Song of Slaves in the Desert - Alan Cheuse [97]
“No, sir,” I said. “I am here because my father, my uncle’s brother, asked me to come and investigate plantation life.”
“Investigate? Oh, sir, that makes it sound quite serious, as though we are part of some sort of crime. Investigate, to what end?”
“He is thinking of ways to invest, sir,” I said.
“A good Jew,” our host said.
“He is trying to help his business, sir,” I said.
“And that is?”
“Sir, it is import-export.”
“Does he buy and sell slaves?”
“No, sir, not now. Only lifeless goods.”
“Very good, very good. But he may yet. Is that what he is asking you to investigate?”
My uncle broke in.
“My brother has many irons in the fire,” he said. “He and I have had a correspondence. Let us say that he is quite interested in what we do here, because he himself may choose to become part of it.”
“Well, he is a wise man to look before he leaps. There is no greater sorrow than to enter into a business about which you know nothing. Especially if it is a business that deals in human lives.”
“Yes, they are human,” Jonathan said, as if he were talking to himself and himself alone.
“Jonathan, what are you saying?” I could hear the anger in Rebecca’s voice.
“Nothing, I am saying nothing. Ignore me, Rebecca. I was speaking loosely.”
“Many hold the same view,” said my uncle. “Just as they think that way of us.”
“Yes, Jonathan,” Rebecca said, “do you wish others to think of you in this fashion?”
“Frankly, I don’t care what others think. As long as I am free.” He glanced over at me, catching me in my fascination with all this going on before me. “What do you think, Cousin?”
“About what?”
“What do you think about slaves? Are they human? Or are they another species? Or perhaps even akin to inert articles, such as furniture. I could, if I like, sit upon a slave and he would not complain as I am his master.” Deep in his throat he made a sound, something like a laugh, but slightly more sinister, as if since knowing that no one else would find his comments comical that he would have to laugh all on his own.
“Jonathan!” Rebecca stood up from the table.
“Please sit, darling,” Jonathan said. “We are having an interesting discussion.”
He gestured, and she slowly seated herself again. “Cuz?”
“I don’t know enough about slaves,” I said. “From a distance, they appear to be perfectly human.”
“Or imperfectly,” my uncle said.
“Yes,” I said in agreement. “No better, no worse, than the rest of us.”
“Just unlucky at birth?” My cousin seemed almost to be taunting me.
“As you say, no more and no less than other people.”
“But other people are not slaves,” said Jonathan.
“Jonathan,” Rebecca said, “other people might say the same of us.”
“That Jews are not lucky or that Jews are not human?”
“We once were born slaves and now we are free,” Rebecca said. “It proves to me that those born black slaves may one day gain their freedom.”
“Easy to say for someone who grew up in town,” Jonathan said. “But where would our plantation be without their labor?”
“Then there should be no plantation,” Rebecca said. “What do you think, Anna?” she asked of her cousin.
Anna looked at me, of all people, as if I might give her direction. But I said nothing.
“Children,” our host’s wife said, “don’t quarrel. It is not good for the married life.” She then turned to her son and asked about recent events in Columbia.
Rebecca’s brother talked about the Jews in the legislature and how much the Gentile members depended on them.
“Because we defend our way of life here,” he said. “And we were once slaves ourselves…”
“More evidence for the peculiar,” Rebecca said.
“Why do you talk that way?” Her mother shook her head. “It is a miracle, Rebecca, that you found a man as good as Jonathan, when you talk like such a…a…”
“Sport?” I said.
“Sport? And what is that?”
“A changeling,” I said. “Rebecca’s ideas are ahead of her time. Ahead of our time.”
“She is a bold girl,” Jonathan said, “and I admire her.”
“Thank you, my darling,” Rebecca said.
Now, dear Miriam, I have to