Sweetsmoke (18 page)

    He
returned to the quarters at sundown to learn that Hoke's urgency had been
astute. Captain Whitacre and his empty wagons had rolled up in the middle
afternoon and requisitioned a patriotic percentage of their commodities. Hoke had
not been able to hide all his grain and other dry goods in time, but Whitacre's
primary goal—to reduce Sweetsmoke's supply of fresh meat—had been thwarted, and
he loaded thin, weak, and lame livestock into his wagons as well as into the
Sweetsmoke buckboard, which he also requisitioned. Frustrated by their meager
gain, Whitacre's men targeted the high- stepping bantam rooster who frequented
the yard outside the big house. The house servants described the clumsy,
off-balance soldiers in full-bore pursuit of the quick cock, who after being
cornered more than once, feinted and dodged his way to freedom. Children on the
lane mimicked the rooster's moves as their friends imitated the stumbling
soldiers. In the end, Whitacre had moved out with less than a quarter of his wagons
full, wearing the expression of one who had been obliged to eat an apple acrawl
with worms.

    The
work of the day had been intense and fulfilling, and Cassius had taken
satisfaction in its accomplishment. This rare moment of personal value led him
to seek out Jenny and apologize, as he was certain, in his charitable humor,
that he would surely salvage their friendship. Cassius found Jenny pulling
weeds from between a row of cabbage plants and emerging carrots in the
vegetable garden behind the cabin she shared with her sister, her sister's
husband, their children, and a blond dog. When she saw him, an expression
warped her face that checked his approach. She bent back to the weeds, but a
residue of his determination drove him on, even as his prepared apology slipped
away. She whirled to face him, eyes blunt with fury.

    You
make God
angry!
Jenny hissed. That little girl's a jinx, she's bad luck!

    He
was stunned motionless.

    Who
do you think you are? said Jenny.

    After
years of friendship and intimacy, the Jenny before him was a stranger. As
difficult as it was to define what they had together, it had brought him
comfort, as she had accepted him during his complicated times. An invisible
wall was now between them, as if the past had never occurred. The feel of her
breasts and belly under his hand, the smoky-sweet smell of her breath, her
fingertips drifting along his neck into his hair, all these memories became
suspect, unreal. Their past now joined other good times of his life that had
been crushed or undermined, as if the real world could accommodate only pain
and misery and contempt.

    Cassius
walked slowly back to his cabin. He stood before the cold hearth and stared at
the lightly charred bricks. He attempted to clear his mind, and engaged in the
trivial chores of everyday existence. He lit the kerosene lantern from the
carpentry shed. He removed his shoes and hung his shirt on a nail hook. He
inspected his rations and chose hardtack biscuit and bacon. He ate without
tasting, and when he was finished, he tore a segment of tobacco from the oldest
drying leaf that hung off the rafters. He rolled the tobacco and without
thinking wrapped a small bit of string around its end, then changed his mind
and set the fresh cigar aside for another time. Finally, he went for the books
he had hidden when Andrew had come to wake him. He brought out
The Iliad.
He opened it and found that the paper that had been revealed when Andrew
dropped the book was in fact three sheets folded so they would not be
discovered.

    He
read the list of names on the first page, realizing halfway down that he read
only white names. These were clients to whom she gave guidance as conjurer and
seer. Beside each name was a series of dates and times, appointments. On the
second page was a continuation of white names and among them he found Hoke
Howard. The third page was arranged differently with only the names of blacks;
beside the names were prescribed herbs. He saw Mam Rosie's name, along with a
list of a prodigious number of herbs. This was not surprising, as Rose kept a
stock of remedies for the children and others. He noted Pet, Savilla, and Banjo
George's names grouped together under Mam Rosie, arranged by location to
simplify delivery. He saw Maryanne's name, and he remembered that she had
initially come to Emoline as a buyer. Toward the bottom, he saw Weyman's name
and almost laughed out loud. He knew that Weyman would never admit to any
infirmity, much less one that would require an herbalist, yet here was proof.
Cassius ran his finger to her prescribed herbal remedy and saw
"jalap." From the hours spent watching Emoline prepare her remedies,
he knew jalap bindweed was difficult to grow in Virginia's climate, as it
thrived in heat. It was not unusual for her to grow special herbs for clients
who required regular dosing. The root of jalap was used for purging, often for
children, but had to be disguised with something sweet as its taste was
unpleasant. Cassius diagnosed Weyman: His friend was recurrently constipated.

    He
turned back to the second page, to the name Hoke Howard. The father of Richard
Justice might have had cause to visit his former slave. Cassius struggled to
imagine them as lovers in the recent past. If that were the case, then it was
not impossible that his old master had committed a crime of passion; were
Cassius to become the instrument of her justice, Hoke might be his prey. Hoke's
last visit had not coincided with her death. He had seen her on the previous
day, the 29th of June. It was not impossible that he had discovered she was a
spy for the Union. It was not impossible that he had considered it his
patriotic duty to end her treason, and it was also not impossible that Hoke had
returned unexpectedly on the following day in order to cover his tracks.
Cassius allowed pleasant thoughts of revenge to wash over him, but soon brought
his mind back to rigor, because this scenario made no sense. Why would a
planter bother to cover his tracks? Even if it was discovered he was a
murderer, who would hold accountable one of the wealthiest planters in the
county for the death of a black woman? Beyond that, Hoke had been deeply moved
when he informed Cassius of her death, and that did not suggest a murderer.
Cassius knew it was unwise to leap to conclusions, as emotional, half-reasoned
explanations rarely resembled truth. Cassius's mind moved to John-Corey
Howard's demise at Manassas, the very moment that had supposedly instigated the
perception of ill luck that now permeated the plantation. It was not
impossible, and perhaps likely, that Hoke Howard was visiting Emoline not for
sexual favors but to commune with the spirit of his son, in private
consolation.

    Cassius
recognized that he wanted Hoke to be the murderer. It fit his fantasies and completed
the portrait he had painstakingly created of the man. Reality, even sanity,
crept back in. Hoke Howard had controlled Emoline's life for years and had
granted her freedom. He had visited her, according to the folded sheet of
paper, numerous times in the recent past. This last visit was nothing more than
coincidence.

    He
perused the top two sheets of paper and found an appointment scheduled for June
30, the day Emoline died. Sally Ann Crowe was to come in the afternoon. Abigail
Dryden was scheduled to meet her the day after she had died, on the first.

    All
the information swirled and he needed to clear his mind. He knew if he moved on
to another subject, the thinking would continue in his subjacent mind, and in
time ideas would sort themselves out and be revealed to him.

    He
sat in his cabin listening to the busy hands doing night chores. He also had
chores, but nothing urgent, so he continued to sit. He reached for the rolled
cigar, but again stopped himself, not wanting it, just wanting something, and
then he realized he still had the book in his hand. He looked at the spine.
The Iliad of Homer.

    Cassius
opened the book and flipped through the title page and table of contents to
reach Book One. Emoline had called
The Iliad
a book to savor. He now
wanted distraction, and the smell of pages and ink brought back the joy of
learning to read.

    
The
Iliad.
At the top of the page, a paragraph described incidents that he came
to understand were to play out in the body of the text in rhyme.

    Cassius
read the short narrative.

    The
descriptive paragraph went on to explain that an argument erupted between
Achilles and Agamemnon over the two captives. As it was Cassius's first
exposure to the story, he did not immediately grasp the full meaning of the
introduction. He began to read the main body of the story, presented in verse,
but the words "beautiful captives" stayed with him, hovering as if on
the fringe of the page as he read. The language was difficult, but he persisted
and soon discovered the rhythm. Here was a man named Atrides, with kingly
pride. He glanced back at the introduction. No one named Atrides was mentioned
there. He read deeper into the verse and became convinced that Atrides was
Agamemnon.

    A
simple fact, and yet Cassius found it curious. In this world, men had more than
one name. And of a sudden he knew he had heard this before, his mind pulling up
Emoline reading aloud
The Odyssey.
No surprise there, he had not been
fully conscious then, in a wounded state of body and mind. The god referred to
in the opening was first called Smintheus in the verse, then Phoebus, and
finally Apollo.

    He
closed the book on his thumb, brow furrowed. He, Cassius, had only one name. If
he had to identify himself away from the plantation, he was obliged to say he
was Cassius Howard, which informed any stranger that Cassius was owned by a
planter named Howard. Emoline Justice had been Emoline Howard. She needed her
manumission papers before she could choose a name for herself. What luxury, to
possess extra names. What luxury to know your god through many names. It
suggested depth and layers of personality.

    Even
the god had personality, and never had Cassius imagined a god with moods.

    He
reopened the book and read on.

    The
poetic text expanded and elaborated the paragraph of prose that opened the
story. A hero named Achilles had taken captive two young women. The father of
one of the young women, a priest named Chryses, had come to Agamemnon to beg
for his daughter's return. Chryses was a Trojan or at least a Trojan ally,
therefore an enemy to Greece. Specific phrases in the text caught Cassius's
interest.

    For
Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain

    His
captive daughter from the victor's chain.

    The victor's
chain. Cassius was intimate with the victor's chain. He had been held by that
chain for his entire life.

    The
spoils of cities razed and warriors slain,

    We
share with justice, as with toil we gain;

    But
to resume what e'er thy avarice craves

    (That
trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.

    Chryses's
daughter, Chryseis, was a captive of Agamemnon. Chryses's daughter was now the
slave
of Agamemnon. Cassius read on, feeling a wave of excitement. Soon he
uncovered another reference:

    Do
you, young warriors, hear by age advise.

    Atrides,
seize not on the beauteous slave;

    Cassius
again closed the book on his thumb and gazed off in wonder. Agamemnon the king
had refused the priest Chryses's plea and sent him away. That was not unexpected.
But a great thought had formed in Cassius's mind. If the priest Chryses's
daughter was a slave, then was she also black? And if she were black, the
priest Chryses might well be black as well. And if Chryses was black, were
all
of the Trojans black?

    There
was no one he dared ask, for any such question would reveal the fact that he
could read and reason. He could not brand himself a dangerous man in such an
open way. He would have to reckon this out for himself. He read on with hunger,
to discover that the old priest's prayer to Apollo on behalf of his slave
daughter brought astounding results.

    
Thus
Chryses pray'd.-the favouring power attends
,

    Favoring
power, that would be Apollo who attends, answering Chryses's prayer—

    
And
from Olympus' lofty tops descends.

    Bent
was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;