Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [154]
Seeing Kunta’s interest, and pleased by his visit, the old gardener went on: “Massa we got don’t ’prove a dat. It’s how come he don’t have no oberseer. He say he don’t want nobody beatin’ his niggers. He tell his niggers to obersee deyselves, jes’ do de work like dey know to, an’ don’t never break none a his rules. He swear sun won’t set here on no nigger break his rules.”
Kunta wondered what the rules were, but the gardener kept on talking. “Reason massa like he is ’cause he of a family was rich even ’fore dey come here from dat England ’crost de water. Dem Wallers always been what most massas jes’ tries to act like dey is.’Cause most of dese massas ain’t nothin’ but coonhunters what got hole of a piece of lan’ an’ one or two niggers dey worked half to death, an’ jes’ kep’ on growin’ from dat.
“Ain’t many plantations got a whole lot of slaves. Mos’ of ’em jes’ maybe anywhere from one to five or six niggers. Us twenty here make dis one pretty big. Two out of every three white folks ain’t got no slaves at all, dat’s what I heared. Real big plantations with fifty or a hunnud slaves is mostly where de black dirt is; dem river bottoms like in Lousiana, Miss’ippi, an’ Alabama got some, too; an’ dem coasts a Geo’gia an’ South Ca’lina where dey grows rice.”
“How ol’ you?” Kunta asked abruptly.
The gardener looked at him. “Older’n you or anybody else thinks I is.” He sat as if musing for a moment. “I heared the Indians’ war whoopin’ when I was a chile.”
After a silent moment with his head down, he glanced up at Kunta and began singing, “Ah yah, tair umbam, boowah—” Kunta sat astounded. “Kee lay zee day nic olay, man lun dee nic o lay ah wah nee—” Stopping, the old man said, “My mammy used to sing dat. Say she got it from her mammy, who come from Africa, same as you did. You know by dem sounds where she come from?”
“Soun’ like Serere tribe,” said Kunta. “But I don’t know dem words. I heared Serere spoke on the boat what brung me.”
The old gardener looked furtively around. “Gon’ shut up wid dat singin’. Some nigger hear it an’ tell massa. White folks don’ want no niggers talkin’ no African.”
Kunta had been about to say that there was no question the old man was a fellow Gambian; of Jolof blood, with their high noses and flat lips and skins even deeper black than most other Gambian tribes. But when the gardener said what he said, he decided it was better not to speak of such things. So he changed the subject, asking where the old man was from and how he had ended up on this plantation. The gardener didn’t answer right away. But finally, he said, “Nigger suffered a lot like I is learn a lot,” and he looked carefully at Kunta, appearing to be deciding whether or not to go on. “I were a good man once. I could ben’ a crowbar over my leg. I could lif’ a sack of meal dat would fell a mule. Or I could lif’ a grown man by he belt wif my arm straight out. But I got worked an’ beat near ’bout to death ’fo’ my massa what done it sign me over to dis massa to pay a bill.” He paused. “Now I done got enfeebled, I jes’ wants to res’ out whatever time I got lef.”
His eyes searched Kunta. “Sho’ don’ know how come I’m tellin’ you dis. I ain’t really bad off as I ack. But massa won’t sell me long as he think I’m bad off. I seen you caught on how to garden some, though.” He hesitated. “I could git back out dere an he’p if’n you wants me to—but not too much. I jes’ ain’t much good no mo’,” he said sadly.
Kunta thanked the old man for offering, but reassured him that he’d be able to get along fine. A few minutes later he excused himself, and on his way back to his hut, got angry with himself for not feeling more compassion toward the old man. He was sorry he had been through so much, but he couldn’t help turning a cold ear toward anyone who just rolled over and gave up.
The very next day, Kunta decided to see if he could get Bell talking too. Since he knew that Massa Waller was her favorite subject, he began by asking why he wasn’t married. “Him sho’ was married—him an’ Miss Priscilla, same year I come here. She was pretty