Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [355]
Matilda could sense that the youth’s story had moved Massa Murray. Incredulously then she heard, “Would you know anything at all about being an overseer?”
“Ain’t never tried that.” The George Johnson youth sounded startled. Then he added hesitantly, “But I told you ain’t nothin’ I won’t try.”
Matilda eased yet closer to the edge of the screen door to hear better in her horror.
“I’ve always liked the idea of an overseer, even though my niggers do a good job raising my crops. I’d be willing to try you out for just bed and board to start—to see how it works out.”
“Mister—sir, what’s your name?”
“Murray,” the massa said.
“Well, you got yourself an overseer, Mr. Murray.”
Matilda heard the massa chuckle. He said, “There’s an empty shed over behind the barn you can move into. Where’s your stuff?”
“Sir, all the stuff I’ve got, I’ve got on,” said George Johnson.
The shocking news spread through the family with a thunder-bolt’s force. “Jes’ couldn’t b’leeve what I was hearin’!” exclaimed Matilda, ending her incredible report, and the family’s members fairly exploded. “Massa mus’ be goin’ crazy!” . . . “Ain’t we run his place fine ourselves?” . . . “Jes’ ’cause dey both white, dat’s all!”. . . “’speck he gwine see dat po’ cracker different time we sees to it’nough things go wrong!”
But as furious as they were, from their first direct confrontation with the impostor out in the field on the following morning, he immediately made it difficult for their anger to remain at a fever pitch. Already out in the field when they arrived led by Virgil, the scrawny, sallow George Johnson came walking to meet them. His thin face was reddened and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he said, “I can’t blame y’all none for hatin’ me, but I can ask y’all to wait a little to see if I turn out bad as y’all think. You the first niggers I ever had anything to do with, but seem like to me y’all got black same as I got white, an’ I judge anybody by how they act. I know one thing, y’all fed me when I was hungry, and it was plenty of white folks hadn’t. Now seem like Mr. Murray got his mind set on having a overseer, and I know y’all could help him git rid of me, but I figger you do that, you be takin’ your chances the next one he git might be a whole lot worse.”
None of the family seemed to know what to say in response. There seemed nothing to do except filter away and set to work, all of them covertly observing George Johnson proceeding to work as hard as they, if not harder—in fact, he seemed obsessed to prove his sincerity.
Tom’s and Irene’s third daughter—Viney—was born at the end of the newcomer’s first week. By now out in the field, George Johnson boldly sat down with the members of the family at lunchtimes, appearing not to notice how Ashford conspicuously got up, scowling, and moved elsewhere. “Y ’all see I don’t know nothin’ ’bout overseein’, so y’all needs to help me along,” George Johnson told them frankly. “It would be no good for Mr. Murray to come out here an’ figger I ain’t doin’ the job like he want.”
The idea of training their overseer amused even the usually solemn Tom when it was discussed in the slave row that night, and all agreed that the responsibility naturally belonged to Virgil, since he had always run the field work. “First thing,” he said to George Johnson, “you gon’ have to change whole lot o’ yo’ ways. ’Cose, wid all us lookin’ all de time, massa ain’t likely to git close fo’ us can give you a signal. Den you have to hurry up an’ git ’way from too close roun’ us. Reckon you knows white folks an’ ’specially oberseers ain’t s’posed to seem like deys close wid niggers.”
“Well, in South Carolina where I come from, seem like the niggers never got too close to white folks,” George Johnson said.
“Well, dem niggers is smart!” said Virgil. “De nex’ thing, a massa want to feel like his oberseer makin’ his niggers work harder’n dey did befo’ de oberseer come. You got to learn how to holler, ‘Git to work, you niggers!’ an’ sich as dat. An’ anytime you’s roun’ massa or any mo’ white folks, don