Song of Slaves in the Desert - Alan Cheuse [95]
Two of Rebecca’s brothers serve in the store with their father, an elderly man with long white curls dangling down on either side of his head, while the third is an attorney who was recently elected to the state legislature. This was Joseph, a tall, red-haired fellow with a wide nose that gave the appearance of having been flattened with the backside of a spoon. Sitting next to him on the veranda was his wife Jessica, a buxom woman with sand-colored hair, and two children, a boy and a girl, who reminded me of the way the two of us used to be. Also in attendance, a cousin of Rebecca’s, a dark haired girl, whom we met at the synagogue the Sabbath before.
To entertain me at the gathering Rebecca’s father wanted his grandchildren to show off their talents.
“Say the poem for our guest, darlings,” he urged them.
“Oh, Father,” Rebecca said in protest, “do not force them.”
“Of course they will recite,” her brother, the father of the children, said.
At his bidding, they stood and turned to me, smiling, as if quite familiar with the art of performance, and the boy announced, “This is a picture in words of one of our old people, Abraham Seixas.”
“If he ever really existed,” Rebecca said.
“Of course he did,” her father said. “I knew him.”
“Of course, you knew him,” said his wife. “You knew everybody. Now let them just say the poem, darling, and be done with it.”
“This is a poem,” my host said to me, “that will make you see a lot of who we are.” He gestured toward his grandchildren, as if he were about to conduct a band. “Children?”
They stood, and the boy bowed toward us and announced the poem.
“Abraham Seixas.”
The pair began reciting.
Abraham Seixas,
All so gracious,
Once again does offer
His service pure
For to secure
Money in the coffer…
“It’s a portrait,” my host said.
“You told him that,” said his wife.
“Children, go on,” said my host.
“Father,” Rebecca said, “not this next part. It’s too…”
“Rebecca,” said my cousin Jonathan, “respect your father.”
She looked at me, I looked to the children.
He has for sale
Some Negroes, male,
Will suit full well grooms,
He has likewise
Some of their wives
Can make clean, dirty rooms…
“It is…silly and hurtful,” Rebecca said, looking at me. She turned to her cousin. “Don’t you think so, Anna?”
Her cousin shook her head.
“It is silly,” she said.
“It is mean,” Rebecca said.
“Rebecca, hush,” Jonathan said. “Let them finish.”
“It is just beginning,” Rebecca said. “Father?”
My host ignored her, directing the children to go on.
For planting, too,
He has a few
To sell, all for the cash,
Of various price,
To work the rice
Or bring them to the lash.
The young ones true,
If that will do,
May some be had of him
To learn your trade
They may be made,
Or bring them to your trim.
“Have you heard enough?” Rebecca said to me.
But I did not wish to be an ungracious guest, and so I shook my head, while the children raced along in their sing-song fashion.
The boatmen great.
Will you elate
They are so brisk and free;
What e’er you say,
They will obey,
If you buy them of me.
He also can
Suit any man
With land all o’er the State;
A bargain, sure,
They may procure
If they don’t stay too late.
For paper he
Will sure agree,
Bond, note or public debt;
To sell the same
If with good name
Any buyer can be met.
To such of those
As will dispose
He begs of them to tell;
By not or phiz,
What e’er it is
That they have got to sell.
He surely will
Try all his skill
To sell, for more or less,
The articles