Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [247]
“Miss Malizy, I gwine say sump’n to you,” Kizzy declared one day. “Sister Sarah an’ Uncle Pompey always carryin’ on like dey gits on each other’s nerves. But sometimes I gits de feelin’ it’s sump’n like dey way of courtin’ one ’nother—”
“Chile, I don’t know. I know neither of ’em wouldn’t never say if it was. But I speck dey jes’ makin’ some fun to pass de time, ’dat’s all. You git ol’ as we is an’ ain’t got yo’self nobody, you done jes’ got used to it, since seem like ain’t nothin’ you can do ’bout it nohow.” Miss Malizy’s eyes searched Kizzy before she went on. “We’s ol’, an’ dat’s dat, but bein’ young like you, honey, an’ ain’t got nobody, dat’s different! I’se jes’ wished massa’d buy somebody dat y’all could jes’ kin’ of nachel git together!”
“Yes’m, Miss Malizy, ain’t no need me actin’ like I don’t think’bout it, neither, ’cause I sho do.” Kizzy paused. She then said what she was certain they both knew. “But massa ain’t gwine do dat.” She felt a flash of appreciation that none of them had ever mentioned, or even hinted at, what they all must know still went on between her and the massa; at least they never mentioned it in her presence. “Since we’s talkin’ close,” she went on, “it was a man I knowed where I come from. I still thinks ’bout him a-plenty. We was gwine git married, but den everything got messed up. Fact, dat’s how come I got here.”
Forcing more brightness into her tone, sensing Miss Malizy’s genuinely affectionate concern, Kizzy told her how it had been with Noah, ending finally, “I tells myself he jes’ steady gwine ’bout lookin’ fo’ me, an’ we’s gwine turn up face-to-face somewhere one dese days.” Kizzy’s expression might have been of someone praying. “If dat was to happen, Miss Malizy, I tell you de truth, I b’lieve neither one us would say nary word. I b’lieve we jes’ take one’nother’s hand an’ I slip on in here and tell y’all good-bye, an’ git George, an’ we leave. I wouldn’t even ax or care whereabouts. Ain’t never gwine forgit de las’ thing he said to me. He say, ‘We spen’ de res’ our days togedder, baby!’” Kizzy’s voice broke and then both she and Miss Malizy were weeping, and soon afterward Kizzy went back to her cabin.
One Sunday morning, a few weeks later, George was in the big house “helping” Miss Malizy prepare the noon meal when Sister Sarah invited Kizzy into her cabin for the first time since she had come to the Lea plantation. Kizzy stared at the much-chinked walls; they were all but covered with bunches of dried roots and herbs hanging from pegs and nails, attesting to Sister Sarah’s claim that she could supply the nature cure for nearly any ailment. Pointing to her only chair, she said, “Set yo’self down, gal.” Kizzy sat, and Sister Sarah went on, “I gwine tell you sump’n ever’body don’t know. My mammy was a Louisiana Cajun woman what teached me how to tell fortunes good.” She studied Kizzy’s startled face. “You want me to tell your’n?”
Instantly Kizzy remembered times when both Uncle Pompey and Miss Malizy had mentioned that Sister Sarah had a gift for fortune-telling. Kizzy heard herself saying, “I reckon I would, Sister Sarah.”
Squatting on the floor, Sister Sarah drew a large box from under the bed. Removing from it a smaller box, she picked out two palmfuls of mysterious-looking dried objects and slowly turned toward Kizzy. Carefully arranging her objects into a symmetrical design, she produced a thin, wandlike stick from within the bosom of her dress and began vigorously stirring them around. Bending forward until her forehead actually touched the objects on the floor, she seemed to be straining to straighten back