Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [209]
It must be over, he thought. But the preacher, wiping his face with his sopping sleeve, stood in the pond and spoke again: “An’ now, is dey any ’mongst y’all wishes to consecrate dey chilluns to JESUS dis holy day?” Four women stood up—the first of them Bell, holding Kizzy by the hand.
Kunta leaped up beside the wagon. Surely they wouldn’t! But then he saw Bell leading the way to the bank of the pond, and began to walk—slowly, uncertainly at first, then faster and faster—toward the crowd at the water’s edge. When the preacher beckoned to Bell, she leaned down to pick up Kizzy in her arms and strode vigorously into the water. For the first time in twenty-five years, since the day his foot had been chopped, Kunta began to run—but when he reached the pond, his foot throbbing, Bell was standing in the middle at the preacher’s side. Gasping to catch his breath, Kunta opened his mouth to call out—just as the preacher began to speak:
“Dearly beloved, we’s gathered here to welcome another lamb unto de fold! What de chile’s name, sister?”
“Kizzy, reveren’.”
“Lawd ...” he began, placing his left hand under Kizzy’s head and squeezing his eyes shut.
“Naw!” Kunta shouted hoarsely.
Bell’s head jerked around, her eyes were burning into his. The preacher stood looking from him to her and back again. Kizzy began to whimper. “Hush, chile,” Bell whispered. Kunta felt the hostile stares surrounding him. Everything hung poised.
Bell broke the stillness. “It’s awright, reveren’. Dat’s jes’ my African husban’. He don’ unnerstan’. I ’splain to him later. You go ’head.”
Kunta, too stunned to speak, saw the preacher shrug, turn back to Kizzy, shut his eyes, and start again.
“Lawd, wid his holy water, bless dis chile. . . . What her name again, sister?”
“Kizzy.”
“Bless dis chile Kizzy and take her wid you safe into dat Promise Lan’!” With that the preacher dipped his right hand into the water, flicked a few drops into Kizzy’s face, and shouted “AMEN!”
Bell turned, carried Kizzy back to shore, trudged up out of the water, and stood dripping in front of Kunta. Feeling foolish and ashamed, he looked down at her muddy feet, then raised his eyes to meet hers, which were wet—with tears? She put Kizzy in his arms.
“It awright. She jes’ wet,” he said, his rough hand caressing Kizzy’s face.
“All dat runnin’, you must be hungry. I sure is. Le’s go eat. I brung fried chicken an’ devil eggs an’ dat sweet tater custard you can’t never git enough of.”
“Sound good,” said Kunta.
Bell took his arm and they walked slowly back across the meadow to where their picnic basket sat on the grass in the shade of a walnut tree.
CHAPTER 74
Bell told Kizzy one night in the cabin, “You’s gwine on seven years ol’! Fiel-hand young’uns be awready out dere workin’ ey’yday—like dat Noah—so you’s gwine start bein’ some use to me in de big house!” Knowing by now how her father felt about such things, Kizzy looked uncertainly at Kunta. “You hear what yo’ mammy say,” he said without conviction. Bell already had discussed it with him, and he had to agree that it was prudent for Kizzy to start doing some work that was visible to Massa Waller, rather than continue solely as a playmate for Missy Anne. He privately further liked the idea of her making herself useful, since in Juffure at her age mothers started teaching their daughters the skills that would later enable their fathers to demand a good bride price from a prospective husband. But he knew Bell didn’t expect his enthusiasm about anything to bring Kizzy even closer to the toubob—and take her even farther away from him and the sense of dignity and heritage he was still determined to instill in her. When Bell reported a few mornings later that Kizzy was already learning to polish