Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [153]
Kunta hesitated. “I seen some.”
“Dey was here ’fo’ white folks. White folks tell you one of dem name Columbus discover dis place. But if he foun’ Injuns here, he ain’t discover it, is he?” The fiddler was warming to his subject.
“White man figger whoever somewhere ’fore him don’t count. He call dem savages.”
The fiddler paused to appreciate his wit, and then went on. “You ever seen Injuns’ teepees?” Kunta shook his head no. The fiddler enclosed three of his spread fingers within a small rag. “De fingers is poles an’ de rag is hides. Dey lives inside dat.”
He smiled. “Bein’ from Africa, you prob’ly thinks you knows all dey is ’bout huntin’ and like that, but ain’t nobody hunts or travels good as Injuns. Once one go somewhere it’s a map in his head how he went. But Injun mammies—dey calls ’em squaws—carries dey young’uns on dey backs, like I hears y’all’s mammies does in Africa.”
Kunta was surprised that the fiddler knew that, and couldn’t help showing it. The fiddler smiled again and continued the lesson. “Some Injuns hates niggers, an’ some likes us. Niggers an’ lan’ is Injuns’ big troubles with white folks. White folks wants all the Injuns’ land and hates Injuns what hides niggers!” The fiddler’s eyes searched Kunta’s face. “Tall Africans and Injuns made de same mistake—lettin’ white folks into where you live. You offered him to eat and sleep, then first thing you know he kickin’ you out or lockin’ you up!”
The fiddler paused again. Then suddenly he burst out: “What put me out with you African niggers, looka here! I knowed five or six ack like you! Don’t know how come I took up wid you in de firs’ place! You git over here figgerin’ niggers here ought to be like you is! How you ’spec we gon’ know ’bout Africa? We ain’t never been dere, an’ ain’t goin’ neither!” Glaring at Kunta, he lapsed into silence.
And fearful of provoking another outburst, Kunta soon left without another word, rocked onto his heels by what the fiddler had said to him. But the more he thought about it back in his hut, the better he felt about it. The fiddler had taken off his mask; that meant he was beginning to trust Kunta. For the first time in his acquaintance with anyone in the three rains since he had been stolen from his homeland, Kunta was actually beginning to know someone.
CHAPTER 55
Over the next several days, as he worked in the garden, Kunta thought a great deal about how long it had taken him to realize how little he really knew about the fiddler, and about how much more there was to know about him. Almost certainly he reflected no less of a mask was still being worn for him by the old gardener, whom Kunta had been going to visit now and then. And he didn’t know Bell much better, though he and she had some daily exchange of talk—or rather Kunta mostly listened while he ate whatever food she gave him, but it was always about small and impersonal matters. It occurred to him how both Bell and the gardener had sometimes started to say something, or hinted at something, but then never finished. They were both cautious people in general, but it seemed they were especially so with him. He decided to get to know them both better. On his next visit to the old gardener, Kunta began in his indirect Mandinka way by asking about something the fiddler had told him. Kunta said he had heard about “pattyrollers,” but he was uncertain who or what they were.
“Dey’s low-down po’ white trash dat ain’t never owned a nigger in dey lives!” the old gardener said heatedly. “It’s a ol’ Virginia law to patrol de roads, or anywhere else niggers is, an’ whip an’ jail any of’em gits cotched widdout a writ-out pass from dey massa. An’ who gits hired to do it is dem po’ whites what jes’ loves cotchin’ an’ beatin’ somebody else’s niggers ’cause dey ain’t got none. What’s behind it, y’understan’, all white folks scared to death dat any loose nigger is plannin’ a re-volt. Fact, ain’t nothin’ pattyrollers loves more’n claimin’ to suspicion some nigger, an’ bustin’ in an’ strippin’ him buck naked right before his wife an’ young’uns an