|
|
(Ruby Pickens Tartt, Livingston, Alabama)
Laura Clark, black and wrinkled with her eighty-six years, moved limpingly about the tiny porch of her cabin on the outskirts of Livingston. Battered cans and rickety boxes were filled with a provision of flowers of the common variety. Laura offered me a split-bottomed chair and lowered herself slowly into a rocker that creaked even under her frail body. "Po'ly, Miss, po'ly," she responded to my query about her health. "'Tain't lack de old days. I's crippled and I's blin' now atter all de years what I got.
"I was born on Mr Pleasant Powell's place in North Ca'lina, and when I was 'bout six or seven years ole, I reckon hit 'twas, Mr. Garret was right up yonder in de bend 'bout eight miles from Livingston gwine n'th on de Livingston and Epes road, bought ten of us chillun in North Ca'lina and sent two white men, and one was Mr. Skinner, to fetch us back in waggins. An' he fetch ole Julie Powell and Henry to look atter us. Wa'n't none of dem ten chillun no kin to me, and he never bought my mammy, so I had to leave her behine.
"I recollect Mammy said to old Julie, 'Take keer my baby chile (dat was me) and iffen I never sees her no mo' raise her for God.' Den she fell off de waggin where us was all settin' and roll over on de groun' jes' a-cryin'. But us was eatin' candy what dey done give us for keep us quite, and I didn't have sense 'nuff for to know what ailed her, but I knows now and I never seed her no mo' in dis life. When heered from her atter S'render she done dead and buried. Her name was Maybell Powell. My pappy's name I don't know 'cuz he done been sole to somewhars else when I was too little to recollect. But my mammy was de mother of twenty-two chillun and she had twins in her lap when us driv' off. My gran' mammy said when I lef' 'Pray, Laura, and be er good gal, and mine bofe white and black. Ev'body will lack you and iffen you ever see me no mo' pray to meet me in heaven. Den she cried. Her name was Rose Powell.
"Us all started den for Mr. Garrett's plantation down yonder in de bend, ten chillun and two ole uns, and two white
men, and us was travellin' solid a month. Fuss thing Ole Marsa say was 'Now be good ter dese motherless chillun.'Den he went to war, and de overseers forgot clean 'bout dey promise. When Ole Marsa come back he done got hisarm cut off, but he let bofe dem overseers go, 'cuz dey done whupped dat 'oman what come wid us to deaf. Shebrought her two little boys, Alvin and 'Lias, but Joe, dey pappy, didn't come--he was sole 'fo Mas was bawn. Joenever seed 'Lias.
"I sets cross de road here from dat church over yonder and can't go 'cuz I'm cripple' and blin', but I heers um singin':
A motherless chile sees a hard timeOh, Lord, he'p her on de road.Er sister will do de bes' she kinDis is a hard world, Lord, fer a motherless chile.
"And I jes' busts out cryin'. Dat was de song I had in view to sing for you, hit's so mournful. I knowed 'twa'n't noreel, 'twa'n't kin' lack no reel, 'cuz I been b'longin' to de church for fifty-one years, and I don't fancy no reel. I'm gladI got hit to my mine fo' you lef'. But my recollection is shaller. I ain't never read no verse in no Bible in my life, 'cuzI can't read. Some my chillun kin, though. My husban' died and lef' me wid nine chillun, none of um didn't pull deothers de fire iffen dey fell in. I had mo'n dat, but some come here dead and some didn't. I got chillun dead inBirmingham and Bessemer. Dey ain't a graveyard in dis here settlement 'roun' Prospect where I ain't got chillunburied. Hettie Ann, right dere ter Mr. Hawkins' graveyard, and my boy whut got killed settin' on de side de roadeatin' his dinner, he buried in Captain Jones' place in de bend yonder.
"Yassum, I been drug about and put through de shackles so bad I had forgot some of dey names, and I mos' blin'now and can't hear good neither. But my eyes is good nuff for to see ghosts, but I don't b'lieve in 'em, 'cuz I'd seedem chillun sometime effen dey was ghosties. I know I'd see my boy, 'cuz dey showed me his head whar dat lillerboy hit him in de head wid a spade and split his head wide open, slip up behin' him and all he said was 'Squeek,' jes'lack a hog, and he was dead. And de murderer live right here but dey move and now I'm here. When hit rain us jes'gets under de bed 'cuz de house ain't have no top on hit.
"I can't say Marse Garrett wa'n't good to us motherless chillun but de overseer, Mr. Woodson Tucker, was mean asanybody. He'd whup us nigh 'bout to deaf, and had a whuppin' log what he strip 'em buck naked and ley 'em on delog. He whup 'em wid a wide strop, wider'n my han', den he pop de blisters what he raise and 'nint 'em wid redpepper, salt, and vinegar. Den he put 'em in de house dey call de pest house and have a 'oman stay dere to keep deflys offen 'em 'til dey get able to move. Den dey had reg'lar men in de fields wid spades, and iffen you didn't dowhat you git tole, de overseer would wrop dat strap 'roun' his han' and hit you in de head wid de wooden handle 'tilhe kilt you. Den de mens would dig a hole wid de spades and throw 'em in hit right dere in de fiel' jes' lack dey wascows--didn't have no moral nor nothin'.
"Us had a heap of houses in de quarters right on bofe sides de de house. Us could step outer one house to t'other.But, Miss, I didn't work so hard or have no trouble either. I was in de house atter Marse come home and foun' mesplittin' rails and plowin'. He 'lowed dey done put me in too hard a ship, and I was too little, so he tuk me to dehouse to draw water and wash dishes, 'cuz I was a little motherless gal. Ole Marsa done a good part by me, and Iwas married to my fuss husban', Cary Crockett, right dere in de parlor. He tole de overseer dat us was human andhad feelin's same as him, so he rejected de paterrollers and made 'em git off de place. I was treated good, 'cuz I'membered what my gran'ma say, and whatever dey tole me to put my han' to, I did, and I was obedient and wasn'thardheaded lack some de res.' I had no trouble, and wasn't 'buked none. But I's had mo' touble las' ten years wid myown chillun den I ever did in slav'y time. Dey gives me sich bitter words till I can't swaller 'em and I jes' sets andcries. I can't read no songs to comfort me, jes' ketch me from de preacher on de stan' and hole 'em, dat's de way Iketch me larnin'.
"Las' sermon I hyard, he tuk his tex' en said, 'Don't nobody rob God.' Den he say, 'Effen you is goin' to 'tend to serveGod, serve Him in de full, 'cuz God don't never bat a eye, nor turn His haid and he kin see you. He frowns at ev'ysin, but He's a sinfergivin' man.' I use to know a heap 'bout de Lord, but I'm so cripple' and din' since de ca'f jumpedon my foot I can't go to church no mo', so I done forgot.
"You ax 'bout dem flowers on de po'ch - I sho' wish dey was mine, you could have 'em 'cuz dey ain't room nuff wid dem for me ter sit swap'er desire. Us ain't got no meal and here 'tis jes' Tuesday - no mo' 'till Saddy. Sho' is bad; us jes' 'pends on de neighbors and borrys."
(Wash Copy, 7/15/37, L. H.)
