Daddy and Mista Johnston are out on the fields today- watchin' as them slaves clean up the mess of God. Daddy says it their fault anyways- why else would a storm come so hard like that in between a mess of perfectly beautiful days? He's real irritable today- whippin' an' beatin' a few too many slaves which we gotta clean up. I don't like cleanin' no slave- it real annoyin'. Some hiss an' groan an' it jus' a waste of time.
Sometime I feel like daddy too nice to them slaves. But other times I think he too mean. I jus' don't know what I feel no more. Likin' Cecile so, alon' with Samuel a little bit, makes me all confused. An' I got no one but Cecile to talk 'bout it to an' cause she a slave she probably think daddy bein' to cruel. An' it ain't like I can talk to no one else cause then they'd keep me away from 'er cause she brainwashin' me or somethin'.
"Can you pass the rag?"
I hand it to Mary who dabs it on some slaves shoulder- where he got a real big cut and I sigh. I don't know no other plantation owner who does this. But I guess it does help with production- cause if they ain't hurt so bad then they can work faster an' not bleed on the cotton.
"You done with that one?"
"Yeah," I say, knowin' as well as she that I didn't do much of a job. I mean it ain't like I don't care 'bout these slaves- but they all jus' causin' me emotional turmoil. I wish they would jus' go away. I wish I lived in the North, so I didn't gotta deal with this. With daddy an' Cecile an' Samuel an' Mary an' Miss. Lizabeth.
As soon as I think it- I take it back. They real evil in the North- lettin' blacks roam free and speakin' the Lord's name in vain. They ain't like us- us who keep our foundin' fathers dream alive. They movin' way to quick- what with all them cities an' new inventions an' everythin'.
I wouldn't wanna live there- no sir.
"You sure," Mary asks, thinkin' more of the profit than the poor slaves pain. I guess I jus' as bad as 'er- I don't care 'bout 'is pain much neither.
"No, I think I'll clean it some more."
She smiles, passin' over the blood stained rag. With half a heart I get to cleanin' 'em up- real gentle, still unsure of why I doin' it. Is it fo' the profit, fo' Mary, cause daddy said? Or is it cause I'm different than them other folk here- that maybe I actually care 'bout slaves. Or at least a few of 'em. I dunno- life is jus' way to confusin' to kno anythin' fo' sure.
Sometime I feel like daddy too nice to them slaves. But other times I think he too mean. I jus' don't know what I feel no more. Likin' Cecile so, alon' with Samuel a little bit, makes me all confused. An' I got no one but Cecile to talk 'bout it to an' cause she a slave she probably think daddy bein' to cruel. An' it ain't like I can talk to no one else cause then they'd keep me away from 'er cause she brainwashin' me or somethin'.
"Can you pass the rag?"
I hand it to Mary who dabs it on some slaves shoulder- where he got a real big cut and I sigh. I don't know no other plantation owner who does this. But I guess it does help with production- cause if they ain't hurt so bad then they can work faster an' not bleed on the cotton.
"You done with that one?"
"Yeah," I say, knowin' as well as she that I didn't do much of a job. I mean it ain't like I don't care 'bout these slaves- but they all jus' causin' me emotional turmoil. I wish they would jus' go away. I wish I lived in the North, so I didn't gotta deal with this. With daddy an' Cecile an' Samuel an' Mary an' Miss. Lizabeth.
As soon as I think it- I take it back. They real evil in the North- lettin' blacks roam free and speakin' the Lord's name in vain. They ain't like us- us who keep our foundin' fathers dream alive. They movin' way to quick- what with all them cities an' new inventions an' everythin'.
I wouldn't wanna live there- no sir.
"You sure," Mary asks, thinkin' more of the profit than the poor slaves pain. I guess I jus' as bad as 'er- I don't care 'bout 'is pain much neither.
"No, I think I'll clean it some more."
She smiles, passin' over the blood stained rag. With half a heart I get to cleanin' 'em up- real gentle, still unsure of why I doin' it. Is it fo' the profit, fo' Mary, cause daddy said? Or is it cause I'm different than them other folk here- that maybe I actually care 'bout slaves. Or at least a few of 'em. I dunno- life is jus' way to confusin' to kno anythin' fo' sure.
