Sweetsmoke (7 page)

    Cassius's
voice was low and without emotion: Go away, little man.

    Little
Angry Man's mouth twisted into a snarl but no sound emerged. He could live with
angry, but
little
man? Shedd framed a response but saw he stood alone. A
second tirade would be unwise. He spat in the dirt, held his quivering leg
still for an age, and was away. Cassius watched his clumsy—quick shamble, long
leg swinging wide as if trying to dislodge a stone. Cassius had been told that
Shedd's leg had been crushed on Durning's Hill ten years before when the mule
Milady lost her footing in the muck and rolled back on him, but he thought
there might be more to the story.

    The
tension broke and ended his invisibility. They looked at him, they nodded as they
returned to their business, they smiled about a thing to be quickly forgotten,
nothing important, just Little Angry Man.

    He
did not like Shedd, but Shedd had done him a service and brought him back to
life in the quarters. Now Cassius could become invisible again.

    He
saw Tempie Easter wearing a clean dress, presenting a fresh facade for an
ordinary night of chores. He found her airs tolerable, and appreciated that she
paid him little attention. There was something to be said for frank self-possession.
He wondered what trinket, if any, she had gotten from Pet, and wondered further
if she would slip away tonight, avoid patrollers and meet up with a buyer. It
was not impossible that her customer was himself a patroller.

    Cassius's
cabin was large and more solidly constructed than the others. Cassius could
have lived in the carpentry shed near the big house, but chose to live here. He
had built this cabin especially for his family. He and Marriah had lived there
during her pregnancy. She had never returned after the boy was born, and close
to four weeks had passed before Cassius was back. He did not doubt that the
cabin might be better suited to a family, but the others had been too spooked
to inhabit a place thought to be haunted. If it was, then he was the shade. He
had built hidden places in the walls that would be near to impossible to
discover, and while most stood empty, one held a book, a dangerous possession
if it were to be found, along with a toy soldier he had carved for his son.

    He ducked
under a wing of candle wicks and arrived at his door. He heard Big Gus's voice
and stepped to the outside corner of the cabin to look out on the cleared area
near the tall trees. Two women hovered around Big Gus, while a third stayed a
few steps outside their circle. Gus was preening, making a pretense of
conjuring up a poem right there on the spot to impress them. Cassius had
witnessed this act before.

    Big
Gus employed his pulpit voice: When I 'member your smile, I come back after
'while, so 'gainst the till I lean, 'cause all about you I dream.

    Cassius
stifled a laugh. Big Gus was forever and always a wretched poet, but was he
truly so deaf to his own lack of rhythm? When no uncomfortable laughter
followed, Cassius wondered if poor poetry, rendered with artificial ardor,
might be catnip to women.

    Why,
that beautiful, Big Gus, said the deeply stupid Fawn. Fawn embodied the black
woman's curse—she was pretty. Hoke had named her as well, her newborn face
reminding him of a young deer. As she developed, her body grew curvaceous to
exaggeration so that men could not look at her without envisioning fornication.
By age thirteen, Fawn's presence was required at the big house when Ellen was
away, and sometimes at the smokehouse when she was not.

    The
second girl with Big Gus was light-skinned, freckled Polly, she of the flat
round face that pinched her small features in toward her nose. But she was as
clever as she was plain. Cassius wondered why she attended to Big Gus but then
knew it was
because
of her cleverness. She played pilot fish to the
pretty one, safe in the knowledge that Gus would never amuse himself with
someone so homely, allowing her to collect whatever scraps might fall.

    You
like that? said Big Gus, referring to his poem. He did not look at Fawn. He
looked at Quashee, the new girl. He raised his voice a notch and said: Mr.
Nettle has expressed appreciation for my poetry, other patrollers, too. One
said I ought present 'em to Old Master Hoke hisself.

    Quashee
had come with her father Beauregard from Master John-Corey's plantation, and
the two former house servants had been put to work in the fields. In the wake
of Big Gus's plea for flattery,

    Cassius
considered her for the first time. Quashee was unusual in the quarters where
adult field hands were strong and large. Her shoulders were narrow, her breasts
small, her hips and legs lean. Cassius admired her face, although he might have
taken little notice had Big Gus not blazed the trail. Her eyes were wide-set,
an almond shape that swept up and away from her nose. Her forehead was high,
smooth, and her upper lip was particularly defined and appealing. In the right
company she would be high yellow, lighter than most field hands, light enough
to be welcome in the big house. And unless Cassius was mistaken, Quashee was
edging away from Gus, a smile on her face that did not encourage him and may
well have been indulgent. With that pleasant realization, Cassius came by a
measure of respect for her.

    Might
surprise you to know how many whites be appreciatin my poetry. But I want to
know 'bout you, how you like it? said Big Gus.

    Oh I
liked it, Gus, I did, said Fawn.

    No, I
mean you, new girl, said Big Gus and Quashee's head dipped in a manner that
resembled a nod.

    To go
against Big Gus was dangerous, almost as dangerous as it was to get close to
him. Big Gus was the Driver, and as such, his favorites reaped benefits. Those
who crossed him found themselves trapped in unpleasant working conditions while
being eyed suspiciously by the Overseer, as Big Gus regularly whispered in Mr.
Nettle's ear. Wise to stay on Big Gus's good side, but even that could be
treacherous. Once Gus tired of someone, then they too would be eyed
suspiciously.

    Thought
you ought to know, Quashee, your time in the fields can go easier, said Big
Gus.

    It's
not so bad, said Quashee softly.

    I got
me a fine relationship with the white folk here, he said.

    I
imagine you do, said Quashee.

    And I
don't take serious all that talk 'bout bad luck, said Big Gus.

    Cassius
saw Quashee's head flinch sideways at the words "bad luck."

    Big
Gus moved to her, taking her hands in his, turning them over to expose her
palms. Neither Fawn nor Polly moved, watching the moment play out.

    These
hands, said Big Gus, ain't used to field work. These be inside hands. See how
they split and blister. I can help these pretty little hands return to the big
house where they belong.

    They
just gettin used to new ways, said Quashee. Always that way in the beginning.

    Big
Gus smiled at her, holding her hands for a beat too long, and Cassius shared
his confusion. Was she playing the fool, or did she truly not understand what
was being offered? If she did understand, was she being coy or was she not
interested? Big Gus could offer good things to a pliant female, and he enjoyed
it when women competed to satisfy him. What would cause this new girl to
hesitate?

    Cassius
saw Big Gus for what he was, a fickle boy in a man's body empowered by white
people who enjoyed his groveling flattery. If Quashee saw through Big Gus, then
she was wise indeed. Maybe even wise enough to play the fool.

    Quashee
saw Cassius and a brief smile crossed her face. Cassius could not pretend he
had not seen it, so he nodded. Big Gus saw her smile and turned his head, thus
trapping Cassius.

    Hello
Gus, said Cassius.

    What
you lookin at? said Big Gus.

    Cassius
did not care to start things with Big Gus. Did the new girl imagine that Cassius
might protect her? Or was she simply redirecting Gus's attention away from her?
Wise, perhaps, but Cassius wanted no part of it. If Gus had a fresh female
target, so be it. Cassius's life was altogether simpler when he avoided
friction with him.

    I was
just thinking about your poem, said Cassius easily.

    You
were thinkin 'bout my poem? said Big Gus.

    Heard
it when I got to my door. You got that voice, Gus. Might sound good if you sing
it.

    You
sayin I should sing it? said Big Gus. Big Gus was altogether baffled by
Cassius's meaning.

    Some
poems sound better sung, said Cassius.

    What
that mean? What you sayin, Cassius?

    Cassius
was clever enough to trust silence, which put Big Gus in deeper torment. On one
hand, it resembled flattery, but Gus knew Cassius and, what was worse,
suspected Cassius of mocking him.

    You
think you're better 'n me, Cassius?

    Gus,
I only know I could never make up such a poem. But that's all I got to say
'cause I am dog tired, so I'll only say one last thing which is good night.

    Cassius
walked back to his cabin door. He wondered why he had done it, making himself a
target so the new girl Quashee could get away.

    Big
Gus looked back and found only Fawn and Polly. He looked over their heads as
they attempted to engage him.

    That
was nice of him, said Fawn.

    Maybe
it was, said Big Gus.

    But
go on with your poem, said Fawn. I'd be lovin to hear it again.

    Don't
remember it no more, said Big Gus as he saw Mr. Nettle coming down the lane, performing
his evening check early. Big Gus rushed now, to walk with Mr. Nettle, who
smiled when he saw Gus coming.

    Cassius
opened his door and saw Savilla's husband Abram sitting inside waiting on the
small stool by the cold hearth. Cassius had not kept a fire in the hearth since
the rains in March and April. Abram was admiring the carved toy soldiers
Cassius had been whittling for Weyman. He set them down in military formation.

    Little
bit like you go out your way to get his goat, said Abram.

    Little
bit like he goes out of his way to be a horse's ass, said Cassius. No one can
say I wasn't pleasant as a man can be.

    You
get to eat? said Abram.

    Cassius
nodded. Got something from Mam Rosie.

    Because
Savilla saw you were goin be late so she made extra in case you was hungry. You
could'a had my portion. Can't eat nothin with my tooth.

    Savilla's
a fine woman, Abram. You tell her I thank her, but that I'm all right tonight.
Time you got that tooth pulled.

    Then Cassius
caught himself. He had been about to tell Abram to visit Emoline in town, she
had poultices that could lessen the pain of an extraction.

    Tooth
ain't nothin, said Abram. Ain't nobody right. You hear 'bout Banjo George? Got
the bilious fever.

    Banjo
enjoys complaining so much he makes his own pain, said Cassius.

    Ain't
nobody right.

    Abram
stood up. He looked at the tobacco leaves hanging off the rafters drying near
the ceiling.

    Some
of them gettin the mold, you best dry heat 'em.

    Cassius
nodded.

    Been
out to the traps?

    Not
in a few days.

    Abram
nodded. Abram was glad to have his wife cook for Cassius, as Cassius was a
lucky trapper and he brought to her whatever he caught, to share with her
family.

    All
right tonight, said Abram with a thoughtful frown, as if memorizing Cassius's
exact words so he could repeat them to his wife. Cassius could see that Abram
had something else on his mind, and he did not care to hear it.

    I'm
just going to get some sleep, said Cassius, hoping to ward it off.

    I'se
heartily sorry, Cassius. If it be all right to say so.

    Not
necessary to say—

    Had a
real good likin of that woman and she did not deserve to go in such a way.

    That's
kind of you—

    She
always decent to me and mine, and I think that be all I got to say 'bout it.

    Cassius
had known that Abram could not be stopped from saying what he had come to say.
Once Abram set on a path, he had to offer his condolences about Emoline Justice
or eventually burst.