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By Root 1303 0

It was during this interim that—twice or three times weekly—the massa would come to force himself upon her. He would always smell of liquor, but she had decided—for the sake of the baby as well as her own—not to try resisting him anymore. Filled with loathing, she would lie cold and still, with her legs apart, as he took of her his grunting pleasure. When it ended and he got up, she would keep lying there with her eyes closed—hearing the dime or sometimes the quarter that he would always drop on her table—until he left. Kizzy would wonder if the missis, too, was lying awake in the big house, which was close enough to be within earshot; what must she think, how must she feel, when the massa came to their bed still smelling of another woman?

Finally, after nursing George twice again before daybreak, she fell into a deep sleep—just in time to be roused by Uncle Pompey knocking at the door to wake her up. Kizzy ate breakfast and nursed the baby again before Sister Sarah arrived to carry him out to one of the fields. There was a separate field for corn, tobacco, and cotton, and Uncle Pompey had by now constructed a little tree-shaded shelter at the edge of each one.

When the massa and missis finished their midday meal on Sunday, they always left soon after for their weekly buggy ride, and while they were gone, slave row’s handful of folk would gather round the chinquapin tree for an hour of visiting. Now that Kizzy and her son had joined them, Miss Malizy and Sister Sarah would promptly begin their tug-of-war over who would get to hold the restless George. Uncle Pompey, who sat puffing his pipe, seemed to enjoy talking to Kizzy, perhaps because she’d listen to him with far fewer interruptions and far more respect than the two older women would.

“Dis place weren’t nothin’ but jes’ woods worth ’bout fifty cents a acre,” said Pompey one afternoon, “when massa got his firs’ thirty acres an’ his firs’ nigger name George, same as yo’ young’un here. He jes’ plain worked dat nigger to death.” Seeing Kizzy gasp, Uncle Pompey halted. “Sump’n de matter?” he asked.

“Nawsuh, nothin’!” Kizzy quickly collected herself, and Uncle Pompey continued.

“When I come here, massa’d done had dat po’ nigger a year, cut-tin’ trees, gougin’ up stumps, clearin’ brush enough to plow an’ plant to make his first crop. Den one day me an’ dat nigger was sawin’ logs into de very planks in dat big house yonder.” Uncle Pompey pointed. “Lawd, I heard dis ’culiar sound an’ glanced up from my end o’ de saw. Dis George nigger’s eyes was rollin’, he grab at his chest, an’ drop down dead—jes’ like dat.”

Kizzy changed the subject. “Every since I come here, been hearin’ y’all go on ’bout fightin’ chickens. Ain’t hardly heared ’bout none befo’—”

“Well, I’se sho’ heared massa say dey fights a-plenty o’ ’em in dat Virginia,” said Miss Malizy. “Reckon it jes’ wasn’t nowhere close where you was at.”

“Don’t none us know no whole lot ’bout ’em here, neither,” said Uncle Pompey. “ ’ceptin’ dey’s jes’ some special kin’ of roosters born an’ bred to kill one ’nother, an’ mens gambles whole lots of money on ’em.”

Sister Sarah chimed in. “Onliest somebody could tell you mo’’bout ’em is dat ol’ Mingo nigger what live down dere wid dem chickens.”

Seeing Kizzy’s open-mouthed surprise, Miss Malizy exclaimed, “Done tol’ you dat firs’ day you got here. You jes’ ain’t seed ’im yet.” She laughed. “And you might not never see ’im!”

“I been here fo’teen years,” said Sister Sarah, “an’ I ain’t seed dat nigger mo’n eight, ten times! He jes’ ruther be ’mongst chickens dan peoples! Hmph!” she snorted. “Fact, I specks his mammy hatched him!”

While Kizzy joined in the laughter, Sister Sarah leaned toward Miss Malizy, her arms outstretched. “Here, lemme hol’ dat chile awhile.” Grudgingly, Miss Malizy relinquished the baby.

“Well, anyhow,” she said, “dem chickens sho’ took massa an’ missis from bein’ raggedy to ridin’ roun’ here puttin’ on sich big airs now.” She made a mimicking grand gesture. “Dat’s massa throwin’ up his hand when dey buggy passin’ some rich massas’ carriages!” Her finger