Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [356]
When Massa Murray did next visit his fields, George Johnson made strong efforts, hollering, cursing, even threatening everyone in the field, from Virgil down. “Well, how they doing?” asked Massa Murray. “Pretty fair for niggers been on their own,” George Johnson drawled, “but I ’speck another week or two ought to git’em shaped up awright.”
The family rocked with laughter that night, imitating George Johnson, along with Massa Murray’s evident pleasure. Afterward when the mirth had waned, George Johnson quietly told them how it had been to be dirt-poor for all of his earlier life, even before his family had been routed with their fields ruined by the war, until he had sought some new, better life. “He ’bout de only white man we ever gwine meet dat’s jes’ plain honest ’bout hisself,” Virgil expressed their collective appraisal.
“I tell de truth, I ’joys listenin’ to ’im talk,” said Lilly Sue, and L’il George scoffed, “He talk like any other cracker. What make him different he de firs’ one I ever seen ain’t try to act like sump’n he wasn’t. De mos’ is so shame of what dey is.” Mary laughed. “Well, dis one ain’t shame, not long as he keep eatin’ de way he is.”
“Soun’ like to me y’all done really taken a likenin’ to Ol’ George,” said Matilda. More laughter rose at their homemade overseer’s new nickname, “Ol’ George,” since he was so ridiculously young. And Matilda was correct: Incredibly enough, they had come to like him genuinely.
CHAPTER 112
The North and the South seemed locked together like stags in mortal combat. Neither seemed able to mount a successful campaign to put the other away. Tom began to notice some despondency in his customers’ conversations. It was a buoy to the hope yet strong in him for freedom.
The family plunged into intense speculation when Ol’ George Johnson said mysteriously, “Mr. Murray done said I could go ’tend to some business. I be back jes’ quick as I can.” Then the next morning he was gone.
“What you reckon it is?”
“Way he always talked, wasn’t nothin’ lef’ to take care of where he come from.”
“Maybe sump’n to do wid his folks—”
“But he ain’t mentioned no folks—leas’ways, not partic’lar.”
“He bound to got some somewhere.”
“Maybe he done ’cided to go jine de war.”
“Well, I sho’ cain’t see Ol’ George wantin’ to shoot nobody.”
“’Speck he jes’ finally got his belly full an’ we done seen de las’ o’ him.”
“Oh, heish up, Ashford! You ain’t never got nothin’ good to say’bout him or nobody else!”
Nearly a month had passed when one Sunday a whooping and hollering arose—for Ol’ George was back, grinning shamefacedly, and with him was a painfully shy creature of a girl as sallow and scrawny as himself, and her eight-months pregnancy made her seems as if she had swallowed a pumpkin.
“This is my wife, Miss Martha,” Ol’ George Johnson told them. “Jes’ befo’ I left, we’d got married, an’ I tol’ ’er I’d be back when I found us somewhere. How come I hadn’t said nothin’ ’bout a wife was it was hard enough to find anybody willing to have jes’ me.” He grinned at his Martha. “Whyn’t you say hello to the folks?”
Martha dutifully said hello to them all, and it seemed a long speech for her when she added, “George tol’ me a lot ’bout y’all.”
“Well, I hope whatever he tol’ you was good!” Matilda said brightly, and Ol’ George saw her glance a second time at Martha’s extreme pregnancy.
“I ain’t knowed when I left we had a baby comin’. I jes’ kept havin’ a feelin’ I better git back. An’ there she was in a family way.”
The fragile Martha seemed such a perfect match for Ol’ George Johnson that the family felt their hearts going out to the pair of them.
“You mean you ain’t even tol’ Massa Murray?” asked Irene.
“Naw, I ain’t. Jes’ said I had some business same as I tol’ y’all. If he want to run us off, we jes’ have to go, that’s all.”
“Well, I know massa ain’t gwine feel like dat,” said Irene, and Matilda echoed, “’Cose he ain’t. Massa