Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [324]
Virgil was the first to find a stricken voice: “What ’bout my Lilly Sue an’ chile over at the Curry place? You gwine buy dem too, ain’t you, suh?”
Tom burst out, “An’ what ’bout our gran’mammy, Sister Sarah, Miss Malizy, an’ Uncle Pompey? Dey’s fam’ly you ain’t mentioned—”
“Ain’t meant to! Can’t be buyin’ every wench some buck’s laid with, so he won’t feel lonely!” the slave trader exclaimed sarcastically. “As for these old wrecks here, they can’t hardly walk, let alone work, no customers gonna buy them! But Mr. Lea’s being good enough to let ’em keep dragging on around here.”
Amid an outburst of exclamations and weeping, Gran’mammy Kizzy sprang squarely before Massa Lea, words ripping from her throat, “You done sent off yo’ own boy, can’t I leas’ have gran’chilluns?” As Massa Lea quickly looked away, she slumped toward the ground; young, strong arms grabbing and supporting her, while old Miss Malizy and Sister Sarah screamed almost as one, “Dey’s all de fam’ly I got, Massa!”... “Me, too, Massa! We’s fifty-some years togedder!” The invalid ancient Uncle Pompey just sat, unable to rise from his chair, tears streaming down his cheeks, staring blankly straight ahead, his lips moving as in prayer.
“SHUT UP!” the slave trader yelled. “I’m tellin’ you the last time! You find out quick I know how to handle niggers!”
Tom’s eyes sought and locked for a fleeting instant with those of Massa Lea, and Tom hoarsely fully chose words, “Massa, we’s sho’ sorry you’s met bad luck, an’ we knows only reason you’s sellin’ us is you got to—”
Massa Lea seemed almost grateful before his eyes again bent downward, and they had to strain to hear him. “Naw, I ain’t got nothin”gainst none of y’all, boy—” He hesitated. “Fact, I’d even call y’all good niggers, most of y’all born and bred up right on my place.”
“Massa,” gently Tom begged, “if dem Alamance County peoples won’t take our family’s ol’ folks, ain’t it some way you lemme buy ’em from you? Dis man done jes’ say dey ain’t worth much in money, an’ I pay you good price. I git on my knees an’ beg de new massa lemme fin’ some hire-out blacksmithin’, maybe for dat railroad, an’ my brothers hire out and he’p too, suh.” Tom was abjectly pleading, tears now starting down his cheeks, “Massa, all we makes we sends you ’til we pays whatever you ax fo’ Gran’mammy and dese three mo’ dat’s fam’ly to us. All we’s been through togedder, we sho’ ’preciate stayin’ togedder, Massa—”
Massa Lea had stiffened. But he said, “Awright! Get me three hundred dollars apiece, you can have ’em—” His palm shot up before their exultation could fully erupt. “Hol’ on! They stay here ’til the money’s in my hand!”
Amid the groans and sobs, Tom’s voice came, bleak, “Us kinda’spected mo’n dat from you, Massa, ’siderin’ everything.”
“Get ’em out of here, trader!” the massa snapped. Turning on his heel, he walked rapidly toward the big house.
Back in the desperately despairing slave row, even old Miss Malizy and Sister Sarah were among those comforting Gran’mammy Kizzy. She sat in her rocking chair, that Tom had made for her, amid the welter of her family hugging, kissing her, wetting her with their tears. Everyone was crying.
From somewhere she found the strength, the courage to rasp hoarsely, “Don’ y’all take on so! Me an’ Sarah, Malizy, an’ Pompey jes’ wait here for George ’til he gits back. Ain’t gwine be dat long, it’s awready gwine on de two years. If’n he ain’t got de money to buy us, den I ’speck won’t take much mo’ time fo’ Tom an’ res’ y’all boys will—”
Ashford gulped, “Yes’m, we sho’ will!” Wanly she smiled at him, at them all. “’Nother thing,” Gran’mammy Kizzy went on, “any y’all gits mo’ chilluns fo’ I sees you ag’in, don’t forgit to tell ’em’bout my