Free Sweetsmoke by David Fuller Page B

Cassius.
        She
smiled graciously. And your name? she said.
        My
name came from Hoke.
        So no
meaning.
        Got a
meaning to Hoke. He plucked it from a play. From Julius Caesar, by
Shakespeare.
        Ah.
William Shakespeare.
        Cassius
was surprised. You know Shakespeare? he said.
        I
heard the name, she said, looking away as if she had revealed too much.
        Can
you read?
        She looked
back at him and considered his expression. Then she said: No.
        Cassius
almost spoke up, but caught himself. She had not asked him if he could read,
but if she had, he would also have said no.
        Why're
you out here? said Cassius.
        Why're you? she said.
        Running
from a dream.
        My
muscles are too tired to run, I lie still and my leg knots up, said Quashee.
She reached down and rubbed her calves.
        Savilla
probably got a balm for that.
        Savilla
got some witch's brew for most everything, said Quashee.
        Guess
I forgot, wouldn't be like you to believe in low negro superstition, you being
part big house.
        You
ain't exactly a field hand.
        Cassius
smiled. No. So why're you sitting here?
        Didn't
know this was your field.
        Most
likely that didn't come out right.
        It's
late. Someone comes out, they like to ask questions, she said. Cassius smiled
and looked down. She went on: Over here, I am out of their way.
        Cassius
nodded, thinking, Out of the path of insatiable young men. Out of the way of
gossiping women. Out of the way of people imagining you to be bad luck.
        She
looked at the cigar in his hand.
        Your
cigar got a string, said Quashee.
        He
raised it as if seeing it for the first time. Nodded.
        Any
reason for that? she said.
        He
took her in with a full look, then spoke the truth: Did it once years ago, when
all I had was an old leaf wouldn't hold together. Some of the others laughed,
so instead of explaining I said it made the smoke taste smooth. They believed
it, and a few even tried it once or twice, said I was right. I did it for the
next one and now it's just habit.
        Does
it make it taste smooth?
        No.
        They
were quiet for a moment, staring at the dying fires on the lane.
        So
why're they keeping you down here? You belong up at the house, said Cassius.
        They
won't see me at the big house.
        Who
won't?
        Missus
Ellen. We've been called up, but always get sent back before she sees us. I
asked her girl Pet, but she's got nothing to say to me.
        Cassius
saw Quashee catch herself, letting her literate big house voice slip through.
He imagined she was considering revising herself, but she clamped her mouth
shut.
        I
know they could use you, said Cassius, but he remembered how Pet had tried to convince
Ellen to use Tempie Easter as a personal servant.
        Seems
like they already got a full staff.
        Sarah
should have someone, said Cassius.
        Quashee
considered that and nodded. She said: I hoped to work for Master Jacob's wife,
but she's always in her bed. Not much for a personal servant to do but bring
food and empty the slops.
        Pet
and the others do for Sarah but they don't like it. Ellen is spiting her
daughter-in-law.
        Then I
would surely love to be part of that, said Quashee with a low laugh.
        Cassius
was aware of an undercurrent of tension.
        You
think they'll sell you, said Cassius, making a statement.
        No
good at field work, said Quashee. And now I'm bad luck.
        Stupid
talk. Something bad's always happening in the quarters. Makes no sense to make
it about you.
        Seems
to be about my master John-Corey.
        So I
hear. John-Corey dies in the war and starts a run of bad luck, then you come
with your father and bring it along.
        They
say we brought the hornworms.
        Hornworms
started up before you came.