeling the push-pull of the kite and wind. It’s tugging me, and I wonder if my feet will lift right off the ground and I’ll fly, too.

  “I’m coming down,” shouts Billy.

&nbs
p; “Come on,” says Beau. “Fly the kite.”

  The kite bobs, and I can’t help but think it’s curtsying.

  Everyone loves the kite. Me and Billy take turns, holding the ball of string, tethering the flying bird.

  All the grown folks are awake! News has spread.

  Chinese men are smiling, some smoking pipes, nodding. Mister Beale keeps slapping his thigh. Mister Petey murmurs, “Look at that. Just look.” Even Missus Thornton is looking happier than she’s ever been. Missus Ellie looks alert, not tired at all.

  The Willses sit in rockers on their porch, smiling and holding hands.

  I think this is the way River Road should always be.

  Not speaking, me and Billy, heads upturned, steer the kite. Beau is standing a few feet behind us, in case we need him. Jade sits beside me. Ears twitching, he follows the red shape and ribbon tail.

  “Seen a gator, Beau?”

  “Gator? What’s that?”

  Me and Billy smile. “Let’s go!” I hand Missus Thornton the kite’s rope and she squeals with delight. Reverend is beside her, waiting for his chance to fly the kite.

  Me, Billy, and Beau, hand in hand, take off running—past the cane fields, down to the Mississippi shore.

  “Look, Beau.” Billy skips a stone. The Mississippi shimmers. “Can you do that?”

  Beau tries; all his stones fall flat and drown.

  “Gators!” I shriek. We grab Beau’s hand, and we’re off running, kicking up water, hitting dry land. We run the shore’s length to where the Mississippi narrows, shoots off, spreading like fingers, creating marsh.

  “There!” I say.

  Ten feet away are alligators—long, hard, sunning onshore. Two are so still they seem dead.

  “One bite and you’re gone.”

  “They can swallow you whole,” adds Billy.

  “Like dragon,” whispers Beau.

  “Hey,” says Billy. “I’ve read about dragons. They’re not from China!”

  “Dragons, everywhere. Very special.”

  Beau sits on the grass, then leans backward until his back is flat. Me and Billy lie down on either side of him. The ground is cool.

  “See, cloud,” says Beau. “Stretch it out. Long. Give it a big head. Big teeth. Long tail. Imagine cloud breathes fire.”

  “I can see it,” I say.

  “Me, too. It’s green.”

  “Why can’t it be blue?”

  “This dragon green,” says Beau.

  The three of us see the beast in the sky.

  “It’s a fat gator,” I shout.

  “Smart Sugar,” says Beau, turning his head and smiling. “Dragon is like a fat gator.”

  “Are dragons real?”

  “Yes,” says Billy.

  “If you want them to be,” says Beau.

  I sit and make bug eyes at Billy.

  Frowning, Billy sits, too.

  “I’ll tell you dragon story.”

  Me and Billy both look down at Beau. He’s lying, his arms crossed over his chest, his black shoes pointy in the air.

  “You know dragon stories?” asks Billy.

  “Yes. Many, many stories. But you must be quiet to hear.”

  Me and Billy grin. Beau has told us to hush. Me and Billy lie back, two small heads beside Beau’s bigger one.

  “Deep in waters of Chengdu—” starts Beau.

  “Where’s Chengdu?”

  “Hush, Billy. It’s China.”

  “Deep in waters lived Yellow Dragon. Skin gold like sun. Long neck with yellow eyes. Scales like huge fish.

  “Yellow Dragon searched for a new home.”

  “I want a new home.”

  Beau turns his head. Half his face is squished flat by grass; the other half is smooth and round. “Good to search for better home.”

  “There’s Yellow Dragon,” I say, pointing at a cloud sailing past the sun.

  Beau nods.

  “Does Yellow Dragon eat anybody?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad,” says Billy.

  Wisps of grass cling to Beau’s hair. “Chinese dragons don’t bite. They help people. Yellow Dragon helped Emperor.”

  “Emperor Jade?”

  “Different Emperor.”

  “An Emperor is like a king. More powerful than a president,” says Billy.

  “Yes, most powerful.” Beau’s voice drops low. “Long ago, Emperor ruled great kingdom. Most kind, most giving to his people.

  “They plucked rice from marsh. Like marsh, here, where gators live. Made good living.”

  “As good as sugarcane?”

  “Yes, Billy. Maybe better.”

  I love Beau’s voice. It’s like cool lemonade. Like the Mississippi lapping against shore. Like a breeze making sugarcane dance.

  “But three years in a row, the river where Yellow Dragon liked to sleep overflowed banks. Swallowing land, grass. Rising high, higher—”

  “Like the Mississippi can.”

  “Rice paddies drown. Too much water. Everybody starve. Farmers hungry. Cows, pigs—”

  “Chickens? Like Peanut?”

  “Like Peanut. Chickens hungry. Everybody hungry. Emperor pray. Next morning, Yellow Dragon rises from river.”

  “What happens next, Beau?”

  Beau sits, his ankles crossed. “Yellow Dragon promises to stop flooding. He flies high. Sees where the river starts. With his tail, digs channels. Miles and miles of channels.

  “Dragon dares River. ‘Flood, River. Try to flood.’ And great River rises up. Snaps at Yellow Dragon.”

  Beau leaps to his feet.

  Me and Billy stand, too. Beau raises his hands, his fingers curled like claws. He moves up and down like a wild wave.

  “River rises. Water floods the channels. ‘Ha,’ says Yellow Dragon. ‘Rice is safe.’

  “River mad. Calls on storm clouds. ‘Help me. Rain,’ says River.

  “Great storm. River rises and rises. River pulls back. Makes great wave, twenty feet high. Spits out water. Tons of water. But—”

  “What?” asks Billy.

  “None swallows paddies,” shouts Beau, clapping his hands. “None makes it to Emperor’s kingdom. The channels fill with water.”

  “Good,” I holler.

  “Wonderful,” says Billy.

  “Kingdom saved.”

  A huge cloud floats. I see Yellow Dragon, big, happy in the sky.

  “ ‘Our home is your home,’ says grateful Emperor. Yellow Dragon stayed. Made new home.

  “Every year, villagers celebrate in dragon’s honor.”

  Relaxing, we sit, our knees touching. Ants crawl over our shoes, our legs. None of us minds. The grass is soft.

  “Beau, have you ever touched a baby gator?”

  “No.”

  “Not as hard as grown-up gators,” adds Billy. “Their skin is soft like velvet.”

  I don’t know what velvet is—but I trust Billy.

  “Like velvet,” I say. “Really soft.”

  We sneak toward the gators sunning onshore. As we get closer, Billy points to the left, away from the water. “The nest will be in the bush.” He points to the ground, and all three of us start crawling on our bellies.

  There’s a gator nest covered with sticks, weeds, but none of us moves.

  Beau says, “Careful. Wait for father, mother to swim in water.”

  We wait and wait. And wait some more. We start falling asleep like gators.

  Finally, Ma and Pa Gator, too hot, splash into the water. We three scoot forward and—there! Three baby gators.

  Beau sighs like it’s the most beautiful sight in the world. I pick up a baby and hand it to him. He holds it gently.

  “So soft.”

  “Like velvet.”

  All three of us grin; then Ma Gator starts waddling up the bank. She can move fast as lightning if she wants. She doesn’t see us yet!

  Beau lays the baby in the nest.

  “Tiptoe,” says Billy. “Backward.”

  Don’t turn
your back on a gator! Not ever.

  We three tiptoe over soft grass.

  “Well, if it isn’t monkeys. Yellow and black.”

  I spin. Beau turns slowly. It’s Mister Tom, the fired Overseer.

  “Pa told you never to come back,” says Billy. “This is our land.”

  Mister Tom looks about to snap like a gator.

  Beau holds himself still. So still he’s lightly trembling. Beau’s trembling makes me afraid.

  Mister Tom carries a rifle; a squirrel’s tail dangles from his sack.

  “You shouldn’t be hunting here,” says Billy.

  “Your pa stole a decent man’s wage. He doesn’t own me. I don’t take orders from him.” His face is sallow, sweaty-ugly. “Yellows and blacks ought to be owned. Your pa is an idiot fool.”

  “Don’t you talk bad about my pa.” Fists balled, Billy strikes out. Beau catches his collar. Beau’s hand holds Billy while Billy’s wriggle wildly. Beau’s strong. He doesn’t stop watching the Overseer.

  “Let me go. Let me go.”

  “Quiet, Billy,” I say.

  “We go now,” Beau says.

  “Go back to where you came from. Your kind isn’t wanted here. And you, Sugar,” he sneers, “you deserve a lashing. Like your ma and pa.”

  I try to kick him.

  Beau grabs me by my waist, lifting me off the ground.

  “Billy Wills, you’re no better. Spoiled and weak. You’ll ruin River Road.”

  Beau is holding me and Billy both. Though we’re twisting, fighting, Beau feels like a rock. He doesn’t move. Alert, he keeps watching Mister Tom.

  Mister Tom moves close, closer. He smells of tobacco and alcohol. He presses his face close to Beau’s. Me and Billy stop struggling.

  Beau sets me down, lets go of Billy’s arm.

  Mister Tom breathes heavy; Beau breathes steady, calm.

  The Overseer is much bigger than Beau. Hair slicked back, brow damp, he seems desperate.

  I see the shadow coming. I scream. The rifle butt hits Beau’s head. Beau drops to his knees.

  The gun points at Beau’s chest.

  “Get up, yellow man. Get up. I’d like to kill you.”