Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [213]
As she spoke, Kunta had begun digging into the heaping plateful of food she had set before him, while he marveled at the very sight of the roast beef, baked ham, turkey, chicken, and duck she was now busily arranging on big platters waiting to be served. He had just swallowed a mouthful of buttered sweet potato when the four serving women came bustling back into the kitchen—all loaded down with empty bowls and spoons. “De soup’s et!” Hattie announced to Kunta. A moment later the serving women were trooping out again with heaped trays, and Hattie mopped her face and said, “Got ’bout fo’ty minutes befo’ dey ready fo’ dessert. You was gon’ say sump’n befo’?”
“Jes’ gon’ say eighty boats don’ make me no difference,” said Kunta, “long’s white folks messin’ wid one ’nother ’stead o’ us. Seem like dey ain’t happy less’n dey’s messin’ wid somebody.”
“’Pend who dey messin’ wid, way I sees it,” said Hattie. “Las’ year was a mulatto led a re-volt ’gainst dat Toussaint, an’ he mighta won if’n de Pres’dent hadn’t of sent his boats down dere to he’p Toussaint.”
“Heared Massa Waller say Toussaint ain’t got sense ’nough to be no gen’l, let alone run no country on his own,” said Kunta. “He say jes’ watch, all dem slaves dat done got free in dat Haiti gwine wind up whole lot wuss off dan dey was under dey ol’ massas. ’Cose, dat’s what white folks hopin’. But I specks dey’s awready better off workin’ de plantations deyselves.”
One of the serving women, who had returned to the kitchen and was listening to the conversation, spoke up: “Dat what dey’s talkin’’bout in dere right now—free niggers. Say it’s way too many, thirteen thousan’ jes’ here in Virginia. De jedge say he all fo’ freein’ niggers dat do sump’n outstandin’, like dem what fit in dat Revolution’longside dey massas, or dem what tol’ white folks ’bout any nigger uprisin’ plan, or dat nigger dat come up wid dat herb medicine dat even white folks claim cure near ’bout everythin’. De jedge say he feel massas got de right in de wills to free ol’ faithful niggers. But him an’ ev’ybody in dere say dey’s dead set ’gainst dem Quakers and some other white folks settin’ dey niggers free fo’ nothin.” The serving woman headed for the door, adding, “Jedge say mark his words, some new laws gwine be made to put a crimp in dat right soon.”
Hattie asked Kunta, “What yo’ think o’ dat Massa Alexander Hamilton up Nawth sayin’ all free niggers oughta be sent to Africa’cause niggers an’ white folks too different an’ ain’t gwine never git’long?”
“He right, dat’s what I thinks,” said Kunta. “But white folks talks dat an’ keeps bringin’ mo’ from Africa!”
“You know why well’s I do,” said Hattie. “Puts ’em down in Georgia an’ de Carolinas to keep up wid de cotton crop every since dat cotton gin come in few years back. Same reason plenty massas’roun’ here sellin’ dey niggers off down South for much as two, three times what dey paid fo’ dem.”
“Fiddler say de big massas down South got mean po’ cracker oberseers drivin’ niggers like mules clearin’ lan’ for new cottonfiel’s,” said Kunta.
“Yeah, it’s how come de papers lately so full o’ notices ’bout runaways,” said Hattie.
Just then the serving women began returning to the kitchen with dirty plates and platters. Hattie beamed proudly. “Look like dey’s done et all dey can hol’. ’Bout now, massa pourin’ de champagne whilst de table git cleared fo’ dessert,” she told Kunta. “See how you like dese plum puddin’ tarts.” She set one on a saucer in front of him. “’Sides dat dey’s gittin’ brandied peaches in dere, but I recollecks you don’t touch no liquor.”
Enjoying the succulent tart, Kunta found himself recalling a runaway slave advertisement that Bell had read to him recently from the Gazette. “Tall mulatto wench,” it said, “very large breasts of which the right one has a deep scar. A sly liar and thief, who may be showing a large forged pass, since previous owner let her learn to write some, or who may be claiming herself a free nigger.”
Hattie sat down heavily, fingered a brandied peach from a jar and popped it into her mouth. Glancing across the kitchen