Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [188]
“Some o’ dem plantations so big dey’s split up into littler ones wid oberseers in charge,” the fiddler said. “An’ de massas dat owns dem big plantations is mostly dem big lawyers an’ politicians an’ businessmen what lives in de cities, an’ dey wimminfolks don’t want no parts of no plantations ’ceptin’ maybe to bring out fancy carriages full of dey friends maybe for Thanksgivln’ or Christmas, or summertime picnics.”
“But you know what,” the old gardener exclaimed, “dem rich city white folks is de very kin’ ’mongst which it’s dem dat speaks’gainst slavery.”
The fiddler cut him off. “Humph! Dat don’ mean nothin’! Always been some big white folks dat wants de slavery ’bolished. Shoot, slavery been outlawed here in Virginia ten years now but law or no, you notice we still slaves, an’ dey still bringin’ in more shiploads of niggers.”
“Where dey all bein’ taken?” asked Kunta. “Some buggy drivers I knows say dey massas go on long trips where dey don’ hardly see another black face for days at a time.” “It’s a plenty whole counties dat ain’t even got one big plantation on ’em, an’ hardly no niggers atall,” said the gardener. “Jes’ nothin’ but dem little rocky farms dat’s sol’ for fifty cents a acre to dem white folks so po’ dey eats dirt. An’ not a whole lot better off dan dem is de ones dat got not much better land an’ jes’ a handful of slaves.”
“One place I heared ’bout ain’t got no handful o’ niggers, it’s dem West Indies, whatever dem is,” said the fiddler, turning to Kunta. “You know where? It’s ’crost de water like you come from.” Kunta shook his head.
“Anyway,” the fiddler went on, “I hears it’s many as a thousan’ niggers b’longin’ to one massa dere, raisin’ and cuttin’ dat cane dat dey makes sugar an ’lasses an’ rum out of. Dey tells me a whole lots of dem ships like brung you over here stops off African niggers in dem West Indies to keep ’em awhile jes’ to fatten ’em up from dem long trips dat gits ’em so sick an’ starved dey’s near ’bout dead. Fattens ’em up, den brings ’em on here to git de better prices for niggers dat’s fit to work. Leas’ways, dat’s what I’se heared.”
It had never failed to amaze Kunta how the fiddler and the gardener seemed to know so much about things they’d never seen and places they’d never been to, for he distinctly recalled having heard both of them say they had never been outside of Virginia and North Carolina. He had traveled far more widely than they had—not only all the way from Africa but also back and forth across the state in the massa’s buggy—but they still knew so much more than he did that even after all these years of talking to them, he was finding out things he hadn’t known before.
It didn’t really bother Kunta to find out how ignorant he was, since they were helping him become less so; but it troubled him deeply to learn over the years that even he was better informed than the average slave. From what he’d been able to observe, most blacks literally didn’t even know where they were, let alone who they were.
“I bet you half de niggers in Virginia ain’t never been off dey massa’s plantations,” said Bell when he raised the subject with her. “An’ ain’t never heard of nowhere else ’ceptin’ maybe Richmond an’ Fredericksburg an’ up Nawth, an’ don’ have no idea where none of dem is. De white folks keeps niggers ign’ant o’ where dey is ’cause dey so worried ’bout niggers uprisin’ or ’scapin’.”
Before Kunta had the chance to recover from his surprise at hearing an insight like this one coming from Bell rather than the fiddler or the gardener, she spoke again. “You reckon you still would run again if’n you had de chance?”
Kunta was stunned by the question, and for a long time he didn’t answer. Then finally he said, “Well, long time I ain’t done no thinkin’ ’bout dat.”
“Whole lots of times I be’s thinkin’ a heap o’ things nobody wouldn’t figger I does,” said Bell. “Like sometime